Tevye the Dairyman and the Railroad Stories Read online

  “Well, I took out two hundred and twenty-three rubles and gave them to him with the prayer that from now on he would leave me alone … and in fact, quite a while went by without his showing his face again. Until one day when I came home—there he was! My heart sank when I saw him. I’d be blamed, though, if I was going to show it, so I said to him perfectly naturally:

  “ ‘Eh, a guest! Where have you been hiding, Danielchik? How’s your health? How’s business?’

  “ ‘Screw my health!’ he said. ‘And since you ask, business isn’t so hot.’

  “You don’t say! I thought to myself. Well, better luck next time! A little bird tells me, though, that I’m about to be hit for more cash. And out loud I said to him, ‘Why, what seems to be the matter? Aren’t you making any money?’

  “ ‘What money? Who cares about money? Screw it!’ he said. ‘I’m through with the beer hall, I’m through with the billiard parlor, and I’m through with my wife. She ditched me, Osna. Screw her too! I’m going to America. My brother’s been wanting me to come.’

  “Was it a weight off my mind to hear that! Suddenly I even found myself liking the boy. If I hadn’t been embarrassed, I would have hugged him on the spot… ‘America?’ I said. ‘A fine idea! America is the land of opportunity. People find happiness there, they find money. And if you have family there already, it’s even better … Did you come to say goodbye to me? That’s very decent of you. Don’t forget to drop us a line. After all, we’re practically next of kin … Daniel, do you need any money for the trip? I’ll be glad to help out a bit …’

  “ ‘As a matter of fact,’ he said, ‘that’s what I’ve come about. You can let me have three hundred rubles. That’s what the ticket costs.’

  “ ‘Three hundred rubles?’ I said. ‘Isn’t that a bit steep? How about one hundred and fifty?’

  “ ‘Why waste your time haggling?’ he said. ‘Don’t you think I know that if I asked you for four hundred you’d give me that too, and five and six also, for that matter? But screw it, I don’t need all that much. I just need three hundred for the passage.’

  “I tell you, butter wouldn’t have melted in his mouth! Three hundred lashes, I thought to myself, is what you deserve! If only I could be sure that this was really his grand exit and that I was seeing the last of him and of all his etcetera, etcetera, etcetera …

  “Well, I counted him out those three hundred rubles and even bought a present for his brother—a whole pound of Russian tea, a carton of good cigarettes, and a few bottles of Jewish wine from Palestine. We gave him a food hamper too, with a duck my wife roasted, some rolls, some oranges, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera, and off we went to the train station to kiss him and our troubles goodbye. We hugged him like a son and, so help me, even cried—why, the boy had grown up on my knees, and a fine young lad he had turned out to be, why deny it? A little on the brash side perhaps, but with a heart of gold, I declare! True, I was a wee bit relieved that he had gone and left me with one headache less … but I was also a wee bit sorry: a young boy like that and little more than a vagabond—who knew where he might wind up and what might become of him? If only he would remember to write now and then … although perhaps it was just as well that he didn’t. Let him have a long life and a happy one! There was nothing I would have wished for my own child that I didn’t wish for him, believe me …

  “Well, lo and behold—two years hadn’t passed since he left for America when one day the door opens and who should walk in but some stranger in a top hat, a handsome, ruddy, brawny, merry young fellow who grabs me in his arms and begins to cover me with kisses! ‘What’s the matter with you?’ he says to me. ‘Are you just pretending, or do you really not know who I am?’

  “ ‘Well, I’ll be! It’s Danielchik!’ I said, trying to look glad, though I was boiling inside. Why the Devil, I thought, couldn’t you have been killed in America, or better yet, on the train we saw you off on, or best of all, drowned in the ocean? But out loud I just said, ‘When did you get here, Danielchik, and what brings you back?’

  “ ‘I blew in this morning,’ he says. ‘What brings me? I’ve come to settle the accounts with you.’

  “When I heard him say ‘the accounts,’ I thought I would rupture an artery. What accounts did that gangster think he was talking about? But I managed to pull myself together and say to him, ‘Why trouble yourself to come all the way from America for that? My goodness, if you wanted to pay me what you owe me, you could have mailed it to me from there …’

  “ ‘What I owe you?’ he says with a grin. ‘Don’t you mean what you owe me?’

