“How come, Golde, my sweetheart,” I said, “you know about all these fancy things?”
“Why shouldn’t I?” she said. “Haven’t I been out in the world? And haven’t I seen in Kasrilevka how the fine people dress? Leave it to me,” she said, “and I’ll do the talking with him. Lazer-Wolf, you can be sure, is a wealthy man and will not like others to talk about him. If you must eat pig, at least let the fat run down your beard.”
That’s how we spent the rest of the night, talking almost till dawn. “It’s time to pack up the bit of cheese and butter, my wife,” I said to her, “and let me start out for Boiberik. True, everything is wonderful and good all around, but the business,” I said, “cannot be laid aside. As it is written in the Psalms: The heavens are the Lord’s—but life down here must go on.”
And while it was still dark, I hitched up my horse and wagon and was off to Boiberik. I arrived at the market and — aha! Can you keep a secret from Jews? The word was out. I was getting mazel tovs from all sides: “Mazel tov to you, Reb Tevye. When is the wedding?”
“May you all have luck as well,” I said. “It’s as they say: ‘Even before you can enjoy your own good luck, the whole world wants to join in.’ ”
“Nonsense,” they said. “You can’t get away with it, Reb Tevye. You must buy us all a drink. After all, what a lucky break — you’ve stumbled on a gold mine.”
“The gold runs out,” I said, “and leaves a deep hole behind. But still,” I said, “you can’t be selfish and exclude your friends. As soon as I finish my Yehupetz deliveries, we will have a glass of whiskey and a bite to eat, live it up, and to hell with it. Rejoice and be glad.” Celebrate, you beggars! I said to myself.
And so, as quickly as always, I finished my rounds, and together, as it is supposed to be, my good friends and I had a few drinks, wished one another well, and I rode home in my wagon, lively and happy, if a bit tipsy. As I rode along in the woods on a lovely summer day, the aroma of the pines quickened the soul, and the sun beat down; the trees on either side of the road softened it with their shadows. I leaned back like a count and eased up on the reins. “Go on by yourself, my boy,” I said to my horse. “You know the way by now.” I sang a little tune. My heart was full. I was in a holiday mood. But for some reason I was singing bits from the High Holidays service.
I looked up toward the heavens, but my thoughts were a confused tangle here on earth. The heavens are the Lord’s, but the Earth He hath given to the children of Adam—so they would fight like cats for the honor of being called up to recite the opening and closing prayers for the Torah reading, and for the honor of mourning at the grave. The dead cannot praise God—they can’t appreciate that you must praise Him for the favors He does for you, while we, the living, the poor and destitute, when we have one good day, we thank and praise Him. I love my God because when He hears my voice and my entreaties He bends His ear to me, even as the sorrows of death doth encompass me. I am besieged on all sides with suffering, with sorrows, with afflictions. Here a cow suddenly drops dead in midday, here I am suddenly visited by a shlimazel of a relative, this Menachem-Mendl from Yehupetz, who cheats me out of my last bit of life, and I am thinking the world has come to an end. All men deceiveth—there is no honesty on earth.
But what does God do? He puts a thought into Lazer-Wolf’s head that he should take my daughter Tzeitl without a dowry. For that I say again and again, I praise Thee for Thou hast answered me—I thank you, dear God, for looking down on Tevye and coming to his aid so that he might have a bit of gratification from his child. May I visit her, if I live to see it, and find her a well-to-do mistress of her home with everything she needs, chests full of linens, cupboards full of Passover shmaltz and preserves, coops full of chickens, ducks, and geese.
Suddenly my horse went tearing down the hill, and before I could see where I was, I was lying on the ground with all the empty pots and jugs and the wagon on top of me! With a great effort I crawled out and stood up, battered and bruised, and let out my bitter heart on the horse: “May you sink into the earth! Who asked you, shlimazel, to show off and go galloping downhill? You almost killed me, you Satan!” I gave it to him for all he was worth. My boy seemed to understand what he had done and bowed his head in shame. Still cursing, I righted the wagon, gathered the pots and jugs, and we continued on our way. It was not a good sign, though, and I feared that something bad had happened at home.
And so it was. I drove on for a verst or two, when not far from home I saw in the middle of the road coming toward me a figure in the shape of a woman. I drove closer and saw it was — Tzeitl! I don’t know why, but I felt a pang in my heart when I saw her. I sprang down from the wagon. “Tzeitl, is that you? What are you doing here?”
And didn’t she fall on my neck sobbing! “God be with you,” I said, “my daughter, why are you crying?”
“Oy,” she said, “Papa, Papa!” and her face was drenched in tears. My heart sank, and I imagined the worst.
“What is it, daughter?” I said. “Tell me what has happened to you.” I embraced her, patted her, and kissed her.
“Papa, Papa, dear, beloved father,” she wailed. “Have pity on me, on my youth!” She dissolved in tears, unable to speak another word.
Woe is me, I was thinking. I was preparing myself for the worst! What evil spirit had taken me to Boiberik?
“Why do you cry?” I said to her, stroking her head. “Little silly, why do you cry? Never mind,” I said. “If you say no, it’s no. No one will force you, God forbid. We only meant it for the best, for your own good,” I said. “But if that’s not what your heart tells you, what can we do? Most likely,” I said, “it wasn’t meant to be.”
“Thank you, Papa,” she said, “long life to you.” And she fell on my neck and again kissed me and wept, the tears gushing.
“But enough crying,” I said. “All is vanity—even eating kreplach can be tiresome. Climb into the wagon, and let’s go home. Your mother will begin to think who knows what!”
Well, we seated ourselves in the wagon, and I began to calm her down with whatever came to mind. I told her we had meant no harm. God knew the truth, that we wanted only to spare our child from need. “Ay, it seems God does not want that,” I said. “It’s not meant to be, my daughter, that you marry without a dowry, that you have riches and all the comforts of life with a fine household, and that we have joy in our old age after all our hard work, day and night, harnessed to a wagon, without a happy moment, only suffering, poverty, squalor, only bad, bad luck in every way!”
“Oy, Papa,” she said, again weeping, “I’ll hire myself out to haul rocks, dig ditches!”
“Why are you still crying, silly girl?” I said. “Am I complaining? Am I blaming you? It’s just that whenever I feel miserable and wretched, I pour my heart out to the ruler of the universe about the way he deals with me. He is a merciful Father. He has pity on me, but He also turns against me, may I not be punished for these words. I try to reason with Him as with a father, but you might as well cry out to the heavens! But most likely,” I said, “that’s the way it has to be. He is high above, and we are here below, forever bound to the earth on which we lie, so we must say that He is right and that His judgment is just.