The girls meanwhile were washing the plums set aside for the lechwar. Zali Neni came over. “Here, let me at them,” she said, plunging her chubby arms into the pails of water and scooping up armfuls of the purple fruit. Plop! Plop! She tossed them into a clean basket, and immediately all fell to pitting them. The pitted plums were then dumped into the cauldron.
At the second pit, Imre fanned the burning pile of logs into flame. Carefully, he lowered the loaded cauldron onto the logs.
“Stand back!” he warned as Gisella and Szerena approached. “If vou girls fall into the pot, the lechwar will be too sweet.” With a grin and a wave, he departed.
“We have to go home, too, and get supper for our families,” Muncie Neni said.
“Yes,” added Zali Neni. “We’ll be back later to spell you off with the stirring through the night.”
But Mama and the girls continued to stay with the fires. Already a pleasant smoky sweetness was being wafted on the air. From time to time, Mama stirred the plums stewing in the cauldron with a large wooden paddle, while the girls raked the plums drying at the other hole.
“Want supper?” Mama called out.
“Oh, yes! I’m starving!” Gisella cried.
“So am I!” echoed Szerena. “We’ve been so busy I almost forgot about eating.”
“All right, then, I’ll get it ready. Gisella, you go and pull up some lettuce, and, Szerena, you stay here. Make sure you stir the mixture regularly. We don’t want the plums to stick to the bottom of the pot and burn. And also keep an eye on the drying plums.”
Soon Mama was back with a bowl of cut up lettuce, scallions, and thin slices of white radish, topped with thick sour cream. They sat down close by the fires and helped themselves from the bowl in between bites of thick slices of black bread. A large cup of cool milk completed their meal.
The lingering summer sun had begun to set by the time the aunts returned. Together they watched and stirred and shifted the drying plums about, laughing and talking all the while.
“You’re all going to stay up the whole night. Can we do it too?” Gisella begged.
Mama nodded. “If you think you can.”
On hearing this, the girls rushed off to the house and dragged out their bedding. The night air was turning chilly. It felt cozy sitting in the firelight with the warm coverlet tucked around them.
“How about some tea and cake?” suggested Mama.
“Tea is fine,” Muncie Neni replied. “But instead of cake, if I could just have a small piece of that nice white bread you Jewish women bake for your Sabbath?”
“You mean hallah,” Mama said, pleased. “Luckily I still have some left over from Saturday. You’re more than welcome.”
The hot tea was especially good with the big slices of hallah spread with raspberry jelly.
“How about one of your stories, Muncie Neni?” Mama said. “You tell such good ones.”
“A story! A story!” the others chimed in.
Muncie Neni shuffled the drying plums. For a moment her gaze followed a thin trail of smoke curling upward.
Once there was somewhere in this world a peasant who had three daughters. One fine day, he got ready to go to the town fair. I will bring back a present for each of my daughters, he said to himself. But first I must find out how much they love me.
So he asked the eldest, and she said, “I love you, Father, as much as I love the most beautiful dress that one can buy in town.”
And the second daughter said, “I love you, Father, as much as I love a dress all covered with diamonds.”
“And you, Marya, my youngest, how much do you love me?” the father asked.
And Marya replied, “Dearest Father, I love you as much as I love salt in my soup.”
The father grew very angry. “Salt in your soup!” he cried. “You ungrateful girl! Is that all I mean to you? Get out of my house. I don’t want any daughter who cares so little for me!”
Poor Marya was very sad. Where could she go? To whom could she turn? She packed her things in a little bundle and went out into the wide, wide world.
For days she wandered about, till at last she came to the palace of a very rich king. The king’s minister felt sorry for her. “We would like to give you some work,” he said. “But the only work we can give you is that of goose girl.”
“I will be glad to be the goose girl,” she said, “if only you let me stay here.”
So she became the goose girl and lived in the kingdom in wretched misery.
Every night Marya had to go to the palace kitchen for her food. One day as she waited for her portion, the cook grew very cross. “Get out of my way, you dirty ragamuffin!” he shouted. “I don’t want any of your dirt getting into my dishes. Be off with you!”
Quickly Marya grabbed up her portion and ran out of the kitchen. As she passed by a window of the palace, she looked in and saw the king’s son washing his face. “Where is my prince going?” she asked.
The prince replied. “I go where I please, ragged goose girl. And tonight I choose to go to the Silver Ball. Be gone from my window!”
Marya went back to the goosehouse and opened the parcel of food the cook had given her. As she ate, big tears rolled down her cheeks. All at once she heard a tiny squeak. Looking around, she saw that a little mouse had popped out of a hole. She was sorry for the poor little thing, so she fed him a morsel of her bread.
The mouse was very grateful. He darted back into his hole and brought out a walnut which he dropped at Marya’s feet. Then he disappeared into his hole again.
Marya picked up the nut and looked into an opening at one end. There she saw something shiny. She reached in and pulled, and out of the shell came the most beautiful silver gown that ever was!
How happy the goose girl was! Now I can go to the ball, too, she decided. Quickly she washed herself, combed her hair, and put on the wonderful silver gown. Then she began to sing:
Mist before me!
Mist behind me!
No one see me.
No one find me!
And she hurried off to the ball.
You can imagine the excitement that the magnificently dressed stranger caused at the ball! She was so beautiful, everyone wanted to dance with her. But the prince wouldn’t let them. He wanted to keep her all to himself. “Who are you?” he kept on asking. “Where do you come from?”
But the girl only answered, “I come from No-Towel Castle.”
So they danced together all through the night. The prince said he would see her home, but when he turned away for a moment, she slipped out and ran all the way back to the goosehouse.
She put the gown back into the nutshell, and the next day she was back tending the geese clad in her dirty rags.
That evening she went to the kitchen as usual for her supper. “You here again, you filthy creature!” the cook screamed. He threw some scraps at her. “Take your portion and get out!”
Poor Marya crept away. But when she was outside, she passed the prince’s window again. This time the prince was combing his hair.
“Where is my prince going tonight?” she asked.
“Where I go is no business of yours, ragged goose girl,” the prince replied. “But if you must know, I am going to the Gold Ball. Now get away from my window!”
The girl ran back to the goosehouse. Quickly she pulled out the dress from the nutshell, and lo and behold, instead of silver, it was now pure gold!
At once Marya washed, combed her hair, and put on the gold dress. Then she began to sing:
Mist before me!
Mist behind me!
No one see me.
No one find me!
And she hurried off to the ball.
The prince was sitting sadly all by himself. But the minute he caught sight of the girl in the golden gown, a happy smile spread across his face. He rushed over to her and asked her to dance with him. They danced and danced, and all the while he kept begging her to tell him where she came from. But all the girl would say was,
“I’m from No-Comb Castle.”
“Tonight you must let me see you home!” the prince cried, but the minute his back was turned, the goose girl slipped away.
Back in the goosehouse, she carefully folded up the gold gown and put it into the nutshell. In the morning, looking her ragged self again, Marya drove the geese out to pasture.
That night, when she went to the kitchen for her food, the cross cook threw her supper at her. “Out! Out you filthy thing!” he veiled.
Again she stopped at the prince’s window. The prince was all dressed up. “I see my prince is getting ready for the Diamond Ball,” she said.
“What if I am, you insolent goose girl. Stop poking your nose into my affairs!” he shouted angrily. He picked up his hand mirror and threw it at her.
Ah, Marya said to herself, this time I’ll make sure to get to the ball before he does. Back to the goosehouse she went. This time the dress inside the nutshell was made of shiny white satin covered with diamonds! How it sparkled!
In no time at all, Marya had washed, combed her hair, and put on the dress. Then once again she sang:
A mist before me!
Mist behind me!
No one see me.
No one find me!
And she hurried off to the ball.
When the prince arrived, the goose girl was already dancing with someone else. But the prince snatched her away. All evening he kept her to himself, for by now he was madly in love with her. Over and over he begged, “Tell me truthfully, where do you come from? I have asked everyone in the palace, but no one has ever heard of the places you mentioned.”
The goose girl only laughed and said, “I come from No- Mirror Castle.”
The prince took off his ring and put it on her finger. “Promise me you will wear this ring forever and ever,” he said.
She only smiled, and before the night was over, the beautiful girl had slipped away.
The unhappy prince searched for her everywhere, but alas, he could not find her. All through the next day, he moped around in the palace speaking to no one. The king and queen tried to cheer him up, but it was no use.
The next night the goose girl tarried near the kitchen until the cook’s back was turned. Quick as a flash, she sneaked into the kitchen, took off the ring, and dropped it into the soup being prepared for the royal supper.
When the soup was being served, the ladle clinked against something hard. The servant lifted the ladle, and there was the ring! The prince cried out in astonishment, “That’s my ring! The one I gave to the most beautiful girl at the ball! Summon the cook!”
When the cook appeared, the prince shouted, “Who was in your kitchen when you prepared this soup?”
The cook was frightened. He thought that the ragged goose girl must have gotten some dirt in the pot. “Er— why —nobody, your Majesty,” he stammered.
“If you don’t tell me who was in your kitchen, you will be hung!” the prince shouted. “But if you tell the truth, then I promise no harm will come to you.”
The cook dropped to his knees. “It was only the goose girl, sire,” he confessed, trembling.
“The goose girl!” cried the prince. “Go and fetch her here at once!”
But the goose girl was ready for him. She had washed herself, combed her hair, and put on the diamond dress. When she came into the palace, the prince was overjoyed. He threw his arms around her. “This maiden will be my wife!” he said to the king and queen.
They began preparing for the wedding immediately. Naturally Marya asked the prince to invite her father and her two sisters. Then she went to the kitchen and told the cook to prepare a special dish just for her father but to leave out all the salt.
At last it was the night of the wedding. The bride’s father, even though he still felt hurt, was glad to see his daughter again.
Then they served the wedding supper, but the poor father hardly ate a thing.
“What’s the matter, Father?” asked Marya. “Is there something wrong with the food?”
“No, my daughter. The food is very well prepared,” the father answered. “But I can’t eat it because there’s not a drop of salt in it.”
