Jewish fiction; Jews -- Fiction; Short stories, Yiddish -- Translations into English
So it came about by degrees that Eleazar was continually in and out of
the house, coming and going as he pleased and without stating any
pretext whatever.
Feigele's parents knew him for a steady young man, he was a skilled
artisan earning a good wage, and they knew quite well why a young man
comes to the home of a young girl, but they feigned ignorance, thinking
to themselves, "Let the children get to know each other better, there
will be time enough to talk it over afterwards."
Evening: a small room, shadows moving on the walls, a new table on which
burns a large, bright lamp, and sitting beside it Feigele sewing and
Eleazar reading aloud a novel by Shomer.
Father and mother, tired out with a whole day's work, sleep on their
beds behind the curtain, which shuts off half the room.
And so they sit, both of them, only sometimes Eleazar laughs aloud,
takes her by the hand, and exclaims with a smile, "Feigele!"
"What do you want, silly?"
"Nothing at all, nothing at all."
And she sews on, thinking, "I have got you fast enough, but don't
imagine you are taking somebody from the street, just as she is; there
are still eighty rubles wanting to make three hundred in the bank."
And she shows him her wedding outfit, the shifts and the bedclothes, of
which half lie waiting in the drawers.
* * * * *
They drew closer one to another, they became more and more intimate, so
that all looked upon them as engaged, and expected the marriage contract
to be drawn up any day. Feigele's mother was jubilant at her daughter's
good fortune, at the prospect of such a son-in-law, such a golden
son-in-law!
Reb Yainkel, her father, was an elderly man, a worn-out peddler, bent
sideways with the bag of junk continually on his shoulder.
Now he, too, has a little bit of pleasure, a taste of joy, for which God
be praised!
Everyone rejoices, Feigele most of all, her cheeks look rosier and
fresher, her eyes darker and brighter.
She sits at her machine and sews, and the whole room rings with her
voice:
"Un was ich hob' gewollt, hob' ich ausgefuehrt,
Soll ich azoi leben!
Ich hob' gewollt a shenem Choson,
Hot' mir Gott gegeben."
In the evening comes Eleazar.
"Well, what are you doing?"
"What should I be doing? Wait, I'll show you something."
"What sort of thing?"
She rises from her place, goes to the chest that stands in the stove
corner, takes something out of it, and hides it under her apron.
"Whatever have you got there?" he laughs.
"Why are you in such a hurry to know?" she asks, and sits down beside
him, brings from under her apron a picture in fine woolwork, Adam and
Eve, and shows it him, saying:
"There, now you see! It was worked by a girl I know--for me, for us. I
shall hang it up in our room, opposite the bed."
"Yours or mine?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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