You know I’m not supposed to be in Yehupetz. Well, now and then the police show up at our boarding house to search for bad apples. We’re always tipped off in advance by our landlady and away we melt like salt in water — some of us to Boiberik, some to Demyevka, and some to Slobodka. This time, though, the landlady wasn’t warned herself. A bad business! There we were, sound asleep in the middle of the night, when there’s a knock. The landlady jumps out of bed. The cat’s at the door, all mice in the straw! Naturally, there’s a rush for the exits. Half of us head for the cellar and the other half for the attic, including me. Next to me is a Jew from Kamenetz, and as we’re lying on the floor with aching ribs he lets out a groan. “What’s the matter?” I whisper. “I just remembered something,” he says. “I left my papers under my pillow. I’m worried sick about my papers!” “What papers are those?” I ask. “Oy,” he says, “very important ones. We’re talking half-a-million at the least.” Well, as soon as I hear half-a-million, I turn on my back and whisper, “What papers can be worth all that money?” “It’s country property,” he says. “I have property in Volhynia, a big estate with the latest equipment, and horses, and oxen, and more sheep than you can count, and water mills, and breweries, and farmyards, and top-notch gardeners, all in perfect condition!”
I moved closer to him when I heard that. How does a Jew come by such a property? “I didn’t grow it in a compost heap,” he says. “It belongs to gentry and I’m the agent. I’ve come to Yehupetz with all the papers — the deed, the praysee, everything. What am I supposed to do now?” “For God’s sake, don’t do anything,” I say. “Who’s going to steal your property? Just pray the cops stay out of this attic.” After a while I gave him a poke and asked: “Have you found a buyer in Yehupetz?” “No,” he says, “not yet. I don’t trust the locals. They’re the worst kind of liars. You can’t believe a word they say. Maybe you know an honest real estate agent, someone reliable?” “Do I?” I say. “It’s an honor to be introduced! I’m a real estate agent myself. Not that I’ve ever dealt in country property — but if God sends me the right buyer, I’ll know what to do with him.” “I can see,” says he, “that I’m talking to an honorable gentleman. Give me your hand and let’s shake on it! It will be just the two of us. I’ll give you the papers and you’ll handle it.” In short, we’re now partners. He finds the properties and I look for the buyers. And since I’m busy and in a hurry, I’ll be brief. God willing, I’ll write more in my next letter. Meanwhile, may He grant you health and success. Give my fondest greetings to the children (I hope they’re well) and to everyone.
Your husband,
Menakhem-Mendl
P.S. The scare in the boarding house was a false alarm. It was just a neighbor tapping on the window. But see how the Lord provides. If not for the neighbor there would have been no scare, if not for the scare we wouldn’t have run to the attic, if not for the attic I wouldn’t have met the Jew from Kamenetz, and if not for the Jew from Kamenetz I wouldn’t be selling country property. Now wish me success!
Yours etc.
To my dear, learned, & illustrious husband Menakhem-Mendl, may your light shine!
First, we’re all well, thank God. I hope to hear no worse from you.
Second, I have a bad cough. Your Yehupetz ladies should catch it from me. I’ve been drinking goat’s milk and went to see the doctor. Quite a living they make from me, the doctors! They should all drop dead and take the pharmacist with them. But at least we now have a second pharmacy in town and can haggle over prices.
Congratulations on your new business with all its counts and country properties! At this rate, you’ll soon run out of things to do. One would think someone as successful as yourself would be less critical of your former professions. But it’s as my mother says: “When a girl can’t dance, she blames the musicians …”
I fear, Mendl, that once you’ve tried everything, you’ll be reduced to peddling matches like Aunt Sosie’s son Getzl who ran off to America. He thought he would live like a king there and now he writes letters that could break a heart of stone. In America, he writes, you either work yourself to death or die of hunger. No one gives a starving man a crust of bread. A fine place it is, America — it deserves to burn with Yehupetz! Don’t say you haven’t been warned. “When there’s bread,” says my mother, “don’t hanker after sweets.” But perhaps there’ll be a miracle and we’ll hear better news from you — and sooner received than Getzl’s. I wish you nothing but the best,
Your truly faithful wife,
Sheyne-Sheyndl
“Heaven and earth,” says my mother, “have sworn to let nothing vanish”—and so along comes a government investigator to sniff out what happened to the money that Moyshe-Mordekhai willed for the public good. Some young rascals ratted on you-know-who but he produced accounts showing he didn’t have it. Where could it be? Only the wind knows. I hope to God he rots in jail for what he did!
To my wise, esteemed, & virtuous wife Sheyne-Sheyndl, may you have a long life!
Firstly, rest assured that I am, praise God, in the best of health. God grant that we hear from each other only good and pleasing news, amen.
Secondly, I’m now holding over a million’s worth of country property. No one has ever seen the likes of it. Where, you ask, does it all come from? Listen to this.
One day while I was at the Exchange with my partner from Kamenetz, we let it be known that we had an estate. A group of agents gathered round, all with country property too, and pretty soon we decided on a joint venture. In a word, we pooled properties — we gave them our listings and they gave us theirs. It’s a no-lose proposition. If we sell their properties, we’ll make good money, and if they sell ours, we’ll make better. Either way, we stand only to gain.
The upshot is that I’m in tight with all the agents and have acquired quite a reputation. I sit with them in Semadenni’s at marble tables like Fanconi’s and drink coffee and eat French pastries. That’s how it works here, too: if you don’t order, you’re out in the street. Semadenni’s is the real Yehupetz Exchange. All the traders in town gather there. It’s as loud and noisy as (you should pardon the comparison) a synagogue. The entire place shouts, laughs, talks with its hands. There’s a lot of fighting and quarreling too, which usually ends up in court because no one can agree on splitting the commissions. Everyone swears, curses, uses his fists, and so do I. And being busy and in a hurry, I’ll be brief. God willing, I’ll write more in my next letter. Meanwhile, may He grant you health and success. Give my fondest greeting to your parents and the children, God bless them, each and every one.
Your husband,
Menakhem-Mendl
P.S. One of my properties in Volhynia has a chateau. It has 66 rooms paneled with mirrors and an indoor garden called an orangeade with citrus trees growing all year round. That’s quite apart from the horses and carriages, which are a sight to behold — and it’s going for next to nothing! If God sends me a customer, I’m in the clover. Of course, country agents tend to exaggerate because their tongues run away with them, but I fear there’s nothing to be done about that. You can’t make a living by telling nothing but the truth.