Jewish Children Part 16

"A fine frost for once."

"There were blows exchanged at the meeting."

"Good blows for once."

"Oh, Jews, I am a poor man."

"A poor man for once."

And so of everything.

Moshe was a---- I cannot tell you what Moshe was. He was a Jew, but what he lived by it would be hard to say. He lived as many thousands of Jews live in Ka.s.srillevka--tens of thousands. He hovered around the overlord.

That is, not the overlord himself, but the gentlefolks that were with the overlord. And not around the gentlefolks themselves, but around the Jews that hovered around the gentlefolks who were with the overlord. And if he made a living--that was another story. Moshe-for-once was a man who hated to boast of his good fortune, or to bemoan his ill-fortune. He was always jolly. His cheeks were always red. One end of his moustache was longer than the other. His hat was always on one side of his head; and his eyes were always smiling and kindly. He never had any time, but was always ready to walk ten miles to do any one a favour.

That's the sort of a man Moshe-for-once was.

There wasn't a thing in the world Moshe-for-once could not make--a house, or a clock, or a machine, a lamp, a spinning-top, a tap, a mirror, a cage, and what not.

True, no one could point to the houses, the clocks, or the machines that came from his hands; but every one was satisfied Moshe could make them.

Every one said that if need be, Moshe could turn the world upside down.

The misfortune was that he had no tools. I mean the contrary. That was his good fortune. Through this, the world was not turned upside down.

That is, the world remained a world.

That Moshe was not torn to pieces was a miracle. When a lock went wrong they came to Moshe. When the clock stopped, or the tap of the "_Samovar_" went out of order, or there appeared in a house blackbeetles, or bugs, or other filthy creatures, it was always Moshe who was consulted. Or when a fox came and choked the fowls, whose advice was asked? It was always and ever Moshe-for-once.

True, the broken lock was thrown away, the clock had to be sent to a watchmaker, and the "_Samovar_" to the copper-smith. The blackbeetles, and bugs and other filthy things were not at all frightened of Moshe.

And the fox went on doing what a fox ought to do. But Moshe-for-once still remained the same Moshe-for-once he had been. After all, he had blessed hands; and no doubt he had something in him. A world cannot be mad. In proof of this--why do the people not come to you or me with their broken locks, or broken clocks, or for advice how to get rid of foxes, or blackbeetles and bugs and other filthy things? All the people in the world are not the same. And it appears that talent is rare.

We became very near neighbours with this Moshe-for-once. We lived in the same house with him, under the one roof. I say became, because, before that, we lived in our own house. The wheels of fortune suddenly turned round for us. Times grew bad. We did not wish to be a burden to any one.

We sold our house, paid our debts, and moved into Hershke Mamtzes'

house. It was an old ruin, without a garden, without a yard, without a paling, without a body, and without life.

"Well, it's a hut," said my mother, pretending to be merry. But I saw tears in her eyes.

"Do not sin," said my father, who was black as the earth. "Thank G.o.d for this."

Why for "this," I do not know. Perhaps because we were not living on the street? I would rather have lived on the street than in this house, with strange boys and girls whom I did not know, nor wish to know, with their yellow hair, and their running noses, with their thin legs and fat bellies. When they walked they waddled like ducks. They did nothing but eat, and when any one else was eating, they stared right into his mouth.

I was very angry with the Lord for having taken our house from us. I was not sorry for the house as for the Tabernacle we had there. It stood from year to year. It had a roof that could be raised and lowered, and a beautiful carved ceiling of green and yellow boards, made into squares with a "Shield of David" in the middle. True, kind friends told us to hope on, for we should one day buy the house back, or the Lord would help us to build another, and a better, and a bigger and a handsomer house than the one we had had to sell. But all this was cold comfort to us. I heard the same sort of words when I broke my tin watch, accidentally, of course, into fragments. My mother smacked me, and my father wiped my eyes, and promised to buy me a better, and bigger and handsomer watch than the one I broke. But the more my father praised the watch he was going to buy for me, the more I cried for the other, the old watch. When my father was not looking, my mother wept silently for the old house. And my father sighed and groaned. A black cloud settled on his face, and his big white forehead was covered with wrinkles.

I thought it was very wrong of the Father of the Universe to have taken our house from us.

"I ask you--may your health increase!--what are we going to do with the Tabernacle?" asked my mother of my father some time before the Feast of Tabernacles.

"You probably mean to ask what are we going to do without a Tabernacle?"

replied my father, attempting to jest. I saw that he was distressed. He turned away to one side, so that we might not see his face, which was covered with a thick black cloud. My mother blew her nose to swallow her tears. And I, looking at them.... Suddenly my father turned to us with a lively expression on his face.

"Hush! We have here a neighbour called Moshe."

"Moshe-for-once?" asked my mother. And I do not know whether she was making fun or was in earnest. It seemed she was in earnest, for, half an hour later, the three were going about the house, father, Moshe, and Hershke Mamtzes, our landlord, looking for a spot on which to erect a Tabernacle.

Hershke Mamtzes' house was all right. It had only one fault. It stood on the street, and had not a sc.r.a.p of yard. It looked as if it had been lost in the middle of the road. Somebody was walking along and lost a house, without a yard, without a roof, the door on the other side of the street, like a coat with the waist in front and the b.u.t.tons underneath.

If you talk to Hershke, he will bore you to death about his house. He will tell you how he came by it, how they wanted to take it from him, and how he fought for it, until it remained with him.

"Where do you intend to erect the Tabernacle, '_Reb_' Moshe?" asked father of Moshe-for-once. And Moshe-for-once, his hat on the back of his head, was lost in thought, as if he were a great architect formulating a big plan. He pointed with his hand from here to there, and from there to here. He tried to make us understand that if the house were not standing in the middle of the street, and if it had had a yard, we would have had two walls ready made, and he could have built us a Tabernacle in a day.

Why do I say in a day? In an hour. But since the house had no yard, and we needed four walls, the Tabernacle would take a little longer to build. But for that again, we would have a Tabernacle for once. The main thing was to get the material.

"There will be materials. Have you the tools?" asked Hershke.

"The tools will be found. Have you the timber?" asked Moshe.

"There is timber. Have you the nails?" asked Hershke.

"Nails can be got. Have you the fir-boughs?" asked Moshe.

"Somehow, you are a little too so-so today," said Hershke.

"A little too what?" asked Moshe. They looked each other straight in the eyes, and both burst out laughing.

When Hershke Mamtzes brought the first few boards and beams, Moshe said that, please G.o.d, it would be a Tabernacle for once. I wondered how he was going to make a Tabernacle out of the few boards and beams. I begged of my mother to let me stand by whilst Moshe was working. And Moshe not only let me stand by him, but even let me be his a.s.sistant. I was to hand him what he wanted, and hold things for him.

Of course this put me into the seventh heaven of delight. Was it a trifle to help build the Tabernacle? I was of great a.s.sistance to Moshe.

I moved my lips when he hammered; went for meals when he went; shouted at the other children not to hinder us; handed Moshe the hammer when he wanted the chisel, and the pincers when he wanted a nail. Any other man would have thrown the hammer or pincers at my head for such help, but Moshe-for-once had no temper. No one had ever had the privilege of seeing him angry.

"Anger is a sinful thing. It does as little good as any sin."

And because I was greatly absorbed in the work, I did not notice how and by what miracle the Tabernacle came into being.

"Come and see the Tabernacle we have built," I said to father, and dragged him out of the house by the tails of his coat. My father was delighted with our work. He looked at Moshe with a smile, and said, pointing to me:

"Had you at any rate a little help from him?"

"It was a help, for once," replied Moshe, looking up at the roof of the Tabernacle with anxious eyes.

"If only our Hershke brings us the fir-boughs, it will be a Tabernacle for once."

Hershke Mamtzes worried us about the fir-boughs. He put off going for them from day to day. The day before the Festival he went off and brought back a cart-load of thin sticks, a sort of weeds, such as grow on the banks of the river. And we began to cover the Tabernacle. That is to say, Moshe did the work, and I helped him by driving off the goats which had gathered around the fir-boughs, as if they were something worth while. I do not know what taste they found in the bitter green stalks.

Because the house stood alone, in the middle of the street, there was no getting rid of the goats. If you drove one off another came up. The second was only just got rid of, when the first sprang up again. I drove them off with sticks.