No Time for Tears by Cynthia Freeman Read Free Book Online

cautiously walked past Yankel, thanking God that what he sold could be carried by the yoke on his back. His smugness soon turned to regret as he slipped in the slime. God was everywhere, Itzik thought, and this was his punishment as he lay facedown, covered from head to toe, and all his eggs broken.
    “That’ll teach you to laugh,” Yankel called out.
    Dovid looked from the window as he sat at his cobbler’s bench with Moishe beside him, and counted his blessings … at least he’d been able to make his living indoors all winter.
    Chavala felt a great joy this morning as she saw and smelled the first signs of spring. The cherry tree that stood alone in the small backyard was ready to burst out with blossoms. God, how she loved spring, the promised renewal of life! Feeling the awesomeness of nature’s wonder, the remembrance of another time came happily back to warm her as though it were yesterday, and she remembered how mama picked the fine plump fruit and took the gallon jug, filling it more than half with sugar, then with pure, white alcohol. It was Chavala’s honor to drop the cherries into the jug, one by one. Then the jug was stored away in the cellar and at Chanukah the jug was taken from its resting place. It was a time of gladness, as mama served the potato latkes and papa gave each one a very small glass of mama’s wine. But it was the brandied cherries that Chavala enjoyed the best. She laughed now, recalling how she’d gone to the cellar one day and quietly uncorked the jug … she must have eaten two dozen before she felt light-headed and giddy. Realizing mama would find the cherries gone she replenished the jug with alcohol. Her guilt made her confess her great sin on the eve of Chanukah, and to her surprise her mother only laughed. “If you don’t tell papa, I won’t. Besides, after a few drops of my slivovitz, no one will tell the difference.”
    Now the weeks turned to days, and that enchanted time of the year was once more on them … excitement permeated the air in the little village as the women began preparing for Passover.
    Chavala took down the Passover dishes to be washed. The children scrubbed the walls and floors as though exorcising the miseries of winter memories.
    Chavala polished the silver candlesticks until they shone. They were mama’s cherished possessions, dearest mama … her presence would be felt.
    Dovid, miracle man that he was, came home with a crate of eggs and a sack of onions, then accompanied his wife to the marketplace. The women of the village looked at one another as Dovid put the bundles of food into his handcart, stared at one another in disbelief. What husband did that?
    At Reb Levi’s stall they heard Manya arguing that the chickens were good for the goyim but not fit to be eaten by pigs.
    Reb Levi endured this abuse from Manya every Shabbes , so why should this be any different, but he was wise to her. It was her way of trying to intimidate him by demeaning his poultry so she could buy cheaper. Manya, he already knew. She was famous for bargaining. “I wouldn’t give you off a penny,” he called back.
    “Did I ask? I only want pound for pound for what I pay.”
    “Do me a favor, madam, go elsewhere. Aggravation from you I don’t need.”
    “Aggravation I’m giving you? If your chickens were as big as your mouth, I wouldn’t be complaining.”
    “Oy vay , a heart attack I’ll get from her … all right already, here, take a capon for the same price.”
    Manya felt beneath the thick white feathers. This one was pleasingly fat. “So, for this great favor, what do you want?”
    “Make it two kopeks and it’s yours.”
    “One.”
    Some chutzpah, but Manya would outtalk him. In desperation he finally said, “I’ll give your charity to the shul .”
    On the way out she saw Chavala and Dovid. No wonder Chavala couldn’t wait to marry him. He was so tall and handsome, and virile. Thick black hair, deep blue eyes, and those lips that must have tasted like