The Letters of Menakhem-Mendl and Sheyne-Sheyndl and Motl, the Cantor's Son Read online

  Yours, etc.

  FROM SHEYNE-SHEYDL IN KASRILEVKE TO HER HUSBAND MENAKHEM-MENDL IN ODESSA

  To my dear, learned, & illustrious husband Menakhem-Mendl, may your light shine!

  First, we’re all well, thank God. I hope to hear no worse from you.

  Second, I’m suffering from my old cramps again. I’d like to give them to your Uncle Menashe. You’ve made short shrift of the eighteen hundred rubles he owed us. Wouldn’t that be just our luck! My mother would say you’ve sent the cat to the dairy with the cream. Why I’d sooner get the pox from Menashe than one of his promise notes! Five months of fever I’d give him! May I be proved a liar but you’ll no more see those rubles than you’ll see the back of the head your shoulders carried to Odessa. Be thankful my mother knows nothing about it, because she’d tan your hide if she did. And as for what you write, Mendl, about all the money you’re making, you can be sure we’re pleased. See here, though: the devil take it if the next time you don’t write like a human being! Why can’t you tell a body in plain words what you’re dealing in? Does it sell by the yard or by the pound? For the life of me, I don’t know if you eat, wear, or smoke it. And what are these quick profits you talk about? What merchandise shoots up just like that? Even mushrooms, my mother says, need a rain to sprout. But if it’s gained so much value, you should sell. You’re not hoping to corner the market, are you? And why don’t you write where you’re staying and eating? A person might think I was a stranger and not your wife of twenty years, some kind of parrymoor, God help us. “When the cow goes to pasture,” says my mother, “it forgets to say good-bye.” If you’ll listen to me, you’ll wind up your affairs and come home with a bit of money. You’ll find better businesses here than those Lumdums of yours or whatever the deuce they’re called. I am, from the bottom of my heart,

  Your truly faithful wife,

  Sheyne-Sheyndl

  FROM MENAKHEM-MENDL IN ODESSA TO HIS WIFE SHEYNE-SHEYNDL IN KASRILEVKE

  To my wise, esteemed, & virtuous wife Sheyne-Sheyndl, may you have a long life!

  Firstly, rest assured that I am, praise God, in the best of health. God grant that we hear from each other only good and pleasing news, amen. Secondly, I’m not surprised that you fail to grasp how Londons work. There are businessmen, serious Jews, who can’t make head or tails of them either, let alone a woman like you. Allow me to explain. Londons, you should know, are highly perishable. You buy and sell them on a pledge without seeing them. Every minute you have to check if they’re up or down—that is, if the ruble has risen or fallen in Berlin. It all depends on Berlin, you see; it’s Berlin that has the last word. The rates soar and tumble like crazy, the telegrams fly back and forth, the Jews run around as though at a country fair, and so do I. There’s such a racket you can’t hear yourself think. Yesterday, for example, I played the market for 50 rubles and by noon today I’d lost them all. But I haven’t told you what playing the market is. You can buy futures for 50 R’s, or double that, or hedge until closing time. (That’s the time between the afternoon and evening prayers in Kasrilevke.) Well, I bought short, the market was up, and there went my 50 smackeroos. That’s how you play it—but don’t you worry, my dear! Fifty smackers are nothing in Odessa. With God’s help my lucky number will come up. And as for Uncle Menashe’s promissory notes, you’re mistaken. They’re as good as gold, a solid investment. I could turn a nice profit on them even now, but I’d rather not. I can always make money from hedging. But I don’t want to do that either. I prefer futures. There’s nothing like a night spent sleeping on them. And because I’m in a hurry, I’ll be brief. God willing, I’ll write more in my next letter. Meanwhile, may He grant you health and success.

  Your husband,

  Menakhem-Mendl

  P.S. As for where I’m lodging and eating, I can’t rightly tell you myself. Odessa is a monstrous big city and everything is very dear. The buildings are sky-high and you climb half-an-hour’s worth of iron stairs to get to your room at the top of them. And the window is as tiny as a dungeon’s! It’s a relief to get out and head for Greek Street, where I take my meals—that is, where I grab what I can. Who has time to sit and eat when you have to keep your eyes on Berlin? But fruit costs next to nothing here. People eat grapes in the street, not just once a year for Rosh Hashanah like Kasrilevkans. They’re not at all embarrassed to do it.

