Free Everyday Jews: Scenes From a Vanished Life by Yehoshue Perle

Nothing to complain about.”
    It was silent again. A cricket chirped incessantly, angrily, under the stove.
    By now Wladek had cleared away the last wisps of singed straw and seated himself in his customary corner, sucking on his unlit pipe.
    “Aren’t you glad to see your wife?” Grandpa tried to get the conversation going again.
    “Hah?” said Father, looking straight into Grandpa’s mouth.
    “Your wife … aren’t you glad … ?”
    “Yes … but she doesn’t seem to see me.”
    At that moment, Mother raised the book higher to her face and the golden spectacles stopped glittering.
    “Frimet!” Grandpa put aside his sewing. “Leyzer’s here.”
    “So he’s here!”
    “Stop reading that book,” Grandpa said harshly. “At your age one doesn’t read books any more.”
    “And how old am I, then? In Warsaw people older than me read books.”
    “Warsaw again! But you don’t live in Warsaw. You have a husband here and a child …”
    “Some husband! A yoke! That’s what he is, not a husband!”
    Tears welled up in my eyes. Father looked glum. The fingers which earlier had drummed on the table now hung limply.
    “What did I do? What did I do to her?” he finally spoke up.
    “All those curses he sent me in Warsaw? They count for nothing?” said Mother, lowering the book. “I can’t go to Warsaw without his permission for the engagement of my only daughter?”
    “Alright, so he was a fool,” said Grandpa. “But how long are you going to stay angry?”
    “Who’s angry?”
    “Then what are you doing? You sit down and read? What good will reading do you?”
    “And what good does he do me?”
    “What do you mean? He’s your husband, isn’t he?”
    “No, he’s not.”
    “You fool! Stop that nonsense!”
    “Father, what do you want of me?”
    “Not to make a fool of yourself! You have a home, a house … What kind of a life will you have living here?”
    “Don’t worry, Father, I won’t be a burden to you. I can always earn my own living.”
    “What can you do?” Father broke in.
    “No need to worry your head over that.”
    “But, really, what can you do?” Grandpa pointed his beard at her.
    “Never mind, I’ll do just fine. I can read, I can write. I could give lessons to earn my bread.”
    “You want to teach girls?”
    “What’s wrong with that?”
    At that point Grandma, who had kept quiet the whole time, got up from her seat on the wooden chest.
    “I didn’t want to mix in,” she began, “but listening to all that foolishness of yours, I must tell you, Frimet, you’re wrong.”
    Grandma spoke very softly this time. Her little head kept shaking.
    Father must have made out what Grandma was saying from the way she shook her head. It seemed to raise his spirits.
    “I’ve had the heat in the house turned on,” he said, as if talking to the table. “I’ve also made sure we have milk and butter …”
    “Thank you very much, big spender! And whenever I needed some extra money, the heavens would open up!”
    “If it’s a matter of more money …” Father shrugged a shoulder.
    “No! It’s much more than that! It’s the way he treats me! With Berl, of blessed memory, I had brass handles on every door. And what have I got with him?”
    “With God’s help, I’ll give you brass handles too.”
    “And what sort of a place did he find for us to live in?” said Mother, as if speaking to Wladek. “Gloomy, cold …”
    “Whose fault is that? You were the one who wanted the place.”
    “I wanted it! How could I have wanted it when my Moyshe, alas, took sick there?”
    “It must’ve been God’s will. But if you like, you can rent us another place in time for Passover.”
    “Oh, please …” Mother snorted.
    “How long is it to Passover?” Grandpa chimed in. “Don’t you see, Frimet, he’s come to make up? What more do you want?”
    “A fine way to make up!”
    “If that’s what you want,” Father gestured helplessly. “Do you want me to apologize? Then I