No one could figure out where Prentsik got the strange creatures. To people in Vilna, an ordinary sparrow sounded like a canary and every cat preened herself, delighting in her own beauty. People said that Prentsik’s wild animals weren’t local but hailed from distant lands.
One day Giligitsh, a teacher from the Re’al Gymnasium, visited Prentsik’s private menagerie. He shrugged his shoulders, marveling at the exotic herd the shoemaker had assembled. Giligitsh sat in his socks for a good few hours. While he waited, Prentsik tacked new heels and sole tips onto the teacher’s boots and the two men discussed zoological problems, Prentsik’s obsession. Prentsik didn’t spit only nails from his mouth but also random bits of theory from a certain Professor Mitchurin. In the Soviet Union, Mitchurin had paired potatoes with summer beets and apples with cherries, hoping these matches would sire legitimate offspring. That’s what Prentsik had read in the Ovnt kurier newspaper.
No matter how often Giligitsh explained that botany is not zoology, it made no difference to the shoemaker. Prentsik insisted that he would turn his animals into respectable beings. “It will take time, a lot of time. I will rear them and turn black into white.”
Meanwhile, Prentsik’s little courtyard swarmed with various creatures, dazed animals with pointy snouts and tails as hard as corncobs. A pair of brightly colored birds ran around, plucking at each other with their shiny beaks and tearing out clumps of feathers until they drew blood. All day long, there was a noisy ruckus and angry hissing in the courtyard. The animals gnashed their teeth, searching for victims.
Prentsik paid for the animals with the soles of shoes. The warden of the zoo at the corner of Zavalne Street brought Prentsik all kinds of creatures. In return, he and his family wore shoes in good repair all year long.
The Vilna zoo was a truly wretched place. There was absolutely nothing of interest to see there. The high points were a decrepit wolf with a miserable expression on its face, a pair of otters, and a limping pelican. The city was planning to build a proper zoo in Antokl, in a forest right next to the Viliye. In the meantime, the zoo was a ship without a rudder. The warden, a goy, was in complete charge and did whatever he pleased. When one of the landowners from around Vilna brought a gift to the zoo, it went straight to Prentsik. The warden always had a ready excuse: the animal had died. That’s how Prentsik raised his congregation of strange creatures. It was a sight to behold. A pregnant woman dared not even take a peek.
Why did Prentsik need the whole business? What did he hope to achieve? He wanted to show Vilna that he could beautify the world with his experiments. God himself would take notice. Prentsik argued that if the Creator wanted to, He could create animals as adorable as dolls. He even had the ability to reshape Prentsik himself so that one of his eyes would no longer be closer to his ear than to his nose. Because of that defect, among others, Fanke, Prentsik’s fiancée, had left for Africa in the middle of the night with a military tailor.
Vilna remembered how Prentsik changed after that. He stopped going to the meetings of the shoemaker’s guild. He stopped enjoying his shot of whisky at Itsik the Redhead’s bar. He also started sleeping in his clothes.
Prentsik poured his bitterness into his menagerie. He made the rounds of the butchers in the slaughterhouses and collected all sorts of bones, guts, and entrails in a sack. He didn’t avoid Probe’s bakery either. The animals had grown so scrawny, they started gnawing on old bread and even dried-out biscuits.
Every Sunday morning, Prentsik found a pile of uneaten cholent lying next to his courtyard. It was a present from the people on Kleyn Stephan Street. They felt sorry for the animals. Every so often, one of the neighbors would approach Prentsik and gently suggest he disband his treasure trove, but Prentsik wouldn’t hear of it. He would launch into a long explanation about the meaning of his zoological experiments. His creatures would become more beautiful. With patience, he would transform nature. He had read in the newspaper about a certain professor who had done just that. Prentsik talked on and on. His visitors walked away quietly, shaking their heads as if they’d just visited someone who was very sick.
Meanwhile, Prentsik did achieve one success from his many experiments. He had a dog, a mutt without a pedigree. Prentsik insisted he would teach the dog to behave like a respectable being. He tormented and bullied the poor dog until eventually it stopped sniffing at poles and started lifting its leg. When the dog had to go, it supported its front paws on the wall of Tserile’s inn and peed like a man. Everyone on Kleyn Stephan Street was amazed when they saw the dog go. After that, they left Prentsik alone.
