GIMPEL THE FOOL
313
happens that I spin yarns-improbable things that could never have
happened about devils, magicians, windmills and the like. The chil–
dren run after me, "Granddaddy, tell us a story." Sometimes they
ask
for particular stories and I try to please them. A fat young boy once
said to me, "Grandfather, it's the same story you told us before." The
little rogue, he was right.
So
it is with dreams, too. It is many years since I left Frampol,
but as soon as I shut my eyes I am there again. And whom do you
think
I see? Elka. She is standing by the washtub, as at our first en–
counter, but her face is shining and her eyes are as radiant as the
eyes of a saint, and she speaks outlandish words to me, exotic things.
When I wake, I have forgotten it all. But while the dream lasts I
am
comforted. She answers all my queries, and what comes out is
that all is right. I weep and implore her, "Let me be with you." And
she consoles me and tells me to be patient. The time is nearer than
it
is
far. Sometimes she strokes and kisses me, and weeps upon my
face. When I awaken I feel her lips and taste the salt of her tears.
No doubt the world is entirely an imaginary world, but it
is
only once removed from the true world. At the door of the hovel
where I lie, there stands the plank on which the dead are taken
away. The gravedigger-Jew has his spade ready. The grave waits and
the worms ,are hungry, the shrouds are prepared, I carry them in
my beggar's sack. Another
Schnorrer
is waiting to inherit my hand–
ful of straw. When the time comes, I will go joyfully. Whatever may
be
there, it will be real, without complication, without ridicule, with–
out deception. God be praised: there even Gimpel cannot be deceived.
(Translated from the Yiddish by Saul Bellow)
