Collected Stories (71 page)

“Yes, Helena. Tell me, how late are you working today?”

“As usual we close at twelve.”

“I will wait for you outside.”

H
OUSES
sometimes bear a strange resemblance to those who inhabit them. Leizer, my uncle Jekhiel’s former brother-in-law, owned such a house. Beila, Leizer’s sister, was Uncle Jekhiel’s second wife. She was no longer alive and my uncle had married for the third time after my parents brought me to Shebrin.

A man in his sixties, Leizer was tall and broad-boned. In his youth he was a giant, but in his later years he became bent and broken from troubles. His wife was dead. He was plagued by a hernia, and a bad leg caused him to walk with a limp. The granary he possessed had burned down and his grain business was gone. His two older daughters baked bread and flatcakes, and from their meager earnings he maintained himself. Actually, all his misfortunes stemmed from his three daughters, Rachel, Leah, and Feigel, who remained spinsters. How was it possible for three girls in a Jewish village not to be married? Everyone in Shebrin asked the same question, and I think that Leizer and his daughters were as baffled as the others, perhaps more so.

But let us go back to the house. Its brick walls were unusually thick, its roof green from moss, and the chimney, no matter how often it was swept, always spewed forth a mixture of smoke and flames. Grzymak, the chimney sweep, swore that he once saw an imp in the chimney: a creature black as soot, hunched both in front and in back, with an elflock in the middle of his skull and a nose that reached to his belly. He seemed to live there. A neighbor’s daughter had also seen this monster. In the middle of the night, when she went to pour out the slops, she heard him giggling. As she glanced up at Leizer’s roof, the creature, crouching on the tip of the chimney, beckoned her to come to him and stretched out his tongue that was the length of a shovel.

Why did the builder who constructed this house make the walls almost a yard thick, with no windows facing the front and with a long entranceway that was dark even in broad daylight? Why were the ceilings low and heavily beamed and the attic unproportionately high? No one knew the answer, as the building was about two hundred years old. The small, crooked windows looked out over a swamp which led to the river. On murky summer nights, mysterious lights hovered over the swamp and it was said that those who went toward the lights never returned.

Leizer’s rupture caused his intestines to drop and there was one woman in Shebrin who could manipulate them back. If not for her, people said, Leizer would have died long ago. It was a disgrace for Leizer that a strange female should touch his private parts, but when it’s a question of saving a life, such things must be overlooked. This woman refused payment. It was her good deed. She also specialized in warding off the evil eye and removing the pips from chickens, thus enabling them to eat again.

Leah was already past forty when my parents and I arrived in Shebrin. Tall and broad like her father, she had the hands of a man and a face that was as wide and as brown as the pumpernickel loaves she baked. It was difficult to get a word out of her. Her strength, too, was that of a man. She chopped wood, brought water from the well, and carried sacks of flour from the mill on her back. In spite of all this, one could see that she was quite good-looking, with regular features and black, fiery eyes.

I heard it told that one day when she carried a sack of grain to the mill, she was attacked by two brigands. One of them held a rifle to her chest. Leah grabbed the gun, broke it in two, and with the butt hit the brigands until they passed out. The culprits were caught, taken to the hospital, and later jailed.

Rachel, who was younger than Leah, resembled her physically; but all that was hard, strong, and resolute in Leah appeared weak, soft, and indecisive in her sister. No one dared ask Leah why she had never married but everybody asked Rachel. Her reply was always the same: “When you serve dinner, you serve the soup first, then the meat.”

I remember my mother once said to her, “Is it so terrible if one serves the meat first? There’s no law against this.”

Rachel listened and replied, “It is the custom, first you serve the soup and then the meat.”

Leah kneaded the dough, shaped the loaves, shoveled them into the oven, and then removed the finished baked goods. Selling was Rachel’s job. On Thursdays she stood in the marketplace with a basket of loaves, flatcakes, bagels, and rolls. Fridays she sold hallah and Sabbath cookies.

