“My Benny is also one great wonder from smartness, but I ain’t such a crazy mother like she.”
The voices of her neighbors rose from every corner, but Hanneh Hayyeh, deaf to all, projected herself forward.
“What are you pushing yourself so wild? You ain’t going to get your meat first. Ain’t it, Mr. Sopkin, all got to wait their turn?”
Mr. Sopkin glanced up in the midst of cutting apart a quarter of meat. He wiped his knife on his greasy apron and leaned across the counter.
“Nu? Hanneh Hayyeh?” his ruddy face beamed. “Have you another letter from little Aby in France? What good news have you got to tell us?”
“No—it’s not a letter,” she retorted, with a gesture of impatience. “The good news is that I got done with the painting of my kitchen—and you all got to come and give a look how it shines in my house like in a palace.”
Mr. Sopkin resumed cutting the meat.
“Oi weh!” clamored Hanneh Hayyeh, with feverish breathlessness. “Stop with your meat already and quick come. The store ain’t going to run away from you! It will take only a minute. With one step you are upstairs in my house.” She flung out her hands. “And everybody got to come along.”
“Do you think I can make a living from looking on the wonders you turn over in your house?” remonstrated the butcher, with a twinkle in his eye.
“Making money ain’t everything in life. My new-painted kitchen will light up your heart with joy.”