  “ ‘What I owe you?’ I say. ‘What makes you think I owe you?’

  “ ‘Me, and my brothers, and my sister, and all of us,’ he says. ‘I’ve come from America on behalf of the whole family. I want a full accounting of my father’s money. You can deduct whatever you laid out for us and give us the balance. We won’t go to court over a ruble more or less; screw that, we’ll work it out between us … How the heck are you? How are your children? I’ve brought each one of them a present …’

  “I thought I would keel over, or else take a chair and bash his head in with it … but I got a grip on myself and invited him to come, God willing, on Saturday night to go over the books with me. Then I went to see some lawyers. How, I asked them, could I get him off my back? The Devil take them if I could get a straight answer! One said that since ten years had gone by, I could claim the statute of limitations; another said no, being a fi-who-ciary meant I had to give an accounting even after a hundred years …

  “ ‘But how can I give an accounting,’ I said, ‘when I kept no books and have no receipts?’

  “ ‘In that case,’ says the lawyer, ‘you’re in trouble.’

  “ ‘I didn’t need you to tell me that,’ I say. ‘What I want to know is, how do I get out of it?’

  “A blank, that’s all I drew from him. I must be made of iron, do you hear me, to have gone through all this! I ask you, what did I need such a miserable mess for, this whole etcetera, etcetera, etcetera? What in the world ever made me agree to be someone else’s fi-who-ciary? Don’t you think I would have been a thousand times better off coming down with pneumonia, or breaking a leg, or having some terrible accident? Anything, anything, but this fool fi-who-ciation of five children, of a widow, of a Danielchik, of no account books, of etcetera, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera!…”

  (1902)

  GO CLIMB A TREE IF YOU DON’T LIKE IT

  Across from me, by the window, sat a man with a smile on his face and the kind of eyes that try to crawl under your skin. I could see he was waiting for me to break the ice, but I preferred to keep to myself. After a while, though, it was simply too much for him to sit in silence with a fellow Jew. He laughed to himself abruptly, then turned to me and said:

  “You’re wondering what made me laugh? I just happened to think of a joke that I played on Yehupetz, ha ha! You’d never guess it from looking at me, Moyshe-Nachman from Kennele, a Jew with a cough and with asthma, would you? Well, did I put one over on Yehupetz—but one that will give them something to remember me by! If you’ll just excuse me for a moment while I cough … ai, Purishkevitch should only have a cough like this … there! Now let me tell you what a Jew can do.

  “One fine day I had to go to Yehupetz. Why does a Jew with a cough and with asthma have to go to Yehupetz? To see the doctor, of course. With my cough and my asthma, I don’t have to tell you, Yehupetz gets to see a lot of me, even if it’s not supposed to, since what business do I, Moyshe-Nachman from Kennele, have in Yehupetz without a pravozshitelestvo, that is, a residence permit?… But when you have a cough and asthma and you need to see the doctor—well, that’s life: where else but Yehupetz can you go? You get there in the morning, you slip away at night, and you’re in a panic all day long, because if you’re caught and served a prokhodnoyo, that is, an expulsion order, you’re right back where you started from. Still, that’s nothing compared to an etap; an etap, you shou
ld know, is a criminal arrest—why, I’d die of shame three times before I could live through one of those! After all, I am, as you can see, a pretty solid citizen, praise God. I own my own house, I can afford my own cow, and I have two daughters, one married and one engaged. What can I tell you? That’s life …

  “And so I came to Yehupetz to see the doctor—or rather, the doctors, because this time I meant to have a consultation with at least three of them. I wanted, you see, to have it out with them once and for all and to know what I was, fish or fowl. There wasn’t any question I had asthma, but how you get rid of it when you have it—that, you see, was a different story entirely. Each doctor had run all the tests on me. Each had tried everything. And each was at his wits’ end. For example, the first, a prince of a fellow named Stritzel, wrote me out a prescription for codeini sacchari pulverati; it wasn’t expensive and it even tasted sweet. The second doctor prescribed tinctura opia—why, you could have passed out from a drop of it! Then I went to see a third doctor; the medicine he gave me tasted almost the same, but it wasn’t tinctura opia, it was tinctura tebiacca. If you were me, you’d have called it quits by now, no? Well, I went to still another doctor; what he prescribed was as bitter as wormwood and went by the name of morphium aqua amigdalarium. Does it surprise you that I know all that Latin? In fact, I’ve studied Latin the way you’ve studied Greek, but that’s life: when you have a cough with asthma, and a touch of tuberculosis on the side, picking up Latin is a breeze …

