Books: In Those Days

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"I promise faithfully."

"I believe no promises."

"What shall I do?"

"You have paper and pencil in your pocket?"

"Certainly!"

I turned around, supported myself on both my arms and one knee, and
made a sort of a rickety table of myself. And on my back Serge
wrote out his paper, and signed it. But all that was really
unnecessary. He would have kept his word anyway. For he was always
afraid I might blurt out the whole story. Not I, though. May I
never have anything in common with those who profit by falsehoods!

As to what happened later, I cannot tell you exactly. For I was
taken away, first to a temporary hospital, and then to a permanent
one. I fell into a fever and lost consciousness. I do not know how
many days or weeks passed by: I was in a different world all that
time. How can I describe it to you? Well, it was a world of chaos.
It was all jumbled together: father, mother, military service,
ikons, lashes, lambs slaughtered, Peter, bullets, etc., etc.

It was all in a jumble, all topsyturvy. And in the midst of that
chaos I felt as if I were a thing apart from myself. My head ached,
and yet it felt as if it did not belong to me. . . . Finally I
thought I felt mother bathing me; a delicious feeling of moisture
spread over my flesh, and my headache disappeared. Then I felt a
warm, soft hand pass over my forehead, cheeks, and neck. . . .

I opened my eyes, the first time since I lost consciousness, and I
exclaimed:

"Marusya!?"

"Yes, yes," said she, with a smile, while her eyes brimmed with
tears, "it is I." And behind her was another face:

"Anna?!"

"Rest, rest," said they, warningly. "Thanks to God, the crisis is
over."

I doubted, I thought it was all a dream. But it was no dream. It
was all very simple: Anna and Marusya had enlisted and were serving
as volunteer nurses at the military hospital, and I had known
nothing of it.

"Marusya," said I, "please tell me how do I happen to be here?"

Then she began to tell me how they brought me there, and took me
down from the wagon as insensible as a log. But she could not
finish her story; she began to choke with tears, and Anna finished
what Marusya wanted to tell me.

I turned to Marusya:

"Where are my clothes?"

"What do you want them for?"

"There is a paper there."

I insisted, and she brought the paper.

"Read the paper, Marusya," said I. She read the document in which
Serge assigned the house to Marusya. The two women looked at me
with glad surprise.

"How did you ever get it?"

But I had decided to keep the thing a secret from them, and I did.

When I was discharged from the hospital, the war was long over, and
a treaty of peace had been signed. Had they asked me, I should not
have signed it.--

XIII

Here the old man stopped for a while. Apparently he skipped many an
incident, and omitted many a thing that he did not care to mention.
I saw he was touching upon them mentally. Her resumed:--

Just so, just so. . . . Many, many a thing may take place within
us, without our ever knowing it. I never suspected that I had been
longing to see my parents. I never wrote to them, simply because I
had never learned to write my Jewish well enough. Of course, had my
brother Solomon been taken, he would surely have written regularly,
for he was a great penman, may he rest in peace. As to Russian, I
certainly might have written in that language; but then it would
have been very much like offering salt water to a thirsty person.
And that is why I did not write. I thought I had forgotten my
parents. But no! Even that was merely a matter of habit. I had
gotten so used to my feeling of longing that I was not aware of
having it. That is the way I explain it to myself. By and by there
opened in my heart a dark little corner that had been closed for
many a year. That was the longing for my parents, for my home,
mixed with just a trace of anger and resentment. I began to picture
to myself how my folks would meet me: there would be kisses,
embraces, tears, neighbors. . . . For, like a silly child, I
imagined they were all alive and well yet, and that the Angel of
Death would wait till I came and repaid them for all the worry I had
caused them. . . . And, indeed, would they not have been greatly
wronged, had they been allowed to die unconsoled, after they had
rent Heaven with their prayers and lamentations?

