She was feeling bitterly the sad position in which she now found herself at the time when the reader made her acquaintance. She was lonely as well as tied down. She had not a single friend to whom she might unburden herself; and, her own parents were far off. Nor could she explain her position to them. They were full sure that she was happy as the day was long. Their letters to her contained nothing but rejoicings at her good fortune. They expressed their heartiest congratulations in detail to her, and sang loud hymns of thanksgiving for the good fortune that the Lord had sent her; and, expressed the deepest feelings of their hearts, which were that she might continue to enjoy her fortune for ever and ever. They often finished up their letters with the words:
“In joy, and with much gratitude on your account, and with happy hearts. Amen! Selah!”
Deep down in her heart, Rochalle carried a grudge against Moshe-Mendel because he kept her at a distance from him. It was as if he wished to show her that he was infinitely superior to her, and, that she was not on any account to imagine herself as his equal. It was not an unusual thing for a young man of his type to hold himself superior to his wife. In fact, all who were like him considered it beneath their dignity to depend on their wives for anything, and certainly never dreamt of consulting them at any time.
But, in his secret heart, and after his own peculiar fashion, Moshe-Mendel was very fond of Rochalle. He was very faithful to her even in thought, and never entertained the least feeling towards her that was not kind as well as honest in every sense of the word.
One day, not long after they were married, Rochalle was unwell and stayed in bed. And, Moshe-Mendel was filled with concern for her. He never left her side of a second. His heart ached to see how pale and ill she looked. Her sighed and thought to himself that he would gladly give up his last drop of blood if by doing so he could save her a single pang of pain.
“It is heartrending,” he said to his mother, the tears glittering in his eyes. “We ought to call n the apothecary, or the Feldsher! I cannot bear to see her lying there and burning. It is heartrending!”
She was much better the next morning, but, she did not lave her bed. And, Moshe-Mendel refused to leave her for a moment. He felt that he had now a good opportunity to have a long and pleasant chat with his beautiful wide. He had wished for such an opportunity. But, he had always been disturbed by either his father or mother. He felt that Rochalle, too, wished to talk to him quite as much as he wished to talk with her. He drew his chair closer to the bed, so close that her beautiful head was almost in his arms. She turned her blue eyes on him, and waited for him to speak. But, he did not know what to say, and his eyes sought the floor. It was only when she made a movement, as if she wished to turn towards the window, that he looked up. At that moment she looked up at him, and his eyes sought the window. In this way, fencing with glances, so to speak, some little time passed by.
During the whole of the time they had been married, they had no opportunity of talking together by themselves. And, now that the opportunity had arisen, they felt constrained and ill at ease. They did not know what to say to one another, nor how to say it, supposing that they did know.
Rochalle, being a woman, had to leave the initiative in the hands of Moshe-Mendel; whilst he, as a refined and well-bred young man, waited to hear what she might wish to say to him. Meanwhile they were both silent, and only exchanged glances.
“What is it, Moshe-Mendel?”
“What is what?”
“Why do you look at me so?”
“Who looked at you?”
“You looked at me.”
“I looked?”
“Who else looked?”
Rochalle turned away from him; and he, taking the ends of his little beard in his hand, and biting them between his teeth for want of some other way of showing his agitation, sat quite still and looked at her for a long, long time. And, as he looked, he sighed, until, attracted by his sighs, Rochalle turned round suddenly, and caught his eyes fixed on her face.
“What is it, Moshe-Mendel?”
“What is what?”
“Why are you sighing?”
“Who is sighing?”
“I am sighing?”
“Who else is sighing?”
And, they both lapsed into silence, once again. Moshe-Mendel drew still closer to Rochalle. He coughed, and was about to say something.
“Listen, Rochalle… I mean in connection with what you said…”
The door opened suddenly and Dvossa-Malka rushed in, her eyes gleaming with excitement, and her speech rapid and almost incoherent.
“What do you think? I never knew that the turkeys would go to pieces in the dish. But, I want a plate. In the middle of everything I must go and get him some turkey. And, how do you feel now, Rochalle? I am afraid you caught a heavy cold already. I told you not to stay out in the air without a shawl. I sent again to the apothecary. Isaac-Naphtali has gone himself.”
“Let me be, mother. It will pass away. I have never been like this before. And, besides, everybody has a cold now. It is going.”
“Everything is always all right with you. Go, child, you are talking nonsense. Colds are not going now. Nobody else is laid up. But, I had better sit down a little while.” So saying, Dvossa-Malka drew a stool over to the bed and sat down.
“Do you know what, mother?” Moshe-Mendel ventured to remark. “Do you know what? You go to the shop, and I will stay here with Rochalle.”
His eyes met Rochalle’s eyes, and he was glad. They seemed to say to him:
“You are perfectly right, Moshe-Mendel.”
“I don’t know what you are saying. What is there for you to do in the shop? There is nothing in it to look after. I wish my enemies to have no more than there is in the shop this day. But, Moshe-Mendel, you must go to your room, and lie down for a while on your father’s bed. You have not slept the whole night.”
And, in this way did the happy but fettered Rochalle and Moshe-Mendel spend their lives. They wanted for nothing but the moment’s liberty that they never could manage to get for themselves. They never got an opportunity to understand one another because of the constant care and kindness of the two old people. But, neither of them ever said a word about it. Neither did they explain their feelings in the matter to one another. Moshe-Mendel did not feel the situation so keenly. He spent his time in reading now and again, and in going to and from his father’s shop. He had frequent intercourse with his comrades, and spent many an amusing hour with them. In a word, he managed to keep himself alive somehow.
But, Rochalle did not live at all. She ate, and drank, and tasted her mother-in-law’s preserves a dozen times a day. She never dipped her finger in cold water, and never came in contact with a single soul. It was not seemly that the daughter-in-law of Isaac-Naphtali should hobnob with everybody and anybody. Whilst, on the other hand, anybody who was a somebody would have nothing at all to do with Isaac-Naphtali’s daughter-in-law, because the “somebody” would be sure to hold him, or her, self far above Isaac-Naphtali, both in station as in wealth, just as Isaac-Naphtali himself considered himself far above the other householders of Tasapevka.
And, so it came about that Rochalle’s days and months dragged on, as if she were a prisoner. It was again eat, and again sleep, again the cup of coffee, and again Dvoska-Malka with her preserves, from week end to weekend.