Her husband spoke up. “I used to know his grandfather, may he rest in peace,” said he. “He held me at my circumcision.” His wife interrupted him. “So now you’ve finished singing the praises of his grandfather?” cried she. “And is that all his grandfather did for you? Didn’t he give you a present at your wedding, a spicebox of pure silver? Before the Russians marched in and took it away, it used to stand in our house.” “Now you’ve already told about it and didn’t let me tell,” replied her husband. “My husband’s a modest man,” said the shopkeeper’s wife, “and he leaves others to praise him, but I say if you don’t praise yourself, others certainly won’t praise you.” Said the shopkeeper, “His grandfather, may he rest in peace, used to send a wedding present to everyone he had held on his knees at circumcision.” “To everyone?” said his wife, clenching her hands together. “Anyway, the present he gave you was better than anyone else’s, for he gave you a box of pure silver. Just wait, your honor, and my husband will bring you your roll of cloth to the tailor.” “There is no need,” I said. “If you don’t want to trouble my husband,” said the shopkeeper’s wife, “here is Ignatz; he will bring it.” “I want to accustom myself to carry my own cloth,” I replied. “What d’you mean, you want to accustom yourself?” said the woman. “Will you really carry a parcel in the marketplace?” “That was what I intended when I bought cloth to make a coat,” I replied. “And what difference does it make to me if I carry my coat afterwards, or if I carry it now?”
Chapter twelve. On the Way and at the Hotel
When I left the shop, it was still day. Although the time had come for the sun to disappear, there was no sign of evening.
The sun stood stuck to the sky, like an inseparable part of it, and a kind of warmth tempered the air. This air, as well as the light of the sun, changed the faces of the passers-by, and they became more pleasant to each other. People I did not know nodded their heads and greeted me. Along came Ignatz and followed me, wanting to carry my parcel. Shopkeepers looked at me and the parcel in my hand. The shops were many and the customers were few, and anyone who bought something in one shop aroused the resentment of the other shopkeepers. On the way I came across that young man of whom the shopkeeper’s wife had spoken. I had seen him many times before, and I was fond of him. I must say he was not dark, but sunburnt, and his forelock was not double; that woman had been chattering nonsense, for what is the meaning of a double forelock? This forelock I’m speaking of gave him a manly look. I do not like men who have nothing on their head but their forelock like the peacock who covers his ugly feet with his beautiful feathers. But it was not so with that young man, Yeruham Freeman; he had something else besides his forelock. You could see that painful things had happened to him and he had pushed them away from his heart, just as he pushes his forelock away from his forehead. His face was lean, like the rest of the people of Szibucz nowadays, and he had a small dimple in his right cheek. People usually call a mark like that a charm spot, and in fact it added charm to his face and contradicted all the indignation in his eyes.
Yeruham was sitting by the roadside near the King’s Well, cutting a drain to prevent the water’s flooding the road. You find young fellows like him in the Land of Israel in every town and village, and you pay no heed to them. Here in Szibucz he was something new. There sits a Jewish lad outdoors in Szibucz mending the road, and he imagines he is mending the whole world. Between ourselves, this work he is doing is superfluous. You who do not know Szibucz may say: What do you mean by superfluous? After all, the road is in bad repair, so it ought to be mended. But I, who do know Szibucz, say: What is the good of mending one place, when all the other roads are in bad repair, and it seems to me that they can never be mended? But I mention all this only in connection with Yeruham’s work. Of Yeruham himself, all that can be said is that he is digging up the dirt and sitting in the mud. When he saw me, he gave me an unfriendly look, and went back to his work as if I were not there. I took no offense, but greeted him, and even put out my hand. He paid no attention and did not return my greeting, or, if he did, he returned it under his breath.
I looked back at Ignatz and saw him talking to Yeruham. I did not like that: first, because he had suddenly left me alone, and second, because my arms were getting tired. I shifted my parcel to my left hand and said to myself: Ignatz has left me only for my own benefit, to tell that young fellow that I am the best of men, that I always give and give generously. I wonder if the lad is not sorry he behaved discourteously to me. I felt sorry for him and decided to give him an opportunity to make it up with me.
In the meantime the day was passing. The sun, which had stood stuck in the sky, as if inseparable from it, had disappeared. Yeruham rose, shook the dirt from his clothes, took up his tools, and went off. So I went to the tailor, left the cloth with him, and returned to my hotel.
In those days the hotel was empty of guests. Apart from myself, there was only an old man who had to make a declaration on oath in court. When he was hungry he would take out a crust from his basket and eat. When they brought him a glass of tea, he would drink hesitantly, for a glass of tea costs a penny, and he did not have a spare penny in his pocket. Before the war he had fields and orchards in the countryside, and a large house in town; he was one of the owners of the Szibucz bank, with a handsome, intelligent wife and successful sons. Then the war came, took away his sons, sent his wife out of her mind, and destroyed his house; others took over his property, and of all his wealth nothing was left but debts. The Lord impoverishes and makes rich, enriches and makes poor.