  “And so I came to Yehupetz for a consultation. Where does a Jew like me stay in Yehupetz? Not in a hotel, of course, and not in a boardinghouse either. First of all, they fleece you but good there. And second of all, how can I stay in a hotel when I don’t have a pravozshitelestvo? The place I always go is my brother-in-law’s. I happen to have, you see, a schlemiel of a brother-in-law, a miserable beggar of a heder teacher; Purishkevitch should only be as poor. And children—God save us from such a litter! You know what, though? The lucky devil has a pravozshitelestvo, and a perfectly good one at that. How did he come by it? Because of Brodsky; he’s got a little job with Brodsky on the side. Don’t think that means he runs a factory. In fact, he’s just a backbencher in Brodsky’s synagogue, but he happens to be the Torah reader there. That makes him an obradchik, which is someone with clerical status, and gives him the right to live on Malovasilkovsky Street, not far from the ex-chief of police, though it’s all he can do to keep body and soul together. The one bright spot in his life is me. I am, so to speak, the moneyman in the family—and whenever I come to Yehupetz I stay with him, eat lunch and supper at his house, and find him some errand to run that will earn him a ruble or two; Purishkevitch should only earn as much. But that’s life …

  “This time, though, as soon as I saw him and my sister, I could tell that something was wrong; they both looked like they’d just seen a ghost. ‘What’s the matter?’ I asked.

  “ ‘We’re in for it,’ they said.

  “ ‘How come?’ I asked.

  “ ‘Because there’s an oblave,’ they said.

  “ ‘Pshaw!’ I said. ‘Who’s afraid of an oblave? The police have been rounding up Jews since Adam was knee-high to a grasshopper.’

  “ ‘You’re wrong there,’ they said. ‘It’s not just any oblave. This oblave is for real. There have been dragnets every night. If a Jew gets caught, they don’t care who he is—it’s an etap and no questions asked!’

  “ ‘We’ll pay them off, then,’ I said.

  “ ‘Impossible!’

  “ ‘They won’t take a ruble?’

  “ ‘Not a chance!’

  “ ‘How about three?’

  “ ‘Not even a million!’

  “ ‘In that case,’ I said, ‘we’re over a barrel.’

  “ ‘You’re right,’ they said. ‘And not just any barrel, either. This barrel is for real. First, there’s the jail sentence. Then there’s the criminal record. And then there’s having to face Brodsky …’

  “ ‘Look,’ I said, ‘as far as Brodsky is concerned, I can either take him or leave him. I don’t intend to gamble with my health for Brodsky’s sake. I came here for a medical consultation, and I’m not going home without it.’

  “Well, between one thing and another, the clock wasn’t standing still; I had to consult with my doctors. Did someone say doctors? Not when the first could only make it Monday morning, the second Wednesday afternoon, and the third the following Thursday—and go climb a tree if you don’t like it! I could see I was in for a long siege; why do a favor for Moyshe-Nachman of Kennele just because he has a cough with asthma and can’t sleep at night? (Purishkevitch should have insomnia like mine!) … Meanwhile it was getting late. We ate supper and went to bed. I had just dozed off when bing! bang! there’s a knocking on the door. I opened my eyes and asked, ‘Who is it?’

  “ ‘We’re done for!’ my poor sap of a brother-in-law says to me. He looks like a corpse and he’s shaking like a branch in the wind.

  “ ‘What do we do now?’ I ask.

  “ ‘What do you suggest?’ he says.

  “ ‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘It looks like we’re in a jam.’

  “ ‘You’re right,’ he says. ‘And not just any jam, either. It’s a real sour-apple jam.’

  “Bangety-bang! goes the knocking on the door. By now all the poor little children are awake and screaming for their mama, who’s running around trying to hush them—what can I tell you, it’s a regular carnival! Oy, Moyshe-Nachman from Kennele, I say to myself, are you ever between a rock and a hard place! Why couldn’t it have happened to Purishkevitch?… Just then, though, I had a brilliant idea. ‘Listen, Dovid,’ I said to my brother-in-law, ‘I have it! You’ll be me and I’ll be you!’

