Only Yesterday (32 page)
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At that time, Bloykof’s strength was sapped. He didn’t yet know that his death was at hand. Because he was accustomed to thinking about death, his heart became inured to death. If his brush fell out of his hand because of weakness, he would stretch out on his bed and close his eyes and paint in his mind all that he would do if he were healthy. Since the paintings of the soul are many and there was not much time, he would overcome his weakness and go back to his work.
His wife saw and brought him novels and read to him to keep him in bed. He wasn’t happy with the novels because he couldn’t bear tales of people and their exploits, and because they separated him from his visions, and he would get rid of the novels and jump out of bed and go back to his work. Once she came on a book about
livestock, animals, and birds. She lay him down against his will and read to him. He lay with his eyes closed and listened and yelled, Oh, I see, Oh, I see. When Tosya grew weary from reading, he wanted to hear some more. That went on for a day, two days, three days. And she’s got a house to run and all the housework is on her, to sweep the room and shop at the market and cook the food and run to the pharmacy to buy medicine for her husband. And on top of all those troubles is the trouble of guests, you have to feed them and make them a cup of cocoa, the cocoa that serves as both food and drink at the same time, for Bloykof’s income isn’t big enough to give a guest food separately and drink separately. And as for Bloykof, when he was interested in one thing, he was wont to shift his eyes from everything else. He lay on his bed with his eyes shut and she read to him, and he stopped her from going to the market or the shop, and when it came time for dinner, they didn’t have anything to eat. Isaac noticed that and started bringing all kinds of food and fooled them about his shopping. Tosya was amazed that he paid less than she did, and she let him buy all the food for the house. If she came across an extra penny, she paid his expenses, if she didn’t, she asked him to wait until God brought her relief.
God didn’t bring her relief, but on the contrary, He brought distress and bitterness. Isaac kept his eye on her, and not only did he take pains for her and bring food, but he also took pains to soothe and comfort her. There are those who bring flowers and those who bring trinkets, and you can get along without flowers and trinkets, but you can’t get along without bread and food. Bloykof saw what Isaac did and was pleased with him, for he was behaving like an artist and didn’t insist on those outpourings whose artistic form is dubious. Isaac would have done well if he had sent something to his father, who wore himself out to pay his creditors their interest. But Father’s distress is far away and Bloykof’s distress is close by. Moreover, if he sent something to his father, he would have to send ten or twenty francs all at once, while for Bloykof he pays it out in dribs and drabs and spends only Matliks and Bishliks.
By now, Bloykof has stopped teaching Isaac. But Isaac didn’t stop coming. And when he came he didn’t come empty-handed.
Tosya takes one of the oranges Isaac brought, peels it and gives it to her husband. Bloykof sucks it and says, What a delight, what a delight. At that time, Isaac’s eyes wander off to another place and another time, a time when his mother lies sick and Father stands over her and asks, Do you want anything? Mother smiles with blue, dry lips and doesn’t reply, for if she does want something, does he have anything to give? Isaac drops his eyes from Mother’s smile and Fa-ther’s grief. His sister Frumtshe comes and picks up the basket and goes to the market to buy something and returns from the market with nothing because she went without a cent. Their little brother Vove goes out to meet her and takes the empty basket from her hand and puts it on his head like a hat, and says, Come see my new hat. And he is amazed that his brothers and sisters don’t laugh at how clever he is and don’t tell him, Wear it in good health. At that time, Isaac sits at home or in the shop and counts the number of settlements we’ve got in the Land of Israel, and Father sits and counts all the excuses he’s already given the landlord who is demanding the rent. Isaac sits and counts how many good things are in store for him in the Land of Israel, and Father sits and counts how much grief is on its way to him. He hasn’t found any of those good things in the Land of Israel, and Father hasn’t yet finished his counting of troubles. And both times, those in the past and those in the present, merge into one long trouble. Once Bloykof looked at him, and said, What is oppressing you so much? Said Tosya, We have to find him a nice girl. She invited for him one of those girls who came to her house. He didn’t look at her and she didn’t look at him. Obviously Isaac won’t attract the heart of every girl.
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Bloykof got rid of the books and sent his guests away, he pulled the curtain in the room and sat behind the curtain. From the day Bloykof knew his mind—his mind was given to two things which are one, life and death, but minor matters kept him from devoting his whole mind to that, and now that he tastes the taste of death every day and knows that the purpose of life is death, he dared to create images of life and death. He was aided by the stories his wife read him about livestock,
animals, and birds, which he had already forgotten, but a kind of reflection of a reflection of them remained in his heart.
