The Last Demon

jabbering of women, she thought, but she was too shy to join in. One young man discussed a prospective
match and the size of the dowry, while another, parodying the manner of a Purim rabbi, declaimed a passage from the Torah, adding all sorts of lewd interpretations. After a while, the company proceeded to contests of strength. One pried open another’s fist; a second tried to bend a companion’s arm. One student, dining on bread and tea, had no spoon and stirred his cup with his penknife.
    Presently, one of the group came over to Yentl and poked her in the shoulder. ‘Why so quiet? Don’t you have a tongue?’
    ‘I have nothing to say.’
    ‘What’s your name?’
    ‘Anshel.’
    ‘You
are
bashful. A violet by the wayside.’
    And the young man tweaked Yentl’s nose. She would have given him a smack in return, but her arm refused to budge. She turned white. Another student, slightly older than the rest, tall and pale, with burning eyes and a black beard, came to her rescue.
    ‘Hey, you, why are you picking on him?’
    ‘If you don’t like it, you don’t have to look.’
    ‘Want me to pull your sidelocks off?’
    The bearded young man beckoned to Yentl, then asked where she came from and where she was going.
Yentl told him she was looking for a yeshiva, but wanted a quiet one. The young man pulled at his beard.
    ‘Then come with me to Bechev.’
    He explained that he was returning to Bechev for his fourth year. The yeshiva there was small, with only thirty students, and the people in the town provided board for them all. The food was plentiful and the housewives darned the students’ socks and took care of their laundry. The Bechev rabbi, who headed the yeshiva, was a genius. He could pose ten questions and answer all ten with one proof. Most of the students eventually found wives in the town.
    ‘Why did you leave in the middle of the term?’ Yentl asked.
    ‘My mother died. Now I’m on my way back.’
    ‘What’s your name?’
    ‘Avigdor.’
    ‘How is it you’re not married?’
    The young man scratched his beard. ‘It’s a long story.’
    ‘Tell me.’
    Avigdor covered his eyes and thought a moment. ‘Are you coming to Bechev?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Then you’ll find out soon enough anyway. I was
engaged to the only daughter of Alter Vishkower, the richest man in town. Even the wedding date 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