“Who is this shlimazel?” my brother Elyahu asks us. We tell him who it is. My brother Elyahu looks him up and down and asks him why he doesn’t give us a sholem aleichem. “Have you become so important in America that it’s beneath you to speak a word of Yiddish?”
Motl, or Max, doesn’t answer him. But suddenly we hear a shout from near the theater door: “Idiot!”
We all turn our faces toward the door but don’t see anyone. We look at each other, surprised. My brother Elyahu moves toward the door, followed by Pinni — no one is there. They look up at the ceiling and search all the corners — not a soul. Who can it be?
Motl, now Max, takes me and Mike by the hands, and we all climb upstairs. There he tells us the secret that it was he, Max, who through ventriloquism yelled out “Idiot!” And he repeats it as we take our seats. We burst out laughing so hard, we can hardly sit still as we enjoy Charlie Chaplin’s pranks.
E.
Never in your life have you met such a character as Big Motl, or Max. You’d think there was no greater magician than Charlie Chaplin, but Max imitates him in every detail. Leaving the theater, Max pastes on a black mustache just like Charlie Chaplin’s. He pushes his hat back like Charlie Chaplin. He turns his feet out like Charlie Chaplin and imitates his walk exactly, wagging his behind and twirling his cane. My friend Mendl, or Mike, grabs him and hugs him. Everyone standing outside the theater points at him. “There goes the second Charlie Chaplin!” Even a serious person like my brother Elyahu is laughing.
But he doesn’t laugh long. In a moment his laughter is spoiled. Why? He suddenly hears a voice as if from under the ground, from the cellar: “I-di-ot!”
F.
Everybody bends down, looking into the cellar we’ve just passed. We all listen intently, as does Max, as if he has no idea what’s happening. Then we suddenly hear a voice, now above us, as if from the roof: “I-di-ot!!”
First my brother Elyahu and then all of us crane our necks toward the roof, as does Max, which is very funny. Mike and I know where the voices are coming from. We can’t restrain ourselves and burst out laughing.
G.
That really upsets my brother Elyahu. Had we not been in New York on the street, we’d certainly have received a few good slaps on both cheeks. My ears would have known about it. But since we’re on the street in the middle of New York, my brother Elyahu has to be satisfied with soundly cursing us out.
Then he tries to teach us a lesson. He points to Max. “Learn from him,” he says, rubbing it in. “Learn from your friend, a boy like you. Why isn’t he laughing like you are?”
“I-di-ot!” we hear again from behind my brother Elyahu’s back. My brother Elyahu spins around, and so does our friend Pinni. We all spin around, including Max. Mike and I almost fall down laughing.
H.
“In America the stones speak,” says Pinni. He’d love to know who’s calling out “Idiot.”
My brother Elyahu says to him, “Whoever asks is an—”
Isn’t he surprised when suddenly a muffled voice is heard from under the ground: “You are mistaken, Reb Elyahu, because you yourself are the i-di-ot!”
I.
My brother Elyahu no longer goes to the movies and doesn’t even want to hear about Charlie Chaplin.
XVII
WE EXPAND THE BUSINESS
A.
In America people hate to stay in one place. In America they must go forward, grow bigger every day. The business we do at our stand is not enough to support a family of seven people, kayn eyn horeh. We began looking for a bigger business, not a stand but a real store. In America you don’t have to look long.
As I told you, all you have to do is look in the newspapers, where you’ll find whatever your heart desires. The problem is that a proper business is expensive. Even the name costs money. Sometimes you have to pay more for the name than for the merchandise. Our own stand barely brings in ten dollars a week, but we’re able to sell it for good money — only because of the name. A greenhorn buys it from us. He doesn’t even asks how much we’re making. It’s enough for him to see seven people working the stand and making a living. That’s probably proof enough for him to think it’s a good business.
B.
We sell the stand, together with the wares, the baskets, the equipment, and even the showcase. But the secret of how we manufacture soda water, all kinds of syrup, and especially the drink they call cider — that my brother Elyahu will not give out for any amount of money. (He says that everyone manufactures these things.) How does he manufacture wine for Passover? My brother Elyahu’s Passover wine already has a reputation in America. Never mind that it’s his first year manufacturing it. All our friends who pray with us on Shabbes in our Kasrilevka shul won’t buy wine anywhere else but from us. Our friend Pinni spreads the good word all over New York that my brother Elyahu manufactures wine that the president himself could drink. When it comes to promoting things, our Pinni is a demon. Here they call it advertising. Pinni says America stands on advertising. Salesmen praise their own wares. Workers advertise their own skills. My drink may taste as sour as vinegar, but I can still advertise that it’s sweeter than sugar. My work may not be worth a penny, but I can value it as worth a million. This is America, a free country.
C.
Having spread the good word about my brother Elyahu’s Passover wine all over downtown, our friend Pinni calls him aside and says to him, “Listen here, Elyahu. I advertise your Passover wine better than anyone else could. Make sure you don’t shame me. You’re fully capable of manufacturing a wine that tastes as delicious as your kvass in the Old Country. Remember, this is America, and here they drink wine, not kvass.”
My brother Elyahu cannot respond because he feels so insulted. It is Bruche who responds for him. My sister-in-law launches into a tirade at our friend Pinni: “If a stranger would hear those words, he would surely think that in America there are only rich people and aristocrats who drink nothing but wine and bathe in honey and shmaltz. I have seen with my own eyes how an allrightnichkeh from Grand Street ordered a barrel of apple cider and a hundred sour apples. May I be blessed if those apples aren’t better and tastier than the local oranges and grapefruits, which are impossible to cut and figure out how to eat.”
I’m not telling you everything Bruche said. Once Bruche starts talking, she won’t stop quickly. Pinni knows this as well as I. He pushes his cap back on his head and takes off. That’s the best thing to do. I do the same.
D.
CANDY — CIGAR — STATIONERY STORE WITH FIVE ROOMS. BIG BARGAIN. GOOD BUSINESS. BEST NEIGHBORHOOD. REASON FOR SELLING: I AM SINGLE. FAST SALE NECESSARY.
We find this ad in the newspaper, and we all feel it’s a business made to order for us. We men set out first to look it over, and we like it. Then the women go, and they don’t like it. Each of them finds a different fault. My mother says it’s too far from the shul. There is shul down the street, but it’s not our Kasrilevka shul. My brother Elyahu asks her if it’s the same God in the new shul as in her old shul. My mother says it’s the same God but different Jews, not Kasrilevka Jews with whom it’s easier to pray. Furthermore she can’t imagine praying with someone other than her cantor, Hersh-Ber.