"Oho, lies the wind that way?" think I to myself, and I give him to understand that I am called Katz, Aaron Katz, and my son, Moisheh, Moshke we call him, and I want to get him into the third class. Says he to me, if I am Katz, and my son is Moisheh, Moshke we call him, and he wants to get into class three, I am to bring him in January, and he will certainly be passed. You hear and understand? Quite another thing! Apparently the horse trots as we shoe him. The worst is having to wait. But what is to be done? When they say, Wait! one waits. A Jew is used to waiting.
January—a fresh commotion, a scampering to and fro. To-morrow there will be a consultation. The director and the inspector and all the teachers of the Gymnasiye will come together, and it's only after the consultation that we shall know if he is entered or not. The time for action has come, and my wife is anywhere but at home. No hot meals, no samovar, no nothing! She is in the Gymnasiye, that is, not in the Gymnasiye, but at it, walking round and round it in the frost, from first thing in the morning, waiting for them to begin coming away from the consultation. The frost bites, there is a tearing east wind, and she paces round and round the building, and waits. Once a woman, always a woman! It seemed to me, that when people have made a promise, it is surely sacred, especially—you understand? But who would reason with a woman? Well, she waited one hour, she waited two, waited three, waited four; the children were all home long ago, and she waited on. She waited (much good may it do you!) till she got what she was waiting for. A door opens, and out comes one of the teachers. She springs and seizes hold on him. Does he know the result of the consultation? Why, says he, should he not? They have passed altogether twenty-five children, twenty-three Christian and two Jewish. Says she, "Who are they?" Says he, "One a Shefselsohn and one a Katz." At the name Katz, my wife shoots home like an arrow from the bow, and bursts into the room in triumph: "Good news! good news! Passed, passed!" and there are tears in her eyes. Of course, I am pleased, too, but I don't feel called upon to go dancing, being a man and not a woman. "It's evidently not much you care?" says she to me. "What makes you think that?" say I.—"This," says she, "you sit there cold as a stone! If you knew how impatient the child is, you would have taken him long ago to the tailor's, and ordered his little uniform," says she, "and a cap and a satchel," says she, "and made a little banquet for our friends."—"Why a banquet, all of a sudden?" say I. "Is there a Bar-Mitzveh? Is there an engagement?" I say all this quite quietly, for, after all, I am a man, not a woman. She grew so angry that she stopped talking. And when a woman stops talking, it's a thousand times worse than when she scolds, because so long as she is scolding at least you hear the sound of the human voice. Otherwise it's talk to the wall! To put it briefly, she got her way—she, not I—as usual.
There was a banquet; we invited our friends and our good friends, and my boy was dressed up from head to foot in a very smart uniform, with white buttons and a cap with a badge in front, quite the district-governor! And it did one's heart good to see him, poor child! There was new life in him, he was so happy, and he shone, I tell you, like the July sun! The company drank to him, and wished him joy: Might he study in health, and finish the course in health, and go on in health, till he reached the university! "Ett!" say I, "we can do with less. Let him only complete the eight classes at the Gymnasiye," say I, "and, please God, I'll make a bridegroom of him, with God's help." Cries my wife, smiling and fixing me with her eye the while, "Tell him," says she, "that he's wrong! He," says she, "keeps to the old-fashioned cut." "Tell her from me," say I, "that I'm blest if the old-fashioned cut wasn't better than the new." Says she, "Tell him that he (may he forgive me!) is——" The company burst out laughing. "Oi, Reb Aaron," say they, "you have a wife (no evil eye!) who is a Cossack and not a wife at all!" Meanwhile they emptied their wine-glasses, and cleared their plates, and we were what is called "lively." I and my wife were what is called "taken into the boat," the little one in the middle, and we made merry till daylight. That morning early we took him to the Gymnasiye. It was very early, indeed, the door was shut, not