"Where is it?" asked Meir.
"The book which brought us light and comfort is no more. The fire has devoured it, and its ashes are scattered to the winds."
"Eliezer!" burst out Meir, "have you got frightened and burned it?"
"My hands could never have committed the deed; even had my mouth commanded it, they would not have obeyed. A week ago my father came to me in great fury and ordered me to give up the accursed book we had been reading on the meadow. He shouted at me, 'Have you that book?' I said, 'I have.' He then asked me, 'Where is it?' I remained silent. He looked as if he would have liked to beat me, but did not dare, on account of my position in the synagogue, and the love people bear me. He then ransacked the whole room, and at last found it under the pillow. He wanted to carry it to the Rabbi, but I knelt before him and begged him not to do so, as he would not allow me to sing any more, and would deprive me of people's love, and of my singing.
Father seemed struck by my remark, for he is proud that a son of his, and one so young in years, holds such a position, and he thinks, also, that, when his son sings and prays before the Lord, the Lord will prosper him in his business, and forgive all his sins. So he did not take the book to the Rabbi, but thrust it into the fire, and, when it burned and crackled, he leaped and danced for joy."
"And you, Eliezer, you looked on and did nothing?"
"What could I do?" whispered the singer.
"I should have put the book on my breast, protected it with my arms, and said to my father, 'If you wish to burn it, burn me with it.'"
Meir said this with indignation, almost anger, against his friend.
Eliezer stood before him with downcast eyes, sad, and humbled.
"I could not," he whispered. "I was afraid they would deprive me of my office, and denounce me as an infidel. But look at me, Meir, and judge from it how I loved our Master; since he was taken away from me my face has shrunk, and my eyes are red with tears."
"Oh, tears! tears! tears!" exclaimed Meir, throwing himself upon a chair, and pressing his throbbing temples with both hands; "always those tears and tears!" he repeated, with a half-sarcastic, half-sorrowful voice. "You may weep for ever, and do no good either to yourself or to others. Eliezer! I love you even as a brother; but I do not like your tears, and do not care to look at your reddened eyes. Eliezer, do not show me tears again; show me eyes full of fire.
The people love you, and would follow you like a child its mother."
Scolding and upbraiding his friend, Meir's eyes betrayed a moisture which, not wishing to betray, he buried his face in both hands.
"Oh, Eliezer, what have you done to give up that book? Where shall we go now for advice and comfort? Where shall we find another teacher?
The flames have consumed the soul of our souls, and the ashes have been thrown to the winds. If the spirit of the Master sees it he will say, 'My people have cursed me again,'" and tears dropped through his fingers upon the rough deal table.
Suddenly he stopped his laments, and, changing his position, fell into a deep reverie.
Eliezer opened the window.
The sandy ground of the market-square seemed divided in long slanting paths of red and gold by the rays of the rising sun. Along one of these shining paths, towards Kamionker's house, came a powerful bare-footed man. His heavy step sounded near the window where the two young men were sitting. Meir raised his head; the man had already passed, but a short glimpse of the matted red hair and swollen face was enough for Meir to identify him as the carrier, Johel.
A few minutes later two men dressed in black passed near the window.
One of them was tall, stately, and smiling; the other, slightly stooping, had iron-gray hair and a wrinkled brow. They were Morejne Calman and Abraham Ezofowich. Evidently they had not crossed the square, but passed along the back streets almost stealthily, as if to avoid being seen. Both disappeared in the entrance of Kamionker's house, where Johel had preceded them.
Eliezer looked up from the book which he had been reading.
"Meir," he said, "why do you look so stern? I have never seen you look so stern before."
Meir did not seem to have heard his friend's remark. His eyes were fixed upon the floor, and he murmured:
"My uncle Abraham! My uncle Abraham! Woe to our house. Shame to the house of Ezofowich!"
In the next room, divided from Eliezer's by a thin wall, loud voices and bustle were audible. Jankiel shouted at his wife to go away and take the children with her. Jenta's low shoes clattered upon the floor, and the suddenly-roused children began to squall. By degrees the noise sounded fainter and farther off. Then the floor resounded with the steps of men, chairs were drawn together, and a lively discussion in low but audible voices began.
Meir suddenly rose.
"Eliezer," he whispered, "let us go away."
"Why should we go away?" said the young man, raising his head from the book.
"Because the walls are thin," began Meir.
He did not finish, for from the other side of the wall came the violent exclamation from his uncle Abraham:
"I do not know anything about that; you did not tell me, Jankiel."
The mirthless, bilious cackle of Jankiel interrupted. "I know a thing or two," he exclaimed; "I knew that you, Abraham, would not easily agree to it. I shall manage that without your help."
"Hush!" hissed Calman. The voices dropped again to a whisper.
"Eliezer, go away!" insisted Meir.
The singer did not seem to understand. "Eliezer! do you want to honour your father, as it is commanded from Sinai?"
Kamionker's son sighed.
"I pray to Jehovah that I may honour him." Meir grasped him by the hand.
"Then go at once--go! if you stop here any longer you will never be able to honour your father again!" He spoke so impressively that Eliezer grew pale and began to tremble.
"How can I go now, if they are discussing secrets there?"
The voice of Jankiel became again distinctly audible:
"The tailor Shmul is desperately poor; the driver Johel is a thief.
Both will be well paid."
"And the peasants who carted the spirit?" asked Abram.
Jankiel laughed.
"They are safe; their souls and bodies and everything that belongs to them is pledged to my innkeepers."
"Hush!" whispered again the phlegmatic, therefore cautious, Kalman.
Eliezer trembled more and more. A ray of light had pierced his dreamy brain.
"Meir! Meir!" he whispered, "how can I get away? I am afraid to cross the room; they might think I had overheard their secrets."
With one hand Meir pushed the table from the window, and with the other helped his friend to push through. In a second Eliezer had disappeared from the room. Meir drew himself up and murmured:
"I will show myself now, and let them know that somebody has overheard their conversation."
Then he opened the low door and entered into the next room. There, near the wall, on three chairs closely drawn together, sat three men.
A small table stood between them. Kalman, in his satin garment, looked calm and self-possessed. Jankiel and Abraham rested their elbows on the table. The first was red with excitement and his eyes glittered with malicious, greedy light; the latter looked pale and troubled, and kept his eyes fixed on the floor; but nothing was capable of disturbing the smiling equanimity of Kalman. When Meir entered the room, he heard distinctly his uncle's words: