One day the teacher arrived while the melamed was still in the house. The teacher waited and waited for the melamed to leave. He, however, did not go. Kaila came from the kitchen as they sat and said to the melamed, “I dreamt a dream and my spirit has been shaken.” “What did you see, Kaila?” he asked. “I saw a small Ashkenazi with a red wool cap on his head.” “What did the Ashkenazi do?” he asked. “He hiccupped and yawned,” she answered, “and since I woke up that morning I can’t stop sneezing.” The melamed stood up, closed his eyes, and spat three times in front of the teacher. Then, all in a whisper, he cast his spell. But before he could finish the teacher leapt to his feet in anger and exclaimed, “Wickedness and fraud! Are you throwing sand in the eyes of an innocent woman?” And the melamed called after him, “Heretic! Are you belittling the customs of Israel?” And in his rage the teacher spun on his heel and stomped out. From that day on, the melamed stayed vigilant for the sound of the teacher’s footsteps. But the teacher stopped coming and the melamed taught me the weekly portions, which we hadn’t studied yet and which we set out to learn now that the teacher came no more. And I remembered his pleasant voice, for a spirit of grace and supplication swept over me.
Summer arrived and the golden grasshopper took to the air. Its strains swelled about us as it spread its thin wings and its coppery belly gleamed in the daylight. Sometimes we heard from within the muffled sound of the house-grasshopper striking its jaws against the woodwork. My heart would then beat feebly, fearing death; for such a sound heralds death.
And in those days I read from the Book of Joshua and Judges, and at that time I found a book among my mother’s books, may she rest in peace. I read two chapters, for I told myself, I will repeat the words my mother read, may she rest in peace. I was dumbfounded, seeing as I understood what was before me. I read on and the stories were familiar to me. Reading my mother’s books, I felt like a little child who in hearing his mother chuckle and chirp suddenly recognizes his own name.
School recessed for the summer holidays. And I sat at home and altered my dresses, for they had last been worn before my year of mourning and no longer fitted me. One day, while my father was at home, the doctor called on us. My father was delighted by his visit, for he had lived in the company of doctors during my mother’s lifetime, may she rest in peace. The doctor told my father, “Look at you both sitting indoors while summer beckons.” He grasped my hand and felt my pulse as he spoke, and when he leaned over me I recognized the odor of his clothes. It was just like my mother’s odor when she was ill. “How you’ve grown,” the doctor said. “In a few months I won’t be able to call you child any more.” And he asked me my age and I answered, “I am fourteen.” Then, noticing my dress, he asked, “You also know how to sew?” “Let another man praise thee, and not thine own mouth,” I replied. The doctor smoothed his mustache with two fingers as he laughed, “A bold girl, and looking for compliments.” Turning to my father, he added, “Her face is the very likeness of her mother’s, may she rest in peace.” My father turned and gazed at me. Kaila then came from the kitchen with marmalade and a pitcher of water. “My, it’s hot today,” the doctor exclaimed, and he opened a window. The streets were silent for want of passersby. We lowered our voices as people do when all about them it is very quiet. The doctor drained his glass of water, covered the marmalade with a bowl, and said, “You have been sitting here in town long enough, now you must find yourselves a place for the summer.” My father nodded, a sign that he would follow the doctor’s advice, even though it seemed his heart was not in the matter.
At that time Mrs. Gottlieb invited me to spend the remaining days of my vacation at her home. My father agreed, saying, “Go now.” But I answered, “How can I go alone?” And he said, “I will come and visit.” Kaila stood dusting by the mirror and winked at me as she overheard my father’s words. I saw her move her lips and grimace in the mirror, and I laughed to myself. Noticing how my face lit up my father said, “I knew you would listen to me.” Then he left.
Once my father had gone I told Kaila, “How strangely you behaved, making faces in the mirror.” Kaila appeared angry. “What’s wrong, Kaila?” I asked. “Have you lost the use of your eyes?” she retorted. “Kaila,” I cried out, “May God be with you, but do speak up, please — and stop tormenting me with all sorts of riddles.” Kaila wiped her mouth angrily and said, “If you do not know, my dove, then just take a good look at your father. Why, he’s nothing but skin and bones and creeps around like a shadow on the face of the earth. When I was polishing his shoes I thought to myself, Where did he collect such mud, and it suddenly dawned on me that his shoes were caked with earth from the cemetery. I also recognized his footprints by her grave, which he visits seven times a day.”
Only then did I fathom Kaila’s thoughts and the meaning of her insinuations in the mirror: if I stayed with the Gottliebs my father would feel obliged to come and see me and would no longer visit the cemetery. I gathered my dresses and folded them in my trunk. And I filled the iron with coals to press two or three blouses before leaving for the Gottliebs. The following day, my father sent my clothes ahead with the young servant, and at noon we ate together, and then rose and departed.
The Gottliebs’ home is on the edge of town, a short distance from the road leading to the train station. A large tract of land lies between it and the rest of the town. The building is a cosmetics factory and its rooms are large and empty. For in constructing the plant, Gottlieb had told himself, I will build my factory large enough to house all my employees, and my factory will be renowned throughout the country. We crossed the town and arrived at the Gottliebs. Mintshi emerged from the garden where she had been picking cherries, and hurried toward us and welcomed us and led us back into the garden. Partchi then came at her summons, carrying two bowls of cherries and Mintshi invited us to sample the freshly-picked fruit.
The day waned and Gottlieb returned from the factory. Partchi set a table out in the garden. The pale blue night cloaked us in its pleasing warmth. The moon stood in a heaven swarming with stars. A songbird fluted its purest song and the train’s whistle sounded from the station. After the meal Gottlieb asked my father, “Would you care for a smoke?” “In the dark?” I interjected in astonishment. “And why shouldn’t he smoke in the dark?” Gottlieb asked. “I once read that every smoker longs to gaze at the red ashes and the plume of incense rising from his cigarette,” I replied and added, “That is why the blind do not smoke, for being blind they see neither ash nor smoke” “Haven’t you learned yet that books and all their profundities are of little use?” Gottlieb said, laughing. “In my case I first learned to smoke in the dark. Lying on my bed at night, I treated myself to a cigarette as soon as my father fell asleep. You see, I chose to smoke at night because I feared doing so in front of my father during the day. Partchi, bring the cigarettes and cigars, and don’t forget the matches and ashtray.” “If my husband smokes today then it is indeed a good sign,” Mrs. Gottlieb said to my father. Mr. Gottlieb, however, pretended not to hear her words. “Now I will tell you what I have read. In bygone days, if a man smoked a pipe they hung it from his nose, for they said that there was death in the tobacco, and the government dealt harshly with anyone who sold tobacco in the country. Even now, my friends, a worker from my own factory was put behind bars for importing tobacco from a foreign land, for our government, you see, has monopolized the tobacco industry.” Gottlieb was always grumbling about the actions of the government and he had little patience for government employees of any kind.