  “He looks at me like the dumb bunny he is and says, ‘How’s that?’

  “ ‘I mean,’ I say, ‘that we’ll pull the old switcheroo. You’ll give me your pass and I’ll give you mine. You’ll be Moyshe-Nachman and I’ll be Dovid.’

  “A pumpkin head if there ever was one! He doesn’t know what I’m talking about, he stands there with a helpless stare. .‘Dummy!’ I say to him. ‘What don’t you get? It’s as simple as can be. Any child would understand. You’ll show them my pass and I’ll show them yours. That’s life. Has it gotten through your thick skull now, or do I have to knock it in with a hammer?’

  “Well, it must have gotten through, because he agreed to the switcheroo. I gave him my pass and he gave me his. By then the door was nearly coming off its hinges. Bangety-bang! Bingety-bangety! ‘Hey, what’s the hurry?’ I called out. ‘Where’s the fire?’ Then I said one last time to my brother-in-law, ‘Now just remember, Dovid, you’re not Dovid any more, you’re Moyshe-Nachman’—and I went to open the door. ‘Come in, gentlemen, come in, what a surprise!’ In charges a whole company, Captain Flatfoot and all his little flatfeet. There’ll be a gay time in the old town tonight, I thought …

  “Naturally, they all made a beeline for my poor sap of a brother-in-law. Why him and not me? Because I stood there with my chin up—it’s when the fat is in the fire that you can tell the men from the boys—while Purishkevitch should only look as bad as he did. ‘Pravozshitelestvo, Gospodin Yevrei!’ they demanded, pouncing on him. He couldn’t get out a word. ‘Damn you,’ I said, trying to help him out of a tight spot, ‘why don’t you say something? Speak up! Tell them you’re Moyshe-Nachman from Kennele.’ And turning to the police, I begged them to go easy on him. ‘Please try to understand,’ I said, ‘he’s just a poor cousin of mine from Kennele, we haven’t seen each other in ages.’ I was trying so hard not to laugh that I thought I would burst. Just picture it: there I was, Moyshe-Nachman from Kennele, begging for mercy for Moyshe-Nachman from Kennele, who was standing right next to me, ha ha! The only catch was that it did as much good as last winter’s snow, because they grabbed the poor sap like a sack of potatoes and quick-marched him off to the cooler. At first they wanted to take me too. That is, they took me, but I was released right away. What, I a
sk you, could they do to me? I had a perfectly good pravozshitelestvo, I was an obradchik in Brodsky’s synagogue, and I left behind a few rubles at the station just to be on the safe side, do you get it? That’s life! ‘Khorosho, Gospodin Obradchik,’ they said to me. ‘Now run on home and finish your noodles. Let this be a lesson to you not to harbor illegals on Malovasilkovsky Street!’… A lesson that hurt like a slice of fresh bread in the kisser, ha ha!…

  “Do you want to hear the rest of it? The consultation, of course, had to be called off. Who could think of consultations when a brother-in-law had to be bailed out? I suppose you think I’m referring to the etap. I wish I were! There was no standing bail for that; the poor sap had to sit in jail—and believe me, he didn’t sit very pretty! It should only happen to Purishkevitch. We didn’t grow any younger in Kennele waiting for him to be let out—and when we finally brought him back there, our real troubles first began. Don’t ask me what I had to go through to arrange new papers with a new name for him. I only wish I earned in three months what it cost me, not to mention the fact that I’m now saddled with his entire upkeep, that is, with supporting his wife and children, because he claims I’m to blame for the whole pickle. It’s all my fault, he says, that he lost his pravozshitelestvo and his job with Brodsky. And he may even have something there. He’s just missing the point, ha ha. The point’s the quick thinking, the old switcheroo, do you get it? Just imagine: a Jew with a cough and asthma that Purishkevitch should only have, a touch of tuberculosis on the side, and no pravozshitelestvo—that’s life!—comes to Yehupetz anyway, stays on Malovasilkovsky Street right under the ex-police chief’s nose, and go climb a tree if you don’t like it!”