And so Bloykof sits inside the partition and before him is a canvas of four cubits and on it he paints a leopard and a snake wind-ing around the leopard, choking it with its rings gleaming in an array of colors. From dawn to dusk, Bloykof plies his trade, he puts spots on the leopard and makes hatchmarks on the snake. The snake is life and the leopard is death. The leopard strikes the head of the snake to crush his brain, and the snake winds himself around the leopard and strangles him. And behold the miracle, ever since he has been occupied with the image of death, he inhales life, and it seems to him that he is getting better, and his wife coaxed him to come out for a stroll with her, like most of the intellectuals of the city who go for a stroll in the evening, like Mr. Ben-Yehuda who strolls every evening with Mrs. Hemda. And she didn’t know that all his strength derived from his work and if he turned away from his work, his strength would turn away from him. She would invent things to make him stop working, so that he wouldn’t get too worn out. That made him angry and he scolded her. She was alarmed and wept, for never in her life had she heard him scold her. When he went back to his work, she came and stood in front of him so he would appease her. If he understood her intention, he put down his brush and hugged her, but if he was too steeped in his work, he glared at her. She threw the curtain be-hind her and sat and wept. She sat behind the curtain on this side and wept and he stood behind the curtain on that side and groaned and coughed. When she heard him coughing and groaning, she came and threw herself on his neck and hugged him, as he divided his eyes between her and the picture he was painting.
Accounts
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Isaac stayed away from the Bloykof house and didn’t even come to bring products from the market. For, from the day the artist pulled the curtain, he regarded his guests as if they were conspiring against him to interrupt his work, until they finally stopped coming.
Once, on Friday afternoon, Isaac was coming home from work at the house of a Christian member of the sect of the Sabbath Keepers who had a bathhouse on Jaffa Road, and at noon on Friday the man locks the bathhouse and stops all work. Isaac was going to the barber to shave his beard, for he hadn’t yet bought his own razor, something he did later on. That was the afternoon hour when the teachers are coming out of school and the clerks are coming out of the bank and going to shave their beards and cut their hair. He waited a long time and his turn didn’t come, so he decided to give up the shave and spend the Sabbath at home reading a book, and for the walls of his house a person doesn’t need to beautify himself. He picked up his tools and left. He walked along with a pot of colors hanging on his arm, and on his shoulder hung a small ladder, and he was looking ahead like an artisan who has finished his work and was about to take his rest and pleasure.
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The city was still bustling as on all other days, but signs of prepara-tion for the Sabbath were already obvious. The merchants and shopkeepers who aren’t busy selling food lock their shops and their hearts are boasting that the Lord gave them a livelihood that doesn’t make them wear themselves out until dark, and they can enter the Sabbath
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with tranquility, and as they lock their shops, they jingle their keys to let the neighbors know that the Sabbath is approaching. On the other hand, all the grocers run from box to box in their shops, from a measure of wet goods to a measure of dry goods. They measure oil by the
Issar
and weigh sugar, they pour kerosene and cut halvah, they tear up paper and make wrappers, they make bundles and take coins from anyone who pays, and they write in their notebook who didn’t pay, they give change or ask for more, and they exchange thick candles for thin ones and thin candles for thick ones, whatever the customers want. Here a woman urges the shopkeeper to hurry up and there a shopkeeper urges a customer to buy something and go. Here a baby is crying whose bottle is broken, and there a pauper insinuates himself forward to ask for alms. Here a wine dealer measures wine for the Kiddush, and there a belligerent man yells that the candles they sold him last Friday didn’t have a wick. And on the street between the shops a beadle from the court runs to paste up announcements and skips past the places where he should paste them to teach the on-lookers not to run after him. As he runs and they run, they bump into schoolchildren going to put the Cholent in the public oven. The owner of the oven stands and yells. At some he yells for lingering, and at others he yells for hurrying, he yells at some whose bottles don’t have proper corks and are likely to spill, and he yells at others whose bottles are too tightly corked as if they’re afraid he’ll drink from them. Between this and that, you hear the Bible read twice and its transla-tion once, and a Bar Mitzvah boy reciting his Haftorah, and the smell of fish and the smell of other Sabbath dishes envelops you. Old men come out wearing Sabbath clothes, this one is going to his prayer house and that one to the Western Wall. This one has a kerchief wound around his neck against the chill, and that one has a kerchief wound around his neck in case the Sabbath boundary has been des-ecrated. The weekday sun has not yet set and the splendor of the Sabbath has not arrived, but everyone who is fond of the Sabbath leaves his work and hurries toward it an hour or two before time. As soon as the schoolchildren see the old people, they come and push their way among them, spitting shells out of their mouths and saying, Shabbas, Shabbas. Sabbath, Sabbath, whispers one old man in a sweet voice,
as if he were given a taste of the World to Come. And he looks at the firmament to a Sabbath up above, and runs to the Western Wall to receive the Sabbath that is waiting for the sons of Israel who will be blessed with its blessings. As the Land prepares for the Sabbath, the face of the firmament changes and other faces are flickering above. It is not yet really the Sabbath, but a taste of the Sabbath is already gleaming.
