Stempenyu: A Jewish Romance

XVII STEMPENYU MOVES ONE LIMB

A pity of Stempenyu!

But, it was not altogether as one imagines. He hardly needed to be pitied. For, though he had no authority in his own home, and was entirely led by a mean woman, he still lived in a world of his own creating — altogether his own, in which Freidel never entered at all. In his own world he was as a prince; and, when he found himself safely within its imaginary walls, he was satisfied, as we shall see presently.

First of all, he spent half of the day practicing his new pieces with his orchestra, along with the members of whom he played an odd prank now and then. He listened gladly to the witty sayings of the jester in the group, and laughed heartily at Michsa Drummer, against whom the jester leveled the most of his shafts. And, often Stempenyu told stories himself, recounting the various adventures he had at this wedding and that. He told how, on one occasion, the bridegroom had stubbornly refused to go under the canopy, would on no account consent to be married until he had got every kopek of the dowry that had been promised him counted out into his hand. At another wedding, the bride had fainted away stone dead without cause, and could not be revived for the ceremony to go on until long after the appointed time. Here the jester interrupted Stempenyu to put in a remark apropos of the story. At a third wedding something very funny happened. After supper, when the guests were about to begin dancing for the night, there was a sudden outburst of laughter. No sooner had Stempenyu touched on the incident than all the musicians burst out into a loud guffaw at the memory of what had taken place. It was as if a bomb of laughter had exploded in the middle of the room.

“What are you laughing at?” asked Freidel, from another room. “One would imagine that someone was tickling you.”

“Never you mind,” was Stempenyu’s prompt reply. “I told you hundreds of times not to interfere in our affairs.”

And, for one moment, Stempenyu appeared to be the real master of the house — a little Sultan, almost.

When Stempenyu was not practicing or playing by himself, he was occupied with his personal appearance, of which he was very proud. His coats were perfect in cut and colour, and his boots were of the finest leather, and were lacquered until they shone like mirrors. His hair was curled with the utmost precision, every lock separately and every curl in its appointed place. His shirt collars were always white as snow, and he carried in his hand a stick with a carved ivory handle. And, on his head, he worse a broad black cloth cap with a shiny peak that came down almost to his eyes. His head thrown back proudly, and his body perfectly poised, Stempenyu walked through the streets with the dignified gait of a man of the utmost importance — a general, or a governor of a province. He had many acquaintances everywhere, all of whom he saluted gracefully and cordially as he came towards them. When he passed the shops he greeted the young women — the shopkeepers — with much warmth. The women grew red. They remembered how, when they were girls, they had known Stempenyu intimately. Those were good times. But now? Who cared what to-day was like when the memory of yesterday filled the mind?

There were several young women, and girls too, who came out to the doors of their shops to talk to Stempenyu. And, he was delighted to stand and chat with them about this person and that, and to laugh and make merry with them. But these chance encounters did not always pass off without comment. Sometime the neighbors talked about them, and carried the news of Stempenyu’s little escapades from one house to the other; and, as they went from house to house, the stories grew in dimensions, after the fashion that belongs to all villages where the people have nothing else to interest themselves with but the most trivial sayings and doings of their neighbors.

“What are the people talking about you again for? Is there another story, Stempenyu?”

“What sort of story, Freidel?

“The stories of your own making, I suppose. He asks me! Wherever two people meet you are sure to make a third in a few minutes. The whole village is talking about you again.”

“I don’t know what you want of me, Freidel?”

“What I want of you? I want you to have done with your old ways. It is time for you. Wherever there is a young woman or a girl to be found in the village, you are sure to know her, and to stand talking to her for three hours by the clock. You can’t possibly say enough to her!”

“Ah, I suppose you are referring to the chat I had with Esther, Abraham-Jacob’s daughter?”

“Well, if I am referring to Esther, what then? Is she a nun, or what?”

“I had a little business to talk about with her.”

“Your business! I know you, Stempenyu.”

“And, you may know me! Abraham-Jacob is thinking of making his daughter’s wedding in Yehupetz. He took the mad idea into his head. And, when I saw Esther, I talked to her about it. Perhaps I ought not to have talked to her about it? Perhaps I ought to let such a fine wedding go out of our village?”

“What made him think of Yehupetz — the madman?” asked Freidel. And, in her green eyes there was a peculiar glitter which always came into them at the very allusion to money, as well as at the mention of the word.

“There’s no use in asking questions about the actions of a lunatic,” replied Stempenyu, feeling that he had come out of this scrape without a scar.

He often managed to get out of scrapes. He was very alert, and knew exactly how to deal with Freidel.

Once he had crossed the boundary which separated his village from its neighbors, Stempenyu felt he was once again as free as the air. He could do whatever he wished, without having to give an account of himself. So that, once he found himself in a strange village, he was reluctant to leave it again. And, he had all sorts of adventures wherever he went, both comic and tragic. And, he felt that he was in an altogether different world into which Freidel could not enter. Though she frequently tried to bribe Michsa Drummer to tell her of Stempenyu’s doings, she had failed, for Michsa was loyal to his master, and moreover hated Freidel like poison.

And, no sooner did Stempenyu find himself in a new village, than he threw off all traces of his old self. He was an altogether freer and brighter Stempenyu than he had been in his own house — in Freidel’s presence.