Jewish Children Part 7

"Excellent cherry-wine," they said, pa.s.sing round the bottles, and letting the liquid gurgle down their throats. "Splendid liquor. The best I ever tasted."

That was what the a.s.sistants said. They actually licked their fingers.

They remained in the distance, but indicated with their hands that we must go forward, forward.

We went on and on, over the wide Mezritzer field, though the wind blew stronger and stronger. The sky grew black with clouds, and a cold, thick rain beat into our faces. Our hands were blue with the cold. Our boots squelched in the mud. We had long given up singing songs. We were tired and hungry, very hungry. We decided to sit down and rest, and have something to eat.

"Where are the a.s.sistants? Where is the food--where is it?"

The boys began to murmur against the a.s.sistants.

"It is a dirty trick to take all our food from us, and our cherry-wine and our few '_groschens_,' and to leave us here in the desert, cold and hungry. May the devil take them!"

"May a bad end come to the a.s.sistants!"

"May the cholera strike down all the a.s.sistants in the world!"

"May they be the sacrifices for our tiniest nails!"

"Hush. Let there be silence. Here come our foes, our enemies."

"Little squirrels with big sticks."

"The sea-cats--the sea-cats!"

"Hurrah for the sea-cats!"

The moment we saw them, we rushed towards them, like fierce starving wolves. We were ready to tear them to pieces. But there happened to us a misfortune, a great misfortune which no one could possibly have foreseen.

If it is not destined, neither wisdom nor strength nor smartness are of any avail. Listen to what can happen.

The sea-cats, though they were small, short little squirrels, were evidently no fools. Before going to do battle on the broad Mezritzer field, they had prepared themselves well at home, gone through their drill. Afterwards, they fed up. They also took with them warm clothing and rubber goloshes. They were armed from head to foot no worse than we were, with swords and pop-guns and bows and arrows. They would not wait until we had taken the offensive. They attacked us first, and began to break our bones. And how, do you think? From all sides at once, and so suddenly that we had no time to look about us. Before we realized it, they were upon us. They were not alone, but had their a.s.sistants to urge them on and encourage them.

"Pay out the '_Chumash_' boys. Beat them, the boys with the long legs."

Naturally we were not silent either. We stood up against the squirrels, like giants, beat them with our swords, aimed our arrows at them, and shot at them with our pop-guns. But, alas! our swords were dull as wood; and before we could set our bows, they had thrashed us. I say nothing of the guns. What can you do with a pop-gun if the foe will not wait until you have taken aim at him? They rushed forward and knocked the guns out of our hands. What could we do?

We had to throw away our weapons, our swords and pop-guns and bows and arrows, and fight as the Lord has ordained. That is to say, we fought with our fists. But we were hungry and tired and cold, and fought without a plan, because our a.s.sistants had remained behind. They let us fight whilst they ate our food and drank our cherry-wine--the devil take them! And they, the little squirrels, well-fed and well-clad, had crept upon us from three sides at once, each moment growing stronger and stronger. They rained down on us blows and thumps and digs. The same blows that we had reckoned on giving them they gave us. And their a.s.sistants went in front of them, and never ceased from urging them on.

"Pay back the '_Chumash_' boys. Beat them, beat them, the boys with the long legs."

Who was the first to turn his back on the enemy? It would be hard to say. I only know we ran quickly, helter-skelter, back home, back to Mazapevka. And they, the little squirrels--may they burn!--ran after us, shouting and yelling and laughing at us, right on top of us.

"Hurrah! '_Chumash_' boys! Hurrah! Big boys!"

We arrived home exhausted, ragged, bruised, beaten. And we giants imagined that our parents would pity us, give us cakes because of the blows we got. But it turned out we were mistaken. No one thought of us.

We thanked G.o.d we were so fortunate as to escape without beatings from our parents for our torn clothes and twisted boots. But next morning we got a good whipping from our teacher, Nissel the small one, for the bruises we had on our foreheads and the blue marks around our eyes. It is shameful to tell it--we were each whipped in the true style. This was a mere addition, as if we had not had enough.

We were not sorry for anything but that the a.s.sistants gave us another share. When a father or a mother beats one, it is out of kindness. When a teacher beats one it is because he is a teacher. And what is his rod for, anyway? But the a.s.sistants! Our curses upon them! As if it were not enough that they had eaten all our food, and drunk our cherry-wine--may they suffer for it, Father of the Universe!--as if it were not enough that they had left us to fight alone, in the middle of the field, but when they were whipping us they held our feet, so that we might not kick either.

And that was how our holiday ended up. It was a dark, dreary, lost "_L'ag Beomer_."

Murderers

"Is he still snoring?"

"And how snoring!"

"May he perish!"

"Wake him up. Wake him up."

"Leib-Dreib-Obderick!"

"Get up, my little bird."

"Open your little eyes."

I barely managed to open my eyes, raise my head, and look about me. I saw a whole crowd of rascals, my school-fellows. The window was open, and along with their sparkling eyes I saw the first rays of the bright, warm early morning sun. I looked about me, on all sides.

"Just see how he looks."

"Like a sinner."

"Did you not recognize us?"

"Have you forgotten that it is '_L'ag Beomer_' today?"

The words darted through all my limbs like a flash of lightning. I was carried out of bed by them. In the twinkling of an eye, I was dressed. I went in search of my mother, who was busy with the breakfast and the younger children.

"Mother, today is '_L'ag Beomer_.'"

"A good '_Yom-tov_' to you. What do you want?"

"I want something for the party."

"What am I to give you? My troubles? Or my aches?"

So said my mother to me. Nevertheless, she was ready to give me something towards the party. We bargained about it. I wanted a lot. She would only give a little. I wanted two eggs. Said she: "A suffering in the bones!" I began to grow angry. She gave me two smacks. I began to cry. She gave me an apple to quieten me. I wanted an orange. Said she: "Greedy boy, what will you want next?" And my friends on the other side of the window were kicking up a row.