Call It Sleep (34 page)

“Veeshma es kol adonoi omair es mi eshlach.” Mendel was reading swiftly this afternoon. The rabbi turned the page. Overhead that distant rumbling sound.

—Bed on wheels again … But how did Moses know? Who told him? God told him. Only eat kosher meat, that's how. Mustn't eat meat and then drink milk. Mama don't care except when Bertha was looking! How she used to holler on her because she mixed up the meat-knives with the milk-knives. It's a sin.… So God told him eat in your own meat markets … That time with mama in the chicken market when we went. Where all the chickens ran around—cuckacucka—when did I say? Cucka. Gee! Funny. Some place I said. And then the man with a knife went zing! Eee! Blood and wings. And threw him down. Even kosher meat when you see, you don't want to eat—

“Enough!” The rabbi tapped his pointer on the table.

Mendel stopped reading and slumped back with a puff of relief.

“Now I'll tell you a little of what you read, then what it means. Listen to me well that you may remember it. Beshnas mos hamelech.” The two nails of his thumb and forefinger met. “In the year that King Uzziah died, Isaiah saw God. And God was sitting on his throne, high in heaven and in his temple—Understand?” He pointed upward.

Mendel nodded, grimacing as he eased the bandage round his neck.

—Gee! And he saw Him. Wonder where? (David, his interest aroused, was listening intently. This was something new.)

“Now!” resumed the rabbi. “Around Him stood the angels, God's blessed angels. How beautiful they were you yourself may imagine. And they cried: Kadosh! Kadosh! Kadosh—Holy! Holy! Holy! And the temple rang and quivered with the sound of their voices. So!” He paused, peering into Mendel's face. “Understand?”

“Yeh,” said Mendel understandingly.

—And angels there were and he saw 'em. Wonder if—

“But when Isaiah saw the Almighty in His majesty and His terrible light—Woe me! he cried, What shall I do! I am lost!” The rabbi seized his skull-cap and crumpled it. “I, common man, have seen the Almighty, I, unclean one have seen him! Behold, my lips are unclean and I live in a land unclean—for the Jews at that time were sinful—”

—Clean? Light? Wonder if—? Wish I could ask him why the Jews were dirty. What did they do? Better not! Get mad. Where? (Furtively, while the rabbi still spoke David leaned over and stole a glance at the number of the page.) On sixty-eight. After, maybe, can ask. On page sixty-eight. That blue book—Gee! it's God.

“But just when Isaiah let out this cry—I am unclean—one of the angels flew to the altar and with tongs drew out a fiery coal. Understand? With tongs. And with that coal, down he flew to Isaiah and with that coal touched his lips—Here!” The rabbi's fingers stabbed the air. “You are clean! And the instant that coal touched Isaiah's lips, then he heard God's own voice say, Whom shall I send? Who will go for us? And Isaiah spoke and—”

But a sudden blast of voices out doors interrupted him. Running feet stamped across the yard. The door burst open. A squabbling tussling band stormed the doorway, jamming it. Scuffling, laughing boisterously, they shoved each other in, yanked each other out—

“Leggo!”

“Leggo me!”

“Yuh pushed me in id, yuh lousy stinkuh!”

“Next after Davy,” one flew toward the reading table.

“Moishe flopped inna puddle!”

“Hey! Don' led 'im in!”

“Next after Sammy!” Another bolted after the first.

“I come—!”

“Shah!” grated the rabbi. “Be butchered, all of you! You hear me! Not one be spared!”

The babel sank to an undertone.

“And you there be maimed forever, shut that door.”

The milling about the doorway dissolved.

“Quick! May your life be closed with it.”

Someone pulled the door after him.

“And now, sweet Sammy,” his voice took on a venomous wheedling tone. “
Nex
are you? I'll give you
nex.
In your belly it will
nex.
Out of there! Wriggle!”

Sammy hastily scrambled back over the bench.

“And you too,” he waved David away. “Go sit down over there.” And when David hung back, “Quick! Or—!”

David sprang from the bench.

“And quiet!” he rasped. “As if your tongues had rotted.” And when complete silence had been established. “Now,” he said, rising. “I'll give you something to do— Yitzchuck!”

“Waauh! I didn' do nottin'!” Yitzchuck raised a terrified whine.

“Who asked you to speak? Come here!”

“Wadda yuh wan' f'om me?” Yitzchuck prepared to blubber.

“Sit here.” He beckoned to the end of the bench which was nearest the reading table. “And don't speak to me in goyish. Out of there, you! And you, David, sit where you are— Simke!”

“Yea.”

“Beside him. Srool! Moishe! Avrum! Yankel! Schulim!” He was gathering all the younger students into a group. “Schmiel! And you Meyer, sit here.” With a warning glance he went over to the closet behind his chair and drew out a number of small books.