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Isaac strolls along leisurely, enjoying the view. For six days he worked from early morning to late at night, now, as he left his trade, he will return to his room and take off his dirty clothes and put on clean clothes, and won’t move until after the Sabbath. Isaac dallies a bit here and a bit there and glances, and calculates how much he has earned and how much he has spent, and what things he will buy to celebrate the Sabbath. Even though our comrade Isaac isn’t careful about keeping the Sabbath, he does tend to buy some special food for the Sabbath. When he added up his accounts, he found that he had five Bishliks left. A shame to touch them, for if he saved another five and another five and another five, he might succeed in putting together ten francs and sending them to Father. And that was about to happen, for he stayed away from Bloykof’s house and didn’t spend anything on him anymore. Isaac was happy at his sacrifice for Father and also that he hadn’t shaved his beard, both because he saved the cost of shaving and because he would have to sit at home all day of the Sabbath and rest from his toil, for he can’t appear in public when he’s not tidy.
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Isaac shifted the pot of paints from his right arm to his left and shifted the ladder from one shoulder to another, and pondered things that were close to his eyes and far from his heart, as well as things that were far from his eyes and close to his heart. He heard a voice shouting
Charity Will Save from Death
and he came upon a bier. Isaac didn’t ask who died and didn’t wait to hear. Jerusalem is a city wheremost of the inhabitants are old people who come from all places to die here, so what’s remarkable about burying a dead man? A person who passes away to his reward is taken to the Mount of Olives and buried in a grave he bought while he was alive, and then the people return home peacefully. Many a time on rainy nights, Isaac came upon members of the Burial Society running to the Mount of Olives to bury a dead person, and many a time he saw them returning with their clothes streaming like springs, and they were shivering with chills and suffering from malaria. There are people who complain about the members of the Burial Society that they make a living from the dead. Even harsher are the words of Rabbi Obadia of Bartanura, the commentator of the Mishnah, about the Society leaders of his day who were careful not to lose even the least little thing of the dead person’s property and legacy, and they libeled those who visited the sick, saying that they took money from their houses and put it in their own coffers. And woe to the man whom they set their eyes on. Therefore, many were afraid to visit the sick lest they be suspected. And the situation of the sick who have no acquaintances in the city was very bitter. And the Society leaders knew no mercy and did not deviate from their evil ways.
As Isaac recalled past generations, he recalled what the peo-ple of Jerusalem tell about their first forefathers, who had left houses full of delicacies for burial in the city of Our God. And as he recalled those old people, he recalled Reb Yudel his ancestor, that Hasid who lived a life of woe, and when fortune smiled on him and he became rich, he left his city and ascended to Jerusalem. And in those days his city was a big city, full of learning and wisdom, and folks honored him for his wealth and for his piety, and he could have lived out his days in wealth and honor. Yet he left his honor and ascended to Jerusalem. And who knows if a man is present at the hour when his soul departs, for Grandmother Frumit died before him. Isaac felt sorry for his ancestor. But in his somber mood, he found a little consolation, for if our grandfather is buried here, then we too are em-bedded in this soil, like those whose forefathers created the Yishuv. Isaac pondered, How come I didn’t remember before now, and now
that I have remembered, I should visit my ancestor’s grave, even though it’s hard to imagine that I’ll find it, for it has been over eighty years since the day he passed away, and his grave has certainly sunk and its place is forgotten.
Isaac looked at the pallbearers who were hurrying to bring the dead man to his rest before the entrance of the Sabbath, and he looked at the funeral procession and didn’t fi anyone he knew there. And they didn’t seem to know the dead man either, but they came upon a chance to fulfill the Commandment to accompany the dead and they accompanied him a few paces to perform the last honors. He asked one of the pallbearers, Who’s the dead man here?
