The Collected Stories

was set when suddenly they sent back the engagement contract.”
    “What happened?”
    “I don’t know. Gossips, I guess, were busy spreading tales. I had the right to ask for half the dowry, but it was against my nature. Now they’re trying to talk me into another match, but the girl doesn’t appeal to me.”
    “In Bechev, yeshiva boys look at women?”
    “At Alter’s house, where I ate once a week, Hadass, his daughter, always brought in the food …”
    “Is she good-looking?”
    “She’s blond.”
    “Brunettes can be good-looking too.”
    “No.”
    Yentl gazed at Avigdor. He was lean and bony with sunken cheeks. He had curly sidelocks so black they appeared blue, and his eyebrows met across the bridge of his nose. He looked at her sharply with the regretful shyness of one who has just divulged a secret. His lapel was rent, according to the custom for mourners, and the lining of his gaberdine showed through. He drummed restlessly on the table and hummed a tune. Behind the high furrowed brow his thoughts seemed to race. Suddenly he spoke:
    “Well, what of it. I’ll become a recluse, that’s all.”
    II

    It was strange, but as soon as Yentl—or Anshel—arrived in Bechev, she was allotted one day’s board a week at the house of that same rich man, Alter Vishkower, whose daughter had broken off her betrothal to Avigdor.
    The students at the yeshiva studied in pairs, and Avigdor chose Anshel for a partner. He helped her with the lessons. He was also an expert swimmer and offered to teach Anshel the breast stroke and how to tread water, but she always found excuses for not going down to the river. Avigdor suggested that they share lodgings, but Anshel found a place to sleep at the house of an elderly widow who was half blind. Tuesdays, Anshel ate at Alter Vishkower’s and Hadass waited on her. Avigdor always asked many questions: “How does Hadass look? Is she sad? Is she gay? Are they trying to marry her off? Does she ever mention my name?” Anshel reported that Hadass upset dishes on the tablecloth, forgot to bring the salt, and dipped her fingers into the plate of grits while carrying it. She ordered the servant girl around, was forever engrossed in storybooks, and changed her hairdo every week. Moreover, she must consider herself a beauty, for she was always in front of the mirror, but, in fact, she was not that good-looking.
    “Two years after she’s married,” said Anshel, “she’ll be an old bag.”
    “So she doesn’t appeal to you?”
    “Not particularly.”
    “Yet if she wanted you, you wouldn’t turn her down.”
    “I can do without her.”
    “Don’t you have evil impulses?”
    The two friends, sharing a lectern in a corner of the study house, spent more time talking than learning. Occasionally Avigdor smoked, and Anshel, taking the cigarette from his lips, would have a puff. Avigdor liked baked flatcakes made with buckwheat, so Anshel stopped at the bakery every morning to buy one, and wouldn’t let him pay his share. Often Anshel did things that greatly surprised Avigdor. If a button came off Avigdor’s coat, for example, Anshel would arrive at the yeshiva the next day with needle and thread and sew it back on. Anshel bought Avigdor all kinds of presents: a silk handkerchief, a pair of socks, a muffler. Avigdor grew more and more attached to this boy, five years younger than himself, whose beard hadn’t even begun to sprout.
    Once Avigdor said to Anshel: “I want you to marry Hadass.”
    “What good would that do
you
?”
    “Better you than a total stranger.”
    “You’d become my enemy.”
    “Never.”
    Avigdor liked to go for walks through the town and Anshel frequently joined him. Engrossed in conversation, they would go off to the water mill, or to the pine forest, or to the crossroads where the Christian shrine stood. Sometimes they stretched out on the grass.
    “Why can’t a woman be like a man?” Avigdor asked once, looking up at the sky.
    “How do you mean?”
    “Why couldn’t Hadass be just like you?”
    “How like me?”
    “Oh—a good fellow.”
    Anshel grew playful. She plucked a flower and tore off the petals one by one. She picked up a chestnut and threw it at Avigdor. Avigdor watched a ladybug crawl across the palm of his hand.
    After a while he spoke up: “They’re trying to marry me off.”
    Anshel sat up instantly. “To whom?”
    “To Feitl’s daughter, Peshe.”
    “The widow?”
    “That’s the one.”
    “Why should you marry a