Giligitsh brought his daughter’s only pair of dress shoes to Prentsik and spoke to him again. “Prentsik, a living creature is not a piece of fruit. You can’t apply Mitchurin’s methods to zoology. Aside from that, Mitchurin is bluffing. I’m telling you, his experiments are going nowhere.”
Prentsik banged wooden tacks into Giligitsh’s daughter’s high-heeled shoes and held forth: “You’ll see what I’m going to do with these animals. I’ve already gotten them used to eating human food. The next generation’s fur will be a different color. It’ll also be softer.”
Giligitsh couldn’t stand it any longer and shouted, “There are laws!”
Prentsik wasn’t at all perturbed by the teacher’s shouts. “What laws?”
“The laws of nature.”
The shoemaker looked at Giligitsh out of the corner of the eye that was closer to his ear and stunned the teacher with his question. “And who says that nature can’t be altered?”
An amputee sold birds and goldfish in a shop on Hekdesh Street. Every Friday, on his way back from Tishkevitsh’s steam bath, Prentsik stopped at the shop. The amputee tried to get Prentsik to see that humans can’t alter nature.
The amputee moved around his shop in a little wagon with two nickel wheels. His legs had been amputated all the way up to his stomach, and he was ashamed to be seen in public. That is, until Prentsik sat him down on a piece of heavy leather, traced a line around his body with a piece of chalk, and cut the leather to size. Then he took a linen sack, sewed it to the leather, and placed it on the wagon. The amputee had a garment both to wear and to transport himself. After Prentsik packed him into a linen bag with a piece of leather sewn underneath it, people were no longer so put off by his appearance. And the two men became friends.
The amputee’s shop was filled with birds in cages and fish in jars. There was a large aquarium in the window. There, life was better for the fish. They could stretch out a fin. All day long, children stood in the street with their noses glued to the windowpane, watching the colorful fish performing their tricks, chasing each other up and down the aquarium and lounging in the water.
It was Friday afternoon. There were no customers in the amputee’s shop. Even the birds in the cages were preparing for Shabbes: dusting themselves off and cleaning their feathers. The two friends sat together, one in his wheelchair, the other on a kitchen stool. The amputee tried to get through to Prentsik. “The teacher, Mr. Giligitsh, is right. I wish him good health. Not too long ago, he explained to me that there are two kinds of canaries. He opened my eyes. And you’re arguing with him. What he says is God’s truth. There are no tricks in zoology. Every bird has its hop.
“If you need convincing, I’ll tell you a story that will explain zoology to you. One evening a cow and a goat go to a meadow. They chew the same grass. On the way home, the cow leaves a large pile of goods. Believe me, you wouldn’t want to step in it. And the goat, here a pellet, there a pellet, little pieces of nothing. Mr. Giligitsh is absolutely right. ‘Every creature has its ways.’”
Prentsik wasn’t willing to be convinced, “And my dog?”
“If they tortured you with old cholent, you’d also climb the walls.”
It was already Shabbes when Prentsik left the amputee’s shop. All the shops on Hekdesh Street were closed. The gate to the Jewish hospital was also closed. A light rain accompanied Prentsik home. It was already dark. Here and there, Shabbes
candles shimmered through the cracks in the shutters. Hunched over, with his collar raised, Prentsik walked through Hekdesh Street, carrying his little bundle of dirty laundry under his arm. Every drop of rain that fell on his face diluted his certainty about the zoological theory he’d been so determined to prove. He’d tried for a number of years, but no great scientific discoveries had emerged from his little courtyard. When he placed two different creatures in one cage, instead of falling in love, in no time at all one tore the other’s head off.
Prentsik regretted his stubbornness. He thought about his visit with the amputee. While the man had talked, Prentsik looked around at the brightly colored birds, so unlike his own ugly creatures. Here a robin redbreast, there a finch with a colorful little cap. In one corner a bluebird, with two spots on its wings like epaulets, hopped around its cage. The canaries were as yellow as poppies and the parakeets and wagtails were so lively and proud, they were a pleasure to behold. The amputee had confided to Prentsik that if it weren’t for the birds, he would do himself in. Even though he couldn’t move, at least the merchandise in his shop made him happy. He’d told Prentsik that this was his only pleasure.
