In short, I’ll try not to make it a long story. A couple of years went by and my Beilke grew into a young woman, while I carried on with my business as usual, taking my cheese, cream, and butter to Boiberik in the summer and, in the winter, to Yehupetz — may it end up like Sodom beneath a sea of salt! I can’t even bear to think of that town anymore … that is, I don’t mean the town, I mean the Jews who live in it … that is, I don’t mean them either, I mean Efrayim the Matchmaker, may his grandfather break a leg in the grave! Just listen to what a Jew, and a matchmaker yet, can do to you.
Vayehi hayoym, one day after the summer season I’m on my way to Yehupetz with some merchandise, when who do I see but Haman in person — I mean Efrayim the Matchmaker. I believe I once told you about him. He’s the sort of terrible pest you can’t help stopping to talk to, that’s the strange power he has over you. And so I said to my horse, “Whoaa, there, old fellow, pull over and I’ll give you a snack,” waved to Efrayim, said hello to him, and straightaway began to gab. “How’s business?” I asked.
“Business,” he says, letting out a juicy sigh, “is terrible.”
“How come?” I ask.
“No customers,” he says.
“None at all?” I ask.
“Not one,” he says.
“But how can that be?” I ask.
“That can be,” he says, “because matches aren’t made around here any more.”
“Where are they made, then?” I ask.
“Abroad,” he says.
“And what happens,” I ask, “to a Jew like me whose great-grandmother can’t afford to travel?”
“For a Jew like you, Reb Tevye,” says Efrayim, handing me a pinch of snuff, “I have a special offer, local goods.”
“Which is?” I say.
“Which is,” he says, “a childless widow, a cook in the best houses, net worth five hundred rubles.”
“Reb Efrayim,” I say, staring at him, “who do you think this match is for?”
“Who do I think it’s for?” he says. “Why, for you!”
“The Devil take you!” I say, flicking the whip at my horse to start him up again. “May my enemies have as bad dreams all year long as I’ll have of your widow tonight.”
“No offense meant, Reb Tevye,” says Efrayim. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. Who were you thinking of?”
“Who?” I say. “Of my youngest daughter, who else?”
“Why, of course!” he says, jumping a foot in the air while giving himself a box in the ear. “What luck you’ve reminded me of her! She should live to be one hundred and twenty, Reb Tevye.”
“Amen,” I say. “So should you. In fact, you should live till the Messiah comes. But what’s all the excitement about?”
“Reb Tevye,” he says, “do I have something good for you! Do I have something sensational! Do I have something you won’t find better anywhere!”
“And just who might this gift from God be?” I ask.
“Do I have,” says Efrayim, “the perfect match for your youngest daughter! He’s a steal, a catch, a rare find, a colossus, a prince among men, a millionaire, a second Brodsky, a contractor named Podhotzur!”
“Podhotzur?” I say. “The name rings a bell from the Bible.”
“What Bible?” he says. “Leave the Bible out of it for once. He’s a contractor! He builds houses, bridges, factories! He was out near Japan during the war and came back from there with a fortune!
He rides around in a droshky with two horses faster than greased lightning! He has more doormen in front of his house than you have buttons on your shirt! He has his own private bathtub! He has furniture from Paris! He wears a diamond on his pinky!.. And he’s still a spring chicken, a bachelor, straight off the shelf, the genuine article! All he’s looking for is someone with looks. He’s willing to take her barefoot and naked, but she’s got to be a raving beauty.”
“Whoaa!” I say to him. “If you don’t stop for breath, we’ll end up in Hotzenklotz. If I’m not mistaken, you once offered me the same bill of goods for my second daughter, Hodl …”
Well, when he heard that the man hugged his ribs and began to laugh so hard that I was sure he would get a stroke. “Good Lord,” he finally managed to wheeze, “that’s such ancient history that my grandma was in diapers when it happened. The fellow you’re thinking of went bust during the war and ran away to America.”
“May his memory be a blessing,” I say. “And suppose this contractor of yours should decide to follow in his footsteps?”
That got his dander up. “What are you talking about, Reb Tevye?” he says. “That first case was a crook, a swindler, a bankrupt! My man Podhotzur is a builder. He has army contracts, companies, an office, a staff, a …”
What can I tell you? Efrayim pulled me out of the wagon in his enthusiasm, grabbed me by the collar, and began to shake me so hard that a policeman came along and almost jugged us both for disorderly conduct. It’s a good thing I remembered my Bible. Lanokhri toshikh, it says. Why are some palms like bridges? Because they have to be crossed when you come to them …
In a word, I don’t want to bore you. This Podhotzur was engaged to my Beilke and loy orkhu hayomim—after a while the wedding was held. What makes me say after a while? Because Beilke would sooner have died than had Podhotzur for a husband. The more he showered her with presents, gold watches, diamond rings, the less she could stomach him. There was no need to put it in writing — it was written all over her face, which was wet with the silent tears she cried. Finally, I made up my mind to talk to her. I tried to be casual. “Listen, Beilke,” I said to her, “I’m beginning to think that you’re as much in love with this Podhotzur of yours as I am.”
“Why do you say that?” she says, turning red as fire.
“Because you’re certainly not crying for your health every night,” I say.
“I’m crying?” she says.
“Well, I wouldn’t exactly call it crying,” I say. “It’s actually more like weeping. Do you think that sticking your head under the pillow is enough to hide your tears from me? Do you think your father was born yesterday, or that his brains are so addled he can’t see that you’re doing all this for his sake? Do you suppose it’s your job to see to it he has a place to lay his head in his old age so that he needn’t go begging from door to door? You’re a fool if you do! God’s still in His heaven, and Tevye is no charity case and no sponger. Money is a lot of hooey anyway, just like the Bible says. Why, look at your sister Hodl! She hasn’t a penny to her name, she lives in a hole in the wall at the far end of nowhere — and yet she keeps writing us how happy she is with her schlimazel of a Peppercorn …”
Shall I give you three guesses what my Beilke answered me? “Don’t go comparing me to Hodl,” she says. “In Hodl’s day the world was on the brink. There was going to be a revolution and everyone cared about everyone. Now the world is its own self again, and it’s everyone for his own self again, too.” That’s what she said, my Beilke — just go figure out what she meant!