Marya looked at her father, and she said, “Father, do you remember when you asked me how much I loved you? when I replied, ‘as much as I love the salt in my soup,’ you thought I did not love you at all. Now you see that food without salt isn’t worth anything.”
“Yes, my daughter,” the father said, with tears running down his cheeks. “Can you forgive me?”
“Of course, Father,” said Marya. “Anyway, it has all turned out for the best. If you had not driven me away, I might never have found my prince.”
So that’s how the goose girl became a princess. And Marya and the prince lived happily for a long, long time.
And if they haven’t died, they are still living happily to this very day.
Szerena sighed drowsily. “If only such things could really happen.”
Wagging a finger at her, Muncie Neni chanted:
My tale is done.
You’ve had your fun.
If you doubt it’s true,
Go eat your shoe.
Gisella stretched under the warm cover. The night sky was sprinkled with countless twinkling lights. In one corner, just above a tall tree, hung the moon, an orange-yellow ball. Gisella gazed through drooping lids at the women huddled by the fire, their shawls drawn over their shoulders. Their voices were soft and murmuring. Was another tale being told?
Zali Neni’s voice seemed to come from far away. “So it looks as if you’re really going.”
“Yes,” was Mama’s reply. “In the letter—it just arrived this week—Herschel says we should figure on next year.”
“But when exactly?”
“Well, there are still things to settle—much to arrange. But by early spring, I imagine. . . .” Mama’s voice drifted away.
In the morning, Gisella awoke to find herself lying in her own bed. She realized the women must have carried her into the house. Quickly she dressed and rushed out of doors. “Good morning,” she called out.
“Good morning, sleepyhead!” everyone responded.
“See, Gisella, we’re all finished,” Szerena said, motioning to the big heap of wrinkled black prunes.
“And the lechwar came out just perfect,” added Zali Neni.
Mama pointed proudly to the row of white earthenware lechwar pots filled to the brim with the dark jellied mixture. “Thanks to your help, Zali and Muncie Neni. You mustn’t forget to call on me when you’re ready to make your own.”
“Don’t worry, we will,” they told her, smiling.
“Umm!” Szerena smacked her lips. “When I think of all the yummy things Mama can make now! Cake and filled kreplach (triangular shaped envelopes of dough), and especially lechwar with noodles!”
Gisella suddenly felt very hungry. “I could eat some right this minute!”
“Let’s get the prunes and the lechwar up into the attic,” Mama said. “Then I’ll fix breakfast for all of us.”
TEN
As August days gave way to each other, the ripened grain turned to gold in the fields. There was but one threshing machine in all of Helmecz. In return for a portion of the yield, its owner drove it from one plot to another helping the families harvest their crops.
In their own field, Mama and Szerena followed after the thresher making sure to gather up every scrap of the gleanings. The harvested grain was brought to the miller for grinding. His payment was a share of the flour. At the start of each day, Szerena drove the geese into the reaped fields to graze on whatever was left.
In the flax field, the plants were already more than three feet high. “See how many have the little white flowers,” Mama rejoiced. “That means the finest linen.”
On the first windy morning, Mama said, “It looks like a good day for flailing the flax. Gisella, today you take the geese so that Szerena can work with me.”
Gisella’s little body stiff
ened. Oh, Mama, do I have to? The question almost sprang from her lips.
Mama and Szerena set off for the flax field carrying a long-handled scythe and flailing sticks, while a worried Gisella began rounding up the flock. With the aid of a long switch, she urged the geese down the garden path and out into the street. They waddled along, honking and hissing and stretching their long necks.
Slowly they marched past the small houses, all alike with their thatched roofs and walls of part whitewash and part blue. The road ahead was splashed with sunshine. Birds were singing, and the air was filled with many scents. But Gisella scarcely noticed. She could think only of the fear that simmered inside her.
It was safe enough here in the village. But already she was approaching its end. Just ahead was the last house. Would the strange old man be on the porch again?
She tried not to think of the fearsome tale Kalman had related about that old man. “You know what he did once?” Kalman had whispered in great excitement. “He tried to kill himself!”
“Oh, Kalman!”
“Yes, he did!” Kalman was emphatic. “He hung himself from a beam in the ceiling of that very house!”
“But, Kalman, that’s silly. He’s alive!”
“I know. But he would have died if it hadn’t been for his daughter. She found him just in time. She started screaming, and the neighbors came running and cut him down.”
“But why, Kalman? Why did he do it?”
“I don’t know. They say he’s a little crazy. Ever since that time he sits in his rocking chair and just stares.”
“I don’t believe it. You’re just making the whole thing up to frighten me.”
“It’s all true! Every word of it! I heard the women talking.”
Gisella had never been sure whether Kalman had told her the truth. As she passed by the house, she averted her face, but her eyes could not help taking a quick glance.
He was there—the strange old man with the long, straggly white hair falling over his shoulders. He kept rocking, rocking endlessly, and his vacant eyes seemed to be staring straight through her. Gisella’s shoulders hunched. Her breath quickened. She squeezed her eyes tight to shut out the image. She had to get away from here! Terrified, she rushed the geese forward.
A Papa Like Everyone Else Page 7
