Mirele Efros

Mother-in-law . . . I want you to know what all of us in this household really feel. You’re getting old. It’s time for you to take a rest. And besides, frankly, you hold the entire estate in your two hands, and we have no security in life. You could take it into your head some time, on a whim, if someone flatters you a little, or shows you a pretty dimple, you could throw the money away into the mud. Sometimes already—you know it yourself, the things you do—I don’t know: a box of jewels under your feet? Five hundred rubles for Talmud study? Well, fine, whatever you say, but you must admit, hasn’t the time come for your children to begin to breathe freely?

No, the time has not come. [ . . . ]

. . . Mother-in-law, as I see it, you don’t intend to let go of the reins. Run things the way you want to, but I’m not staying here. Divide up the estate and give us our share.

Yes, Mama, what can we do? It will be very hard to leave you, God knows that is true. But what can I do if Sheyndele just can’t live with you in peace, and I can’t live without her?

Divide up? No. The greatest unhappiness for human beings is that everyone wants to divide up and own his own share. People must live together. Together.

It’s high time for me to run my own household. . . . I want to be free. A poor laborer’s wife is luckier than I am. She does what she pleases in her own home and nobody gives her an opinion. Why should I be cheated? No. Better just be nice about it and give Yosele the inheritance that his father left him. His father left him a fortune. It doesn’t belong to you.

Yes. Yes. It’s time, high time, to know how much father left us. No one knows what’s in the accounts.

Sheyndele, I’m begging you, don’t be like that. Come on, enough for today. We’ll talk more some other time. Sheyndele, are you coming?

No, Yosele, it is not enough. She is right. You are no longer little children, and it is time you should know. Eighteen years ago your father died. You were still little tiny children. [ . . . ]

I was not old then, and many fine and rich people sent matchmakers. I did not even listen. I thought a widow should not marry. If she was happy, she must understand that one does not find happiness a second time. If she was unhappy, why should she be so foolish as to gamble with her freedom and risk winning sorrow? Especially when there are little children! I had two children, and I determined that I would live only for their sakes, to rejoice in their joys and to share in their happiness. I—but enough, I know that your mother interests you very little. What you want to know is how much your father left you. I will show you the books. No one in the world, except for Shalmen, knows the secret: your father died from sorrow and shame, because he had to go bankrupt.

Bankrupt!

Yes! Sixty thousand rubles: that is the debt he owed when he died. That is your inheritance. I did not sleep days and nights. I set myself to saving his name. I did everything so the house of Shlomo Efros would continue as it had before. I showed the men how stupid they are when they believe that a woman is a weak creature, who can only be a servant or a wife. All his creditors I paid, a ruble on a ruble, and that is why my credit is unlimited now. I brought you up as was proper for Efros’ children, with tutors, with music teachers, with every luxury. What I suffered, nobody knew; how many times my heart poured blood, nobody noticed. You lacked for nothing. Certainly, now we have a great fortune. But all of it comes from me. Yosele, what your father left you, you may take it and go, with your dear wife. You too, Daniel, you can have your share. You are right, the time has come for you to live according to your own judgment.