But the nearer I came to my native town, the less grew my desire to
see it. A feeling of estrangement crept over me at the sight of the
neighborhood. No, it was not exactly a feeling of estrangement, but
some other feeling, something akin to what we feel at the
recollection of the pain caused by long-forgotten troubles. I can
hardly make it clear to you; it was not unlike what an old man feels
after a bad dream of the days of his youth.

It was about this time of the year. The roads were just as bad as
now, the slush just as deep. And it was as nauseating to sit in the
coach only to watch the glittering mud and count the slow steps of
the horses. In a season like this it is certainly much more
agreeable to dismount and walk. That was just what I did. My
native town was not far away: only once uphill, once downhill, and
there was the inevitable cemetery, which must be passed when one
enters a Jewish village. The horses could hardly move, and I
overtook them very soon, as I took a short cut, and struck into a
path across the peasants' fields. I allowed myself that privilege,
because at that time I was still wearing my uniform with the brass
buttons shining brightly. When I descended into the valley, I
decided to cross the cemetery, and so shorten my way. The coach was
far behind, and I was walking very slowly, that it might reach me at
the other side of the cemetery. My path lay among the gravestones,
some of them gray with age, dilapidated, bent forward, as if trying
to overhear the talk of the nether world: some clean and upright, as
if gazing proudly heavenwards. It was a world of silence I was in;
and heavy indeed is the silence I was in; it is really a speaking
silence. I think there is something real in the belief that the
dead talk in their graves. To me it seemed as if the gravestones
were casting evil glances at me for my having disturbed the silent
place with the glitter of my buttons. And it was with difficulty
that I could decipher the inscriptions on the stones. I do not know
why it was so: either my Hebrew had got rusty, or else graveyard
inscriptions make hard reading in general.

"Here lieth . . . . the righteous man . . . . modest, pious . . . .
Rabbi Simhah . . . . Shohet. . . . "

I read it all, and shuddered: why, under that very stone lay the
remains of my own brother Simhah!

I wanted to shed tears, but my tears did not obey me. I read it
again and again, and when I came to the words "modest," "pious," I
mumbled something to myself, something angry and envious. Then I
thought I felt the tombstone move, the ground shake under me, as if
a shiver were passing through the air. . .

"Forgive me, forgive me!"

It was not my ears that caught those words; it was my heart. I
understood that it was the soul of my brother apologizing to me for
the action of my parents. Tears began to flow from my eyes. I did
not care to read any further, from fear of finding something I did
not wish to find. I was thinking of my parents.

And when I entered the house of my parents, I could hardly recognize
them. Wrinkled, bent, with sunken cheeks, they had changed entirely
in appearance.

Father looked at my buttons, removed his cap, and stood bent before
me. Mother was busying herself at the oven, and began to speak to
father in a mixture of Hebrew and Yiddish: "Sure enough, some sort
of taxes again. . . . Much do we need it now. . . ." Then, in a
fit of spitefulness, I made believe I was a stranger.

"Old people," said I, "I have brought you news from your son
Samuel." As soon as father heard me speak Yiddish, he ran to the
window, rubbed his hands against the moist pane, by way of washing
them, and shook hands with me.

"Peace be with you, young man," said he. Mother left her corner and
stood up before me. Father began fumbling for his glasses, and
asked me: "News from my son, you say? Where did you see him last?"

"And when did you see him?" asked mother, shivering.

I mentioned some imaginary place and date.

"How does he feel? Was he in the war? Is he well? Does he expect
to come home?"

Many such questions followed one another in quick succession.
Meanwhile father took me aside, and whispered into my ear: "How
about . . . . how about religion?" Out of sheer spitefulness I
wanted to worry the poor old folks a little; may the Lord not
consider it a sin on my part.

I said: "Had Rabbi Simhah the Shohet been in his place, he surely
would have withstood all temptations!" . . . .

"What, converted?!"

I kept silent, and the old people took it as a sign of affirmation.