“Aaa! Phuh!” Yitzchuck spat out in a whisper. “De lousy Hagaddah again!”

They sat silent until the rabbi returned and distributed the books. Moishe, seated a short distance away from David dropped his, but then pounced upon it hastily, and for the rabbi's benefit, kissed it and looked about with an expression of idiotic piety.

“First, louse-heads,” began the rabbi when he had done distributing the books, “the Four Questions of the Passover. Read them again and again. But this time let them flow from your lips like a torrent. And woe to that plaster dunce who still cannot say them in Yiddish! Blows will he scoop like sand! And when you have done that, turn the leaves to the ‘Chad Godya'. Read it over. But remember, quiet as death— Well?” Shmaike had raised his hand as though he were in school. “What do you want?”

“Can't we hear each other?”

“Mouldered brains! Do you still need to hear each other? Do then. But take care I don't hear a goyish word out of you.” He went back to his chair and sat down. For a few seconds longer his fierce gaze raked the long bench, then his eyes dropped momentarily to the book before him. “I was telling you,” he addressed Mendel, “how Isaiah came to see God and what happened after—”

But as if his own words had unleashed theirs, a seething of whispers began to chafe the room.

“You hea' me say it. You hea' me! Shid on you. C'mon Solly, you hea' me. Yuh did push! Mendy's god a bendige yet on—”

“Said whom shall I send?” The rabbi's words were baffling on thickening briers of sound. “Who will go for us?”

“Izzy Pissy! Cock-eye Mulligan! Mah nishtanah halilaw hazeh— Wanna play me Yonk?”

—Couldn't ask him though (David's eyes merely rested on the page). Get mad. Maybe later when I have to read. Where was it? Yea. Page sixty-eight. I'll say, on page sixty-eight in that blue book that's new, where Mendel read, you were saying that man saw God. And a light—

“How many? I god more den you. Shebchol haleylos onu ochlim-. I had a mockee on mine head too. Wuz you unner de awningh? Us all wuz. In de rain.”

“And tell this people, this fallen people—”

“Yea, and I'll kickyuh innee ass! Odds! Halaylaw hazeh kulo mazo— So from t'rowin' sand on my head I god a big mockee. I seen a blitz just w'en I commed in.”

—Where did he go to see Him? God? Didn't say. Wonder if the rabbi knows? Wish I could ask. Page sixty-eight. Way, way, way, maybe. Where? Gee! Some place, me too … When I— When I—in the street far away … Hello, Mr. Highwood, goodbye Mr. Highwood. Heee! Funny!

“C'mere Joey, here's room. De rebbeh wants—Fences is all slippery. Now wadda yuh cry?”

“Nor ever be healed, nor even clean.”

“A blitz, yuh dope! Hey Solly, he says— Shebchol haleylos onu ochlim— Yea, my fadder'll beat chaw big brudder. Evens!”

—Some place Isaiah saw Him, just like that. I bet! He was sitting on a chair. So he's got chairs, so he can sit. Gee! Sit Shit! Sh! Please God, I didn't mean it! Please God, somebody else said it! Please—

“So hoddy you say blitz wise guy? Moishee loozed his bean shooduh! And den after de sand I pud wawduh on duh head, so— Lousy bestia! Miss Ryan tooked it!”

“How long? I asked. Lord, how long—”

—And why did the angel do it? Why did he want to burn Isaiah's mouth with coal? He said, You're clean. But coal makes smoke and ashes. So how clean? Couldn't he just say, Your mouth is clean? Couldn't he? Why wasn't it clean, anyway? He didn't wash it, I bet. So that …

“A lighten', yuh dope. A blitz! Kent'cha tuck Englitch? Ha! Ha! Sheor yerokos halaylo hazeh—Dat's two on dot! I wuz shootin chalk wid it. Somm bean shooduh! My fodder'll give your fodder soch a kick—”

—With a zwank, he said it was. Zwank. Where did I see? Zwank some place. Mama? No. Like in blacksmith shop by the river. Pincers and horseshoe. Yes must be. With pincers, zwank means pincers. So why with pincers? Coal was hot. That's why. But he was a angel. Is angels afraid? Afraid to get burned? Gee! Must have been hot, real hot. How I jumped when the rabbi pushed out with his fingers when he said coal. Nearly thought it was me. Wonder if Isaiah hollered when the coal touched him. Maybe angel-coal don't burn live people. Wonder—

“Dere! Chinky shows! Id's mine! How many fences didja go? I tore it f'om a tree in duh pock, mine bean-shooduh! T'ree fences. So a lighten den, wise guy!”

