To make a long story short — why should I bore you? — he convinced me. Why should we fool ourselves? How do all Jewish children get married? In our walk of life, if we were to worry about how young people could make it, none of us would ever have married. But one thing still stuck in my craw that I could not understand, no matter what. They made a pledge to marry? What was our world coming to? A young man met a girl and said to her, “Let’s pledge to marry.” That was not done!
But Motl standing there, his head bowed like a sinner, looked so earnest, so guileless that I reconsidered. Let’s look at it another way. What was holding me back, and why was I lording it over him? Did I have such a great lineage myself — Reb Tzotzele’s grandson? Would I be giving my daughter a huge dowry and trousseau, for God’s sake? True, Motl Komzoil was a tailor, but he was a fine young man, a hard worker who would support a wife, and besides, he was an honest man too, so what did I have against him?
Tevye, I said to myself, stop your foolish arguing and say yes. As it is written: I have pardoned according to Thy word—may you have lots of luck! Yes, but what would I do about my wife? I would get it in the neck from her. How could I make her accept this decision?
“Do you know what, Motl?” I said to my soon-to-be son-in-law. “You go home, and I’ll take care of everything here. I’ll talk it over with this one, with that one, as it says in the Megillah: And the drinking was according to the custom—one must do everything properly. And God willing, tomorrow, if you don’t change your mind, we will meet.”
“Change my mind?” he cried. “I, change my mind? May I not live to leave this spot, may I turn into a stone or a bone if I do!”
“Why do you swear oaths?” I said to him. “I believe you without swearing. Go home,” I said, “and goodnight, and may you dream pleasant dreams.”
I too went to bed, but sleep wouldn’t come. My head was splitting thinking up one plan and then another, and then I came up with just the right one. What was the plan? Listen, and I’ll tell you what a brainstorm Tevye had!
It was the middle of the night, everyone was sound asleep, this one was snoring, that one was whistling. I suddenly sat up and screamed at the top of my lungs, “Help! Help! Help!” Naturally the entire household awoke, first of all Golde.
“God be with you, Tevye,” she said, and shook me. “Wake up! What’s the matter with you? Why are you screaming like that?”
I opened my eyes, looked all around, and said with a shaking voice: “Where is she?”
“Where is who? Who are you looking for?”
“Frume-Sarah,” I said. “Frume-Sarah, Lazer-Wolf’s wife, was standing right here.”
“You must have a fever,” my wife said to me. “God be with you, Tevye! Frume-Sarah, Lazer-Wolf’s wife, may she be far from us, is no longer in this world.”
“I know she died,” I said, “but she was just right here by my bed talking to me. She grabbed me by the throat and tried to strangle me!”
“God be with you, Tevye, what are you babbling about?” she said. “You must have had a bad dream. Spit three times and tell me what you dreamed and I’ll tell you what it meant.”
“Long life to you, Golde, for waking me up,” I said to her, “or else I would have died of fright right on the spot. Give me a drink of water and I’ll tell you my dream, but I warn you, Golde, don’t be scared, and don’t start thinking who knows what because in our holy books it says that only three parts of a dream can come true and the rest means nothing, absolutely nothing at all. First of all,” I said, “I dreamed we were having a celebration. I don’t know if it was an engagement party or a wedding. There were a lot of people, men and women, the rabbi and the slaughterer, even musicians. Then the door opened, and in came your Grandma Tzeitl, God rest her soul.”
When my wife heard “Grandma Tzeitl,” she turned pale as a ghost. “How did she look and what was she wearing?”
“How did she look?” I said. “May my enemies have such a face — as yellow as wax. And she was dressed, as you would expect, in white shrouds. ‘Mazel tov!’ Grandma Tzeitl said to me. ‘I am so happy that you’ve chosen for your Tzeitl, my namesake, such a fine, upstanding bridegroom. He is named Motl Komzoil, after my father, Mordecai, and even though he’s a tailor, still he’s a very honest boy.’ ”
“How did we get mixed up with a tailor?” cried Golde. “In our family we have teachers, cantors, beadles, cemetery officials, and just plain poor people. But not, God forbid, any tailors or cobblers.”
“Don’t interrupt me, Golde,” I said to her. “Maybe your Grandma Tzeitl knows better than you. When I heard such a mazel tov from Grandma Tzeitl, I said to her: ‘Why are you saying, Bubbe’nyu, that Tzeitl’s betrothed is called Motl and he’s a tailor? You mean his name is Lazer-Wolf and he’s a butcher.’
“ ‘No,’ Grandma said again, ‘no, Tevye, your Tzeitl’s betrothed is called Motl. He is a tailor, and with him, God willing, she will grow old in wealth and in honor.’
“ ‘But Bubbe’nyu,’ I said to her again, ‘what shall we do with Lazer-Wolf? After all, just yesterday I gave him my word!’ As I spoke those words, I looked up, and Grandma Tzeitl was gone! In her place stood Frume-Sarah, Lazer-Wolf’s wife, and she said to me these words:
“ ‘Reb Tevye! I always thought of you as an honest man, a man of learning. How then can you do this to me, let your daughter take my place, live in my house, carry my keys, wear my clothes, my jewels, my pearls?’
“ ‘It’s not my fault,’ I said to her. ‘Your Lazer-Wolf wanted it that way.’
“ ‘Lazer-Wolf?’ she said. ‘Lazer-Wolf will come to a terrible end. And your poor Tzeitl, a pity on her, Reb Tevye, she will not live with him for more than three weeks. And when the three weeks are up, I will come to her by night and take her by the throat, like this. . ’ And with those words Frume-Sarah grabbed me by the throat and began to choke me so hard that if you hadn’t woken me up, I would by now be far, far from here!”
“Tfu! Tfu! Tfu!” my wife said, and spit three times three. “May that dream fall into the river, may it sink into the earth, may it crawl over roofs, may it lie in the forest, but may it not harm us or our children! May that butcher be visited by such a dark, angry dream! May it fill his head and paralyze his arms and legs! He isn’t worth Motl Komzoil’s littlest fingernail, even though he is a tailor, because if he was named after my Uncle Mordecai, he is certainly not a tailor by birth, and if Grandma, may she rest in peace, took the trouble to come here from the Other World to give us a mazel tov, then we must say it is all for the best and could not be better. Amen selah!”
To make a long story short — why should I go on? — I had to be stronger than iron that night, lying under the blanket, to hold myself in and not burst into laughter. Blessed be God that He did not make me a woman—a woman remains a woman. The very next day we held the engagement party and soon afterward the wedding. The couple, blessed be His name, is living happily. He is a tailor, goes around Boiberik from one dacha to the next picking up work, while she is busy day and night cooking and baking and washing and scrubbing, carrying water from the well, barely a piece of bread in the house. If I didn’t occasionally bring her some milk and cheese, sometimes a few groschens, it would be very bad. I talk with her, and she says she is happy as can be as long as her Motl is healthy.