“Not at all! Where do you eat your varimess?”[8] ]
“Don’t say varimess,” he corrected her complaisantly; “here it is called dinner!”
“Dinner?[9] ] And what if one becomes fatter?” she confusedly ventured an irresistible pun.
This was the way in which Gitl came to receive her first lesson in the five or six score English words and phrases which the omnivorous Jewish jargon has absorbed in the Ghettos of English-speaking countries.
CHAPTER V.
A PATERFAMILIAS.
It was early in the afternoon of Gitl’s second Wednesday in the New World. Jake, Bernstein and Charley, their two boarders, were at work. Yosselé was sound asleep in the lodgers’ double bed, in the smallest of the three tiny rooms which the family rented on the second floor of one of a row of brand-new tenement houses. Gitl was by herself in the little front room which served the quadruple purpose of kitchen, dining room, sitting room, and parlour. She wore a skirt and a loose jacket of white Russian calico, decorated with huge gay figures, and her dark hair was only half covered by a bandana of red and yellow. This was Gitl’s compromise between her conscience and her husband. She panted to yield to Jake’s demands completely, but could not nerve herself up to going about “in her own hair, like a Gentile woman.” Even the expostulations of Mrs. Kavarsky—the childless middle-aged woman who occupied with her husband the three rooms across the narrow hallway—failed to prevail upon her. Nevertheless Jake, succumbing to Mrs. Kavarsky’s annoying solicitations, had bought his wife a cheap high-crowned hat, utterly unfit to be worn over her voluminous wig, and even a corset. Gitl could not be coaxed into accompanying them to the store; but the eloquent neighbour had persuaded Jake that her presence at the transaction was not indispensable after all.
“Leave it to me,” she said; “I know what will become her and what won’t. I’ll get her a hat that will make a Fifth Avenue lady of her, and you shall see if she does not give in. If she is then not satetzfiet to go with her own hair, vell!” What then would take place Mrs. Kavarsky left unsaid.
The hat and the corset had been lying in the house now three days, and the neighbour’s predictions had not yet come true, save for Gitl’s prying once or twice into the pasteboard boxes in which those articles lay, otherwise unmolested, on the shelf over her bed.
The door was open. Gitl stood toying with the knob of the electric bell, and deriving much delight from the way the street door latch kept clicking under her magic touch two flights above. Finally she wearied of her diversion, and shutting the door she went to take a look at Yosselé. She found him fast asleep, and, as she was retracing her steps through her own and Jake’s bedroom, her eye fell upon the paper boxes. She got up on the edge of her bed and, lifting the cover from the hatbox, she took a prolonged look at its contents. All at once her face brightened up with temptation. She went to fasten the hallway door of the kitchen on its latch, and then regaining the bedroom shut herself in. After a lapse of some ten or fifteen minutes she re-emerged, attired in her brown holiday dress in which she had first confronted Jake on Ellis Island, and with the tall black straw hat on her head. Walking on tiptoe, as though about to commit a crime, she crossed over to the looking-glass. Then she paused, her eyes on the door, to listen for possible footsteps. Hearing none she faced the glass. “Quite a panenke!”[10] ] she thought to herself, all aglow with excitement, a smile, at once shamefaced and beatific, melting her features. She turned to the right, then to the left, to view herself in profile, as she had seen Mrs. Kavarsky do, and drew back a step to ascertain the effect of the corset. To tell the truth, the corset proved utterly impotent against the baggy shapelessness of the Povodye garment. Yet Gitl found it to work wonders, and readily pardoned it for the very uncomfortable sensation which it caused her. She viewed herself again and again, and was in a flutter both of ecstasy and alarm when there came a timid rap on the door. Trembling all over, she scampered on tiptoe back into the bedroom, and after a little she returned in her calico dress and bandana kerchief. The knock at the door had apparently been produced by some peddler or beggar, for it was not repeated. Yet so violent was Gitl’s agitation that she had to sit down on the haircloth lounge for breath and to regain composure.
“What is it they call this?” she presently asked herself, gazing at the bare boards of the floor. “Floor!” she recalled, much to her self-satisfaction. “And that?” she further examined herself, as she fixed her glance on the ceiling. This time the answer was slow in coming, and her heart grew faint. “And what was it Yekl called that?”—transferring her eyes to the window. “Veen—neev—veenda,” she at last uttered exultantly. The evening before she had happened to call it fentzter, in spite of Jake’s repeated corrections.