Feigel, the youngest, was only twenty-nine years old at that time and the matchmakers had not yet given up on her. Her mother had died at her birth. Unlike her sisters, Feigel was fair, small statured, and bore no resemblance to the rest of the family. She was supposed to have taken after a great-aunt from Janov. Three times she was engaged. Her first fiancé died, she returned the engagement contract to the second, and the third one went to war and was never heard from again.

Leah and Feigel were not on speaking terms for more than ten years. They even avoided looking at each other. Feigel liked to sing. She had a cat. Her father bought her a sewing machine and she became a seamstress, making shirts, men’s underwear, and brassières. She had long discussions with the matchmakers. From time to time introductions and meetings were arranged with a potential suitor, but somehow nothing came of them. Feigel often visited my mother. She told horror stories about the 1915 cholera epidemic and gossiped about the girls and young women in Shebrin who became smugglers during the war. The Austrian gendarmes frequently made them undress when they searched them, and they touched intimate parts of their bodies, where no decent woman allows herself to be touched by a strange man. My mother nodded her bewigged head. “It’s all a result of our long exile.”

Feigel accused Leah of witchcraft, saying that Leah didn’t desire marriage herself and that she had prevented Rachel from getting a husband. Every time Feigel became engaged, Leah cast an evil spell. Feigel would say to my mother, “My dear aunt, that Leah is a male, not a female.”

“What are you talking about?” My mother winced. “She has breasts.”

“She has the feet of a Cossack. God made a mistake.”

“How can you say this? The Almighty doesn’t make any mistakes.”

“If so, she’s a mooncalf.”

This family did not come up to our standards. My uncle Jekhiel had fallen in love with his second wife, though she was much beneath him, and when Feigel called my mother “aunt” it was like a slap in the face. But my mother had compassion for Leizer’s daughters because they were orphans. She sent me to buy baked farfel from them and ordered my shirts to be sewn by Feigel. Her fingers tickled me when she took the measurements and I had to laugh. My mother’s comment about Leah having breasts preyed on my mind. Until then I thought that only women who nurse children have breasts. Yes, Leah had a huge bosom, but she had the deep voice of a man. Could she be what the Talmud called androgynous? I was as fearful of her as of the dark gateways that was full of holes and ditches. From reading storybooks I knew that there existed sinful females who copulated with demons and gave birth to sprites and succubi. Perhaps Leah was having an affair with the demon who dwelt in her chimney. I was close to bar mitzvah age and kept thinking more and more about what I had studied in the Gemara concerning relations between men and women. Novels, too, began to interest me. It was at about this time that my mother asked Feigel to make me several pairs of drawers and shirts.

I brought the linen to Feigel, and as I approached the house I noticed a thick black smoke issuing from the chimney. I pondered about the devil who lurked in his sooty lair. When I passed the bakery I saw Leah standing in a shabby skirt and huge boots. As she sprinkled water on the freshly baked loaves, the steam rose into the air.

The threshold of the gate was high and I tripped over it. It was a hot day and the door of Leizer’s room was ajar. His white beard had turned brown in spots from the snuff tobacco he used. The thought that a female rummaged around with his genitals invoked in me feelings of curiosity and disgust. He had a workshop equipped with hammers, saws, pliers, screwdrivers, and knives. Boards and metal rods were stacked in the corner. I remembered my mother saying that when he was young he tried to invent a cradle that would be self-rocking with the force of weights and springs. This was the reason that his business went to pieces.

After a while I entered Feigel’s room. It was the brightest in the house. Father and daughters did not live as a family. They were rather like neighbors. Some of the rooms were ruined and remained locked. Feigel had a mannequin in her room—a female without a head but with hips and breasts. Pieces of thread caught in Feigel’s hair gave her a special charm in my eyes. It was hard to believe that she was nearing thirty, as her appearance was that of a young girl. She deftly stepped on the treadle of her sewing machine with her small foot and quickly moved her index finger out of the way of the needle.

“You are here, huh?” She smiled at me invitingly.

“Yes, my mother sent me.”

“You love your mother?”

