“And so I came to Yehupetz to see the doctor — or rather, the doctors, because this time I meant to have a consultation with at least three of them. I wanted, you see, to have it out with them once and for all and to know what I was, fish or fowl. There wasn’t any question I had asthma, but how you get rid of it when you have it — that, you see, was a different story entirely. Each doctor had run all the tests on me. Each had tried everything. And each was at his wits’ end. For example, the first, a prince of a fellow named Stritzel, wrote me out a prescription for codeini sacchari pulverati; it wasn’t expensive and it even tasted sweet. The second doctor prescribed tinctura opia—why, you could have passed out from a drop of it! Then I went to see a third doctor; the medicine he gave me tasted almost the same, but it wasn’t tinctura opia, it was tinctura tebiacca. If you were me, you’d have called it quits by now, no? Well, I went to still another doctor; what he prescribed was as bitter as wormwood and went by the name of morphium aqua amigdalarium. Does it surprise you that I know all that Latin? In fact, I’ve studied Latin the way you’ve studied Greek, but that’s life: when you have a cough with asthma, and a touch of tuberculosis on the side, picking up Latin is a breeze …
“And so I came to Yehupetz for a consultation. Where does a Jew like me stay in Yehupetz? Not in a hotel, of course, and not in a boardinghouse either. First of all, they fleece you but good there. And second of all, how can I stay in a hotel when I don’t have a pravozshitelestvo? The place I always go is my brother-in-law’s. I happen to have, you see, a schlemiel of a brother-in-law, a miserable beggar of a heder teacher; Purishkevitch should only be as poor. And children — God save us from such a litter! You know what, though? The lucky devil has a pravozshitelestvo, and a perfectly good one at that. How did he come by it? Because of Brodsky; he’s got a little job with Brodsky on the side. Don’t think that means he runs a factory. In fact, he’s just a backbencher in Brodsky’s synagogue, but he happens to be the Torah reader there. That makes him an obradchik, which is someone with clerical status, and gives him the right to live on Malovasilkovsky Street, not far from the ex-chief of police, though it’s all he can do to keep body and soul together. The one bright spot in his life is me. I am, so to speak, the moneyman in the family — and whenever I come to Yehupetz I stay with him, eat lunch and supper at his house, and find him some errand to run that will earn him a ruble or two; Purishkevitch should only earn as much. But that’s life …
“This time, though, as soon as I saw him and my sister, I could tell that something was wrong; they both looked like they’d just seen a ghost. ‘What’s the matter?’ I asked.
“ ‘We’re in for it,’ they said.
“ ‘How come?’ I asked.
“ ‘Because there’s an oblave,’ they said.
“ ‘Pshaw!’ I said. ‘Who’s afraid of an oblave? The police have been rounding up Jews since Adam was knee-high to a grasshopper.’
“ ‘You’re wrong there,’ they said. ‘It’s not just any oblave. This oblave is for real. There have been dragnets every night. If a Jew gets caught, they don’t care who he is — it’s an etap and no questions asked!’
“ ‘We’ll pay them off, then,’ I said.
“ ‘Impossible!’
“ ‘They won’t take a ruble?’
“ ‘Not a chance!’
“ ‘How about three?’
“ ‘Not even a million!’
“ ‘In that case,’ I said, ‘we’re over a barrel.’
“ ‘You’re right,’ they said. ‘And not just any barrel, either. This barrel is for real. First, there’s the jail sentence. Then there’s the criminal record. And then there’s having to face Brodsky …’
“ ‘Look,’ I said, ‘as far as Brodsky is concerned, I can either take him or leave him. I don’t intend to gamble with my health for Brodsky’s sake. I came here for a medical consultation, and I’m not going home without it.’
“Well, between one thing and another, the clock wasn’t standing still; I had to consult with my doctors. Did someone say doctors? Not when the first could only make it Monday morning, the second Wednesday afternoon, and the third the following Thursday — and go climb a tree if you don’t like it! I could see I was in for a long siege; why do a favor for Moyshe-Nachman of Kennele just because he has a cough with asthma and can’t sleep at night? (Purishkevitch should have insomnia like mine!) … Meanwhile it was getting late. We ate supper and went to bed. I had just dozed off when bing! bang! there’s a knocking on the door. I opened my eyes and asked, ‘Who is it?’
“ ‘We’re done for!’ my poor sap of a brother-in-law says to me. He looks like a corpse and he’s shaking like a branch in the wind.
“ ‘What do we do now?’ I ask.
“ ‘What do you suggest?’ he says.
“ ‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘It looks like we’re in a jam.’
“ ‘You’re right,’ he says. ‘And not just any jam, either. It’s a real sour-apple jam.’
“Bangety-bang! goes the knocking on the door. By now all the poor little children are awake and screaming for their mama, who’s running around trying to hush them — what can I tell you, it’s a regular carnival! Oy, Moyshe-Nachman from Kennele, I say to myself, are you ever between a rock and a hard place! Why couldn’t it have happened to Purishkevitch?… Just then, though, I had a brilliant idea. ‘Listen, Dovid,’ I said to my brother-in-law, ‘I have it! You’ll be me and I’ll be you!’
“He looks at me like the dumb bunny he is and says, ‘How’s that?’
“ ‘I mean,’ I say, ‘that we’ll pull the old switcheroo. You’ll give me your pass and I’ll give you mine. You’ll be Moyshe-Nachman and I’ll be Dovid.’
“A pumpkin head if there ever was one! He doesn’t know what I’m talking about, he stands there with a helpless stare. ‘Dummy!’ I say to him. ‘What don’t you get? It’s as simple as can be. Any child would understand. You’ll show them my pass and I’ll show them yours. That’s life. Has it gotten through your thick skull now, or do I have to knock it in with a hammer?’
“Well, it must have gotten through, because he agreed to the switcheroo. I gave him my pass and he gave me his. By then the door was nearly coming off its hinges. Bangety-bang! Bingety-bangety! ‘Hey, what’s the hurry?’ I called out. ‘Where’s the fire?’ Then I said one last time to my brother-in-law, ‘Now just remember, Dovid, you’re not Dovid any more, you’re Moyshe-Nachman’—and I went to open the door. ‘Come in, gentlemen, come in, what a surprise!’ In charges a whole company, Captain Flatfoot and all his little flatfeet. There’ll be a gay time in the old town tonight, I thought …