Plainfield High School - Milestone Yearbook (Plainfield, NJ)

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8 THEAORACEE “T shall soon go out of the Czar’s power,” he hinted. His wife pretended not to hear. They shut the shop and walked home. The next day when they rode to Riga for new goods, a long, weary way in a springless cart, a shower came up, soaking them through and through. Seeking shelter, they went to a log hut near by, but were driven out because they were Jews. Dovid’s temper was not cooled by the rain. “A plague on these pigs!” he stormed. “May the cholera take them where they will not want for a fire!” “Why only these? All are the same.” “They say in America it is different.” “They say, too, in America one can pick up gold in the streets !” That was all the conversation till they reached Riga. ce te 0 ae se st ey 3K «K K 2K 2K “kK kK Some days after, while at supper, Slova was greatly startled. She saw Dovid had something to tell her, but was entirely unprepared when he blurted out: “Leizer and I are going to America.” “Going to America!” Slova did not believe her ears. “Art drunk or crazy, man? You are making a living yet, and so is the other meshuganer. What more can you.want? Do you believe the silly tales they tell of America? It is the same here or there, only that the other land is godless and full of sin. You cannot throw our bread away; you cannot go.” “We are tired of this place. We want to go where we have a chance. Here it is from hand to mouth; there they all get rich.” “Truly! and leave me, and the children and. forget us all, and forget your religion, and become an opikouros in that shameful land. No one goes there but those who are so low that they can go no lower. Show me one man of good family there that was not ruined here and you can go. You know there is none.” » “T will send for you the very first year, indeed I will. Why not go? One land is as good as another: this is not Jerusalem.” Slova calmed herself. “You cannot go any way. There is no money.” yoellatherstore,” “And I, and the children? How would we live? “Make a smaller one.” So the arguments ran. In the end the man had his way. When the time came Dovid kissed his wife and children and rode away. He was happy, he knew he was; but somehow, there was a queer, dull pain in his heart. This was his home, the home of his fathers; they had lived, loved and died there. The people, too, were kindly, when not set on by church or state ; and as he left it, he knew he loved i t.

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THE ORACLE NI Second Prize Transplanting a Home MATILDA SRAGER. “How much?” “Thirty-five copecks.”’ “Mother of Heaven! Thirty-five copecks! It is not worth eight! I will give you twenty.” “It is worth fifty! See how strong it is!” “Strong! Holy Mary, do you hear that?’ The woman gave the cloth a mighty pull, ripping it. “That pull would rend an ox!” cried Slova indignantly. “The cloth is good cloth, worth much. You do not want to wear one dress all your life!” “I give twenty-five. It is not worth that, although very pretty.” “Thirty-five copecks.” The woman, her snub nose pointing to the sky, laughed scornfully and marched to the door. Seeing that Slova did not call her back, she stopped, turned round, and began to bargain again. “Will you sell f or thirty?” she asked. Slova nodded, cut the cloth, and gave it to the woman, taking a handful of coppers in exchange. She put the money hastily away, lest her patroness should change her mind, then followed her out to the steps, joining in the common cry of the shopkeepers: “Come in my store, come in my store.” Meanwhile her husband in the store was showing some peasants around, who jeered at everything in general, at the things he called attention to in particular, and bought nothing. Finally they waddled out, an awful mass of color from the flaming headshawls to the red, green, and yellow stock- ing s. Dovid said something under his breath. In half an hour one more customer came in, who wanted some calico. After haggling, exclamations of Satan, bouncing in and out of the store, ete., they agreed about the price. The cloth was cut; the money (counted five times to be sure it was not too much) almost handed to Dovid when a party of her friends burst in. They looked at the calico; turned up their noses; spit at it to show their disgust ; and rushed out, taking the customer with them. Dovid stood blankly in the empty store with the cut calico in his hand. Then he began to swear. Slova did not try to stop him, first, because she couldn’t, second, because it was rather a relief to her feelings also. First came the women, then their city, then Russia, and—the “Little Father.” Slova gave a startled glance around. ‘Hush, man,’ she cautioned, “do you want to sup in Siberia next week ?”

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THE ORACLE 9 z 1 i i ’, . RE 3K ok aK K 3K 3K 7 Slova was left with three children to continue the struggle for existence alone. Every day as she thanked God for her bread, she wondered where the next would come from. Winter came; the youngest child fell danger- ously ill; every known trouble seemed to come upon her at once. Then she did the work of two, freezing in the store from dawn till dark, nursing the child in the night, tho’ tired and weary almost beyond bearing. She sent piteous letters to her husband asking for help,—letters that wrung his heart because he had none to give. He was wandering in the streets, his stomach as empty as his pocket, not daring to look at food lest he should seize it, yet too proud to ask his friends for a meal. But she did not know. The first year passed, then the cloud began to lighten: the child became well; Dovid got some work now and then. As the second year drew to its close small sums of money found their way across the Atlantic. Very: small at first, coming irregularly, but afterwards every week, for Dovid had a steady job. And in the spring of the third year something else came, that caused the little store to be sold,—a ticket. Visits were made to kins- folk to say good-bye; everything was made ready for the journey. Slova’s last visit was to her father’s grave, where she fasted a day. Quite a crowd followed her to the wagon when they rode away, weeping. Slova sat facing backwards till the last home scene faded; then faced the front courageously, The journey was like any other. She stole across the border to avoid paying twenty roubles for a pass; was put in a vile immigrant house in Ger- many, where they fleeced all her money away; then she was taken on board a ship which, the officials assured her, they had paid extra to get her in. The ship was little, leaky, and almost unseaworthy. They sailed twenty days, enduring untold agonies, while Dovid in America was nearly sick with anxiety. He had paid a great deal more than the ticket cost to insure his wife a quick ship. The last night on board Slova had a curious dream. Instead of the proud, stately city, she saw a little hillock, up which a path was running, strewn with ashes. Tho’ greatly disappointed, she comforted herself with “Better a path than the wilderness I came from.” The next day, before breakfast, they were taken to Castle Garden, where Slova stood still in dismay. She had no money—the agents had taken care of that—for a telegram; while the children were crying with hunger, aggravated by the sight of the good things on the stalls around to be had for a few cents. Then she was told a certain man sent telegrams for nothing ; so, going to him, she asked if that were true. He nodded, then said, “What is your husband’s name?” “Dovid Chan.”