He replied, One of the freethinkers. Another one said, Free among the dead, says the Bible, and you shouldn’t speak ill of the dead. Yet another person asked, Who is it who died? They answered him, A painter from Nahalat Shiv’ah. Someone else interrupted and said, Why not Professor Schatz? Another one said, Blessed be the True Judge, I saw that painter last Shavuoth at the tomb of King David. He hadn’t yet filled the measure of his years and he has already passed away. Someone else answered, Is it only old people who are entitled to die? Sometimes even a young man finds himself dead.
Isaac understood what he understood, and was about to pass by the bier and return home and eat and drink and go to bed to rest and enjoy. He stood still and looked at the rickety poles tied with thick ropes, and on them lay Bloykof who died and a small group walked behind him. Some go and some come. Isaac picked up his feet and started running after the corpse along with all his tools. He could have put down his tools in any shop and accompanied the corpse to the cemetery, but at that hour his eyes and his heart were blocked by the death of his comrade. So he walked with the pallbearers, paint-stained, a pot of paint hanging on his arm and a lad-der hanging on his shoulders, until they placed Samson Bloykof in the ground and poured dirt on him.
Samson Bloykof died at noon on Friday, and they hurried to bring him to the cemetery before the entrance of the Sabbath, and there wasn’t time to announce his death to his comrades before he was buried.
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At night, after dinner, a few artists and writers and teachers and activists went down to his widow to console her. Professor Schatz came, wrapped in a white Bedouin robe. And along with him came the di-rector of the rug department of the Bezalel art school also wrapped like his teacher in a robe. And along with them, Kleinhof the writer who boasted that he was one of the first to write an article about Bloykof and made him famous in the world. Then came Gilboa the writer along with Mantelzak the painter who suppressed his usual be-havior and didn’t bear a grudge against Bloykof at that moment, even though Bloykof had called him a smearer. Then came Spokoyni, whose portrait Bloykof had painted. Now that Bloykof was dead, it occurred to Spokoyni that the journals would jump and publish some of his works and would certainly publish that picture which was praised as a success by all the experts. Spokoyni was satisfied and a little dissatisfied, satisfied that his name would be publicized in the world and dissatisfied lest, in the process, the widow would remember that he hadn’t paid for the picture. Finally came our friend Eliezer Karstin the humble and modest painter who plied his trade in art and never sought greatness for himself. He wasn’t one of Bloykof’s coterie and wasn’t fond of his paintings. But he showed up when he was in need and hid when the time came to pay up. Karstin mourned Samson Bloykof who died and was sorry for Tosya who was widowed, and sought how to grant help to the widow with some of his own bread without shaming her.
The widow Tosya lay ill and a woman who served as a nurse from time to time took care of her. Everyone who entered the house went to the widow and clasped her hand and said something, with a sheath of mourning on his face. Isaac came too. Since he had joined the funeral procession, he hadn’t had time to change his clothes, and since he wanted to spend the Sabbath at home, he hadn’t shaved his beard. Thus his simple countenance was evidently the countenance of a simple craftsman, and people were amazed at him pushing his way in among teachers and writers and painters and activists. One maiden, whom Mrs. Bloykof had once invited for him, glanced at him. She looked at him with smiling eyes and said, Did you ever
think that Samson would leave us suddenly? Isaac looked at her in amazement. Even though he saw them bury Bloykof, his mind had not come to terms with the artist’s death.
After a while, most of the consolers went, and only those who were close remained. One stretched his hand toward the wall and pointed to the new picture which wasn’t finished and said, He certainly took pains for his widow. They began discussing the livelihood of the widow and where she would get her sustenance. One of the visitors withdrew from the group and his comrade and three or four others accompanied him. Soon the cellar emptied out and the only ones remaining were Isaac and that woman who was taking care of the widow. Mrs. Bloykof raised her eyes to him and said, Mr. Kumer, you’re here. He nodded to her and began weeping. She sat up in bed and said, Do you think I’m responsible for his death? Isaac screamed, Who, you? Said she, I also tell myself that I’m not responsible for his death, but when I saw him wasting his strength, I asked him to relax a little. And he didn’t listen to me, until his brush dropped out of his hand and he died. Please, Mr. Kumer, bring the picture close to me, the one standing on my table. No, leave it in its place. No, bring it close to me. And Mrs. Konstantinovski will be good enough to light the lamp for me. Isaac brought the picture close to her. Tosya looked and said, The paint hasn’t yet dried and he’s already lying dead. Tosya didn’t weep or shed a tear. But her grief muddled her eyes. At last, she held out her hand to Isaac and said, When you have some free time from your work, come visit me. Goodbye. A good Sabbath to you, answered Isaac, tearfully. Mrs. Bloykof was jolted and said, Today is the Sabbath. And she began to weep loudly.