They hung their heads despondently, and kept silent, too. Then
father asked me once more:

"Married a Gentile? Has children?" I still kept silent. My old
mother wept silently. My heart melted within me, but I braced
myself up and kept silent. I felt as if a lump in my throat was
choking me, but I swallowed it. I heard mother talking to herself:
"O Master of the Universe, Father who art in Heaven, Thou Merciful
and Righteous!" . . . . As she said it, she shook her head, as if
accepting God's verdict and complaining at the same time.

The old man stood up, his beard a-quiver. His hand shook nervously,
and he said in a tone of dry, cold despair:

"Ett. . . . Blessed be the righteous Judge!" as though I had told
him the news of his son's death. With that he took out a pocket
knife, and wanted to make the "mourning cut." At that moment my ear
caught the sound of the heartrending singsong of the Psalms. The
voice was old and tremulous. It was an old man, evidently a lodger,
who was reading his Psalter in an adjoining room:

"For the Lord knoweth the path of the righteous. . . ."

The memories of the long past overtook me, and I told my parents who
I was. . . . .

And yet--continued Samuel after some thought--and yet they were not
at peace, fearing I had deceived them. And they never rested till
they got me married to my Rebekah, "according to the laws of Moses
and Israel."

Well, two years passed after my wedding, and troubles began; I got a
toothache, may you be spared the pain! That is the way of the Jew:
no sooner does he wed a woman and beget children, than all kinds of
ills come upon him.

Some one told me, there was a nurse at the city hospital who knew
how to treat aching teeth and all kinds of ills better than a
full-fledged doctor.

I went to the hospital, and asked for the nurse.

A young woman came out. . . .

"Marusya?!"

"Samuel?!"

We were both taken aback.

"And where is your husband, Marusya?" asked I, after I had caught my
breath.

"And you, Samuel, are you married?"

"Yes."

"But I am single yet."

Yes, yes, she was a good soul! She died long ago. . . . May it
please the Lord to give her a goodly portion in Paradise!--

Here the old man broke off his story with a deep sigh escaping from
his breast.

We waved his hand at the son, who was dozing away unconcerned,
lurching from side to side. The old man looked at his son, shook
his head, and said:

"Yes, yes, those were times, those were soldiers. . . . It is all
different now: new times, new people, new soldiers. . . .

"It is all make-believe nowadays! . . . . "

NOTES
BY THE TRANSLATOR

Av.
The month in the Jewish calendar corresponding to July-August.
On the ninth day of Av the Temple was taken and destroyed by
Titus.

Arba-Kanfos.
Literally "four corners." A rectangular piece of cloth about
one foot wide and three feet long, with an aperture in the
middle large enough to pass it over the head. The front part of
the garment falls over the chest, the other part covers the
shoulders. To its four corners "Tzitzis," or fringes, are
attached in prescribed manner. When made of wool, the
Arba-Kanfos is usually called TALLIS-KOTON (which see).

Bar-Mitzwah.
Literally "man of duty." A Jewish boy who has passed his
thirteenth birthday, and has thus attained his religious
majority.

Beadle.
The functions of this officer in a Jewish community were
somewhat similar to those of the constable in some American
villages.

Candles.
The Sabbath is ushered in by lighting the Sabbath candles,
accompanied by a short prayer.

Cantonists.
A term applied to Jewish boys drafted into military service
during the reign of Nicholas I of Russia (1825-1855). Every
Jewish community had to supply its quota; but as parents did not
surrender their children willingly, they were secured by
kidnappers specially appointed by the Community for the purpose.
See CATCHER. The same term was applied to the children of
Russian soldiers who were educated for the army in the so-called
District, or Canton, Schools. Hence the name.

Catcher.
An agent of the Jewish community prior to the introduction, in
1874, of general military duty in Russia.

Havdolah.
Ceremonial with wine, candles, and spices, accompanied by a
prayer, at the end of the Sabbath.

Haggodah.
The ritual used at the Passover eve home service.

Hallah.
In commemoration of the priest's tithe at the time of the
Temple. The ceremonial consists of taking a piece of the bread
dough before it is baked and throwing it into the fire; a prayer
is recited at the same time.

