So there I was, tearing after the wagon and chanting at the top of my lungs as if I were, pardon the comparison, a cantor chanting in shul, “Thou sustaineth the living with loving kindness and keepest thy faith with them that lie in the dust and are brought low.” We have our own way of saying it: “Even those who lie in the earth and bake bagels.” Oy, I think to myself, do we lie in the dust! Oy, are we brought low! I’m not talking about those rich people from Yehupetz, you understand, who while away the whole summer in Boiberik in their dachas, eating and drinking and swimming and enjoying the good life. Oy, God in heaven, why do I deserve this? Am I not a Jew the same as any other Jew? For heaven’s sake, dear God, see our affliction. Look down, I said, and see how we are struggling. Stand by the unfortunate, the poor. Who else will look after them if not You? Heal us, and we shall be healed. Send us the cure — the affliction we already have. Bless us with a good year. May crops flourish — the corn, the wheat, and the barley. As I think of it, what good will all that flourishing do a shlimazel like me? Does my horse care whether oats are expensive or cheap?
But feh, God doesn’t ask for advice, and a Jew in particular has to accept everything on faith and say, “That too is for the best. God probably wants it that way. And for the slanderers,” I sang on, “and for the slanderers and the high and mighty who say there is no God, just wait till they arrive over there. They will pay for their scoffing with interest because He hath a long memory, He keeps His word. You don’t trifle with Him, with Him you walk humbly, you pray to Him, cry out to Him, “‘Oh merciful Father! Compassionate Father! Hear our cries. Have pity on us. Have pity on my wife and children. They are, alas, hungry! Accept Your beloved people Israel, as in olden days of the Holy Temple, as Thou didst with the Priests and the Levites.’ ”
Suddenly — halt! The horse stopped in its tracks. I polished off the Eighteen Benedictions, lifted my eyes, and saw coming straight toward me out of the woods two strange-looking figures, their faces covered, and dressed oddly. . Robbers! flew through my mind, but I quickly caught myself: Feh, Tevye, you’re an idiot! Really, how many years had I been driving through these woods by day and by night? Why would I suddenly start worrying about thieves? “Giddyap!” I said to the horse, giving him a few extra smart blows on his rump, making as if I didn’t see them.
“Wait! Listen, I see you’re a Jew,” one of the two exclaimed in a woman’s voice, and waved to me with a corner of her shawl. “Stop for a minute! Don’t run off. We won’t harm you, God forbid!”
Aha! An evil spirit! I figured, but then reconsidered. Stupid, ignorant ass! Why did ghosts and demons suddenly fall onto my head out of nowhere? And I pulled up the horse and took a careful look at the two figures. They were ordinary women, the older one wearing a silk kerchief on her head, the younger one wearing a wig. Both were flushed red as beets and perspiring heavily.
“Good evening!” I tried to sound cheerful. “What can I do for you? If you want to buy something, you’re out of luck, unless you’re looking for bellyaches fit only for my enemies, heartaches enough for a full week, headaches, wracking pains, killing anguish, rehashed troubles—”
“Hush, hush!” they replied. “Just listen to how he goes on! Say one word to some Jews, and you’re not sure of your life! We don’t want to buy anything. We just wanted to ask if you know the way to Boiberik.”
“To Boiberik?” I almost burst out laughing. “That,” I said, “is like asking me if I know my name is Tevye.”
“Is that your name, Tevye?” one said. “A good evening to you, Reb Tevye! We don’t see what there is to laugh about. We’re strangers from Yehupetz staying at a dacha in Boiberik. We started out early this morning for a little stroll, and we’ve been going slowly around in circles in these woods all day, getting more and more lost. We can’t seem to get back on the right path. And then we heard this singing in the woods. At first we thought, What if it’s, God forbid, a highwayman? But then when we came closer and saw you were a Jew, thank God, we felt relieved. Now do you understand?”
“Ha ha ha, a fine highwayman!” I laughed. “Have you heard the story about the Jewish highwayman who fell upon a wayfarer and demanded a pinch of snuff? If you’d like, I can tell you the whole story—”
“The story,” they said, “you can leave for another time. Better just show us the road to Boiberik.”
“To Boiberik?” I said. “Look, you’re already on the road to Boiberik! Even if you don’t want it, this road will take you straight to Boiberik.”
“Why didn’t you say so?”
“Why should I shout it?”
“If that’s the case,” they said, “you must know how far we are from Boiberik.”
“To Boiberik,” I said, “it isn’t too far, a few versts, that is, five or six. Maybe seven versts, or maybe even all of eight.”
“Eight versts?!” both women cried out at the same time, wringing their hands and verging on tears. “Do you know what you’re saying? ‘Eight versts,’ he says, as if it were nothing!”
“Nu, what can I do about it?” said I. “If it were up to me, I’d make it a little shorter. A person has to find things out for himself. It can happen on the road that you drag yourself up a hill through the mud and it’s almost Shabbes. The rain is beating in your face, your hands are numb, your heart is pounding, and then — crash! An axle breaks—”
“You’re rattling on like a madman,” they said to me. “You can’t be in your right mind! All these nonsensical old wives’ tales from A Thousand and One Nights! We hardly have the strength to stand on our feet. Except for a glass of coffee and a butter roll, we haven’t had a morsel of food in our mouths all day, and here you come along with crazy tales!”
“If that’s the way it is,” said I, “that’s a different story. How do they say—you don’t go dancing before you eat. The taste of hunger I understand very well, you don’t need to tell me. I haven’t tasted or even laid my eyes on coffee or a butter roll for a year.” And as I was speaking, I envisioned a glass of hot coffee with cream and a fresh butter roll along with other delicious foods. Shlimazel, I was scolding myself, is that how I was raised, on coffee and butter rolls? A piece of bread and herring isn’t good enough for me? And he, the Tempter, may he be banished from our thoughts, insisted on coffee, insisted on a butter roll! I smelled the aroma of coffee, tasted the flavor of butter rolls — fresh, delicious, soul-satisfying.
“Do you know what, Reb Tevye?” both women said to me. “Since we’re both standing here, would it be such a bad idea if we got up on your wagon and you kindly took us home to Boiberik? How does that idea strike you?”
“That’s a fine how-do-you-do! I’m coming from Boiberik, and you want to go to Boiberik! How can I go both ways at once?”
“What’s the problem?” they said. “A clever Jew could figure it out. He’d turn the wagon around and go the other way. Don’t worry, Reb Tevye,” they added. “Rest assured that, if God is willing and sees us home safely, we’ll make it worth your while. May we suffer as much as you’ll suffer for it!”
What were they trying to tell me? I wondered. Something out of the ordinary was going on here! There leaped into my mind ghosts, witches, demons, and who knows what else. Oh, what a blockhead I am, I thought, standing there like a bump on a log. I should show the horse the whip and make tracks for home!