FICTION
I.
L.
Peretz
IN THE MAIL WAGON
He told me everything at once, in a single breath;
within minutes I learned that his name is Chaim, that he is Yona
Hrubeshover's son-in-law, Berl Konskivoler's son, and that the
wealthy Merenstein from Lublin is related to him, an uncle on
his mother's side. This uncle, he gave me to understand, has an
almost goyish household; perhaps he doesn't go so far as to eat
non-kosher food, but he himself saw him sit down to a meal
without first washing his hands, as prescribed by ritual.
They are, he intimated, very strange people: they have long
towels laid out on the steps; before entering the house one has to
ring a bell; everywhere inside there are painted towels...people sit
as if they are in jail, walk about stealthily like thieves.. .it is as
silent as, God preserve us, among the deaf...
His first wife has the same kind of family in Warsaw, but
he never visits them, the beggars.-"What use are they to me?
Eh?"
His uncle in Lublin may be lax in observing God ' s com–
mandments, but at least he is rich. Nu, you rub against a fat per–
son, some of the fat rubs off; chopping wood leaves splinters, at a
feast one can lick a bone...but there, paupers!
He even expects that in time the Lublin uncle will give him
a job. Business, he complains, is not good. These days he deals in
eggs; he buys them in the villages and sends them on to Lublin.
From there they are shipped to London. They say that in London
they put them in a kiln until chicks hatch ... "It must be a lie .. .the
English must simply like eggs!" But in any case , business is
bad...
Still, it's better than dealing in grains. Grains are completely
dead. Right after his wedding he became a grain dealer. Since
