Stempenyu: A Jewish Romance by Sholem Aleichem, Hannah Berman Read Free Book Online

happened to you before. The whole town has come to the wedding, and you stand there roaring with your mouth wide open. And why are you roaring—I should like to know?”
    “Who is roaring, mad animal, who is roaring?”
    “I know who is roaring. Say yourself, who is roaring?”
    “I am not roaring. You are roaring.”
    “I am roaring? No, it is just the opposite.”
    “Now you are roaring. Chayam-Benzion, what has come over you to make you so spiteful? Tell me that.”
    “A good morning to all—to bride and groom, and all the relatives, friends, and well-wishers! Vivat!”
    With these words, Chaikel the flute player led in the rest of the orchestra, all of whom took their places without any more ado. And, in a few moments, the rejoicings were again in full swing. The guests made a wild rush to secure the best places at the tables.
    Stempenyu took his fiddle in his hand, and once more the roomful of people were spell-bound by his music. He replayed all the melodies he had played last night, but, with many additions and variations. He also played several new pieces, to which everybody listened with bated breath. Every eye was fixed on Stempenyu’s face; and, every face was drawn and pale from excitement. Only Rochalle kept her head averted so as not to meet the burning eyes of Stempenyu. At the same time, she managed to catch a glimpse of him, now and again. It was not until he had finished, and had laid aside his fiddle, and gone amongst the guests, that she ventured to lift up her blue eyes towards his face.
    “What do you think of him?” asked the bride, who had up till that moment kept silent.
    “What do I think of whom?” asked Rochalle, feigning ignorance.
    “Of Stempenyu, of course. They say he is a fine scamp!”
    Rochalle did not answer her. But, that did not preventher from blushing scarlet. The bride noticed her change of color, and asked if she felt hot.
    “Oh, yes, it is very hot in this room. I will go out into the air to cool myself.” And, Rochalle left the room. At every step, she stumbled up against a man or woman carrying this or that. And, each person bowed low before Rochalle; but, not so much for her own sake as because of her beautiful silk mantle.
    She did not reach the door at once; for, first of all, she had to pass the musicians who eyed her sharply, and made remarks about her in their own jargon which she somehow understood without explanation. “What a lovely woman!” they said. “I should like to have a chat with her. She’s perfection itself.”
    When her eyes met those of Stempenyu, she experienced a peculiar contraction of the heart. And, her pulse beat more quickly that it had beaten in all her life. The colour again mounted to her cheeks; and, she felt as hot as if she had just managed to escape from a burning house.
    In the effort she made to escape from Stempenyu, she almost ran into Chayam-Benzion, who was flustered and excited by the little encounter. He was a Jew of almost unbending piety, and never wished to come face to face with any woman whatever whom he could possibly avoid. It seemed to him that all sinful thoughts and temptations were connected only with the female sex. When he came upon Rochalle, he felt that he ought to turn his back on her immediately, without any regard for the fact that she might think him rude; but, he did not turn from her at all. He walked in her direction for a few steps; then, thinking better of it, he turned away fromher, and took the opposite direction from that she was going. Seeing he was going to the left, Rochalle, wishing to avoid him, too the right-hand side of the way. And, he, seeing that she was taking the right, grew confused and went on a little with her. She, seeing he was going to the right, wheeled round to the left.
    And, they might have gone dodging each other for goodness knows how long, without getting out of the tangle in the least, if his wife had not called out to him in her croaking, hoarse voice to say that she