“He is a bachelor,” he said, “a little elderly, but he’s never been married.”
“What is his name?” He wouldn’t tell me.
“Bring her to Boiberik,” he said, “and then I’ll tell you.”
“What do you mean, I should bring her? You bring a horse to the market, or a cow to sell.”
As you know, matchmakers can talk you into anything. It was decided that after Shabbes, God willing, I would bring Hodl to Boiberik. All sorts of good, sweet thoughts came to my mind, and I was picturing her riding in a carriage pulled by a pair of spirited horses, and everybody envying me, not so much for the carriage and the horses as for the favors I would be doing for everybody through my daughter, the rich man’s wife. I would help out the needy with a loan of twenty-five rubles, or fifty rubles, or maybe a hundred — they have souls too. So I was thinking as I was riding home before nightfall, whipping my horse and having a little talk with him in his own language: “Go on, my little horse, giddyap! If you move your legs a little faster, you’ll get your oats sooner because, as it says in the Pirkei Avot, If there is no flour in the bin, there is no Torah—if you don’t work, you don’t eat.”
And as I was chatting with my horse, I saw emerging from the woods a man and a woman, their heads close together, whispering to each other affectionately. Who could they be, I wondered, and peered through the bright rays of the sun. I could swear it was Fefferl! With whom was he walking so late, that shlimazel? I shielded my eyes from the sun with my hand and looked closer. Who was that woman? Oy! I thought. Hodl? Yes, it was she, as I am a Jew, it was she! So that was the way they were studying grammar and reading books! Oy, Tevye, what a fool you are, I thought.
I pulled up the horse and called out to them, “A good evening to you. What news do you hear about the war? How do you come to be out here?” I said. “What could you be looking for out here?”
Hearing that welcome, my couple remained standing, as it is said: Not in heaven nor on earth, which means neither here nor there, but embarrassed and awkward. They stood speechless for a few moments, lowered their eyes, and raised them and looked at me as I looked at them. Then they looked at each other.
“Nu?” I said. “Somehow you are looking at me as if you hadn’t seen me in a long time. I am, I imagine, the same Tevye as always, not changed a hair.” I said this half-jokingly and half-annoyed.
My daughter spoke to me, blushing even redder than before: “Papa, give us a mazel tov.”
“Mazel tov to you,” I said, “may you have good luck. What’s this all about? Did you find a treasure in the woods? Or were you rescued from great danger?”
“Give us a mazel tov,” Fefferl said. “We’re engaged.”
“What do you mean, you’re engaged?”
“We’re engaged,” he said. “Don’t you know what engaged means? It means I will be her husband and she will be my wife.” Fefferl looked me straight in the eyes.
I looked him straight back in his eyes. “When was the contract signed? And why wasn’t I invited to the celebration? I imagine I would be somewhat involved as an in-law, don’t you think?”
You can understand that while I was talking, worms were gnawing at my innards. But I said nothing. Tevye is not a woman. Tevye likes to hear everything out to the end. I said to them, “I don’t quite understand — a match without a matchmaker, without an engagement party?”
“Why do we need a matchmaker?” Fefferl said. “We have long been engaged.”
“Is that so? God’s miracles! Why then,” I said, “didn’t you say anything till now?”
“Why should we shout it out? We wouldn’t have told you about it now except that we soon will be separated, and so we decided to get married first.”
That really hurt. As it is written in the Psalms: The waters have risen unto my soul—cut right to the bone! Well, it was bad enough that they were engaged — he wants her, she wants him. But to get married? What kind of gibberish was that?
My future son-in-law realized I was confused and said, “You understand, Reb Tevye, this is what is happening: I am leaving here.”
“When are you leaving?”
“Very soon.”
“Where are you going?”
“That,” he said, “I cannot tell you. It’s a secret.”
Do you hear that? It’s a secret! How do you like that? Along comes a Fefferl, a puny, dark, homely fellow, makes himself out to be a bridegroom, and wants to put up the wedding canopy, but he’s about to go away and won’t say where to! Isn’t that enough to make a person explode?
“Oh well,” I said to him, “a secret is a secret. Everything you do is a secret. But just explain something to me: you are an honorable person and are steeped in justice from top to bottom. How can you,” I said, “come here and suddenly take away Tevye’s daughter and then abandon her? Is that what you call honor? Justice? I’m just lucky you didn’t rob me or set my house on fire!”
“Papa!” Hodl cried out. “You have no idea how relieved we are that we told you our secret. A stone has been lifted from my heart. Come here, and let’s kiss.” And not thinking about it too long, both of them embraced me, she from one side, he from the other, and they began kissing and hugging me as well as each other. It was like a play on the stage, I tell you.
“That’s enough kissing,” I said. “It’s time to talk about practical matters.”
“What practical matters?” they said.
“About the dowry,” I said, “clothes, wedding expenses, this, that, and the other.”
“We don’t need anything,” they said.
“Then what do you need?”
“All we need is the wedding ceremony.” Have you ever heard of anything like that?
In short — I won’t bore you — but there was nothing I could do about it. They had a wedding, if you can call that a wedding! It certainly wasn’t the sort of wedding that befits Tevye. It was a very quiet wedding, God help us. Besides, I had my wife to deal with. She kept demanding to know why it had to be done in such haste. Try to explain to a woman what that rush was all about! Don’t you think I had to invent a story, a marvelous, wondrous story about an inheritance, a rich aunt from Yehupetz — anything so she would leave me in peace.
And sure enough, a few hours after that wonderful wedding I hitched up the horse and wagon, and the three of us got in, and off we went to the Boiberik train station. As I rode along with my young couple, I glanced at them from the corner of my eye. What a great God we have, and how cleverly He runs His world! I thought. What strange souls, wild creatures He has created! Here was this brand-new married couple: he was going away, who knew whereto, while she remained here without so much as a tear, not even for appearance’s sake! But I am not a woman. Tevye has time, watches, bites his tongue, and waits to see what will happen.
At the station several young fellows, good Kasrileukes with worn-down boots, came to say goodbye to my fly-by-night. One of them was dressed like a Russian peasant, forgive me, with his shirt over his trousers. They were whispering together quietly. Look out, Tevye, I was thinking. You may have gotten mixed up with a band of horse thieves, pickpockets, housebreakers, or counterfeiters!
On the way home from Boiberik with my Hodl, I could not restrain myself and spoke openly to her of my suspicions. She burst out laughing and assured me that they were honest, decent men whose lives were dedicated to helping others, without any concern for their own welfare. “The one with the shirt,” she said, “is the son of a rich man. He rejected his wealthy parents in Yehupetz and refuses to accept a groschen from them.”