The Bitter Truth

This is a story of two Warsaw youths--Zeinvel and Shmerl, both of them workers in a tailor shop. Shmerl was short, chubby and had a round face and brown eyes that expressed naïveté and goodness. He was always nibbling on candy and cookies. He often smiled and burst out laughing for no reason at all.

Zeinvel was the opposite: tall, thin, with sunken cheeks and narrow shoulders. His disposition was often sour and gloomy. He seasoned every morsel of food with a lot of salt and pepper and washed it down with vodka.

As they say, opposites attract. Shmerl relished Zeinvel's sharp tongue, while Zeinvel found in Shmerl an attentive listener who looked up to him with wonder. Neither one was particularly learned, though Zeinvel knew a bit of the Pentateuch and Rashi and could explain to Shmerl the articles and jokes published in the Yiddish newspaper.

Needless to say, Zeinvel was more temperamental and more eager for the favors of the fair sex than was Shmerl. But in those times, it was difficult for a poor young man to find a woman, especially one of easy virtue. His only resort was to go every week to a brothel and for a gulden or 20 kopecks satisfy his needs. Shmerl always reproached Zeinvel for this light-minded conduct. First of all, he might catch a disease; and, second, it went against Shmerl's grain to buy love; he would never enter such a loathsome place. Shmerl called himself a bashful schlemiel. Still, Zeinvel tried many times to persuade him to overcome his old-fashioned modesty and accompany him.

Finally, Shmerl gave in. To summon up the courage, he stopped off at a tavern and gulped down a mug of beer. When they arrived at the house and the door was opened, Shmerl recoiled and ran away. He had gotten a glimpse of heavily made-up women dressed in glaring colors: red, green and blue stockings attached to lace garter belts. He inhaled an offensive odor and ran away with such speed that it was a miracle he didn't trip over his own feet. Later, when they met in the soup kitchen for dinner, Zeinvel scolded him.

"Why did you run away? Nobody would have chased you."

"Shameless women like those nauseate me. Don't be angry with me, Zeinvel. I have this sort of foolish nature and I almost vomited."

"Nu, they are lewd, but they don't bite. And we don't marry them. For the time being, let them be of some use.... It's better than not sleeping at night."

"You're right, Zeinvel, but I have this silly nature...."

"Nu, I don't bother you anymore."

And that's how it remained. Zeinvel continued to go to the whorehouse every week. Shmerl admitted to Zeinvel that he often envied him, but he would never again try to seek pleasure from those wanton females. He would rather perish.

When the war between Russia and Germany broke out in 1914, the two friends were separated. Zeinvel was mobilized and Shmerl got a blue card of rejection because he failed to pass the physical examination. Zeinvel promised Shmerl to send a letter from the front, but soldiers were given few chances to write or to receive letters. Zeinvel lost all contact with Shmerl. He served in the Russian army until Kerenski's revolution took place, and then he deserted. Only after the Polish-Bolshevik war did Zeinvel return to Warsaw and his tailor shop. Many young men Zeinvel had known in former years had died from typhoid fever. Others had simply vanished--Shmerl among them. Zeinvel tried to go back to the old routine, but he had aged and was exhausted. He had witnessed so much betrayal and depravity that he no longer trusted any woman and had given up all hope of marriage. Yet the need for a woman could not be denied, despite all disappointments. Zeinvel had no choice but to return to houses of ill repute. He made peace with the idea that this was his fate.

One day, as Zeinvel sat eating lunch in the old soup kitchen, he heard someone speak his name. He turned around and recognized Shmerl, who had become as round as a barrel. He was dressed like a merchant and no longer had the appearance of a tailor's apprentice. The two friends fell on each other, kissed, embraced.

Shmerl cried out, "That I have lived to see this day means there is a God! I have searched for you for years. I thought you had already gone ..." and he pointed his finger at heaven. "You don't look well," he went on. "You've become thinner than you were."

"And you've become wider than longer," Zeinvel said.

"Did you marry, by any chance?" Shmerl asked.