Heder.
Literally, "a room." Specifically, a school in which Bible and
Talmud are taught.

Kaddish.
Literally, "sanctification." A prayer recited in commemoration
of the dead.

Karaites.
Members of a Jewish sect that does not recognize the authority
of the Talmud.

Kosher.
Literally, "right," "fit." Specifically applied to food
prepared in accordance with the Jewish dietary laws.

Klaus.
A synagogue to which students of the Talmud resort for study and
discussion.

Lamdan.
A scholar learned in the Torah.

Mezuzah.
Literally, "door-post." A piece of parchment, inscribed with
the SHEMA (which see), together with Deut. 11:13-21, rolled up,
and enclosed in an oblong box, which is attached in a prescribed
way to the door-post of a dwelling.

Modeh-Ani.
Literally "I affirm." The opening words of a brief confession
of faith.

Shaatnez.
Cloth or a garment made of linen and wool woven together; or a
wool garment sewed with linen thread; or a linen garment sewed
with wool.

Shema.
Literally, "listen," The opening words of Deut. 6:4-9.

Shemad.
Literally, "extermination." Applied figuratively to
renunciation of the Jewish faith, whether forced or voluntary.

Shohet.
A slaughterer of cattle licensed by a rabbi. He must examine
the viscera of cattle according to the rules laid down in the
Talmud.

Tallis-koton.
Literally, "the little Tallis," or prayer shawl. Worn by some
Jews. See ARBA-KANFOS.

Torah.
Literally, "doctrine." A term applied to the Pentateuch, and to
the Talmud with its commentaries.

Tzitzis. See ARBA-KANFOS.

Yom-Kippur.
Day of Atonement.

Zhid (fem. Zhidovka: zh sounded like z in azure).
Literally, "Judean." Russian equivalent of English "sheeny."

__________________________
TRANSCRIBER'S DISCUSSION

The book presents a softer side of Cantonist life than history
records. The abducted children (as young as eight) were usually
raised in barracks ('Cantonments') under brutal conditions designed
to break their Jewishness. Speaking Yiddish, or any sign of
Jewishness or religious practice, was punished by starvation,
beatings, and if that failed outright tortures, resulting in many
deaths, as well as suicides. At age 18, the lads began a 25 year
term in the army. Reversion to Judaism at any time thereafter was a
crime. At its height, in 1854, official records show 7,515
Cantonists conscripted into the Russian army. The Cantonist laws
were ended in 1856 by Tsar Alexander II, almost as soon as he came
to power.

Alexander II created a general draft in 1874, affecting all
Russians. One message of the book is clear; whatever worries Jewish
parents may have regarding their drafted child's ability to maintain
their religion, this modern draft was vastly preferable to the
Cantonist system, and might even be welcomed for its fairness.

In retrospect, Steinberg was really using the Cantonist topic as a
backdrop for a cultural study. He presents us with several
characters, each at a different place in the gray zone between
Jewish and Christian cultures: two Cantonists, one clinging to the
Jewish side (Jacob); one closer to the non-Jewish side (Samuel, the
narrator); as well as a Jewish convert unhappy with her lot (Anna,
whose abuse of Samuel we later understand as the 'self-disdain'
often seen among those who had left Judaism); her daughter Marusya,
who although fully Christian is ostracized as being a Jewess, and
struggles unsuccessfully to find her place in life; and Peter
Khlopov, a full Christian who finds Jewish culture agreeable.
Steinberg's portrayal of Samuel makes it clear, even in the first
few pages, that Samuel, although Jewish, thinks very much like a
Russian peasant; in a very real way he straddles that fringe zone
between the two distinct societies.

_____________________
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES

Serge Ivanovich
acute accent over the a, throughout the text

At such moments he would be ready to hug
"be" was erroneously "he" in source text

Zhidovka
acute accent over the o, throughout the text

nebulae
ae written as a ligature

Vassil Stefanovich Zagrubsky
acute accent over the u, throughout the text

manoeuvres
oe written as a ligature

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