Shosha

by Isaac Bashevis Singer

  From time to time I opened an eye and noticed how the sunlight moved up across the opposite wall. A Yom Kippur quiet lay over the courtyard, and I could hear the twittering of a bird. I had made a decision and knew that I would keep it, but why I had made it was something I couldn’t explain to myself or to anyone else. Did it have to do with the vision – or hallucination – of my father? Had the barber influenced me with his poisonous words? I was rejecting a woman of passion, of talent, with the capability of taking me to wealthy America, and condemning myself to poverty and death from a Nazi bullet. Had it been jealousy of Sam Dreiman? Such great love for Shosha? Did I lack the courage to disappoint Bashele? I posed a question to my subconscious or unconscious, but no answer came back. This is precisely the case with those who commit suicide, I said to myself. They find a hook in the ceiling, fashion a noose, place a chair underneath, and until the final second they don’t know why they are doing it. Who says that everything nature or human nature does can be expressed in motives and words? I had been aware for a long time that literature could only describe facts or let the characters invent excuses for their acts. All motivations in fiction are either obvious or false.

  I fell asleep. It was dusk when I awoke. A final sliver of sunset blazed in the pane of a garret window. Shosha said, ‘Arele, you slept nicely.’

  ‘And you, Shoshele?’

  ‘Oh, I slept.’

  The room filled with shadows. On the table the memorial candle began to flicker. The flame flared up once and soon grew so small it barely touched the wick. Shosha said, ‘Last year I went with Mommy to the synagogue on Yom Kippur night. A man with a white beard blew the ram’s horn.’

  ‘Yes, I know.’

  ‘When three stars appear in the sky, we’ll be able to eat.’

  ‘Are you hungry?’

  ‘When you are with me, it’s better than eating.’

  I said, ‘Shoshele, we’ll soon be husband and wife. After the holidays.’

  As I spoke, I wanted to caution Shosha to say nothing of this to her mother for now, but just then the door opened, Bashele came in, and Shosha ran to meet her. ‘Mommy, Arele is going to marry me after Succoth!’ She shouted this in a louder voice than I had ever heard from her. She hugged her mother and began to kiss her. Bashele quickly put down her two prayer books and cast a questioning look at me that was full of joyful astonishment.

  ‘Yes, it’s true,’ I said.

  Bashele clapped her hands. ‘God the merciful has heard my prayers. I stood on my feet all day and prayed only for you, daughter, and for you, Arele, my son. Only God in heaven knows how many tears I shed for you two today. Daughter, apple of my eye, mazel tov!’

  They kissed, hugged, and swayed, as if unable to break apart. Then Bashele held out her arms to me. There came from her the aroma of the fast, of the naphthalene in which her dress had been lying a whole year, and of something womanly and festive – an aroma familiar from my childhood, when our living room was turned into a women’s synagogue during the Days of Awe. Bashele’s voice, too, had grown louder and stronger. She began to speak in the style of the Yiddish supplication book: ‘It’s all from heaven, from heaven. God has seen my grief, my broken spirit. Father in heaven, this is the happiest day of my wretched life. Help us, God, for we have suffered enough. Sweet Father, let me live to enjoy the satisfaction of leading my first-born child to the wedding canopy!’ She raised her hands high. A motherly bliss shone in her eyes. Shosha burst into tears. Then Bashele exclaimed, ‘What’s wrong with me? He fasted all day, this treasure of mine, my precious heir. You’ll soon have food!’

  She raced to the credenza and came back with a beaker of cherry brandy. The liqueur must have been standing there from long ago, awaiting some joyous occasion. Shosha received the same offering. We drank a toast and kissed. Shosha’s lips did not feel like those of a child but like those of a ripe woman. The door opened and Teibele came in, pretty, in a dress that looked new to me. I had met her for the last time on Rosh Hashanah, when she came to share the holiday feast with her mother and sister. Teibele was tall, erect, and resembled her father with her dark hair and brown eyes. Although she had been only three when the family moved from No. 10 to No. 7, she remembered me and called me Arele. On Rosh Hashanah she had brought a slice of pineapple with which to make the New Year benedictions. As soon as she heard the news, something like a mixture of happiness and laughter appeared in her eyes. ‘Arele, is this true?’

