Stempenyu: A Jewish Romance

XIV ROCHALLE GOES BACK TO THE RIGHT PATH

“Help! To the rescue, friends!” The words came from the room into which Moshe-Mendel had gone. The people rushed forward; and, when they were come into the room, they found that Rochalle was lying across her bed, her limbs stuff, her eyes staring and glazed, and beside her stood Moshe-Mendel, half dead with fear.

“What is it? Who has fainted? Water! Quick! Water, water!” everyone shouted together; but, no one stirred from his place.

“Oh, to the devil with you all!” cried Dvossa-Malka, bringing a pitcher of water from another room. She splashed the face of Rochalle, who was pale as death.

“Let us call in the doctor,” suggested Moshe-Mendel, in a voice that was quite unlike his own.

“The doctor, the doctor!” was repeated by each of the guests in turn, as they looked into each other’s eyes.

“You ought to tie her hands with a handkerchief, and pinch her nose!”

“Her nose — her nose!” they all cried; but, no one stirred a hand or foot.

“That’s right! Pinch it tighter, Dvossa-Malka, tighter!” The guests encouraged the mistress of the house in her work of rubbing Rochalle’s temples, pinching her nose, and sprinkling her with cold water. She persevered for so long until Rochalle was at last restored to consciousness.

“She looked around her in a dazed, stupefied way, as if she did not at all know where she was, and she asked: “Where am I? I am very hot — hot!”

“Go out of the way, everybody!” said Dvossa-Malka, driving them out of the room like sheep. And, she and Moshe-Mendel found themselves alone with Rochalle, who all this time had never taken her eyes from Moshe-Mendel’s face.

“What happened to you, daughter?” asked her mother-in-law.

“What ails you?” asked Moshe-Mendel, bending low over her, until his face was on a level with hers.

“Let your mother go out of the room,” was Rochalle’s whispered reply.

“Mother, excuse me, but would you be so kind as to leave us to ourselves?” said Moshe-Mendel. He went to the room door with his mother, and then returned to Rochalle’s beside.

“Tell me, what ails you, Rochalle?” asked he, in a voice that was full of real concern and tenderness, for the very first time.

“Oh, Moshe-Mendel, you must swear to me that you will tell no one, and that everything will remain a dead secret between us. Promise me you will forgive me for what I have done against you… If it had not been for Chaya-Ettel — peace be unto her — if it had not been for her reminder… Oh, if it had not been for Chaya-Ettel… Oh, Moshe-Mendel, my dear one!”

“Bethink you, Rochalle, of what you are saying. You are overheated, and are talking at random. Who and what is Chaya-Ettel?”

“My school-friend, Chaya-Ettel, the orphan girl — peace be unto her! — she has gone, long ago, to the world of Eternal Truth. But, I have seen her in my dreams many times of late. But, now to-day… Oh, Moshe-Mendel, bend down your head to me, lower and nearer. Ah, that’s right… I am afraid… I am filled with remorse… Oh, I am filled with the bitterest remorse.”

And, Rochalle nestled closer and closer to Moshe-Mendel until she was in his arms. The room was dark, only a single ray of light came in to them from the next room, through the door. Rochalle and Moshe-Mendel could barely make out one another’s faces. But, their eyes were riveted on each other; and, gradually a fire was enkindled in the hearts of both — a fire such as exists on the heart of a man or woman once in a lifetime, when the heart speaks, and not the tongue, when the eyes are eloquent and not the mouth.

“Tell me, Moshe-Mendel, my true one, am I so very dear to you!”

“What a question!” answered Moshe-Mendel. “You are rooted deep in the very fibres of my being, like a — I can’t say myself like what.” And, he could find no words in which to express his love for Rochalle. But, his sincerity was evident to her. It was beyond a doubt. He was quite as sincere and perhaps more sincere than the fine fellow who had the gift of expressing himself with ease and eloquence on every occasion.

But, this much was certain, the husband and wife who had been married for more than a year already were only now discovering that they really loved one another to distraction. This was the first opportunity they had ever had of talking freely and openly with one another, and they had found out that they were the very complement of one another. They were cooing like two doves in the mating season.

When Rochalle felt a little eased, and had nothing more to say, Moshe-Mendel too was at a loss. He was still sitting with his arms about her, and he began to hum softly from the “Elijah” they had all been singing earlier in the evening. “Elijah the Prophet, Elijah the Tishbite … of Gilead.”

And, Rochalle said to him, “I have something to ask of you, Moshe-Mendel. Tell me. Will you grant it me or not?”

“For instance? What is it you wish me to grant you? Speak Rochalle, and you will get it of me. Even if you ask me the fabulous golden plate of heaven, I will get it for you.”

“It is enough! Moshe-Mendel, you have lived in your parents’ house on their bounty quite long enough. You are not a school-boy now. We have a few roubles, thank God! Let us leave this, and go live in my village, in Yehupetz, amongst my people, my family and friends. When I am with you I will be as happy as the day is long. We will be by ourselves. We have had enough of being waited on hand and foot. I am dead sick of it. I hate it. I can’t stand it any longer… We are here with your parents, and we are like strangers to one another, black strangers!”

Moshe-Mendel sat quite still. He said nothing, but tried to think. He looked at Rochalle with some wonderment. He shook himself and began to sing the “Elijah” all over again.

“Oh, that’s all right,” he said after a few minutes. “Why not? Let it be even next week, if you like.”

“I get you to do everything I want, Moshe-Mendel — everything!” said Rochalle, regarding him with a newly born feeling of admiration. “Oh, yes, we will live by ourselves henceforth. I will look after the household; and, I will tend to the very least of your wants as if you were the apple of my eye. Oh, Moshe-Mendel, you were always so distracted, so excited by outside matters, that I never heard a kind word from you. But, tonight you are so changed towards me — so changed…”

“Elijah the Prophet,” sang Moshe-Mendel softly, as if to himself—“Elijah the Tishbite … of Gilead!”

And, there in the parlour, amongst the men, a different argument was being carried on. They had told each other all the jokes they knew; and, in due course, they came to the question of why Isaac-Naphtali’s daughter-in-law had fainted away so suddenly. One said that she had had an Evil Eye cast upon her. A second contradicted that statement and put forward the contention that she had caught a chill through standing in a draughty passage. Whilst a third, a grizzled Jew, who had long ago married off the youngest of all his children, gave his opinion at length:

“Listen to me. I have three daughters-in-law, and I know what I am talking about. I tell you that it is nothing at all. Believe me, it will pass off. Young women often take like that for no reason, and there is nothing in the least to be alarmed at.”

Dvossa-Malka beamed at him with satisfaction. “Well, well,” she said, pretending to be anxious about Rochalle. “Go away with your talk. It is better to go and have a look at supper on the oven than to stand and listen to you. You must all be very hungry. The supper is later than usual tonight.”