“Enough—enough!” broke in Mrs. Ravinsky, thrilled in spite of herself by the prophecies of her holy man. “I know already all your smartness. Go, go, sit yourself down and eat something. You fasted all day.”
Mrs. Ravinsky hoarded for her husband and child the groceries the neighbours had donated. For herself she allowed only the left-overs, the crumbs and crusts.
The following noon, after finishing her meagre meal, she still felt the habitual gnawing of her under-nourished body, so she took a sour pickle and cut off another slice of bread from the dwindling loaf. But this morsel only sharpened her craving for more food.
The lingering savour of the butter and eggs which she had saved for her family tantalized her starved nerves. Faint and weak from the struggle to repress her hunger, she grew reckless and for once in her life abandoned herself to the gluttonous indulgence of the best in her scant larder.
With shaking hand she stealthily opened the cupboard, pilfered a knife-load of butter and spread it thickly on a second slice of bread. Cramming the whole into her mouth, she snatched two eggs and broke them into the frying-pan. The smell of the sizzling eggs filled the air with the sweet fragrance of the Sabbath. “Ach! How the sun would shine in my heart if I could only allow myself the bite in my mouth!”
Memories of gefüllte fish and the odour of freshly-baked apple strudel dilated her nostrils. She saw herself back in Russia setting the Sabbath table when she was the honoured wife of Reb Ravinsky.
The sudden holiday feeling that thrilled her senses smote her conscience. “Oi weh! Sinner that I am! Why should it will itself in me to eat like a person when my man don’t earn enough for dry bread? What will we do when this is used up? Suppose the charities should catch me feasting myself with such a full hand?”
Bent ravenously over the eggs—one eye on the door—she lifted the first spoonful to her watering mouth as Rachel flew in, eyes wide with excitement.
“Mamma! The charity lady is coming! She’s asking the fish-pedlar on the stoop where we live now.”