“We have to shmear the goy’s palm, give him a little something,” my brother Elyahu tells our friend Pinni in a combination of Yiddish and Hebrew. Our friend Pinni is our leader, our brains. He speaks good Russian, but unfortunately he is very hotheaded. My brother Elyahu also has a bit of a temper, but not as bad as Pinni’s. Pinni approaches the goy and talks to him in Russian.
“Listen, you! The devil will not take you if we go to America with a lot of pillows, and we’ll give you a drink of brandy if you shut your trap, you pig!”
The goy calls him a few choice names. We’re afraid of making a scene that might bring the police down on our heads.
My mother, wringing her hands, cries at Pinni, “Who asked you to show off your Russian?”
“Don’t worry, the goy will be happy to take half a ruble, and we’ll all make up.”
And that’s what happens — they do make up. Pinni spouts Russian, and the goy curses but carries all the bundles and pillows to a large building with high windows called a waiting room. Then the real fun begins. What more do they want? The goy says they won’t let us on the train with so many pillows and all those rags. (He is obviously referring to the blankets, which are a bit ragged, with the cotton batting sticking out, but to him they’re rags!) We have to see the stationmaster.
Who should go? Of course, Pinni! Pinni goes with the goy to the stationmaster, and I tag along. Pinni negotiates with the stationmaster but in a different tone. He isn’t as hotheaded as before, but he speaks and waves his hands. He utters odd words I’ve never heard: “Columbus. . civilization. . Alexander von Humboldt. . Slonimski. . mathematics.” I’ve forgotten the others. The stationmaster listens carefully and is silent. Pinni is giving him a history lesson! But that does no good either. We have to check all the bedding into the baggage department and get a receipt. My mother is frantic. What will we sleep on?
B.
My mother’s fears are off the mark. The problem is not what to sleep on but where to find a place to sit and not suffocate. Never mind sleeping, what about sitting? Everybody, Jew and Gentile alike, is fighting for a spot. The delay over the bedding causes us to lose the best seats. We barely manage to seat the women and put the bundles on the ground, my mother on one side of the car, Bruche and Teibl on the other. If they want to talk to each other, they have to shout across the car. People laugh at them. My brother Elyahu and our friend Pinni are having trouble even finding standing room.
Pinni can’t see well and keeps knocking his forehead. And me? Don’t worry, I have it good. I have it great! True, I’m squeezed on all sides, but I’m standing near a window. What I see, you have surely never seen. Before my eyes houses are flying by, mileposts, trees, people, fields, forests — not to be described! And how the train flies! And how the wheels clatter, how they screech, how they whistle!
My mother is afraid I might fall out the window, and every minute she shouts out, “Motl! Motl?” A rich-looking man with blue eyeglasses mimics her singsong: “Motl! Motl?” All the Gentiles laugh. The Jews pretend not to hear — certainly my mother pays them no heed. She keeps shouting, “Motl! Motl?” What more does she want? She wants me to eat something. We’ve brought all kinds of good food with us: radishes, onions and garlic, green cucumbers, and hard-boiled eggs, one egg apiece. I haven’t enjoyed eating so in a long time. But Pinni spoils our meal. He always feels he has to defend Jews. He can’t stand that the Gentiles are laughing at us for eating onions and garlic. He draws himself up to his full height and says in Russian to the rich-looking man with the blue eyeglasses, “And what about you eating pork?”
That comment cuts the Gentiles to the quick. One of them is really offended. He jumps up and gives our Pinni a resounding slap. Pinni tries to give him two slaps in return, but he’s nearsighted, and his slaps land on another Gentile. Luckily the conductor and head conductor arrive, and a big scene follows. Everyone speaks at the same time, the Jews complaining about the Gentiles. One’s satchel is dropped on his toe, another’s hat is thrown out the window. The Gentiles claim it’s all lies, a frame-up! The Jews have two Gentile witnesses, one of them a priest. A priest won’t lie. The Gentiles say the Jews have bribed the priest. The priest holds forth as if sermonizing. As the accusations fly back and forth, we stop at several stations.
At each station a few passengers leave the train, opening up more space. Our women are now sitting like ladies with their bundles on seats. My brother Elyahu and our friend Pinni have the best seats and are delighted. Teibl notices that Pinni’s cheek is swollen, and she can see finger marks on it. She falls apart, distressed by the slap that left such marks. Pinni swears he doesn’t feel a thing — it only smarts a bit and will soon pass. He hates to waste time talking about what’s past. He’d rather talk to the other Jews on the train and find out where they’re going. It turns out many of them are going to America. We’re thrilled to hear it.
“Why didn’t you say something? We’re also going to America!” says Pinni, and we quickly become acquainted. We find out which town they came from, which city they’re going to, and with whom they’ll be staying.
“You’re going to New York? We’re going to Philadelphia!”
“What’s this Philadelphia?”
“It’s also a city, like New York.”
“Now slow down, just wait a minute! Philadelphia compared to New York is like Ayshishok compared to Vilna, Drozhne compared to Odessa, Otvotzk compared to Warsaw, Semionevka compared to Petersburg, Kozeletz compared to Harkov—”
“My goodness! You’ve been all over the world, kayn eyn horeh!”
“Let me tell you! If you wish, I can list all the cities where I’ve been.”
“Why don’t you leave it for Shabbes. Better talk about what to do when we get to the border.”
“You’ll do what we do, what everyone does.”
By this time all the Jews move in closer together to talk about stealing across the border. I don’t understand what “stealing across the border” means. Are we thieves? Who should I ask? My mother is a woman, and what does a woman know? My brother Elyahu doesn’t like to be bothered. A kid like me, he says, shouldn’t mix in among grown-ups. Pinni is distracted by all the talking he’s involved in. Everyone has a different story to tell about borders. One says that the best border to steal across is at Novoselitz. Another says Brod is better than all of them. A third says that Ungeni is also not too bad, but the others immediately object.
“You call Ungeni a border! You call Romania a country! Let them sink into the earth, border and all!”
“Quiet! We’re at the border!”
C.
The border, I thought, must be something with horns, but it turns out to be nothing of the kind: the same houses, the same Jews, the same Gentiles as ours. They even have a market with shops and stalls — everything exactly like ours. My sister-in-law Bruche and our friend Pinni’s wife Teibl go to the market shopping. I want to go too, but my mother won’t let me leave her side for a minute. She’s afraid they’ll kidnap me right at the border. My brother Elyahu and our friend Pinni aren’t around — they’re off talking to the other Jews, strangers to us. My mother says they’re agents who’ll help us steal across the border. One of them really does look like a thief. He wears a green coat, carries a white umbrella, and has thievish eyes.