A. Singer's Magic Box - A Collection of Short Stories by A. Singer

Author: [American] E. Singer
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2006-07-17
Features: I am Jimper. I don’t think I’m a fool. On the contrary. But they call me a fool. When I was in school, they gave me this nickname. I have seven nicknames in total: idiot, donkey, flaxhead, simpleton, misery, fool, and fool. The last one stuck. What am I foolish about? I’m easily fooled. They say, “Jimmer, do you know the rabbi’s wife had a child?” Then I skipped school once. Oh, it was a lie. How could I know? Her stomach wasn’t even big. But I never noticed her stomach. Am I really that foolish? They laughed, shouted, stomped their feet, danced, and sang the evening prayer. When a woman gives birth, they don’t give me raisins but stuff my hands with sheep dung. I’m not weak. If I punch someone, I’ll punch them all the way to Krakow. But I don’t like fighting by nature. I thought to myself, “Forget it.” So they tease me. On my way home from school, I heard a dog barking. I’m not afraid of dogs, of course, and I never want to bother them. Maybe one of them is mad. If it bites you, no Tartar in the world can help you. So I ran away. Then I looked around and saw the whole market laughing. There was no dog, but it was the thief Wolf-Leib. How do I know it’s him? His voice sounds like a howling she-dog. When those pranksters realized I’m easily fooled, each one wanted to test their luck on me. “Jimmer, the czar is coming to Frampol; Jimmer, the moon fell into Torpin; Jimmer, Hotzel-Freiberg found a treasure in the bathhouse.” I believed everyone like a robot. Everything is possible, as it is written in The Wisdom of Our Ancestors, though I’ve forgotten how it was said. Second, the whole town treats me this way, so I have no choice but to believe! If I dare say, “Hey, you’re lying to me!” that would be trouble. Everyone would be furious. “What do you mean? Are you calling everyone liars?” What can I do? I believe what they say, hoping it will at least do them some good. I’m an orphan. My grandfather, who raised me, is about to be buried. So they gave me to a baker. What kind of life did I have there! Every woman or girl who came to bake bread or cakes had to tease me at least once. “Jimmer, there’s a market in the sky; Jimmer, the rabbi had a calf in the seventh month; Jimmer, a cow flew onto the roof and laid many copper eggs.” Once, a student from a Jewish school came to buy bread. He said, “Jimmer, when you scrape the pot with your baker’s shovel, the Messiah has come. The dead have risen.” “What are you talking about?” I said. “Did I hear anyone blowing a ram’s horn?” He said, “Are you deaf?” Then everyone shouted, “We heard, we heard!” Next, the candle maker Ruz came in, shouting in her hoarse voice, “Jimmer, your parents have risen from the grave. They’re looking for you.” I really understood that none of this happened; but when people talked about it, I still quickly put on my woolen vest and went out. Maybe something did happen. What could I lose by going to see? Well, everyone was laughing! So I swore I wouldn’t believe anything anymore, but that didn’t work either. They confused me so much that I couldn’t even tell right from wrong. I went to the rabbi for advice. He said, “The holy book says, it’s better to be a fool for a lifetime than to do evil for an hour. You’re not a fool. They are fools. For he who causes shame to his neighbor will lose paradise.” However, the rabbi’s daughter tricked me. When I left the rabbi’s holy altar, she said, “Have you kissed the wall?” I said, “No, what for?” She replied, “It’s customary; you must kiss the wall every time you come.” Well, that seemed harmless enough. Then she burst out laughing. That was a clever trick. She succeeded in fooling me. Good. I’m leaving here to go to another city. But now everyone was busy matchmaking for me, following me, almost tearing the hem of my coat off. They stared at me, talking and spitting all over my ears. The girl wasn’t a virgin, but they told me she was a pure maiden. She walked a bit unsteadily, they said it was because she was shy and did it on purpose. She had a bastard, they told me, and it was her younger brother. I shouted, “You’re wasting your time. I’ll never marry that bitch.” But they were indignant. “What kind of attitude is that! Aren’t you ashamed yourself? We can take you to the rabbi, you’re disgracing her reputation, and you’ll have to pay a fine.” So I realized I couldn’t get away from them easily. I thought they were determined to make me their laughingstock. But if I married her, the husband would be the master, and if that made her happy, it would make me happy too. Besides, you can’t live without getting hurt. You don’t even have to think about it. I walked to her mud house built on sand; that gang of people followed me, shouting and singing. Their behavior was like playing with a bear. At the well, they all stopped. They were afraid of Elka. Her mouth worked like a hinge, sharp and clever. I entered the house, ropes ran from one wall to another, with clothes hanging on them. She stood barefoot beside a wooden tub, washing clothes. She wore a ragged old velvet robe. Her hair was braided and twisted on top of her head. The smell of her hair almost made me gasp. P1-2