I stood there embarrassed. “Yes, why not?”

“Is a Hasid allowed to love a female?” she asked.

“A mother is not a female.”

“What else?”

Feigel rose to take my measurements, being most careful as my mother had pointed out to her that my neck had gotten thicker. Her knuckles touched my chin and I felt that her fingers were warm and soft. Suddenly she bent her head, and her hair brushed my cheek as she kissed me on the lips. I was so perplexed that I could not utter a word. “Don’t mention this to anyone,” she admonished me.

How peculiar: days in advance I knew that I was about to commit some transgression. My brain teemed with sinful thoughts. Several nights earlier I had dreamed about my cousin Taube, naked, her body enveloped in a net. The following day I fasted until noon.

In Shebrin word got around that Feigel was about to be engaged again. The new suitor, a droshky driver from Warsaw, had a relative in Shebrin, Chaim Kalch, and it was through him that the match was arranged. Everything went quickly. One day we heard about it and two days later we were invited to the engagement party. The affair was a quiet one, the guests were few. Leibush, the bridegroom-to-be, seemed like a man in his late thirties or perhaps early forties, big, with a reddish-blue complexion, a large nose, thick lips, and a deeply creviced and pimpled neck. I imagined that he smelled of horse manure and axle grease. Under flaxen eyebrows, his watery blue eyes had a look that suggested anger and mockery, as if the whole event were nothing but a sham. Rachel served chopped herring, freshly baked kaiser rolls, and vodka. Leah put in an appearance just for a minute, not even bothering to change her clothes. Leibush had the coarse voice of one who customarily shouts. I heard him say, “I’m tired of the Warsaw cobblestones.” He drank three-quarters of the vodka and ate almost all the rolls while discussing business. He had had enough of the Warsaw tumult and stench, and he intended to buy a horse and wagon in Shebrin to carry freight to Lublin. People in Warsaw didn’t know how to cross the streets, and when an accident occurred, the driver got the blame. From his words I understood that he most probably ran over someone, with a resulting lawsuit, or perhaps he went to jail. Feigel, too, helped with the refreshments. My father drew up the engagement papers. He asked Leibush, “What is your full name?”

“Leibush Motl.”

“Aryeh Mordecai.” My father translated the name into Hebrew.

“What are you?” my father asked. “A Cohen, a Levi, or an Israelite?”

“Who knows what I am.”

“Don’t you attend synagogue? Aren’t you called up to the reading of the Torah?”

“Once in a while.”

“Here you will have to attend the synagogue. In a small town you must behave,” Feigel interrupted.

“Well …”

Feigel’s father, Leizer, appeared peeved, impatient, and barely able to wait until he could return to his hammers, saws, files, and screws. To everything that was said, he nodded in silence. Feigel smiled, joked, and even winked at me. She shrugged. “Marriage and death are unavoidable.”

“What makes you say such things?” my mother asked. “You’re still young and you will live till 120.”

“Not so young. No one knows what the next day will bring.”

“Exactly my words,” Leibush agreed. “Last week as I sat drinking a mug of beer with my friend, his head suddenly fell to one side and he was a goner.”

“God forbid the misfortunes that can happen.”

“People creep right under the wheels.”

The wedding date was set for a month later. Leizer and Leah wanted the wedding to be a quiet one, but Feigel demanded a ceremony with musicians and a jester. I heard her say to my mother, “What does a girl get out of life? A dance and a hop.”

At the wedding, Feigel danced with her sister Rachel and then with another girl. She looked lovely in the bridal gown she had made herself. The gown opened out like an umbrella as she whirled around and I saw her lace-trimmed panties. After the virtue dance, two women led Feigel into a darkened bedroom. A few minutes later Leizer and one of the other men escorted Leibush to his bride.

Leah came to the wedding dressed in her Sabbath dress and high-heeled shoes. Under her heavy, masculine brows her black eyes were sad and resentful. When my mother went to wish Rachel
mazel tov,
she replied, “Whoever heard of serving the dessert before the main dish?”