Everyday Jews: Scenes From a Vanished Life by Yehoshue Perle Page A

said.
    “I can’t put up with it any more, all those curses he wishes on me. He should only …”
    “Sh … sh … Don’t you start cursing,” said Grandma, rising abruptly from her wooden chest.
    “He ought to be ashamed of himself,” Mother continued. “Not even a Gentile curses at his wife the way he does at me.”
    “When did he have time to curse you?” said Grandpa. “You weren’t even here.”
    “He cursed me in a letter. So what if I went away? I have only one daughter. I shouldn’t go to her celebration?”
    “You could have told him you were going away,” said Grandpa.
    “How could I have told him when he’s hardly ever home?”
    “What do you want, he should stay home and play with you?”
    “Who’s talking about playing? But he has no right to stop me from going to my child’s engagement.”
    “But not a living soul knew where you’d disappeared to. That’s not a Jewish thing to do, abandoning husband and child, just like that!”
    “Too bad! So he had no one to do the cooking for him!”
    “You think he can do his own cooking?”
    “Let him cook, let him not cook. I’ve had enough of him!”
    “Have you got someone else to take his place?” Grandpa said with a wink. “You’re not a young woman any more, you know.”
    “Enough already, you old fool!” Grandma trembled all over. “And you, Frimet, stop making those jokes and go home.”
    “You’re throwing me out, Mother?”
    “I’m not throwing you out, God forbid, but a wife has to go home to her husband.”
    “I don’t ever want to see him again! What kind of a life do I have with him? Alas, he darkened my young, my most beautiful years! He talked me into believing that he was well off, that he owned a farm. A curse on that farm of his!”
    Mother’s eyes reddened and took on an ugly look. Her nose, too, reddened and seemed to grow sharper.
    “Nu, let it be,” said Grandma, seeking to smooth over Father’s transgressions. “Don’t think he hasn’t been here asking about you.”
    “So he did me a big favor.”
    “He’d show up in the courtyard several times a day.”
    “In the courtyard? And to come into the house was beneath his dignity?”
    “But you know yourself,” Grandma said, as if imparting a secret, “that we two never got along that well.”
    “Whom does he get along with?”
    “Well, he’s not from the worst … It’s late already, but tomorrow, God willing, you’re gong home.”
    “No, Mother, even if I have to scrub other people’s floors, I’m never going back to him.”
    “What got into you over there in Warsaw?” Grandpa could no longer contain himself.
    “In Warsaw, they live like people. Gitl-Hodes is a real lady, like a German lady. And what has become of me? With Berl—may his soul rest in peace—I used to live in a place with big rooms, with brass handles on every door.”
    “Well, with Berl …” Grandma heaved a sigh. “Things never turn out the way one wants them to.”
    They continued talking until late into the night. They totally forgot about me.
    I heard everything, but for the life of me couldn’t make out why Mother had returned from Warsaw so angry with Father. It should have been the other way around. To my mind, it was Father who should be angry with Mother, since she was the one who disappeared without telling him where.
    To tell the truth, I bore Mother no ill will. I was only put out by the mention of her first husband and those big rooms and the brass door handles.
    What kind of comparison was that! Her first husband had been a feldsher , a barber-surgeon in Konskowola, whereas my father only dealt in hay. What had all that to do with big rooms and brass door handles?

Chapter Six
    The following morning I busied myself getting ready to return to the kheyder . I got up earlier than usual, washed myself thoroughly, put on the strange trousers that Mother had brought back from Warsaw, and made sure I had the two bagels that Grandma had buttered for me.
    I