  Yours, etc.

  FROM SHEYNE-SHEYDL IN KASRILEVKE TO HER HUSBAND MENAKHEM-MENDL IN ODESSA

  To my dear, learned, & illustrious husband Menakhem-Mendl, may your light shine!

  First, we’re all well thank God. I hope to hear no worse from you.

  Second, you write like a madman. Forgive me for saying so, but I hope to hear no more of your Odessa than I understand about your blasted shorts and hedgerows! You’re throwing rubles away like last week’s noodles. Money-shmoney, eh? I suppose it grows on trees over there. I’ll be blamed, though, if one thing doesn’t stump me: what kind of cat in a bag can you trade in but not see? Listen here, Mendl, I don’t like it one bit! I wasn’t raised in a home where we bought and sold air and God keep me from doing it now. From air you catch cold, my mother says. Who ever heard of a grown man playing in a market? You’d make more sense if you wrote in Turkish. And as for the profit you can turn on Menashe’s notes, I hate to be a wet blanket, but the proof of the pudding, my mother says, is in the eating. You know what, Mendl? Listen to your wife, tell Odessa where it can go, and come home to Kasrilevke. We have a place to live in at my father’s, you have five hundred rubles, opening a store is no problem—what more could you want? Why must I hear the world telling lies about your throwing me over for Odessa? Don’t think you’ll live to see the day! You can take your monster houses with their iron steps you climb like a lunatic and give me Kasrilevke any time. Because grapes are cheap there I should have a stomach ache here? Kasrilevke plums aren’t sweet enough? There’s such a glut this year that they’re a kopeck a bucket. But a lot we matter to you! You don’t even ask about the children. I suppose you’ve forgotten you have three of them, God bless them! Out of sight, out of mind, my mother says. I’ll be blamed if she isn’t right. I wish you all the best from the bottom of my heart.

  Your truly faithful wife

  Sheyne-Sheyndl.

  FROM MENAKHEM-MENDL IN ODESSA TO HIS WIFE SHEYNE-SHEYNDL IN KASRILEVKE

  To my wise, esteemed, & virtuous wife Sheyne-Sheyndl, may you have a long life!

  Firstly, rest assured that I am, praise God, in the best of health. God grant that we hear from each other only good and pleasing news, amen.

  Secondly, the market has been hitting fearsome lows. I’ve bought another batch of Londons and covered myself with 8 orders for 17 shorts. If I can shave a few points, I’ll buy more. If only you understood, my dearest, how business is done on a man’s word alone, you would know all there is to know about Odessa. A nod is as good as a signature. I walk down Greek Street, drop into a cafe, sit at a table, order tea or coffee, and wait for the brokers to come by. There’s no need for a contract or written agreement. Each broker carries a pad in which he writes, say, that I’ve bought two shorts. I hand over the cash and that’s it—it’s a pleasure how easy it is! A few hours go by, the Berlin closings arrive, and back comes the broker with 25 smackers. The next morning the openings arrive and he has 50 more—and don’t think God can’t make it 100. 300 is no big deal either. Why should it be? We’re talking about the market! It’s a game, like roulette…. And as for your not believing in Uncle Menashe’s promissory notes, I have news: I’ve made a tidy sum from them already. Where else would I get the money to buy so many futures on spot? The market is not, as you seem to think, a place that sells fruit and vegetables. You’re only called on futures when they’re due. That means, you’re a free agent. If you want to buy, you buy, and if you want to sell, you sell. Now do you understand what playing the market is? If God is out to boost Londons, he starts a war scare in the papers, the ruble drops, and Londons shoot up faster than bean
stalks. Just this week there were rumors that the Queen of England was ailing: the ruble plunged again, and whoever bought short made a killing. Now the papers say she’s better, so the ruble has rallied and it’s time to buy long. In short, my dearest, never fear! Everything will be “tip-top,” as they say in Odessa. And because I’m in a hurry, I’ll be brief. God willing, I’ll write more in my next letter. Meanwhile, may He grant you health and success. Give my greetings to the children and my fondest wishes to everyone.

  Your husband,

  Menakhem-Mendl

  P.S. We’re all burning up from the heat. At night we go around like melting wax. The streets are deserted. All Odessa goes to the public fountains or the seashore. You can find anything you want there. You can even bathe in the sea or listen to free music—it doesn’t cost a blessed kopeck.

