Jewish fiction; Jews -- Fiction; Short stories, Yiddish -- Translations into English; Yiddish fiction -- Translations into English
He knew very well just what her barking signified, and eyed her as if
deliberating what course to pursue. Quite cold-bloodedly he wrenched
the pot from her grasp, pulled out a piece of bread and crammed it into
his mouth. The tattered form seized him, with a frightful, wailing
yelp, and drew the pot toward her. He raised it above her reach and
continued to chew. The first bite had excited him. He began to eat
faster, swallowing almost without chewing. The old woman barked and
howled at the top of her voice, tugging at his arms. He thrust her
away. She fell upon her knees, grasped his legs and with a wild gasping
and snorting bit into them with her gums, in which stood only two side
teeth. He pressed her with his knees to the floor and sat down upon
her. She could no longer move.
Now he would eat in peace.
He stuck his fingers into the pot without finding anything. He almost
yelled with fury. His heart began to bound wildly; his eyes sparkled.
He must do something. He sprang to his feet, and cried out, wildly,
“More bread, old witch!”
He shoved her with his foot, emptied the pot of water on her head and
began to look for bread. He found nothing; there was nothing to be
found. He continued his search, however. He overturned the old chest,
scattered the bedclothes, broke the only chair. He became furious, not
knowing what he did. The old woman seized him, dragging him toward the
door with terrified shrieks. With all his might he thrust her off. The
old woman’s head struck against the high oven; she groaned uncannily.
Her moaning brought him to his senses. He was frightened, and held
in his breath. He stepped toward her. Was she still alive? The aged
landlady began to get up. He now breathed more freely and dashed out of
the room.
He was exhausted, yet excited. He desired to weep,--to weep bitterly.
He was thoroughly ashamed of the encounter with the deaf-and-dumb
landlady. He had robbed her of her wretched supper and had come near
killing her. And his hunger was now greater than ever. “A-a-ah!”
He pressed both his fists to his mouth and began to gnaw at them. The
pain grew intense, yet he kept on gnawing. He wished to “feel his
heart.”
The door opened and the old woman appeared. A narrow shaft of light
shone over the dark steps, falling like a grey strip upon Itsye’s
shoulder. But the old woman did not see him, and she sent after the
supposedly vanished fellow several infuriated screams, more cutting
than the most devastating curses. Itsye shuddered, stopped chewing his
hands and remained motionless, holding in his breath. The landlady
returned to her room and locked the door.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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