So one of the group rushed off to the girls in the cowshed to tell them visitors had come, so that they should prepare supper, and the rest went off to change their clothes, for their master gave them permission to leave their work an hour early in honor of Mr. Bach.
The farmer took us and showed us his fields, and every man and woman who saw Bach bowed their heads in respect and asked after his health. The farmers had known him during the war, and their wives had known him after the war, for they used to buy soap from him so that their husbands should wash their hands of the blood they had shed.
In the meantime we reached our comrades, who were standing in front of the house waiting. The girls laid the table with things from the village, while I added the foodstuffs I had brought from town.
A small lamp lit up the little room, and a fine smell rose from the fields and the hay and the bread and the new cloth that was spread on the table. The boys ate with an appetite as if after a fast, and encouraged us to eat too, showing us great affection and then still more, not knowing whom to honor first and whom last — the one who had come from the Land of Israel or Mr. Bach. Said I, “I deserve to be honored first, for I have brought you an important guest, and since you know me well as one of yourselves, you and I together will honor Mr. Bach.”
The young people thanked me for bringing them such an important guest — important for the sake of Yeruham his brother, who had been killed for the Land of Israel, as well as for his father, who lived in the Land, and for his own sake, because he had taken the trouble to visit them — unlike the other townsfolk, who scoffed at them, and even if some praised them, none took the trouble to visit them. After they had somewhat appeased their hunger and eaten all I had brought, they turned to me with great affection and asked me to tell them something from the Land of Israel. Especially pressing was Zvi — the same Zvi who had visited me a few weeks before and invited me to come here. So I did not refuse to tell them what I know and what I thought I knew. Since our comrades were well versed, in their own way, in the affairs of the Land, I did not have to explain much, and if I explained something I did so only in honor of Daniel Bach. So I sat and told my tale, until midnight came and I had not reached the end.
At that moment the kerosene came, to an end, for my story was long and the lamp was small, as I said before. So we rose from the table, and that was only right, for the lads had to get up for their work at sunrise, and especially because the two girls had to get up in the middle of the night to milk the cows. While they were filling the lamp with kerosene, we went out to stroll in the fields. Our comrades went with us and continued the tale of the Land, until the talk turned on their work in the village. Daniel Bach told them in the farmer’s name that he was pleased with their work — and not only that farmer, but all the farmers they had been with said they had never had such diligent workers.
The lads sighed and said, “But what good does it do us, if then they set fire to all that we’ve done? Sometimes the farmer sets fire to his barn to get insurance money; and if he is not insured, his enemies come and set fire to it. And when his corn is burned, and he has not paid us our wages yet, he does not pay at all.” So, from one thing to another, we came to what happened to them on the festival of Shavuot, when their food had been stolen and they had been left without anything at all. Said Mr. Bach, “This happened before the giving of the Torah, when they had not yet been commanded: Thou shalt not steal.”
The skies showed that midnight had passed, and the hay exhaled its sweet smell, as if it had been steeped through and perfumed by the dew, and the dew perfumed by it. The stars stood silent, one here, one there, and their light floated on the face of the firmament. Suddenly a star jumped from its place and disappeared, and mist covered its path. The night redoubled its peace, and tranquil quiet covered everything around us. Silent we returned to the house and lay down to sleep.
The lads had laid straw mattresses for us on the floor. I recited the “Hear, O Israel,” covered myself, and said good night to Mr. Bach. But he did not answer, for he had already fallen asleep.
I too closed my eyes and said to myself: How good and pleasant it is that I have come here. In a thousand nights there is not one like this. Before I had finished praising the night, I felt a shock, as if a needle had been thrust into my face. I took out my right hand hastily to rub my cheek, and something like a needle was thrust into my hand. I took out my left hand to cover the right; it too was stabbed by the needle — or perhaps it was another needle, for it burned and stung more than the first. While I was wondering what this could be, along came a band of gnats and explained the matter.
What the gnats did above, the mice did below, squeaking and gnawing and frisking about the room. I called out to Mr. Bach, but he did not answer. I called again, but he did not answer. Is there no feeling in his flesh? Doesn’t he hear the hateful, disgusting squeaking? Next morning, when I told him about it, he smiled and said, “I know them since the days of the war, when they used to assemble in companies and battalions to gnaw the corpses, and it isn’t worth wasting even an hour of sleep on them. Besides, they don’t think it worth their while to tackle me, for no doubt they landed on my artificial leg first and thought I was all made of wood.”
Between the gnats and the mice came the fleas. While the mice frisked in the room and the gnats stung my face and neck, the fleas divided up the rest of my body between them. Or perhaps they went into partnership with the bugs, and what the first left the other came and took. I wanted to jump up, but I was afraid our comrades might awaken. I was sorry I had pressed them to go to sleep. If we had lengthened our talk, I should have shortened my sufferings. I raised my head and gazed at the window. Night had covered the land and there was no hope that day would dawn. All the village slept; no cock crowed, no dog cried. Meanwhile, I dozed off and slept. As soon as I fell asleep, the cock crowed, the dogs barked, and the cows moved from their shed. I heard the sound of bare feet on the floor of the other room, where the girls slept, and saw a light coming from there. “Blessed be He that maketh the night to pass and bringeth the day,” said I. “Soon the lads will get up and I will escape from this bed of pain.” Then sleep overcame me and I dozed off.
An hour or an hour and a half later I opened my eyes and saw that the whole room was filled with the light of day. I dressed quickly, said my prayers, and sat down with the comrades for breakfast.
I watched the faces of Daniel Bach and the boys and girls: they looked the same as the day before; there wasn’t the least sign of a gnat on them. He who is easy on others, others are easy on him; he who is hard on others, others are hard on him. At that moment I made up my mind to pay no attention to fleas and gnats and bugs and mice.
When we had eaten and drunk, our comrades wanted me to stay till after the Sabbath, for on the Sabbath they were free all day and all night. Although I had made up my mind to pay no attention to the fleas and gnats, the bugs and the mice, I was afraid to stay, in case I might not stand the test.
The carter came with his cart. The farmer went out and brought Mr. Bach a bowlful of butter and a basketful of mushrooms. Before we moved off, the other farmers and their wives came and brought garlic and onions, eggs and a pair of pigeons.