“Sha, where did that Jew go?” I heard someone say, “Did that shlimazel take off?”
“God forbid!” I called out from the shadows. “Do you think I’d leave just like that, without so much as a goodbye? Sholem aleichem! ” I said. “A good evening to you all. Blessed be those who dwell in this house. May you all enjoy your food and prosper!”
“Come on over here,” they said to me. “Why are you standing there in the dark? Let’s at least have a good look at you, see your face. How about a little brandy?”
“A little brandy? Ach,” I said, “who would turn down a little brandy? How does it say in the Talmud: Who giveth life giveth also the fruit of the vine. Rashi interprets it as: God may be God, but brandy is brandy. L’chayim!” I said, and knocked back a glassful. “May God grant that you always be rich and enjoy life. Jews,” I said, “should always remain Jews. God should grant them health and the strength so they can withstand all their troubles—”
“What’s your name?” the rich man, a fine-looking Jew wearing a yarmulke, interrupted me. “Where are you from? Where do you live? What is your livelihood? Are you married? Do you have any children, and how many?”
“Children? I can’t complain. If each child,” I said, “were worth, as my wife Golde tells me, a million, I’d be richer than the richest man in Yehupetz. The problem is that poor isn’t rich and crooked isn’t straight, as it is said in the havdalah service: He separateth the sacred from the profane—whoever has the cash has it good. Gold the Brodskys have. Daughters I have. And if you have daughters, it’s no laughing matter. But never mind, God is our father and He prevails. He sits on high, and we struggle down below. You plod, you haul logs, what choice do you have? As the Gemorah says: What place doth man have? The tragedy is that you have to eat. As my grandmother, of blessed memory, used to say: ‘If the mouth did not exist, the mind would be free.’ Pardon me, but there’s nothing straight about a crooked ladder and nothing crooked about a straightforward word, especially when drinking brandy on an empty stomach.”
“Give the man something to eat!” the wealthy man called out, and there suddenly appeared before me every kind of food — fish and meat and roasts, quarters of chicken and gizzards and chicken livers in vast amounts.
“Won’t you eat something?” they said to me. “Go wash up.”
“A sick person you ask, a healthy one you give. But never mind,” I said. “I thank you. A little brandy with pleasure, but to sit down here and enjoy a whole feast while at home my wife and children, may they be well. . you understand. .”
They apparently got my meaning because each of them began packing food into my wagon. This one brought a baked roll, that one a fish, this one a roast, that one a quarter of a chicken, this one tea and sugar, that one a crock of chicken shmaltz and a jar of preserves.
“This you will take home as gifts for your wife and children,” they said. “And now tell us what you want to be paid for the trouble you went through on our behalf.”
“You’re asking me,” I said, “to put a price on it? As much as you want to give, that’s what you should pay. How do they say, ‘One coin more or less won’t make me much poorer than I already am.’”
“No,” they said, “we want to hear what you want, Reb Tevye! Don’t be afraid. No one will chop your head off, heaven forbid.”
What was I to do? This was bad. If I said one ruble, I might get two, but that would be a shame. Then again, if I said two, they might look at me as if I were crazy — they’d wonder where I got off asking for two.
“Three rubles!” popped out of my mouth, and such great laughter broke out among them that I wanted to sink into the ground.
“Please don’t be offended,” I said. “That just slipped out. Even a horse with four legs stumbles, so what can you expect of a man with one tongue?” The laughter grew louder.
“Enough laughing!” the rich man called out. He drew from his bosom pocket a large purse and from it removed — How much do you think? Go on, guess! — a ten-ruble note, may you and I live so long! And he said, “This is from me. And now the rest of you, give from your pockets as much as you think is right.”
What more can I say? Flying onto the table came fives and threes and ones. My arms and legs were shaking, and I thought I was going to faint right then and there.
“Nu, why are you still standing there?” the rich man said to me. “Pick up your few rubles from the table and go home in good health to your wife and children.”
“May God reward you,” I said, “many times over. May you have ten times, a hundred times over what you possess now. May you have all that is good and enjoy great happiness!” I gathered up the money with both hands — Count it? Who had time to count? — and stuffed it into all my pockets. “Goodnight,” I said. “May you always be happy and healthy and enjoy much pleasure, you and your children and your children’s children and your whole family.” And I started toward the wagon.
Then the rich man’s wife called out to me, she of the silk kerchief: “Wait a moment, Reb Tevye! I want to give you a gift of my own. God willing, come back tomorrow. I have a milk cow. She was once a wonderful animal, used to give twenty-four glasses of milk a day, but lately, maybe we bragged too much, she stopped giving milk. I mean,” she said, “she lets herself be milked, but there’s no milk.”
“Long life to you,” I said. “May you never have any troubles. At my house your cow will let herself be milked and will give milk. My wife, God bless her, is so capable that out of thin air she makes noodles, with empty hands she concocts delicacies. With miracles she prepares the Shabbes, and with nothing but a box on the ear for supper she puts the children to bed. Forgive me,” I said, “if without thinking I ran on too long. Goodnight and God be with you and be well.” And I was on my way.
I came out into the courtyard, went over to my wagon, and put my hand out to stroke my horse. Oy vey! A calamity, a disaster, a catastrophe! No horse! Nu, Tevye, I thought, now you’re really in trouble! I’d read somewhere an awful tale about a gang that spirited away a pious Jew, a Chasid, one evening. They took him to a castle outside the city, gave him food and drink, and then suddenly vanished, leaving him alone with a beautiful woman. The woman soon turned into a wild beast, the wild beast became a cat, and the cat a dragon. I’d better be careful, I thought, and make sure they weren’t putting something over on me!
“Why are you grumbling and fumbling around out there?” they asked.
“An awful thing has happened!” I answered. “I’ve suffered a terrible loss — my horse. .”
“Your horse,” they said, “is in the stable. Over there.”
I went into the stable and looked around. Yes, as I am a Jew! My handsome fellow was standing there very cozily among the aristocratic horses, deeply absorbed in munching, burying his muzzle in the oats with great relish.
“Listen, smart aleck,” I said to him, “it’s time to go home. Don’t eat so much too quickly — it’ll make you sick.”