  Before I could answer, she embraced me, held me close, and began kissing me. ‘Mazel tov! Mazel tov! It’s a fated thing! And on Yom Kippur! Somehow my heart told me – Arele, I never had a brother, and from now on you’ll be my brother, even closer than a brother. When Daddy hears this, he will …’ Teibele trotted to the door on her high heels.

  Bashele asked, ‘Where are you running in such a hurry?’

  ‘To telephone Daddy,’ Teibele called back from the hallway.

  ‘Why him? What does this happy event have to do with him?’ Bashele shouted after her. ‘He abandoned us, sick and lonely, and went off to live with a slut – may all the fires of hell consume her. That’s no father but a murderer. If it had been left to him, you’d have all starved to death. I was the one who fed you and gave my last bit of strength so that you should live. God in heaven, You know the truth. It was because of that rascal and his filthy ways that we lost Yppe – may she rest in paradise with the sainted souls.’

  Bashele said all this to herself, to Shosha, and to me, since Teibele had slammed the door behind her.

  Shosha asked, ‘Where will she call from? Is the delicatessen open?’

  ‘Let her call. Let her suck around him, that old whoremonger. To me he’s as trayf as pork. I never want to see his face again. He was no father when we starved and ailed and spat out our lungs, and I don’t want him as a father now when luck has come to us, may it only stay with us. Shoshele, why are you standing there like a ninny? Kiss him, hold him! He is already as good as your husband and to me he’s as dear as my own child. We never forgot him, never. A day didn’t go by that we didn’t think of him. We didn’t know where he was or if he lived, so many young people perished in all the fires. When Leizer brought us the good news that he was alive and writing for the newspaper, it was like a holiday in the house. How long ago was this? My head is so muddled I don’t know what or when. I will lead you to the wedding canopy, my darling daughter – not your cruel father. Arele, my child, God should only grant you as much happiness as you have granted us this night.’ Bashele began to cry, and Shosha cried with her.

  After a while, Bashele put on an apron and started fussing with pots, pans, plates. The two chickens that had been offered in sacrifice on Yom Kippur eve lay already cooked, and Bashele quickly sliced them and served them with challah and horseradish. Later, she scolded herself that she had forgotten to serve the gefilte fish first.

  She hovered over me. ‘Eat, child of mine. You’re probably weak from fasting. For myself, my soul was so burdened I didn’t even realize I was fasting. To me fasting is no novelty. More than one night I went to bed without a bite in my stomach so that my little swallows should have bigger portions. Eat, Shoshele, eat, my bride! God hearkened to your longing. Worthy ancestors interceded in your behalf. For you, today is not the end of Yom Kippur but Simchas Torah. What happened to Teibele? Why is she staying away so long? He blotted her out as a daughter and still she keeps herself close to him just because he has a nice apartment and throws her a trinket from time to time. A shame and a disgrace! A sin before God.’

  Bashele sat down to eat, but every few seconds she turned to face the door. Finally, Teibele came back. ‘Mommy, I have good news for you, but first swallow your food, because when you get excited, you start to choke.’

  ‘What news? I don’t want news from him.’

  ‘Mommy, listen to me! When Daddy heard of Shosha and Arele he became another person. He fell in love with that redhead, and love makes people mad. Daddy told me two things, and I want you
to hear carefully, because he’s waiting for an answer. First, he said that he would provide Shosha with a trousseau for the wedding and he would give her one thousand zlotys for a dowry. This isn’t much, but it’s better to begin with a little money than with none. Second, he said that if you, Mother, will agree to a divorce, he’ll give you a thousand zlotys, too. Hush! I know how little this is for all your years of suffering, but since you two can’t ever be together again, what’s the point of spiting each other? You’re not that old, and if you dressed yourself up you could still find a suitor. Those were his words, not mine. My advice is, forget the past wrongs and come to a settlement once and for all.’

