“Now let us talk about something else. I see you are looking at the window. I put some straw from the roof there, to stop the wind coming in through the holes and cracks. And as for the paper rosettes I put there, you may think I meant them for the sake of the wind, but I meant them only for beauty, for it is the way of rosettes to beautify the window. But now the winter has passed and spring-time has come, so why do I not take the straw away? You should know that in our days, times have changed, and we cannot rely on the spring. Today it shows you a loving face and tomorrow it does not know you. So a person should think about his doings, and if the hour calls for it he must behave like a politician, although I do not like politics. And now I ask you not to be annoyed with me if I did not show my joy at your coming, and did not even place a chair for you, for I was so happy to see you that I forgot to tell you that I am happy. Now let me take a chair and put it before you, and you, my chick, will sit down, and we’ll talk a little.”
Freide took a chair, but before she set it in front of me she sat on it herself and rubbed it with her dress. Then she stood before me, bent, as was her way, and looked at me with pleasure, every one of her wrinkles shining.
“Now,” said Freide, “I will bring you one little cake I made from the potatoes you sent me. The cake is baked on all its sides, as the child used to like it.”
Freide brought fine little brown cakes arranged in a tin; their smell was good. This smell is not an object, not a body, and there is no substance in it at all; but when it reaches you, you are changed at once. Since the day he was exiled from his father’s house, this man had not seen cakes like these; at the moment he smelled them he felt as if his youth had come back, as if he were with his mother.
I took a cake and said to Freide, “Surely they are not made with fat?” “Do you think,” replied Freide, “that I deceive the world and make cakes without fat? You yourself sent me a pot of fat.” Said I, “I don’t eat meat.” “Woe is me, my chick,” said Freide. “If you don’t eat meat, what do you eat? You’re a young man, aren’t you, and your bones need strengthening. You know, my dove, that anyone who doesn’t eat meat, his bones rot; and you say, ‘I don’t eat meat.’ On the contrary, a man must eat meat until his lips grow tired of saying enough. I remember when I used to serve your mother, may she rest in peace, and her uncle came, her father’s brother, your grandfather’s brother, may he rest in peace, and your grandmother, may she rest in peace, made them milk dishes for supper, and he, may he rest in peace, said, ‘Milk doesn’t make much sense now; if a man does not eat meat at night, how can he sleep?’ And he, may he rest in peace, was a pious Jew, and did not let a superfluous word pass his lips. And if he, may he rest in peace, said so, no doubt it is so. And indeed it is so, for since the day the war came, and we cannot find a mouthful of meat for a meal, people have stopped sleeping. It is true I told you a different reason at first, but sometimes I don’t sleep for one reason and sometimes for another reason, and sometimes for both reasons together. Since you don’t eat anything, I wonder what I can do to gladden your heart. Perhaps you would like to see the picture of my husband, may he rest in peace. You remember Ephraim Yossel when he was an old man, but in the picture he is young, for when they took his picture he was a young man and served in the army, so he is dressed in soldier’s clothes. Look at him, my chick, doesn’t he look like the Emperor?”
I looked at the picture of Ephraim Yossel. This was the Ephraim Yossel whom the jesters of the town used to call Franz Josef, although they did not resemble each other. The Emperor’s face was weak, like that of a man who had experienced much suffering, while Ephraim Yossel’s face was like that of a man who has the whole world in his hands, for at the time he had no wife and had no cares for a livelihood. Next to him, on both sides, hung the pictures of his four sons who were killed in the war, all of them holding swords and dressed in uniform. But where was Elimelech’s picture? His mother hid it behind the mirror and did not hang it up, because you do not hang up the picture of a living person and because Elimelech could not bear to see himself dressed in soldier’s clothes. And why was his head wrapped in a scarf and a bunch of flowers in his hand? Because he was photographed when he was lying sick in the army hospital, and this bunch of flowers was given him by a certain lady who came to visit the casualties. “This lady had a good heart,” Freide said, “and although they told her that this soldier was a Jew she did not take the flowers back; on the contrary, she also gave him a dozen cigarettes and said to him that the smoke of cigarettes is sweeter than the smoke of cannons. And when she left she gave him her hand when she said goodbye, as she did to all the other soldiers, who were Gentiles. But that obstinate fellow did not kiss her hand, and I scolded him for it. And what do you think he answered me? ‘I am not a slave or a maidservant that I should kiss the hands of the masters.’ As if Ephraim Yossel his father — may he be our spokesman in heaven — was a slave; and didn’t he kiss the hands of the lords and ladies? — and they used to like him — sometimes they would pat him on the shoulder affectionately. And what happened at the time of the elections the whole world knows, for a great minister, a member of parliament, kissed him on the forehead in the marketplace, and said to him, ‘You, tailor, you will vote for me in the elections, won’t you?’ And, what is most extraordinary, Elimelech is not a socialist, heaven forbid. If you don’t mind, my chick, I will tell you something. When you went to the Land of Israel, or to Jerusalem — for all the troubles that have passed over me I don’t remember where you went — in short, after you went there, I visited the child to console her. She said to me, ‘Here you are, Freide, a pair of shoes my son left behind, for he did not find room for them in his baggage; give them to Elimelech, your son.’ I took the shoes and ran home full of joy, because his shoes were torn. But he threw them in my face, and said, ‘Give them back to your lady.’ Of course you will understand, my chick, that I paid no attention to him and gave the shoes to his younger brother, who was also barefoot.