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The Sabbath passed. For the pious, in Torah and prayer, eating and drinking and sleeping. And for the average person, in eating and drinking and sleeping. For Bloykof’s widow, how did it pass? For Bloykof’s widow, it passed in sorrow and mourning. And for Isaac too. A thousand times a day, Isaac said, Bloykof’s dead. And as he said it, he repeated, Bloykof’s not dead. But in his heart Isaac knew that if he went to Bloykof’s house, he wouldn’t find Bloykof. And when
Isaac felt that, he turned his head to the wall and wept. And so Isaac spent most of the day in his room. The bristles of his beard pricked his face like mosquitoes. And a mosquito seemed to be pricking his brain. And when the day began to decline and the walls of his room began to turn dark, he felt gloomy and couldn’t bear his grief. He got up and went out. And when he went out into the street, it seemed to him that something wasn’t right. In fact, there was no change outside, but there was a change in his heart and he imagined that he saw the world changed. When he saw that nothing had changed, he was amazed that everything was in its regular order without any change. And when he saw girls wearing Sabbath clothes strolling in the street as they did every Sabbath, he was again amazed. His heart told him, Why are you amazed at them, do they know what you’ve lost? And again he felt the loss he had lost. Isaac found a little consolation in those who recite Psalms and those who study Talmud, whose loud voice was heard from the synagogues and study houses. And he wanted to go into one prayer house, but he didn’t because he wasn’t used to prayer houses. He walked down Jaffa Road, and from there to Jaffa Gate and from there inside the Old City wall and from there to the Western Wall.
A silence of holiness hung on the stones of the Western Wall. One Minyan was concluding the afternoon prayers and another Minyan was reciting the afternoon prayers. And among those standing was Eliezer Karstin wrapped in a black cloak. After they finished the prayers, Karstin leaned his head on the Western Wall and said Kaddish. There was one man there who enjoyed Karstin’s alms and knew that that painter was the nephew of the Rebbe Reb Naftali Am-sterdam, one of the great leaders of the Musar movement. He came to him and asked him if he had a Yortseit today since he was saying Kaddish. Karstin told him, I had a comrade and he died without sons. He asked him, What’s his name? He told him. He said to him, Good things are brought about by good men. An old man in my neighborhood promised that painter to say Kaddish after his death. I’ll go and tell him.
Once again, the friends of the deceased gathered to discuss the support of his widow. Since it’s impossible to resolve the problem
on the spur of the moment, they put the matter off to another time. Isaac couldn’t make a decent decision either. At one moment, he wanted to advise her to open a restaurant and at the next he wanted to give her other advice, which he couldn’t accept. Meanwhile, Isaac stood by her in her hour of need and was grateful to her that she didn’t make things hard for him.
Once a shopkeeper came to the cellar to order a sign, and he didn’t know that Bloykof was dead. At that moment, Isaac chanced to drop in. Said Isaac, I’ll make the sign. He made the sign and gave his fee to Tosya. Said Tosya to Isaac, My husband Samson left paints and brushes and canvas. Take them and let’s make a partnership and we’ll divide the profit. Isaac agreed to the partnership, and thought to himself, Even if there’s no livelihood here, there is enough to as-sist the widow honorably.
One day Isaac found a man in her home acting like the head of the house. Mrs. Bloykof sensed that they were wondering about each other. She told the guest who Mr. Kumer was and she told Mr. Kumer who the guest was, it was her brother-in-law, the husband of her deceased sister. The day her father got the news of Samson’s death, her brother-in-law went to Trieste, where he went every year, for he was a merchant of southern fruits; and he left all his business and came.
Eight or nine days later, Mrs. Bloykof wrapped up Bloykof’s paintings, put them in the cradle of the dead little girl, and gave them to whoever she gave them to. And that man left them wherever he left them until the moths attacked them. Tosya returned with her brother-in-law to her hometown, after she had suffered great hard-ships with Bloykof, and now that Bloykof was dead, her brother-in- law was willing to marry her. Artists grab the best women for wives. But the lives of artists are lives of grief and suffering and most of them starve to death in their youth, and so even an ordinary man can win a handsome and desirable woman like Tosya.
