Part 22 (1/2)

Life had become hateful to him. One night it occurred to him that it would be better to die than to live thus.

He began to battle afresh with this new sinful thought, and again his strength began to fail. The first time the thought came like a lightning-flash and vanished. The following day it came again and stayed longer; on the third day he had time to consider it; he remembered that last week there had been a strong wind, a sign that some one had hanged himself. Perhaps a Gentile? No; there would never be a wind because of a Gentile; it must have been a Jew. A year ago, there was a Jew drowned in the bath, Cham the tailor. Who knows, perhaps he drowned himself on purpose? What should a tailor be doing in the bath in the middle of the week? On the eve of the Day of Atonement everyone goes, but on a Wednesday like any other?...

A few days later he felt drawn to the bath as though by pincers. Where is the harm? I can go if I like. He went, but he did not even undress.

He felt that once in, he would never come out again, that he would remain there. He stood some time leaning over the bath, he could not tear himself away from it, but gazed at the dark water with a faint reflection of himself trembling on the surface. Then it seemed to him, that was not _his_ image, but Cham the tailor's, and that Cham the tailor smiled and beckoned to him: ”Come! come! It is so quiet here, so cool--a delight!”

He grew hot all over and fled in terror. It was only in the street that he collected himself again. Pa.s.sing a rope-maker's, he observed that the ropes lay tossed about anyhow; the rope-maker had gone away somewhere.

Why had he just gone away? Where to? A few other such silly questions pa.s.sed through Yossil's mind, while his hands, acting of themselves, stole away a rope that happened to be lying on the door-step.

He was not aware of the theft till he found himself back in the house-of-study. He was very much surprised--he could not think how the cord had got into his pocket.

”It is G.o.d's doing,” he thought, with tears in his eyes; ”G.o.d Himself wishes me to take my life, to hang myself!” and he felt a bitterly piteous compa.s.sion for himself in his heart. G.o.d who had created him, who had made him an orphan, who had sent him the small-pox, and had thrown the piece of the stove at him, wishes him now to hang himself. He has refused him _this_ world, and now he is to lose the other as well.

Why?

Because he had not mastered the seducer?

How could he? All by himself--without parents, without companions--and the seducer is, after all, an angel, and has been under arms since the Creation; and Yossil feels very wretched and unhappy. G.o.d Himself is unjust to him, if He wishes him to hang himself. He sees it clearly, there is no uncertainty about it. And what is the outcome? If G.o.d wills it so, what can he do, he, the worm, the orphan?

He cannot withstand the seducer, then how shall he dare to think of going against G.o.d? No; he will not attempt to go against G.o.d.

He takes the rope and goes up into the loft of the Shool. He will not profane the house-of-study. He will not hang himself over against the Ark.

In the loft there is a hook, equally provided by Him. How else should there be a hook up there? Who knows how long the hook has been waiting for him? G.o.d may have prepared it before he, Yossil, was born or thought of.

Thus considering, he folded the rope. Something had occurred to him: And suppose the contrary? Suppose it to be the work of Satan? Suppose the same Satan who sends me the other thoughts had sent me this one, too?

And he let the rope be--it is a matter for consideration. He must think it well over. To lose both this world and the world to come is no trifle.

Thereupon the clock struck four--dinner-time and he became suddenly aware that his stomach was cramped with hunger.

And he came down from the loft and left the rope folded up.

Every night he feels drawn to the rope. He does what he can to save himself--he runs to the Ark, puts his head in among the holy scrolls, and cries pitifully to them for help. He frequently clasps a desk, so that it may be more difficult for him to leave the spot, or he clings with all his might to the old stove.

And who knows what the issue of the struggle would have been but for the pestilence?

Oh! now he drew a deep breath of relief. An end to hanging, an end to melancholy. They will have to give him a companion, and _not_ the Queen of Sheba; he is the _one_ orphan in the town.

4

SAVITZKI WITHDRAWS--YoSSIL GOES INTO RETREAT

Since the dread of the pestilence had so increased, the townsfolk ran a mile when they saw Savitzki coming. They were afraid of him--and no wonder. After all, a man is only flesh and blood, he may suddenly become indisposed any day, and Savitzki now is c.o.c.k of the walk. He can have people put to bed, smeared, rubbed, can pour drugs down their throats, drive out the whole family, burn the furniture, poison people, and then make post-mortems. What an outrage! When doctors want to know the nature of an illness, they poison off the first patients and look for little worms inside them. But what is to be done? When one is in exile--one is!...

A Rofeh in Apte having declared that the doctor there poisoned his patients, they imprisoned him for three months on bread and water. You think I mean the doctor? No, mercy on us, the Rofeh!

That is why, when Savitzki appeared in the street, it grew suddenly empty. If he looked up at a window, a blind was drawn, or the window was filled up with a sheet, a cus.h.i.+on--anything.

One fine morning the street where Savitzki lived stood empty--all the householders and the tenants had moved away overnight. No one wished to come within his area. It was a real case of ”woe to the wicked and woe to his neighbor!”

Savitzki has remarked it, and he is silent. More than that, he has withdrawn himself from the town for the time being--just as a cat will spring aside from a mouse--it won't run away.