a soul to be seen. Standing outside there in the frost, we were glad enough when the door opened, and they let us in. Directly after that the small fry began to arrive with their satchels, and there was a noise and a commotion and a chatter and a laughing and a scampering to and fro—a regular fair! Schoolboys jumped over one another, gave each other punches, pokes, and pinches. As I looked at these young hopefuls with the red cheeks, with the merry, laughing eyes, I called to mind our former narrow, dark, and gloomy Cheder of long ago years, and I saw that after all she was right; she might be a woman, but she had a man's head on her shoulders! And as I reflected thus, there came along an individual in gilt buttons, who turned out to be a teacher, and asked what I wanted. I pointed to my boy, and said I had come to bring him to Cheder, that is, to the Gymnasiye. He asked to which class? I tell him, the third, and he has only just been entered. He asks his name. Say I, "Katz, Moisheh Katz, that is, Moshke Katz." Says he, "Moshke Katz?" He has no Moshke Katz in the third class. "There is," he says, "a Katz, only not a Moshke Katz, but a Morduch—Morduch Katz." Say I, "What Morduch? Moshke, not Morduch!" "Morduch!" he repeats, and thrusts the paper into my face. I to him, "Moshke." He to me, "Morduch!" In short, Moshke—Morduch, Morduch—Moshke, we hammer away till there comes out a fine tale: that which should have been mine is another's. You see what a kettle of fish? A regular Gentile muddle! They have entered a Katz—yes! But, by mistake, another, not ours. You see how it was: there were two Katz's in our town! What do you say to such luck? I have made a bed, and another will lie in it! No, but you ought to know who the other is, that Katz, I mean! A nothing of a nobody, an artisan, a bookbinder or a carpenter, quite a harmless little man, but who ever heard of him? A pauper! And his son—yes! And mine—no! Isn't it enough to disgust one, I ask you! And you should have seen that poor boy of mine, when he was told to take the badge off his cap! No bride on her wedding-day need shed more tears than were his! And no matter how I reasoned with him, whether I coaxed or scolded. "You see," I said to her, "what you've done! Didn't I tell you that your Gymnasiye was a slaughter-house for him? I only trust this may have a good ending, that he won't fall ill."—"Let my enemies," said she, "fall ill, if they like. My child," says she, "must enter the Gymnasiye. If he hasn't got in this time, in a year, please God, he will. If he hasn't got in," says she, "here, he will get in in another town—he must get in! Otherwise," says she, "I shall shut an eye, and the earth shall cover me!" You hear what she said? And who, do you suppose, had his way—she or I? When she sets her heart on a thing, can there be any question?
Well, I won't make a long story of it. I hunted up and down with him; we went to the ends of the world, wherever there was a town and a Gymnasiye, thither went we! We went up for examination, and were examined, and we passed and passed high, and did not get in—and why? All because of the percentage! You may believe, I looked upon my own self as crazy those days! "Wretch! what is this? What is this flying that you fly from one town to another? What good is to come of it? And suppose he does get in, what then?" No, say what you will, ambition is a great thing. In the end it took hold of me, too, and the Almighty had compassion, and sent me a Gymnasiye in Poland, a "commercial" one, where they took in one Jew to every Christian. It came to fifty per cent. But what then? Any Jew who wished his son to enter must bring his Christian with him, and if he passes, that is, the Christian, and one pays his entrance fee, then there is hope. Instead of one bundle, one has two on one's shoulders, you understand? Besides being worn with anxiety about my own, I had to tremble for the other, because if Esau, which Heaven forbid, fail to pass, it's all over with Jacob. But what I went through before I got that Christian, a shoemaker's son, Holiava his name was, is not to be described. And the best of all was this—would you believe that my shoemaker, planted in the earth firmly as Korah, insisted on Bible teaching? There was nothing for it but my son had to sit down beside his, and repeat the Old Testament. How came a son of mine to the Old Testament? Ai, don't ask! He can do everything and understands everything.
