But against my will, as bad luck would have it, out of my mouth came: “Climb into the wagon!”
My new friends jumped right on — they didn’t wait to be asked twice. I turned the wagon around, cracked the whip — one two three, giddyap!
Nothing doing! We weren’t going anywhere. The horse wouldn’t budge from the spot, even if you cut him in half. Nu, now I understood what women could do. What had made me stop in the middle of nowhere to carry on a conversation with women? Just picture it — the woods on all sides, the stillness and gloom, night falling, and then these two creatures approaching, women. The imagination could really play tricks on a person. I recalled the story of a coachman who was once riding through the woods all alone when he saw a sack of oats lying on the road. He didn’t waste any time — he quickly got off the wagon, hoisted the heavy sack onto his back with great effort, loaded it onto his wagon, and continued on his way. He drove for about a verst, then turned around to look at the sack. It was gone — no more oats. Instead a goat with a little beard was lying in the wagon. He tried to touch her with his hand, but she stuck out her long tongue at him, let out a weird, wild laugh, and vanished.
“Why aren’t we moving?” the women said to me.
“Why aren’t we moving? Don’t you see?” I said. “The horse won’t cooperate. He’s not in the mood.”
“Show him your whip,” they suggested. “You have a whip.”
“I thank you for your advice,” I said. “It’s a good thing you reminded me. But my boy here isn’t frightened of a whip. He’s as used to it as I am to poverty.” I threw in a little saying to make light of it, but inside I was shaking with frustration.
Why should I bore you? I let out my bitter heart on the poor horse till finally God helped me. The horse decided to move and we were able to continue through the woods.
Oh what a numbskull I was, I thought. I always was a pauper, and I’d always remain a pauper. God had arranged this encounter, something that happens maybe once in a hundred years — and I didn’t settle on a price beforehand. What was I going to get out of it? I was acting according to fairness, decency, righteousness, and law, according to edict, and according to anything I could think of under the sun. But even so, what would have been the harm in earning a little something while I was at it? I should pull up the horse, idiot that I was, and tell them what was what. I should say, “If I am paid so much and so much, all right, and if not, I beg you, if you don’t mind, please get out of the wagon!” But then I saw that I was being an ass. It’s not a good idea to sell the bear’s hide till you’ve caught the bear! I’d wait till we got there.
“Why aren’t you going a little faster?” The women were poking me from behind.
“What’s the rush? Haste makes waste.” I glanced at them out of the corner of my eye. They were ordinary women, one wearing a silk head scarf, the other a wig.
They looked at each other, whispering together. “Is it still far to go?” they asked me.
“As close,” said I, “as from here to there. Soon we’ll be going down a hill and then up a hill. After that, again down a hill and again up a hill, and then comes the really big hill, and from there on the road is straight ahead to Boiberik.”
“What a shlimazel!” one of them exclaimed.
“It’ll take us forever!” said the other.
“It’s the last straw!”
“Strikes me he’s a bit crazy!”
She could say that again, I thought. I had to be crazy to let myself be led around by the nose!
“Where, pray tell, my dear ladies, would you like me to drop you?” I called out to them.
“What do you mean?” they said in alarm. “You’re going to drop us?”
“It’s an expression,” I said, “that coachmen use. Someone who’s not a coachman would say, ‘Where would you like me to deliver you when we come to Boiberik safe and sound, if God will grant enough life?’ How is it said: ‘Better to ask twice than to err once.’”
“Ah, so that’s what you mean. If you would be so kind,” they said, “take us to the green dacha near the lake on the other side of the woods. Do you know where that is?”
“Why shouldn’t I know?” I said. “I know Boiberik like I know my own town. May I have as many thousands as I have delivered logs to people there. Why, just a year ago last summer I delivered to that same green dacha two loads of wood. This rich man from Yehupetz was staying there, a millionaire worth at least a thousand rubles and maybe even tens of thousands.”
“He’s still there,” both women told me, glancing at each other, whispering together and giggling.
“Wait,” I said. “Do you have some kind of connection to him? What I’m doing for you is no small thing. Would it be such a bad idea to put in a good word on my behalf, to do me a little favor, throw some business my way, a position maybe, or whatever? I knew a young man, Yisroyel was his name, who lived not far from our town, who was a good-for-nothing. He came to our town. To make a long story short, today he’s a regular big shot, makes maybe twenty rubles a week, if not forty, who knows? Some people have all the luck! Or take for example our ritual slaughterer’s son-in-law. What would have become of him if he hadn’t gone to Yehupetz? True, the first few years he starved, almost died of hunger, may it not happen to anyone. But now he even sends money home. He’s planning to bring his wife and children over, but they can’t live there without a permit. So, you might ask, how is he surviving? He’s really struggling. Never mind, where there’s life, there’s hope.
“Here we are at the river,” I announced, “and there’s the large dacha.” I drove boldly right up to the front porch.
As soon as the people inside saw us coming, there was great excitement; they shouted, made a real commotion! “Oy, Bubbe!
Mama! Auntie! Here they are! Mazel tov! My God, where were you?. . We’ve been out of our minds all day!. . We sent out scouts looking for you in every direction!. . We thought — who can tell? — maybe wolves, robbers, heaven protect us! What happened?”
“What happened makes a good story. We got lost in the woods and wandered quite far away, maybe ten versts. Out of nowhere a Jew turned up. And what a Jew! A real shlimazel of a Jew, with a horse and wagon. We barely talked him into taking us home.”
“What a terrible nightmare. . You ventured out alone, without escorts? What a story! Be grateful to God!”
To make a long story short, they brought lamps out onto the porch and set the table. They carried out hot samovars with glasses of tea, sugar and preserves, delicious omelets, fresh, wonderful-smelling butter cakes, and afterward all kinds of food, the most expensive treats, rich, fatty soups, roasts, geese, along with the finest wines and tarts. I stood off to the side and marveled at the way, kayn eyn horeh, the rich folks from Yehupetz eat and drink, God bless them. I’d pawn everything I own, I was thinking, if only I could be rich. The crumbs that fell off their table would have fed my children for a week, at least till Saturday. God Almighty, compassionate, faithful one, is a great God and a good God, a God of mercy and justice. Why did He grant this one everything and the other nothing? This one got butter rolls, the other the ten plagues. But then I thought I was a great fool. I was giving Him advice on how to run the world? Most likely, if He wanted it that way, that was how it should be. The proof was that if it were meant to be otherwise, it would be otherwise. Ay! Well, why shouldn’t it be otherwise? The answer is this: Slaves we were once in Pharaoh’s day, and that’s why we are the Chosen People. A Jew must exist on hope and faith. He has to believe, above all, that there is a God, and he has to have faith in Him who lives forever and hope that someday, with His help, perhaps things will be better.