  The whole time Teibele was talking, Bashele’s face twisted with revulsion and impatience. ‘Now he’s going to divorce me – when my blood is congealed and the marrow is dried in my bones? I no longer need a husband and have no desire to please anyone. All my life I lived only for you children, only for you. Now that Shosha has found her destined one, I have but one wish – that you should do the same, Teibele. He doesn’t have to be a writer or a scholar. What does a writer earn, anyway? Nothing with nothing. I would be satisfied with a merchant, a clerk, even a tradesman. Does it make any difference what a husband does? The main thing is, he should be decent and have one God and one wife, not—’

  ‘Mommy, decency is not everything. You have to feel something for a husband, to love him, to be able to talk to him. To tie up with some tailor or clerk and begin cooking and washing diapers is not for me. But why waste time talking about that? Better think over what I told you. I promised Daddy an answer.’

  ‘An answer already? I waited for him longer. Hoo-hah, the great squire! The only reason he’s got so much gall is that he has money and we’re paupers. He’ll get no answer today. Sit down and eat with us. In this house, today is a double holiday. We’re poor but we don’t come from dirt. We had a preacher in our family – Reb Zekele Preacher, they called him. Your father, that skirt-chaser, will have to wait.’

  ‘Mommy, there’s an expression – strike while the iron is hot. You know Daddy – all moods. Tomorrow he may change his mind. What will you do then?’

  ‘I’ll do what I’ve done all these years – suffer and place my hope in the Almighty. Arele loves Shosha, not her clothes. You can put a dress on a mannequin, too. An educated person considers the soul. Isn’t that true, Arele?’

  ‘Yes, Bashele.’

  ‘Oh, please call me Mother. May your mother live to a hundred and twenty, but you haven’t a better friend than me in the whole world. If someone told me to lay down my life for your tiniest fingernail, as God is my witness, I wouldn’t hesitate.’ Bashele began to cough.

  ‘Arele, there are no words for how much we all love you,’ Shosha said.

  ‘Well, you two love, but don’t try to sell me to some clerk,’ Teibele said. ‘I want to love, too. If only I could meet the right person, my soul would open to him fast enough.’

  That night, Bashele set the date for the wedding – the week of Hanukkah. She suggested that I write a letter to my mother at once in Old Stykov, where my brother Moishe was now rabbi in my father’s place.

  Teibele, ever practical, asked, ‘Where will the newlyweds live? An apartment is like gold these days.’

  ‘They’ll live here with me,’ Bashele replied. ‘And when I cook for two, there’ll be enough for three.’

  2

  I had committed the worst folly of my life, but I had no regrets. Neither was I elated, as those in love usually are. The day after Yom Kippur I gave notice at Leszno Street that I would be moving out at the end of the month. I might have condemned myself to penury but not yet to death. I still had my room for four weeks. I could pay Bashele for my food until some time after the holidays. I was amazed by my light-mindedness, but not shocked. I had heard that Sam Dreiman had been operated on at the Jewish hospital on Czysta Street and would go off with Betty to recuperate. When Tekla heard that I would be moving out after the Jewish holiday, she came to ask the reason. Was I dissatisfied with the service? Did she, Tekla, neglect to convey an important message to me? Did she insult me in some way? For the first time I saw tears in her pale-blue eyes. I put my arms around her, kissed her, and said, ‘Tekla dear, it’s not your fault. You were good to me. I’ll remember you to my last breath.’

  ‘Where will you live? Are you going with Miss Betty to America?’

  ‘No, I’m staying right here in Warsaw.’

  ‘Bad times are coming for Jews here,’ she said, after some hesitation.

  ‘Yes, I know.’

  ‘If a war should break out, it won’t be good for Christians, either.’

  ‘Also true. But the history of all peoples is one long chain of wars.’

  ‘Why is it so? What do the educated people say – those who write the books?’

  ‘The best thing they find to say is that if there were no wars, no epidemics, and no famines, people would multiply like rabbits and there soon wouldn’t be enough for everybody to eat.’

  ‘Doesn’t enough rye grow in the fields for bread?’

  ‘Not enough for thousands of millions of people.’

  ‘Why didn’t God make it so there’d be enough for all?’

  ‘I can’t answer that.’

