And so they lived together in one house under one roof, and he ate and drank and enjoyed himself and slept in a properly made bed — in short, it would seem that he wanted for nothing. But about one thing he was amazed: all that time he had never seen her eat or drink. At first he thought she might think it degrading to eat with him. After he became used to her and had forgotten that she was a lady and he a Jew, he wondered more and more.
Once he said to her, “How is it, Helen, that I’ve been living with you several months and I’ve never seen you eat or drink? You haven’t put a feeding trough in your belly, have you?” She said to him, “What difference does it make to you whether I eat or drink? It’s enough that you don’t want for anything with me and you have plenty to eat always.” “It’s true,” he answered, “that I eat and drink and I lead a more comfortable life now than ever before, but even so I would like to know how you sustain yourself and how you nourish yourself. You don’t eat at the same table with me, and I’ve never seen you eat away from the table either. Is it possible to exist without eating and drinking?” Helen smiled and said, “You want to know what I eat and what I drink? I drink men’s blood and I eat human flesh.” As she spoke she embraced him with all her might and placed her lips against his and sucked. “I never imagined,” she said to him, “that a Jew’s flesh would be so sweet. Kiss me, my raven. Kiss me, my eagle. Your kisses are sweeter to me than all the kisses in the world.” He kissed her, thinking, This is the kind of poetic language that noblewomen must use when they address their husbands with affection. And she on her part kissed him and said, “Joseph, in the beginning, when you showed yourself here I wanted to set the bitch on you, and now I myself am biting you like a mad bitch, so much that I’m afraid you won’t get out of my hands alive. O my own sweet corpse!” And so they would while away their days in love and affection, and there was nothing in the world to upset their affairs.
But that one thing kept gnawing away in the heart of the peddler. They lived together in one house in one room, and her bed was next to his, and everything she had she put in his hands, except for the bread which she did not eat at the same table with him. And she observed this to such a degree that she would not even taste from the dishes she prepared for him. Since this thing was gnawing away in his heart, he would ask about it again. And she would tell him. “He who delves too deeply digs his own grave. Be happy, my sweet corpse, with everything that is given to you, and don’t ask questions that have no answer.” The Jew reflected on this. Perhaps she’s really right. What difference does it make to me whether she eats and drinks with me or somewhere else? After all, she is healthy and her face looks fine and I want for nothing. He decided to keep quiet. He went on enjoying her board and all the rest of it. He neither pressed her with questions nor bothered her with excessive talk. Rather, he loved her even more than before, whether because he really loved her, or perhaps because of that enigma which had no solution.
Anyone who has to do with women knows that a love that depends upon the physical bond alone will come to an end before long. And even if a man loves a woman as Samson loved Delilah, in the end she will mock him, in the end she will oppress him, until he wishes he were dead. That is the way it was with this peddler. After a while she began to mock him, after a while she began to oppress him, after a while he began to wish he were dead. Nevertheless, he did not leave her. And she on her part did not tell him to get out. He stayed with her month after month: they would quarrel and make up, quarrel and make up, and he not knowing why they were quarreling and why they were making up. But he would reason thus to himself: Here the two of us are intimate with each other, living side by side, never apart from one another, and yet I know no more about her today than I knew yesterday, and yesterday I knew no more than I knew about her the day I came here for the first time when she bought the knife from me. As long as they continued to live together in peace, he didn’t ask many questions, and if he asked, she would stop up his mouth with kisses. When the peace between them disappeared, he began to think more and more about it, until he said to himself, I won’t let her be until she tells me.
One night he said to her, “Many times now I’ve asked you about your husband, and you’ve never said a thing to me.”
“About which one did you ask?”
“You mean you had two husbands?”
“What difference does it make to you if there were two or three?”
“So then I’m your fourth husband?”
“My fourth husband?”
“Well, from what you say, that is what it comes to. Doesn’t it, Helen?”
“Wait a minute and I’ll count them all,” she said to him. She held up her right hand and began counting on her fingers, one, two, three, four, five. When she had counted all the fingers on her right hand, she held up her left hand and went on counting. “And where are they?” he said to her.
“Now, didn’t I tell you that he who delves too deeply digs his own grave?”
“Tell me anyway.” She patted her belly and said, “Some of them perhaps are here.”
“What do you mean, ‘here’?” he asked. She narrowed her eyes and smiled. She looked at him for a few moments. “And if I told you,” she said, “do you think you would understand? Mother of God! Look, see what a face this corpse has.”
But from the moment she had begun to count on her fingers, he no longer had his wits about him. Now he lost the power of speech as well. He sat in silence. She said to him, “Darling, do you believe in God?” He sighed and answered, “And is it possible not to believe in God?”
“You’re a Jew, aren’t you?” He sighed “Yes, I’m a Jew.”
“Well, the Jews don’t believe in God, for if they believed in Him they wouldn’t have murdered Him. But if you do believe in God, pray to Him that you won’t end up the way they did.”
“The way who did?”
“The way those you asked about ended up.”
“You mean your husbands.”
“Yes, my husbands.”
“And how did they end up?”
“If you don’t understand,” Helen answered, “it doesn’t pay to talk to you.” As she said this she looked at his throat, and her blue eyes glittered like the blade of a new knife. He took a look at her and shuddered. She also looked at him and said, “Why did you turn so pale?” He touched his face and asked, “Did I turn pale?”
“And the hair on your head,” she continued, “is standing up like pig bristles.” He felt his hair. “My hair is standing up?”
“And the strands of your beard,” she said, “are clotted together in patches like goose feathers. Pfui, how ugly the face of a coward is!” She spat in his face and left him. As she was walking away she turned her head back toward him and called out, “Take good care of your Adam’s apple. Mother of God! It’s trembling as though it saw the knife. Don’t worry, my little sweetheart, I haven’t bitten you yet.”
The peddler was left sitting by himself. One moment he would feel his face with his hand and the next moment his beard. The hair on his head had already settled and was lying in place as before, half on one side and half on the other, with a part going down the middle that was as cold as though ice had been laid on it. From the next room he could hear Helen’s footsteps. At that moment he neither loved her nor hated her. His limbs began to grow numb, as though he had lost control over them. His thoughts, on the other hand, became more and more active. I’ll get up and take my pack and be on my way, he said to himself. But when he tried to leave, his limbs became even weaker. Again he heard Helen’s footsteps. Then her feet were still and he heard the clattering of utensils and the smell of cooking. The peddler began to consider again. I have to get out of here. If not now, then tomorrow morning. How glad he was when he had been permitted to spend the night in the old barn. Now even the bed made up for him shrieked, “Pick up your feet and run!” By that time it had already grown dark. Despite himself, he decided to spend the night in that house. Not, however, in his wife’s room, in the bed of her murdered husbands, but in the old barn or in some other room. When day broke, he would be on his way.