Leibtche Bodenhaus came in. Genendel awoke and said, “You here, Aaron? Sit, son, sit. What have you to tell me, Aaron? What did the doctor say? She will live, won’t she?” “Calm yourself, Aunt, calm yourself,” said Leibtche, “there is a telegram from Aaron.” “Well, so you are here, Leibtche,” said Genendel, “it was good of you to come. I believe you said something; what did you say, Leibtche? Don’t be so tongue-tied. What was the telegram you mentioned?” And as she spoke she fixed her eyes on me and said, “You here too? Sit down, my dear, sit down. Perhaps you will ask Leibtche what this telegram is about. Why hasn’t Aaron come?”
Leibtche took out the telegram and read, “I have fallen ill.” “Who has fallen ill?” said the old woman. “Is it Leibtche?” “Calm yourself, Aunt,” said Leibtche. “I am well.” “Then why did you say you had fallen ill?” said the old woman. “It was not I who had fallen ill,” said Leibtche, “but…”
“Are you making a fool of me, then?” said the old woman. “What is your wife’s name? That was a woman. May God not punish me for saying so, but I never liked her. Fool, a whole shopful of shoes you have and you sit barefoot. Take a pair of shoes and put them on and run away. Who is this gentleman who is sitting here with us?” Leibtche told her my name and said, “Don’t you remember, Aunt? He was in your house, with your brother Aaron.” The old woman looked at me kindly and said, “I knew your grandmother. A great woman she was. I heard she went up to the Land of Israel.” “It was my grandmother’s mother who went up to the Land,” I told Genendel. She nodded her head affectionately and said, “Yes, yes, my dear. Her mother went up to the Land of Israel. What was her name? Milkah it was. How is she? What was the telegram she sent us? I will tell you something that will give you pleasure. When your grandmother saw a poor woman with a torn dress, she would take off her cape and say, ‘Was told mir das?’ and give it to her. For that was the way respectable ladies used to talk in those days, in antiquated language. And what she meant was, ‘What do I need this for?’ And how is your mother? She’s dead too. So all three of them died. And my little butterfly died too. Everyone dies but this dry bone.” And as she spoke, Genendel beat her heart and said, “Was told mir das?” And again she laid her head on her breast and dozed off.
I got up from my chair and said, “What has happened here?” “Don’t ask, my dear sir, don’t ask,” said Leibtche, “more than my aunt knows happened here. There are things, my dear sir, that are beyond the reach of human reason.” “I beg of you, Mr. Bodenhaus, tell me,” said I. “Where is the tongue that can tell all that has happened,” said Leibtche. “More than we ever knew has happened.” After a little while he beckoned to me with his finger and I went up to him. He put his two fingers on his mouth and said, “My dear sir, put your ear close to my mouth, so that the old woman should not hear.” “Who are all three of them?” “My dear sir,” said Leibtche, “have you not heard anything? Wait a moment, if you don’t mind, and I will go and see if Aunt has wakened. Praise God, she is asleep. There is nothing better than sleep. Since the day the news came, she has grown old all of a sudden. Oh, my dear sir, what are we, and what are our lives? ‘If the flame has caught the cedars, what can the moss on the wall expect?’ Forgive me, my dear sir, I was not thinking of you, sir, I know how to keep my distance. I was thinking only about myself — a worm and not a man. Suddenly one day they take three young people and bring them down to the grave. And I am afraid, my dear sir, that we have not yet reached the end of it. This telegram from Mr. Schutzling does not bode well. Read it, sir, and you will see, but read it in a whisper, so that my aunt should not hear. Three days ago she looked as if she were forty, and now she is like ninety or a hundred. Hush, my dear sir, Aunt has awakened. Don’t be angry with me, my dear sir, for leaving you and running to the old woman.”
When he came back he said, “Now, my dear sir, she is really asleep, and I can tell you the whole story from beginning to end. You have heard, haven’t you, my dear sir, that Mr. Schutzling has three daughters from his second wife. ‘Has,’ I say, but I should say ‘had,’ for they are no longer here, my dear sir, but dwelling in the shadow of the Almighty, in the world of souls. Permit me, my dear sir, to go and see if the old woman has not wakened. She has only heard about one that was killed, but all three have been killed, she and her two sisters. On the very same day, at the very same time, my dear sir, their blood was spilt together. How did it happen? Just as it is written in the papers. That daughter of our friend Mr. Schutzling who was not being held in prison came with her comrades to the prison keepers and bribed them with a large sum of money to let her sisters go free. But the keepers did not keep their word. They opened the gates to let them escape and told the authorities. Well, my dear sir, the moment the two sisters were about to get into the automobile where their sister was waiting, they shot at them, and they died. They were wounded and died, my dear sir. And now a telegram has come from Mr. Schutzling to say that he too is not in good health. I will go and see if Aunt is still asleep.”
Genendel awoke and said, “Aren’t you hungry, son? Sit down and eat. I have just remembered, aren’t you Esther’s son? How is your mother? I believe I promised you something. What do you say to our sorrows? Leibtche, Leibtche, where is Leibtche?” “Here I am, Aunt dear,” said Leibtche, “here I am.”
The old woman nodded and said, “Yes, yes, Leibtche, here you are. Why haven’t you brought in a chair? He is Aaron’s friend, isn’t he? Sit, my dear, sit. What do you think, is there any hope the child will live? Even when he was a little boy I told Aaron, ‘Stay away from them, my son, I don’t like their Knibenkopf.’ What they tell, that he tried to assassinate the king, that is just a story. May God protect us from the mouth of Jacob and the hands of Esau. But what I see with my eyes is not a story. He wears a black cape. What is this dream I had? Leave me alone and I can remember.”
Leibtche was deeply moved and said, “It was a good dream you had. A good dream you had.” “You’re a good man,” said Genendel, “but the dream was a bad dream.” “Good will come of it,” said Leibtche, deeply moved, “good will come of it, Aunt.” “Be silent!” cried the old woman. Then she lowered her head onto her breast and dozed off. “I’m afraid she may have heard what I told you,” whispered Leibtche.
Chapter four and sixty. Calculations
Just as the winter here is full of snow and storms, so is the summer full of rain and wind. The sun came out in full strength and the day was glad, but suddenly the face of the sun went yellow, and the wind blew, raising the dust up to the sky. When the winds were still the heavens grew thick with clouds, the rain began to fall, and the ground was blotted out and turned into mud. Because of the rains and the winds, the clay and the mud, I shut myself up in the hotel or in the Beit Midrash.
Mrs. Zommer returned to her home and her stove, and went back to cooking tasty dishes as before: first, because such was her habit, and second, because Rachel had come to live with her.
Rachel came to live with her mother, and her mother cooked tasty dishes for her. But I did not enjoy that woman’s meals, because she made them with meat for Rachel’s sake. And even when they remembered to make a vegetarian meal for me, I ate without enjoyment, because of the odor of fat and meat that pervaded the house, and I used to fill up the gap with fruit.