  Yours etc.

  FROM SHEYNE-SHEYDL IN KASRILEVKE TO HER HUSBAND MENAKHEM-MENDL IN ODESSA

  To my dear, learned, & illustrious husband Menakhem-Mendl, may your light shine!

  First, we’re all well, thank God. I hope to hear no worse from you.

  Second, I’m having trouble with my teeth. I wish Odessa and its market had my toothache! It’s killing me. So are the children—and his lordship couldn’t care less. He lives in Odessa like God, buys seventeen pairs of shorts, and bathes in the sea to music! What more could a body want? Well, you may go around in short pants and half-shaven, but my mother would say you’ve outgrown your britches. For heaven’s sake, if you’re dealing in Lumdums, keep your mind on them and not on the Queen of England! Better yet, think of your wife. She’ll be around for a while, God willing. And you have three children, bless them. “Remember your own and you’ll forget the next man’s,” my mother says. All your winnings make my head spin. Blow me down if I can believe that a man just sticks out his hand and watches the rubles f ly into it. W hat kind of hocus-pocus is that? And you better not touch the dowry money, because my mother will make you rue the day you were born if a kopeck of it is missing. There are a few other things you might think about too. You know perfectly well I’m in desperate need of a silk shawl, some wool for a dress, and two bolts of Morazev calico. Though of course it’s too much to expect you to think of such trifles, especially when you’ve taken leave of your senses. My mother says a man with more ribs than brains needs a poke in them.

  I am, from the bottom of my heart,

  Your truly faithful wife,

  Sheyne-Sheyndl

  FROM MENAKHEM-MENDL IN ODESSA TO HIS WIFE SHEYNE-SHEYNDL IN KASRILEVKE

  To my wise, esteemed, & virtuous wife Sheyne-Sheyndl, may you have a long life!

  Firstly, rest assured that I am, praise God, in the best of health. God grant that we hear from each other only good and pleasing news, amen.

  Secondly, I’m holding shorts in a big way. I’m sitting on a pile of Londons. Each transaction is for 10 or 20,000 pounds in one shot. Of course, this means buying on margin. By now they know me in every brokerage. I take my seat in Fanconi’s with all the dealers, pull up a chair at a marble table, and ask for a dish of iced cream. That’s our Odessa custom: you sit yourself down and a waiter in a frock coat asks you to ask for iced cream. Well, you can’t be a piker—and when you’re finished, you’re asked to ask for more. If you don’t, you’re out a table and in the street. That’s no place for dealing, especially when there’s an officer on the corner looking for loiterers. Not that our Jews don’t hang out there anyway. They tease him with their wisecracks and scatter to see what he’ll do. Just let him nab one! He latches on to him like a gemstone and it’s off to the cooler with one more Jew …

  Your doubts about the volatility of the market reveal a weak grasp of politics. There’s a regular at Fanconi’s, Gambetta is the name, who talks politics day and night. He has a thousand proofs that war is coming. In fact, he can already hear the cannon booming. Not here, he says, but in France. The French, he says, won’t forgive Bismarck in a thousand years. It’s a sure thing, he says—why, it’s surer than sure—that war will break out any day. There are no two ways about it. If you go by Gambetta you’ll sell everything, roll up your sleeves, and buy short, short, short all you can.

  And as for buying you a coat, my dear wife, I’ve seen something better: a gold watch with a metalian, chain, and matching brooch, and a pair of bracelets in a window near Fanconi’s—all the very best quality. But being in a hurry, I’ll be brief. God willing, I’ll write more in my next letter. Meanwhile, may He grant you health and success.

  Your husband,

  Menakhem-Mendl.

  P.S. This town is so rich, and its Jews are so busy getting richer, that no one thinks about Sabbaths or Jewish holidays. I needn’t tell you, though, that for me the Sabbath is still the Sabbath. I don’t care if it’s raining stones out, it’s my day to go to synagogue. The Odessa synagogue is something to see. It’s called the Choir Synagogue and everyone wears a top hat and sits on all sides of the cantor. His name is Pini and can he sing, even if he doesn’t have a beard! And he knows Hebrew a sight better than that old dodo of a Moyshe-Dovid in Kasrilevke. You can pass out just from listening to him. I tell you, they could sell tickets! And the choir boys wear the cutest little prayer shawls. If Saturday came twice a week, I’d go both times just to hear Pini. Don’t ask me why the local Jews stay away. Even those who come don’t pray. They sit chewing their cud in their little prayer shawls and ritzy top hats and—shhhh, not a sound! Try praying loud enough for God to hear you and a beadle comes over and tells you to hush. I never saw such weird Jews in my life.

