The Collected Stories

two names and there was some doubt as to which name to use in the divorce papers. The pair went to Lublin to obtain the divorce. I watched both of them mount the wagon for the trip. Leibush seated himself near the driver and Feigel sat in the rear on a bundle of hay. She wore the same hat with the feather which she had worn on the Sabbath after the wedding when she was led into the women’s section of the synagogue. She looked drawn and older. Rachel came out and handed her sister a package of food. Girls and women watched from behind drawn curtains.
    Though Feigel was supposed to return soon afterward, weeks passed and she still remained in Lublin. When she did get back, winter had set in. Rachel paid us a visit and said, “Never serve the third course before the first.”
    “Forgive me, Rachel, but you talk nonsense.”
    “Men are wild beasts,” Rachel spoke, half to my mother and half to herself.
    “What’s the matter with you? The greatest saints were men.”
    “Maybe in ancient times.”
    One afternoon Feigel appeared at our house. “It’s all Leah,” she confided to my mother. “She bewitched us. When she learned I was about to marry, hell broke loose. She put a curse on me. This is the truth.”
    “If one trusts in God, one need not fear evil.”
    “It doesn’t help. She’s got Rachel under her spell. Rachel repeats Leah’s every word like a parrot. She would stand on her head if Leah told her to. The reason she’s my enemy is because I refused to do her bidding.”
    “God will send you the right match.”
    “No, Auntie, my bridegroom will be the Angel of Death.”
    Feigel spoke the truth. Not long after this conversation, we heard that she was mortally ill. Though a doctor was summoned, he could not help her. Women reported that she was as emaciated as a consumptive and was failing more and more each day. When I went to buy farfel I no longer heard the sound of Feigel’s sewing machine. One time I noticed that the door to Feigel’s workshop was open and I looked in. She sat basting a seam. When she saw me, she smiled weakly and said, “Look at him, he’s grown up.”
    “Feigel, I wish you a speedy recovery.”
    “If wishes were horses, beggars would ride. I’m already beyond help, but it’s nice that you came to visit me. Come in, sit down.”
    When I sat on the stool she began to reminisce. “Only yesterday you were a child. Now you’re an adult. There’s one thing I want you to remember: never torture the woman who will fall into your hands!”
    “God forbid.”
    “We are all God’s children.”
    “The main thing is that you should be healthy.”
    “No, my darling. I’m not long for this world,” and a knowing smile appeared on her lips.
    A few weeks later Feigel died. She had sent for my uncle Jekhiel, recited her confession to him, and requested that her trousseau be given to poor brides. The village women said she died like a saint. I followed her hearse. Rachel wailed and pounded her head with both fists, but Leah walked silently. Leizer recited the Kaddish. Father and daughters sat together for the seven days of mourning.
    After Feigel’s death the family fell apart. Leizer contracted pneumonia several months later and passed away. Now the rumors spread that Rachel was losing her mind. She gave the customers more change than they paid for the items. It reached the stage where Leah no longer trusted her to sell. Leah herself wasn’t good at selling. She had no patience with the peasants and their haggling. Her baking was limited to those who came to the shop—a few girls and matrons who liked her baked goods. The two sisters could not earn a living any more. Rachel, who used to make the household purchases, no longer came to the butcher shop. She became senile. When she visited with my mother, dates and facts were confused in her stories. As a rule she brought us bread and rolls every second weekday. One Sabbath the door opened and Rachel entered in workday clothes, carrying a bakery basket. My mother began to pinch her cheeks. “Rachel, what is the matter with you? It’s the Sabbath!”
    “Sabbath? I thought it was Sunday.”
    “But all the stores are closed. Carrying is forbidden.”
    “Shall I take the bread back home?”
    “No, leave it. Didn’t you prepare a Sabbath stew?”
    “Maybe I did. I will go home.”
    Not long after this incident Rachel developed cancer of the breast. She lay in bed and Leah took care of her. Dr. Katz, the Shebrin physician,