"Marry? No, I have remained a bachelor."

"Nu, that's why you look like this. Brother of mine, I have married and I'm happy," Shmerl said. "I don't live in Warsaw anymore; I moved to the town of Reivitz, and I'm not a tailor's apprentice. You may think I'm boasting, but I have found the best girl in all of Poland. There is no other wife like my Ruchele in the entire world. She is good, clever. She helps me in the store. What am I saying? She is the whole business. There are no children yet, but Ruchele is better than ten children. What are you doing, Zeinvel? Are you still going to those rotten whores on Smocza Street?"

"Do I have a choice?" Zeinvel said. "After all the wars and revolutions, there is barely a proper woman left in Warsaw. Nothing but used-up merchandise from King Sobieski's time."

"Really, I pity you; after having tasted a young and beautiful girl like my Ruchele, you just spit on this trash.... Oy, this is a miracle! I would never have thought to enter this soup kitchen, but I was passing by and caught a whiff of borscht and fried onions. Something drew me in. The whole meeting was absolutely destined!"

Shmerl did not leave Zeinvel's side until the next morning. He took a room for him in the guesthouse where he was staying, and they talked and prattled late into the night. Shmerl told Zeinvel how he had passed the war years in the provinces and had met Ruchele there, and how it was love at first sight. He had been a worker long enough. From manual labor, one cannot become rich. One toils a lifetime and one is left with nothing. He suggested to Zeinvel that he come to Reivitz, and there, he and his wife could find him a position and possibly a wife. He had told Ruchele everything about him. He had praised him so much that Ruchele had become jealous. "Don't worry," Shmerl said. "Everything will be fine. She will be happy to meet you."

Zeinvel complained that his work had come to the point where it was suffocating him. He was sick and tired of the big city, the heavy scissors' and irons' being a slave driver over him, the constant grumbling of the customers. He could not find one single human being with whom he could be close. What could he make of himself here? He was prepared to travel with Shmerl to the end of the world.

Everything happened quickly. Zeinvel packed his few possessions in a valise and was ready for the trip.

They arrived in Reivitz on Friday afternoon. Ruchele was working in the store and a maid was preparing the Sabbath meal. Shmerl's house was clean, neat and permeated with a spirit of rest that one often finds with a loving and happy couple. The maid welcomed Shmerl and his guest with a Sabbath cookie and plum pudding. Shmerl led Zeinvel to the washroom. Zeinvel dressed in his Sabbath clothing; he put on a fresh shirt and a tie, preparing to meet Shmerl's wife. He didn't have to wait long. The door opened and Ruchele came in. Zeinvel took one look at her and became as white as chalk. He knew her--she had been one of the most sought-after harlots in the house he had frequented. She had been known there as Rachelle. At the time, she was a young girl and was so much in demand that the men lined up for her favors. The other girls quarreled with her and constantly argued with the madam and the pimps. Rachelle was rare in the sense that she took pleasure in her debased profession. She spat fire and brimstone on so-called decent women. She laughed with insolence and with such gusto that her laughter shook the walls. She told stories she had heard in other bordellos and in prison. She was known among the guests as an insatiable whore, obsessed with men. So much so that they had to throw her out of the brothel. Zeinvel had had her quite a number of times. Thank God, she did not recognize him. There was no doubt that this was Rachelle. She still had a scar on her cheek from being assaulted by a pimp some years before. She had become a little more plump and had grown more beautiful.

Zeinvel was so shocked that he lost his tongue. He trembled and stuttered. His knees buckled and he saw sparks. He felt like running out the door, but he could not do that to Shmerl. He soon came to himself and greeted the woman as one greets the wife of a dear friend; she responded accordingly. There was not a trace of her former vulgarity. Even her city accent had changed. She carried herself like a woman born and raised in a decent home, friendly and tactful. He heard her say, "Any friend of Shmerl's is a (concluded on page 138)Bitter Truth(continued from page 66) friend of mine."