With God's help the happy day arrived, and they both passed. Is my story finished? Not quite. When it came to their being entered in the books, to writing out a check, my Christian was not to be found! What has happened? He, the Gentile, doesn't care for his son to be among so many Jews—he won't hear of it! Why should he, seeing that all doors are open to him anyhow, and he can get in where he pleases? Tell him it isn't fair? Much good that would be! "Look here," say I, "how much do you want, Pani Holiava?" Says he, "Nothing!" To cut the tale short—up and down, this way and that way, and friends and people interfering, we had him off to a refreshment place, and ordered a glass, and two, and three, before it all came right! Once he was really in, I cried my eyes out, and thanks be to Him whose Name is blessed, and who has delivered me out of all my troubles! When I got home, a fresh worry! What now? My wife has been reflecting and thinking it over: After all, her only son, the apple of her eye—he would be there and we here! And if so, what, says she, would life be to her? "Well," say I, "what do you propose doing?"—"What I propose doing?" says she. "Can't you guess? I propose," says she, "to be with him."—"You do?" say I. "And the house? What about the house?"—"The house," says she, "is a house." Anything to object to in that? So she was off to him, and I was left alone at home. And what a home! I leave you to imagine. May such a year be to my enemies! My comfort was gone, the business went to the bad. Everything went to the bad, and we were continually writing letters. I wrote to her, she wrote to me—letters went and letters came. Peace to my beloved wife! Peace to my beloved husband! "For Heaven's sake," I write, "what is to be the end of it? After all, I'm no more than a man! A man without a housemistress!" It was as much use as last year's snow; it was she who had her way, she, and not I, as usual.
To make an end of my story, I worked and worried myself to pieces, made a mull of the whole business, sold out, became a poor man, and carried my bundle over to them. Once there, I took a look round to see where I was in the world, nibbled here and there, just managed to make my way a bit, and entered into a partnership with a trader, quite a respectable man, yes! A well-to-do householder, holding office in the Shool, but at bottom a deceiver, a swindler, a pickpocket, who was nearly the ruin of me! You can imagine what a cheerful state of things it was. Meanwhile I come home one evening, and see my boy come to meet me, looking strangely red in the face, and without a badge on his cap. Say I to him, "Look here, Moshehl, where's your badge?" Says he to me, "Whatever badge?" Say I, "The button." Says he, "Whatever button?" Say I, "The button off your cap." It was a new cap with a new badge, only just bought for the festival! He grows redder than before, and says, "Taken off." Say I, "What do you mean by 'taken off'?" Says he, "I am free." Say I, "What do you mean by 'you are free'?" Says he, "We are all free." Say I, "What do you mean by 'we are all free'?" Says he, "We are not going back any more." Say I, "What do you mean by 'we are not going back'?" Says he, "We have united in the resolve to stay away." Say I, "What do you mean by 'you' have united in a resolve? Who are 'you'? What is all this? Bless your grandmother," say I, "do you suppose I have been through all this for you to unite in a resolve? Alas! and alack!" say I, "for you and me and all of us! May it please God not to let this be visited on Jewish heads, because always and everywhere," say I, "Jews are the scapegoats." I speak thus to him and grow angry and reprove him as a father usually does reprove a child. But I have a wife (long life to her!), and she comes running, and washes my head for me, tells me I don't know what is going on in the world, that the world is quite another world to what it used to be, an intelligent world, an open world, a free world, "a world," says she, "in which all are equal, in which there are no rich and no poor, no masters and no servants, no sheep and no shears, no cats, rats, no piggy-wiggy————" "Te-te-te!" say I, "where have you learned such fine language? a new speech," say I, "with new words. Why not open the hen-house, and let out the hens? Chuck—chuck—chuck, hurrah for freedom!" Upon which she blazes up as if I had poured ten pails of hot water over her. And now for it! As only they can! Well, one must sit it out and listen to the end. The worst of it is, there is no end. "Look here," say I, "hush!" say I, "and now let be!" say I, and beat upon my breast. "I have sinned!" say I, "I have transgressed, and now stop," say I, "if you would only be quiet!" But she won't hear, and she won't see. No, she says, she will know why and wherefore and for goodness' sake and exactly, and just how it was, and what it means, and how it happened, and once more and a second time, and all over again from the beginning!
I beg of you—who set the whole thing going? A—woman!