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Authors: Isaac Bashevis Singer
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and take him. And if it turns out that he doesn't please you, there's always the bill of divorcement."
Then did Rechele, she who was reputed to be half-witted, cover her face with her delicate hands, bend over and begin to cry softly, bewailing her fortune--and she wept as one who has all her wits about her. Her long hair nearly touching the floor, her girlish shoulders quivered. As Nechele spoke the girl sobbed. Her breasts trembled, and she could not utter a word. She was still whimpering when Nechele, who was used to both the screams of women in birth and the shrill mourning of brides, rose and left. A thin smile played about Nechele's lips when she later said to the menfolk: "Ah well, she's not mad at all! Fetch Reb Eleazar home, and she will put on the bonnet soon enough."
Reb Itche Mates' friends collected a few coins and sent a runner to the villages, to locate Reb Eleazar and bring him back. The messenger had been away several days, and there was still no word. People whispered anxiously that both Reb Eleazar and the messenger had been killed in the village of Kotzitza. There was a magician in that hamlet who, it was said, shrank human heads. Meanwhile Reb Itche Mates waited in the dark room in Reb Godel Chasid's home. All day long he sat swaying over the appendix to the Zohar, and working out numerical combinations of the names of Yaweh. At night, when everyone else was asleep, he stole out of Reb Godel Chasid's house and went to the bathhouse, which was situated between the infirmary and the old graveyard. Against the infirmary door rested the purification board awaiting a new corpse. In the moonlight the half-sunken tombstones looked like toadstools. Entering the bathhouse Reb Itche Mates lighted a piece of kindling and held it up like a torch. The walls were black with soot. Cats jumped from bench to bench, silently pursuing each other, with fiery eyes. The scorched stones lay cold and scattered near the oven. Reb Itche Mates took off his clothes. His body was covered with a heavy growth of yellow hair. It was scarred by the thorns and thistles on which he had mortified himself. Silently he went down to the pool by way of the crooked stone steps, noiselessly slipped into the water, submerged himself without a splash, and disappeared for a few minutes. Slowly and cautiously, like some water creature, he lifted his drenched head. Two and seventy times did he immerse himself, according to the numerical signification of the letters Ayin and Beth. When he had done he clothed himself and went off to recite the midnight prayers.
Reb Itche Mates moved restlessly in the room that Reb Godel Chasid had set apart for him, until day-break. Rather than annoy the mistress of the house, he did not light the wick in the oil lamp. Sprinkling ashes on his head, he strode from wall to wall in the darkness, chanting verses, lamenting the destruction of the Holy Temple, and begging the Holy One, blessed be He, to take back the Divine Presence which he had driven away into Exile with Israel. Between prayers he grew silent, as though attentive to things taking place in other worlds, which his ears alone could discern. Outside the wind blew, rattling shutters and bringing the rending cry of an infant and the singsong lullaby of a mother. Reb Godel Chasid started up from sleep, awoke his wife, and said, "Rechele is greatly honored. Reb Itche Mates is a holy man. She must be righteous too."
They waited for more than eight days, and still there was no word either of Reb Eleazar or the messenger. Every peasant who came to Goray was interrogated: "Have you heard anything, Ivan, of Reb Eleazar, the owner of the brick house? Or have you perhaps met Leib Banach, who used to buy horses' tails?"
But the peasant would push his sheepskin cap back over his tousled hair, rub his forehead, look far into the distance to jog his memory, blink, and remonstrate: "I've seen nothing, heard nothing...."
And he would stride off in the deep mud.
Thus
Then did Rechele, she who was reputed to be half-witted, cover her face with her delicate hands, bend over and begin to cry softly, bewailing her fortune--and she wept as one who has all her wits about her. Her long hair nearly touching the floor, her girlish shoulders quivered. As Nechele spoke the girl sobbed. Her breasts trembled, and she could not utter a word. She was still whimpering when Nechele, who was used to both the screams of women in birth and the shrill mourning of brides, rose and left. A thin smile played about Nechele's lips when she later said to the menfolk: "Ah well, she's not mad at all! Fetch Reb Eleazar home, and she will put on the bonnet soon enough."
Reb Itche Mates' friends collected a few coins and sent a runner to the villages, to locate Reb Eleazar and bring him back. The messenger had been away several days, and there was still no word. People whispered anxiously that both Reb Eleazar and the messenger had been killed in the village of Kotzitza. There was a magician in that hamlet who, it was said, shrank human heads. Meanwhile Reb Itche Mates waited in the dark room in Reb Godel Chasid's home. All day long he sat swaying over the appendix to the Zohar, and working out numerical combinations of the names of Yaweh. At night, when everyone else was asleep, he stole out of Reb Godel Chasid's house and went to the bathhouse, which was situated between the infirmary and the old graveyard. Against the infirmary door rested the purification board awaiting a new corpse. In the moonlight the half-sunken tombstones looked like toadstools. Entering the bathhouse Reb Itche Mates lighted a piece of kindling and held it up like a torch. The walls were black with soot. Cats jumped from bench to bench, silently pursuing each other, with fiery eyes. The scorched stones lay cold and scattered near the oven. Reb Itche Mates took off his clothes. His body was covered with a heavy growth of yellow hair. It was scarred by the thorns and thistles on which he had mortified himself. Silently he went down to the pool by way of the crooked stone steps, noiselessly slipped into the water, submerged himself without a splash, and disappeared for a few minutes. Slowly and cautiously, like some water creature, he lifted his drenched head. Two and seventy times did he immerse himself, according to the numerical signification of the letters Ayin and Beth. When he had done he clothed himself and went off to recite the midnight prayers.
Reb Itche Mates moved restlessly in the room that Reb Godel Chasid had set apart for him, until day-break. Rather than annoy the mistress of the house, he did not light the wick in the oil lamp. Sprinkling ashes on his head, he strode from wall to wall in the darkness, chanting verses, lamenting the destruction of the Holy Temple, and begging the Holy One, blessed be He, to take back the Divine Presence which he had driven away into Exile with Israel. Between prayers he grew silent, as though attentive to things taking place in other worlds, which his ears alone could discern. Outside the wind blew, rattling shutters and bringing the rending cry of an infant and the singsong lullaby of a mother. Reb Godel Chasid started up from sleep, awoke his wife, and said, "Rechele is greatly honored. Reb Itche Mates is a holy man. She must be righteous too."
They waited for more than eight days, and still there was no word either of Reb Eleazar or the messenger. Every peasant who came to Goray was interrogated: "Have you heard anything, Ivan, of Reb Eleazar, the owner of the brick house? Or have you perhaps met Leib Banach, who used to buy horses' tails?"
But the peasant would push his sheepskin cap back over his tousled hair, rub his forehead, look far into the distance to jog his memory, blink, and remonstrate: "I've seen nothing, heard nothing...."
And he would stride off in the deep mud.
Thus
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