That Friday night, they all three ate the Sabbath meal. Although Zeinvel was careful not to ask any questions, she told him that she was an orphan on both sides and had worked a few years in a chocolate factory in Warsaw. It was clear to Zeinvel that she had chosen to put an end to her vile life. But how had this come about? Did some rabbi make her repent her sins? Did she suffer some terrible sickness that shattered her? Was it her love for Shmerl? Did she experience some startling event similar to what he was going through tonight? There was no point in racking his brains over an enigma that only God or perhaps death could solve. She was receiving Zeinvel with a dignity that had apparently become her second nature.

The two old friends talked half the night. The rest of the night, Zeinvel tossed and turned in his bed. The wildest thoughts assailed him: Should he wake up Shmerl and tell him the truth? Should he leave stealthily and run away in the direction of Warsaw? Should he tell Rachelle that he recognized her? He hoped that Shmerl was not the victim of treachery, like so many men he knew. Shmerl, the husband of the most salacious strumpet he had ever known! At this thought, Zeinvel's body became alternately hot and cold and he heard his teeth chattering. Some perverse power made him play with the idea of taking advantage of Rachelle's problem for his own enjoyment. "No, I would rather die than commit an abomination like that," he murmured to himself. Dawn was breaking by the time he fell asleep.

Both man and wife greeted him in the morning: she with a glass of tea and he with a Sabbath cookie, which one is allowed to take before the morning prayer.

"What is the matter with you? You look tired and pale," Shmerl said to him. "Did you have bad dreams?"

"Did my gefilte fish upset your stomach?" Rachelle asked playfully.

And he answered her, "I haven't eaten such delightful fish since I escaped from the Bolshevik paradise."

On the way to the synagogue, Zeinvel said, "Shmerl, I want to ask you something."

"What do you want to ask?"

"What is dearer to you? The truth or your comfort?"

"I don't know what you mean. Speak simple Yiddish," Shmerl said.

"Imagine that you were given a choice to know the truth and suffer or to remain deceived and be happy; which would you choose?"

"You are speaking strangely. What do you mean?" Shmerl said.

"Answer me."

"What's the point of truth if people suffer from it? Why are you asking me all this?"

"There was an article about it in the Warsaw newspapers and they asked the readers to express their opinions," Zeinvel said.

"The newspapers print all kinds of nonsense. Someone may tell me that tomorrow, God forbid, I will break a leg. What would I gain from knowing this beforehand?" Shmerl said. "I would rather eat my Sabbath meal in peace and let God worry about tomorrow."

"Suppose someone came and told you that you were not your father's son but a bastard, and your true father was a dogcatcher. Would you be glad to learn the truth or would this enrage you?" Zeinvel asked.

"Why would I be glad? People would rather not know such an outrageous thing."

"Nu, so that's how it is," Zeinvel said to himself.

"But why do you waste time with such balderdash? Old bachelors and old maids have nothing better to do with their time and they dream up impossible events," Shmerl said. "Once you are happily married and you find the right business, you won't pay attention to newspapers and their silly garble."

Zeinvel did not answer. He stayed with Shmerl until Monday. Monday morning, he announced that he must return to Warsaw. All of Shmerl's protests and pleadings were to no avail. Even more than Shmerl, Rachelle seemed to insist on his remaining in Reivitz. She promised to find a fitting match for him and a lucrative business. She went so far as to offer him a partnership in their haberdashery, since they were in need of an experienced tailor and especially an honest one. Zeinvel could hardly believe his own ears. She spoke to him with the ardor and devotion of a loving sister. She besieged him to tell her the truth: Why was he so eager to return to Warsaw? Was it because of a woman? Was he keeping a secret from his best friend? But Zeinvel knew that he could not bear to witness the deception into which Shmerl had fallen. He was also afraid that he would be unable to keep his secret forever and might eventually cause the couple's ruin. All the powers of heaven and earth seemed to conspire that he go back to Warsaw and return to his tedious job, neglected room and bought love, and to the loneliness of one who is forced to face the bitter truth.

"The wildest thoughts assailed him: Should he wake up Shmerl and tell him the truth?"