She accordingly cut off a piece of pasterma (dried smoked meat), and set it to roast on the coals; then she hurriedly went upstairs to the garret, took a pot of milk, drank some of it, and put the rest on the fire. At this moment, an old woman, her neighbor, entered, with an earthen vessel in her hand, and asked for some burning coals.
“Keep your eye on this pot,” she said to the old woman, rising to her feet. Then she burst into sobs and lamentations.
“Alas!” she cried, “my poor husband is dead!”
The neighbors, who heard her voice, rushed in, and the deceitful hussy kept on repeating:
“Alas! What a wretched fate has my husband met with!” and tears flowed afresh.
At that instant the dead man opened his eyes.
“What are you doing?” he said to her. “Finish first the roasting of the pasterma, quenching your throat in milk, and boiling the remainder of it; afterward you will find time to weep for me.”
First myself, and then those I love, says a proverb.
The Fly
A Fly who had carelessly fallen into a pot full of food was at the point of death.