  Yours etc.

  FROM SHEYNE-SHEYDL IN KASRILEVKE TO HER HUSBAND MENAKHEM-MENDL IN ODESSA

  To my dear, learned, & illustrious husband Menakhem-Mendl, may your light shine!

  First, we’re all well, thank God. I hope to hear no worse from you.

  Second, it’s beyond me, dear husband, what’s so special about your blamed Franconi’s. I may never have eaten creamed ice on marble, but I know enough to ask: where’s the money in it? And what kind of loon are you running around with who hears shooting in his dreams? He deserves to be shot dead himself! Is it wars that he wants? “One man’s blood is another’s water,” my mother says…. You’ve seen gold watches and bracelets in a window? Well, bless my great-grandmother’s soul! What are gifts in a window to me, Mendl? My mother says dumplings in a dream are a dream and not dumplings. You’d do better to step into a shop and buy new linen, cotton cloth for pillow cases, a couple of padded quilts, a few pieces of silver, and whatever else we could use around the house. Would you believe that Blume-Zlate has taken to preening herself each time she sees me? Let her preen till she bursts! So she has a pearl necklace, so what? For my part, let her choke on it. Is it my fault her husband gives her whatever she asks for? Some people have luck and mine was to be born on the wrong day. I have to remind his lordship of everything. All you think of is your longs and your shorts. I tell you to sell and what do you do? You rush right out and buy more! Are you afraid the world will run out of Lumdums? It’s some business you’re in and some city Odessa must be when a Sabbath is no Sabbath and a Jewish holiday is no holiday and a cantor has no beard. I wish he had my aches and pains! If I were you, I’d run from Odessa like the plague. But his lordship likes it there. Well, to quote my mother, a worm lies in horseradish and thinks there’s nothing sweeter. I’m asking you, my husband, to think again and give up your merry life there. Let Odessa burn to the ground! I am, from the bottom of my heart,

  Your truly faithful wife,

  Sheyne-Sheyndl

  And by the way, Mendl, who is this Franconi you’re spending all your time with? Is it a he or a she?

  FROM MENAKHEM-MENDL IN ODESSA TO HIS WIFE SHEYNE-SHEYNDL IN KASRILEVKE

  To my dear, esteemed, & virtuous wife Sheyne-Sheyndl, may you have a long life!

  Firstly, rest assured that I am, praise God, in the best of health. God grant that we hear from each other only good and pleasing news, amen. Secondly, I’m now
earning in the high thousands. If my position holds, I’ll be a wealthy man. I’ll cash in my spread, come back to Kasrilevke, and bring you with me, God willing, to Odessa. We’ll rent a place on the boulevard, fill it with fine furniture, and live as only we Odessans know how to.

  Meanwhile, I’m having stomach trouble. It shouldn’t happen to you but all that iced cream has done me no good. Nowadays at Fanconi’s I order a drink that’s sipped through a straw: it has a bittersweet, licoricy taste and two or three glasses are my limit. After that I have to hang out in the street and worry about the officer, which is no fun at all because he has his eye on me. But by the grace of God, I’ve given him the slip so far. What a Jew mustn’t do to earn a living! God grant the market goes my way and I’ll buy you two of whatever Blume-Zlate has, more than you could ever imagine…. And as for Gambetta, he may be a hothead but he’s no madman. God help the man who argues politics with him! He’s quite capable of tearing him to shreds. He’s sure war will break out any second—the calmer things are, the more certain it is. “It’s the lull before the storm,” he says. Yesterday I could have sold a few shorts on spot and come away with a nice little bundle, but Gambetta put his foot down. “I’ll skin you alive,” says he, “if you unload a single share now!” It won’t be long, he says, before 50 rubles of shorts are worth 2 or 3 hundred, even 4. Why, they could even top 1,000! Let him be half-right and I’m sitting pretty. I’ll take my profit, God willing, and switch to longs. I’ll buy rubles and sell Londons like crazy and show the world a thing or two about the market. But as I’m in a hurry, I’ll be brief. God willing, I’ll write more in my next letter. Meanwhile, may He grant you health and success.