THE DIARY OF ON 'E NOT BORN
141
with rain. The wagon wheels sank deep into the mire; their spokes
were covered with mud. To make a long
story
short: the Warsaw
Croesus, Reb Gen, grimaced, complained, bit
ills
beard and muttered
that newfound relatives, both on his side and his wife's, were crawl–
ing out of the cracks in the walls. And finally he took out a five–
hundred gulden note, gave it to his needy brother-in-law, and bid
him
farewell, half warmly, half coldly, smiling and sighing, and
asking to
be
remembered to his sister. A sister is, after all, a sister,
one's own flesh and blood.
Reb Paltiel took the banknote, put it into his breast pocket, and
started home. Truly, the humiliation he had suffered w.as worth more
than five times five hundred gulden. But what's a man to do? Ob–
viously, there's a time for honors and a time for indignities. And any–
way, the indignities were in the past and the five hundred gulden
were in his pocket. And with such a sum one could buy cows and
horses and goats, and repair the roof and pay taxes, and take care
of heaven knows how many other necessaries! I was right there (I
happened, at the time, to be a flea in Reb Paltiel's beard), and I
whispered to him: "Well, what do you s.ay? The fact
is
that Grene
Peshe isn't so crazy!" He answered me: "Evidently it was decreed.
Who knows? Maybe heaven wanted me to atone for some sin, and
from now on my luck will be better."
On the last night of the return trip, a heavy snow fell, and then
there was a severe frost. The wagon couldn't move over the icy road,
and Reb Paltiel had to take a sleigh. He arrived home frozen, ex–
hausted from the long journey, hoarse and worn. He went into the
house immediately. His wife, Grene Peshe, was sitting by the hearth
warming herself. When £he saw him she let out a shriek: "Woe is
me--what you look like! I've seen them bury healthier looking speci–
mens!" When he heard these lamentations, Reb Paltiel stuck his
hand into his breast pocket, drew out the banknote, laid it down and
announced-"Take it, it's yours." And he gave her the gift of charity
which had cost
him
so much. Grene Peshe's face went from joy to
gloom and back to joy. "So, well, I had expected a thousand," she
said. "But five hundred isn't to be sneezed at, either."
And as she was saying these words, I sprang out of Reb Paltiel's
beard and sat myself on Grene Peshe's nose. I jumped with such
force that the poor woman dropped the paper, and it fell into the
fire. And before either of them could cry out, a green and blue flame
