Stempenyu: A Jewish Romance

III STEMPENYU’S AWAKENING

But, the villagers had an additional reason beside the coming of Stempenyu to fill them with rejoicing. Red Chayam-Benzion Glock was marrying off his youngest daughter, his baby, Rivkalle. And, the villagers knew that he would make a wedding that would be worth going to; for, he was the wealthiest man in the whole village. He would be sure to give his youngest daughter suc h a send-off as had never been seen in the village before. And, every single individual was prepared to be present. Some were going out of friendship, some out of jealousy, and some because it was their duty. Nor were there a few among the villagers who were anxious to get the opportunity to show off the jewelry they had bought for their wives at the fair, especially for the occasion. But, they all had in their minds the fact that Stempenyu was going to play at the wedding. The result was that everybody came, filling the house to overflowing.

Isaac-Naphtali and his wife, and son, and daughter-in-law were amongst the first arrivals. For, he was the business partner of Chayam-Benzion, along with being his blood-relation. That is to say, Isaac-Naphtali’s wife, Dvossa-Malka, was remotely connected with the wife of Chayam-Benzion, which was the reason why Dvossa-Malka felt so much at home at the wedding. She wore a long veil coming from the front of her head and falling down over her broad shoulders, as if she were the bride’s mother; and, she kept wheeling around and about the room, doing nothing at all but gesticulating and making such noises as if everything depended entirely on her. Her daughter-in-law, Rochalle the beautiful, was standing beside the bride, dressed as carefully as if she were a royal princess. Her great blue eyes were shining like lanterns, and her cheeks were like two full blown roses. She was holding the bride’s tresses, which the women were braiding together for the last time. Rochalle did not know that a pair of burning black eyes were fixed on her face, never lifting off it for one moment.

The waiters and waitresses were running up and down like frightened hares. The relatives of both parties were so excited that they did nothing but shout aloud at the top of their voices. How long more were they going to carry on the preparations? Surely, it was already time to finish the bride’s toilette? Why should she and the bridegroom be kept fasting the whole day? The cry, “It is time! It is time!” became more general, but no one even attempted to do anything whatever. Isaac-Naphtali ran here and there, in a velveteen jacket, under the tails of which he kept his hands locked within each other, as if he were a preacher. And, his wife, Dvossa-Malka, also made a terrible noise, an uproar. Everybody who could ran backwards and forwards, stumbling over one another in their haste, and holding their hands out in front of them, as if they were ready to set to work at anything, but were not given the work to do.

Between the two sets of relations a great rivalry had sprung up; and, two distinct parties were formed, opposing each other at every turn.

“Nu! why is there nothing done yet?” someone belonging to the bridegroom asked, only to be answered by someone from the bride’s family with the sneer:

“Why are you not doing something yourself?” And, to this the first speaker made haste to reply: “Did you ever hear the likes? To keep the children fasting for hours and hours on end!”

“Did you ever hear the like — keeping the children fasting for hours and hours on end?” was the opponent’s echoing remark.

“Why are they running up and down, here and there?”

“What sort of running about is it?”

“Everybody is running, and everybody is making a noise, and still they are not advancing one step further. Beautiful management!”

“Though they run about and make a noise, they are not doing a single thing.”

“Perhaps there is enough talking going on? There must be an end to everything. Let there be a start to get the work done!”

“Well, let there be an end of talking. Let there be a start made to get the work done. There must be an end to this talking.”

“Where are the musicians?” asked one of the bridegroom’s relatives.

“Yes, the musicians — where are they?” replied the bride’s relatives.

The musicians were at this moment occupied in getting themselves ready for the night’s work. They were tuning their instruments, and waxing their bows. But, as usual, Yekel Bass was otherwise occupied. He was dragging out of his corner, by the ear, a second delinquent, and dealing him out a goodly share of blows. When he had the boy already outside the door, he whispered, nay, rather hissed into the ear he was pinching with all his might: “I will show you, devil, how to strum the string of my ‘bass!’ ”

Michsa the drummer, not having anything else to do, was scratching the side of his face that had whiskers. He was not looking at anybody. Reb Chaikel Flute was chatting to a teacher of his acquaintance. He took a pinch of snuff from the preacher’s box with his forefinger and thumb; and, holding it in mid-air, he proceeded to scatter his words on to the teacher as though he were dropping them from the mouth of a sack.

And, the rest of the musicians — the swollen-faced young man with the long teeth — were standing around Stempenyu, who was talking to them in the jargon that all musicians used, so that no one would understand what they were saying. They seemed to be engrossed in a highly interesting subject.

“Who is the maiden who is standing near the bride?” asked Stempenyu, turning his glances in the direction of Rochalle the beautiful. “You go, Jeremiah,” he added, to one of the apprentices, “and find out for me who she is. Be quick about it!”

Jeremiah was not away many minutes. He returned with definite information.

“She is not a maiden. She is a married woman. She is Isaac-Naphtali’s daughter-in-law, and comes from Yehupetz. That is her husband in the velvet skull-cap. Do you see him? He is just turning towards us.”

“To the devil with you!” cried Stempenyu excitedly. “You were not long finding all this out! Oh, she is very beautiful. Quick! Look at the expression in her wonderful blue eyes!”

“If you wish me to,” began the swollen-faced Jeremiah, “if you wish me to, I will start a conversation with her and find out more for you.”

“To the devil with you, you hideous monster! Nobody wants you to open your hideous mouth. I can talk to her myself if I want to!”

“Nu!” said someone to Stempenyu, seeing that there was likelihood of a quarrel. “Nu! Stempenyu, make a start. Let them see how you can pierce their hearts with your fiddle; and, how you can tear out their bowels.”

Stempenyu needed no further reminder. He took up his fiddle, winked at the men, who at once put themselves in readiness for the signal, and he began to play the opening overture.