Prentsik came home, ate his solitary meal, and began to read the Ovnt kurier. The Friday edition always contained an article written by the preeminent editor A. I. Grodzenski about the latest scientific achievements. The articles were always clearly explained and spiced up with Grodzenski’s personal commentary. This week the editor had written about the sex lives of leeches.
But that evening, the contents of the article wouldn’t stick in Prentsik’s brain. All he could think about was his own failure in zoology. He’d hoped to prove that you could raise creatures and make those that are ugly, beautiful. It wasn’t so much the creatures he wanted to transform as himself. He’d come into the world with one eye planted in the wrong spot on his face, a harelip, and ears as large as Chanukah latkes. He’d hoped to show that after much effort, he’d eventually sport a perfect face and a black moustache. He would stroll down Daytshe Street with a bowler hat on his head. Girls wouldn’t run from him, the way Fanke had when she’d been only a hair’s breadth away from standing with him under the wedding canopy.
Prentsik saw that nature did indeed have its laws, just like Mr. Giligitsh had said, and his own life was controlled by a cruel law.
He bemoaned his fate until deep into the night. He couldn’t sleep. He knew that to honor Shabbes, he should wake in the morning with a clear head, without any thoughts about zoology. Unfortunately, he couldn’t stop his thinking.
Prentsik threw down his newspaper and went into the courtyard. A large moon was shining in a perfectly clear sky. A cool breeze ushered in an early autumn. Prentsik’s animal treasures were bathed in dazzling light. The creatures lay hidden in their cages, sleeping the gloomy sleep of prisoners who have long ago given up on their freedom. Only the mole, the warden’s latest gift, huddled close to the grates of its cage, trying to dig under its prison.
Prentsik opened the cages, one after the other. At first, the drowsy animals didn’t understand what was happening. But once they were fully awake, they fled as though from a fire. They didn’t have far to run. After bounding through a few streets, they found themselves in the Zakrete forest. A few lost their way and ran in a different direction, but that was no great calamity. They made it to a forest in Antokl. Vilna had enough forests for an entire regiment of minks, martens, and other creatures.
A moment later, there wasn’t a single soul left in Prentsik’s zoo. Even the mole, who had no idea where in the world it was, had burrowed under a little hill close to the prison on Stephan Street. The only creature left in Prentsik’s little courtyard was a hen with a goiter hanging down to the ground.
Prentsik went back to his room, turned off the light, took off his trousers, and stretched out on his bed in nothing more than his underwear. It had been a long time since he’d slept without his clothes. Before he fell asleep, Prentsik remembered the amputee telling him that if it weren’t for the birds, he would do himself in. Prentsik hoped to find a creature that could make him just as happy.
In the morning, Prentsik put on his Shabbes suit, packed half a challah in the Ovnt kurier and walked down Daytshe Street to Cathedral Square. From there he headed to the Bernardine Garden. The path leading to the bench beside the pond was strewn with fallen leaves from the chestnut trees. As Prentsik approached the pond, his feet were buried in a soft golden carpet that lifted his mood. He felt as though he was on his way to a joyful rendezvous.
The only swan in Vilna was swimming in the pond that shone like a mirror. Its head, as white as a bridal veil, turned gracefully and ever so slightly to one side, the better to see who was throwing the little pieces of challah. The bird skimmed gracefully across the cold water towards the shore.
Prentsik sat beside the pond for a long time, feeding this creature fashioned with so much divine patience. It needed no alteration; its tiniest feather was absolutely necessary. Prentsik watched the swan’s movements as it swallowed the pieces of challah. Every so often, the swan raced across the pond like a radiant ship carrying Prentsik’s dream, a dream of beauty.
Prentsik stopped sleeping in his clothes. He returned to Itsik’s bar for his shot of whiskey. He stopped reading scientific articles.