  ‘Do you know where you will be staying? I’ll miss you. I’m off Sundays, but somehow I can’t seem to get close to anybody,’ Tekla said. ‘The other maids go out with soldiers, with fellows they meet in the street or in Karcelak Place. But I can’t make friends with a lout who kisses you one day and doesn’t want to know you the next. They drink and fight. They get a girl pregnant and later they don’t want to know her. Is that just?’

  ‘No, Tekla.’

  ‘Sometimes I think I’d like to become a Jewess. The Jewish boys read newspapers and books. They know what’s going on in the world. They treat a girl better than our fellows do.’

  ‘Don’t do it, Tekla. When the Nazis come, the Jews will be the first victims.’

  ‘Where will you move to?’

  ‘No. 7 Krochmalna Street.’

  ‘Can I come visit on Sunday?’

  ‘Yes. Wait for me by the gate at noon.’

  ‘Will you definitely be there?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Is that a holy promise?’

  ‘Yes, my dear.’

  ‘You’ll be living there with someone, eh?’

  ‘Whoever I live with, I’ll miss you.’

  ‘I will come!’ Tekla dashed from my room. A slipper fell off her foot. She picked it up with one hand and clapped the other over her mouth so that her employer wouldn’t hear her crying.

  That afternoon I sat down to work on a sketch, and later on a novel based on the life of the false Messiah, Jacob Frank. I had already gathered a substantial amount of material about him. In two days I completed three sketches and took them to the newspaper that had published things from me earlier. All hope was gone, but so was all tension. To my surprise, the editor accepted all three. He even asked me to write other short pieces for him. The power that guides man’s lot had postponed my death sentence.

  My success with the sketches gave me the courage to phone Celia. I told her everything. Celia heard me out, sighed; from time to time she laughed a short laugh. When I finished she said, ‘Bring her and let me look her over. Whatever may be, your room still stands ready for you here. You can move in with anyone you like.’

  ‘Celia, she’s infantile – physically and mentally backward.’

  ‘Well, and what are you? What are all writers? Lunatics.’

  Things began to happen quietly and as if mechanically, I had given up free choice, and causality took over. I let Tekla and her mistress know that I would be staying on another month, and both of them congratulated me and expressed the hope that I would stay even longer. On the last day of Succoth, Teibele called to invite me to her apartment. Zelig wanted to meet me. I put on my good suit, bought candy for Teibele, and took a droshky, so that I wouldn’t arrive in
a sweat. The girl who shared Teibele’s apartment had gone to the opera. Zelig sat at a table in the living room, which was set with liquor and food. With his dyed hair and beard, he looked not much older than he had twenty years ago. He was broad-shouldered, stocky, with a short neck, a pointed belly. His nose was red and had the broken veins of a drinker. He spoke to me with the crudeness of burial-society members. He smelled of alcohol and smoked one cigarette after another. If he were my age, he said, he wouldn’t marry a sluggard like Shosha. He complained that Bashele had refused to divorce him and for so many years had kept him from marrying the woman he loved. He compared Bashele to a dog sitting on a pile of hay he couldn’t eat himself but wouldn’t let another creature have. He told me what I already knew: that he was prepared to come to Shosha’s wedding and give her a thousand zlotys’ dowry. Like a proper father-in-law to be, he questioned me about my prospects of earning a living at writing. He poured himself half a glass of the vodka Teibele had put out and asked brusquely, ‘Be honest, what do you see in my Shosha? No front and no behind – a board and a hole is what we’d call her.’

  ‘Papa, you shame me!’ Teibele cried.

  ‘What’s there to be ashamed of? In the burial society we know the truth. A woman can fix herself up for the outside world, cover everything with rouge and powder and corsets, but when we strip her for the shrouds …’

  ‘If you don’t stop, I’ll leave!’ Teibele warned.

  ‘Well, daughter, don’t be angry. That’s how we are. That’s why we drink. Without booze, none of us would last. You don’t drink, eh?’ he said, turning to me.

  ‘Seldom.’

  ‘Tell my wife she’s waited long enough. It’s now or never if she wants to marry again. If she puts it off for a few more years, she can become a virgin again, ha, ha, ha!’

  ‘I’m going, Papa.’

  ‘All right, I won’t say another word. Wait, Arele, I’ve got a present for you.’