Savitzki questioned him as to whether there was no talk anywhere of diarrhœa and sickness, cholereen, etc., or any other intestinal trouble.
Yössil could not understand everything Savitzki said, but he made a good shot, concluding that he was being asked about sicknesses of a suspicious nature.
"Nothing, honored sir, nothing!" he kept answering. He knew that so far all was quiet in the town.
"Nothing yet, but it will come!" was Savitzki's consoling observation as he walked away.
A little time passed, and they had got into the habit, when they met, of walking a few steps together; Savitzki continued to question and to receive the same reply: "Nothing, sir, nothing," and still he consoled himself and Yössil with: "It will come!"
"It must come!" he declared with assurance, and Yössil translated it into Hebrew: "And although it tarry, I expect it,"[46] and his heart expanded.
He wished the town no harm. Savitzki might wish for a great outbreak of the pestilence, he only desired a little one, a little tiny one. No one was to die, heaven forbid! A few householders should fall ill—nothing more would be necessary. That is all he asks. He does not wish that his greatest enemy should die.
This lasted a month. Savitzki even began to lose patience, and made Yössil a proposal. He felt sure something must be happening, only that people kept it hid. They were afraid of making it known—Jews are so nervous. So he proposed that Yössil should pry, find out, and tell him of only one hidden case, tell him of anything. He would be grateful to him.
———
Savitzki talked too quick for Yössil and too "high Polish," but he understood that Savitzki wished to make a spy of him and have him betray the Jewish sick.