3
The Red Flag
Abke the Nail Biter’s troubles began when he tried to do a good deed. He was thrown into prison. And not for just a summer, a winter, and then out. No, he got a good, solid sentence.
Here’s what happened.
One summer evening, Abke the Nail Biter was walking down Daytshe Street when he happened on a guy hanging around the German church. The church gate was a regular meeting place for late night rendezvous. At first, Abke paid no attention to the skinny suitor standing under the electric lanterns in a wrinkled jacket and worn-out shoes. He figured the guy was probably waiting for a waitress from one of the nearby restaurants to take her to the little park on Troker Street.
Abke was on his way to Itske the Redhead’s tavern. His pals had lured a gambler who wasn’t from Vilna into an illegal game of poker, and they needed a fourth to sink their teeth into the sucker. The fourth had to be Abke. Abke had expert hands. Not for working, of course, but for shuffling cards. He was famous for his shuffling; he always held onto two aces.
But Abke had bad luck. The kid who’d been hanging around the church tried throwing a piece of cloth over the electric wires under Abke’s very nose. Abke knew, without a doubt, that this had to be a red flag. What else would someone throw onto the wires late at night? Obviously not a shirt that had been washed and needed drying.
The thrower was clearly still an apprentice in the trade. The piece of cloth flew into the air a few times and fell back down like a bird that had been shot. The guy was incapable of throwing the flag over the wires.
Abke fumed, “Look at the kind of guy they send for the job.” He ran over to the young man and yelled, “Get out of here, you bearded numbskull. If you can’t do a job, keep your nose out of it.”
The revolutionary acted like a big hero. “But I’m following party orders.”
“You want to rot away in silence?” Abke asked.
“In silence?” “In prison, you moron.”
The young man wasn’t the slightest bit worried. “We have to rally the masses.”
Luckily, the street was quiet. There was only one carriage filled with drunks clip-clopping over the cobblestones. Abke cursed his fate. He couldn’t stay there with the kid; he couldn’t leave him. After all, this was a Jewish child. What could Abke do? Hit him on the head; that would be God’s mercy. Abke had a good look around to make sure no one was looking, grabbed the flag from the kid’s hand, and with one toss easily threw it over the wires. The flag, spread out like the wings of a bat, hung without a wrinkle.
The young man stood there with his mouth open, craning his neck up at the flag. He was about to deliver a speech and thank Abke in the name of the Vi
lna party and the world revolution when Abke hissed, “Get lost. Scram.”
He didn’t have to ask the kid twice. The kid had spotted someone watching them from Gitke-Toybe’s Lane even before Abke did. He disappeared between two houses and from there, through a fence and onto another street. Abke didn’t even try to disappear. He couldn’t run like the kid because of his flat feet, so he just stood there, ready to take whatever God doled out. Panting, Susilo the Snoop pinned Abke to the wall of the church and handcuffed him.
Susilo was in the secret police. He knew the entire city and the entire city knew him. He spoke perfect Yiddish and ate cholent on Shabbes at Velfke’s restaurant on Yiddishe Street. He was hand-in-glove with the underworld and knew everyone by their nicknames.
Susilo couldn’t believe his eyes. He remembered Abke from a series of pathetic deals like selling a glittering ring to a poor peasant as real gold or taking someone’s fur coat after a billiard game at Sztral’s Cafe. But hanging anti-government flags? Susilo had clearly seen Abke do it. He’d purposely lain in wait at the corner of the lane to catch him in the act. Abke’s excuses didn’t help. “Mr. Susilo, I swear to you, I was on my way to a poker game. You know me. Am I the type to . . .?” Abke carried on all the way to the Central Police Station on Ignatover Street, the headquarters of the secret police. As soon as they arrived, Susilo telephoned the firemen to immediately take the illegal flag down from the wires.
The next morning, the masses gathered on Daytshe Street. Women bought buttons at Sarah Klok’s sewing notions shop and the hucksters dragged customers into the ready-made clothing stores, praising the pants and jackets to the skies. And the flag, the red flag that was supposed to rally the masses, was nowhere to be seen. Instead they were rallied by the mild sun, the blue sky, and a feathery cloud that was as white as snow.
Vilna My Vilna Page 6
