Read Online Stempenyu: A Jewish Romance by Sholem Aleichem, Hannah Berman - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Sholem Aleichem, Hannah Berman
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you from Leah-Bass, the baker woman. I never buy them from anyone else—not even if I were to be given their weight in gold for nothing. God help Leah-Bass for all that she differs through her drunkard of a husband! How the earth holds such a creature I do not understand. He is a disgrace to every-body, and his poor father must be put to shame in the other world through him. Yes, what was I going to say? My head is confused! Ha, there she goes, the lazy, good-for-nothing girl! Where were you, devil?”
At sight of her, Dvossa-Malka let out a long series of abuses and curses and loud, ear-splitting yells. She cries that Rochalle’s breakfast was delayed, the coffee spoiled, and a dozen other misdeeds performed by the girl, all of them bearing more or less on the subject or Rochalle’scomfort. In short, the whole house is in a state of irruption through Rochalle. Even Isaac-Naphtali himself, who was always deeply engrossed in his own affairs, often paused to look at Rochalle, and to ask whether she had this or that.
All this anxiety about her, and the constant attendance on the very least of her wants, was highly distasteful to Rochalle. She felt that they only bothered her, and deprived her of her personal freedom to do what she liked, and when she liked, and how. And, over all lay the great truth—that she was not at all as deeply attached to her parents-in-law-as they were to her. She left Moshe-Mendel out of her reckoning, though he was the principal person to her. He was hardly more to her than a mere figure—a name. Between her and him the relations were such that they could be called neither bad nor good. They said little or nothing to one another. A young man of Moshe-Mendel’s caliber could not be expected to sit down and talk with his wife in the middle of the say, as if there was nothing more important, or more interesting, for him to occupy himself with. He went here and there, telling stories, watching the business that went on in the market, or else listening to a discourse at the House of Leaning. And, when he came home at night, he could never get a single moment in which to talk to Rochalle without being interrupted. Isaac-Naphtali was sure to pop his head inside of the door to see what “the children” were doing, or else Dvossa-Malka came into the room, bringing something with her for Rochalle. She was sure to have in her hand a plate, or a jug, or a bowl, or a glass. Or, if she had nothing in the way of a dainty to offer Rochalle, she would bring her in a shawl to protect hershoulders from the cold air. And, she was always enthusiastic, always at fever point, for fear that Rochalle should fail to get the very best of everything.
“Here, Rochalle, taste this new kind of preserve that I have invented. I am sure you will like it,” was a favourite remark of hers.
“But, I tell you I tasted it a hundred times already.”
“Go away, child! You never tasted it before. You never set eyes on the likes of it in your life.”
And, Rochalle was compelled to take another spoonful of the preserve that was already grown as distasteful to her as poison.
“Rochalle, my love, you will be famished. Did you ever see anyone eating as you are eating? One would imagine that you were afraid of the spoon. I don’t know how you manage to exist at all. If anyone sees you, they will tear the eyes out of my head for starving you to death. They will curse me into the grave for starving my daughter-in-law. You must eat something, even if it is only to satisfy me that you are not starving. Woe is me!”
“Please let me be. I am not hungry. I cannot eat a mouthful. May I never be more hungry in all my life than I am now.”
“Well, do me a favour then. Sometimes a daughter-in-law does a favour to a mother-in-law. And, you must remember that I have a mother’s heart. Do not pain me by refusing to eat what I have brought you, even if it is only a mouthful.”
Rochalle could never manage to get out of eating what
At sight of her, Dvossa-Malka let out a long series of abuses and curses and loud, ear-splitting yells. She cries that Rochalle’s breakfast was delayed, the coffee spoiled, and a dozen other misdeeds performed by the girl, all of them bearing more or less on the subject or Rochalle’scomfort. In short, the whole house is in a state of irruption through Rochalle. Even Isaac-Naphtali himself, who was always deeply engrossed in his own affairs, often paused to look at Rochalle, and to ask whether she had this or that.
All this anxiety about her, and the constant attendance on the very least of her wants, was highly distasteful to Rochalle. She felt that they only bothered her, and deprived her of her personal freedom to do what she liked, and when she liked, and how. And, over all lay the great truth—that she was not at all as deeply attached to her parents-in-law-as they were to her. She left Moshe-Mendel out of her reckoning, though he was the principal person to her. He was hardly more to her than a mere figure—a name. Between her and him the relations were such that they could be called neither bad nor good. They said little or nothing to one another. A young man of Moshe-Mendel’s caliber could not be expected to sit down and talk with his wife in the middle of the say, as if there was nothing more important, or more interesting, for him to occupy himself with. He went here and there, telling stories, watching the business that went on in the market, or else listening to a discourse at the House of Leaning. And, when he came home at night, he could never get a single moment in which to talk to Rochalle without being interrupted. Isaac-Naphtali was sure to pop his head inside of the door to see what “the children” were doing, or else Dvossa-Malka came into the room, bringing something with her for Rochalle. She was sure to have in her hand a plate, or a jug, or a bowl, or a glass. Or, if she had nothing in the way of a dainty to offer Rochalle, she would bring her in a shawl to protect hershoulders from the cold air. And, she was always enthusiastic, always at fever point, for fear that Rochalle should fail to get the very best of everything.
“Here, Rochalle, taste this new kind of preserve that I have invented. I am sure you will like it,” was a favourite remark of hers.
“But, I tell you I tasted it a hundred times already.”
“Go away, child! You never tasted it before. You never set eyes on the likes of it in your life.”
And, Rochalle was compelled to take another spoonful of the preserve that was already grown as distasteful to her as poison.
“Rochalle, my love, you will be famished. Did you ever see anyone eating as you are eating? One would imagine that you were afraid of the spoon. I don’t know how you manage to exist at all. If anyone sees you, they will tear the eyes out of my head for starving you to death. They will curse me into the grave for starving my daughter-in-law. You must eat something, even if it is only to satisfy me that you are not starving. Woe is me!”
“Please let me be. I am not hungry. I cannot eat a mouthful. May I never be more hungry in all my life than I am now.”
“Well, do me a favour then. Sometimes a daughter-in-law does a favour to a mother-in-law. And, you must remember that I have a mother’s heart. Do not pain me by refusing to eat what I have brought you, even if it is only a mouthful.”
Rochalle could never manage to get out of eating what
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