“And the whole land waste and empty.”

“T'ree is a lie, mine fodder says. Yea? Matbilim afilu pa'am echos halaylo hazeh—Always wear yuh hat when a lighten' gives—”

—He said dirty words, I bet. Shit, pee, fuckenbestit—Stop! You're sayin' it yourself. It's a sin again! That's why he—Gee! I didn't mean it. But your mouth don't get dirty. I don't feel no dirt. (He rolled his tongue about) Maybe inside. Way, way in, where you can't taste it. What did Isaiah say that made his mouth dirty? Real dirty, so he'd know it was? Maybe—

“Shebchol haleylos onu ochlim—. De rain wedded my cockamamy! Ow! Leggo! Yuh can't cover books wit' newspaper. My teacher don' let. An aftuh she took mine bean-shooduh, she pinched me by duh teet! Lousey bestia! Bein yoshvim uvein mesubim. So wad's de nex' woid? Mine hen'ball wend down duh sewuh! Now, I god six poinduhs!

—You couldn't do it with a regular coal. You'd burn all up. Even hot tea if you drink—ooh! But where could you get angel-coal? Mr. Ice-man, give me a pail of angel-coal. Hee! Hee! In a cellar is coal. But other kind, black coal, not angel coal. Only God had angel-coal. Where is God's cellar I wonder? How light it must be there. Wouldn't be scared like I once was in Brownsville. Remember?

“C'mon chick! Hey Louie! Yuh last! Wed mine feed! Look! Me! Yea! Hea! Two!”

—Angel-coal. In God's cellar is—

All the belated ones had straggled in. A hail of jabbering now rocked the cheder.

“And-not-a-tree—” As the rabbi stooped lower and lower, his voice shot up a steep ladder of menace. “Shall-be-upright in the land!” He straightened, scaling crescendo with a roar. “Noo!” His final shattering bellow mowed down the last shrill reeds of voices. “Now it's my turn!” Smiling fiercely he rose, cat-o-nine in hand, and advanced toward the silent, cowering row. “Here!” the scourge whistled down, whacked against a thigh. “Here's for you!”

“Wow!”

“And you!”

“Ouch! Waddid I—do?”

“And you for your squirming tongue!”

“Leggo! Ooh!”

“And you that your rump is on fire! Now sit still!”

“Umph! Ow!”

“And you for your grin! And you for your nickering, and you for your bickering. Catch! Catch! Hold! Dance!”

The straps flew, legs plunged. Shrill squibs of pain popped up and down the bench. No one escaped, not even David. Wearied at length, and snorting for breath, the rabbi stopped and glared at them. Suppressed curses, whimpers, sniffles soughed from one end of the bench to the other.

“Shah!”

Even these died out.

“Now! To your books! Dig your eyes into them. The four Questions. Noo! Begin! Ma nishtanaw.”

“Mah nishtanaw halilaw hazeh,” they bellowed, “mikawl halaylos. Sheb chol halaylos onu ochlim chametz umazoh.”

“Schulim!” The rabbi's chin went down, his voice diving past it to an ominous bass. “Dumb are you?”

“Haliylaw hazeh.” A new voice vigorously swelled the already lusty chorus, “kulo mazoh!”

When they had finished the four questions, repeated them and rendered them thrice into Yiddish—

“Now the chad gadyaw,” commanded the rabbi. “And with one voice. Hurry!”

Hastily, they turned the pages.

“Chad godyaw, chad godyaw,” they bayed raggedly, “disabin abaw bis rai zuzaw, chad godyaw, chad godyaw—”

“Your teeth fall out, Simkeh.” snarled the rabbi, grinning venomously, “what are you laughing at?”

“Nuttin!” protested Simkeh in an abused voice. “I wasn't laughing!” He was though—some one had been chanting “fot God Yaw” instead of Chad-Godyaw.

“So!” said the rabbi sourly when they had finished. “And now where is the blessed understanding that remembers yesterday? Who can render this into Yiddish? Ha? Where?”

A few faltering ones raised their hands.

“But all of it!” he warned. “Not piece-meal, all of it without stuttering. Or—” He snapped the cat-o-nine. “The noodles!”

Scared, the volunteers lowered their hands.

“What? None? Not a single one.” His eyes swept back and forth. “Oh, you!” With a sarcastic wave of the hand, he flung back the offers of the older, chumish students. “It's time you mastered this feat! No one!” He wagged his head at them bitterly. “May you never know where your teeth are! Hi! Hi! none strives to be a Jew any more. Woe unto you! Even a goy knows more about his filth than you know of holiness. Woe! Woe!” He glared at David accusingly. “You too? Is your head full of turds like the rest of them? Speak!”