Читать книгу The Women of Janowka - Helmut Exner - Страница 9

– Chapter 2 –

Friedrich was on his way to Solomiak, riding on his bay with an easy canter. As usual, when he was on his own, he was completely lost in thought, not even noticing the farmsteads and fields he was passing. Instead, he wondered whether he’d meet some representatives of the opposite sex in Solomiak. Indeed, there were two or three girls he’d already had his eyes on for a while. But what was he going to do if one of these adorable creatures crossed his path? Come to an abrupt halt?

He slowed his horse to a walking pace. Well, if one of these girls comes my way now, I can start a conversation without appearing too pushy. Women! What a cross to bear. Those who were his age just wanted to get married or else they had pushy parents who were just waiting to marry them off at the first opportunity. The fifteen or sixteen year old girls weren’t a good choice either unless one was willing to run the risk of getting a beating, with a flail in the worst case, by some infuriated father. If, against all odds, one succeeded in getting close to a girl out of the public eye – and something happened – then one had to get married anyway. No – he still loved his freedom too much. For this reason alone he was just happy to have escaped from his grandfather’s family.

Otherwise, he’d presumably eke out his existence weaving at some loom. Some of his cousins down in the Dubno area had been working in the factory of his Uncle Robert. Others, particularly the women in the family, had a loom at home working until they became deformed. That was no life for him. Thank God his father was a farmer. The land up here was big enough to share with his brother Gottlieb one day – all the better, if they’d get the chance to buy some extra acres. If his parents hadn’t taken the initiative to come here, he’d probably have also ended up working in the cloth factory. Over my dead body, he thought. Moreover, I’m still too young for marriage and children. He was completely surprised when he had suddenly reached his destination, which rudely awoke him from his thoughts.

“Sholem-aleykhem, Salomon.”

“Ah, Friedrich, mayn friend. Ikh have already thought, du would nit kum mer or ze puter haven nit become thick enough in this weter.”

Once a week, young Salomon came to the Solomiak colony collecting butter from the local farmers which his parents sold in Kostopol, the chief town of the district. He was about thirty years old, a bearded man who had been very popular with the people in the area, being friendly to everyone and always cashing up correctly. For centuries, Jews had been banned from farming and/or carrying on a trade almost everywhere in Europe. Therefore, most of them had been specialising in trading. Salomon’s family had been dealing in butter which was essential for preparing kosher meals. Sometimes he would even send Jewish milkers to the cowsheds to ensure that everything was kosher. Christine did not allow this, so Salomon, at the very least, put milk buckets at their disposal which were not to be used for anything else. His customers could have complete confidence in getting genuine kosher butter and his suppliers always received their money on time.

Thus, Salomon’s family had achieved a modest degree of prosperity over the years. Salomon was married and had four children. His parents as well as some other older members of the family depended on his work. Salomon was fluent in several languages. His Yiddish accent, however, always came through, especially when he used Yiddish expressions which, upon closer examination, had already been known in many other languages and, consequently, weren’t regarded as typically Yiddish. Because he was getting around a great deal, visiting various villages and colonies and returning back to town in between, he’d always been a steady source for news. Usually, the villagers looked forward to his visits hoping to catch on up his news, though a lot of what they got to hear these days was far from good. But many people just kept on nurturing the hope that bad things wouldn’t reach them.

“Well, Friedrich, here’s dei dough far ze month,” said Salomon counting out the agreed amount quietly and carefully on the small table which he had put up beside his carriage. Then he made a note of it in his cash book and asked Friedrich to sign his full name. As every Thursday, Salomon had his two span carriage standing in front of the barn of a farm in Solomiak.

“Well, what’s the news?”

“There is nothing new. Heaps of work, as always.”

“Have du hert already that ze Schindels have sold, too?”

“What?” uttered Friedrich completely outraged.

“But where are they going then? There won’t be a bed of roses waiting for them in the German Reich either. That’s for sure.”

“Who’s talking of Deitschland?” countered Salomon.

“Canada! That’s a big country in America, to the north of ze United States. It belongs to ze Engelish Queen, who appears to be thankful far every new immigrant willing to turn the wilderness into farm land. People have been telling amazing things about Canada. Ze few British living zere aren’t able to take ze cold winters, nor do they cope with ze hot summers. But ze likes of you, young and eager, being used to clearing land, working on the field in the heat and chopping wood in the freezing cold, it is exactly richtik.”

“I’m not gettin’ it into my head. One can’t just drop everything and start all over again.”

“It’s not as bad as getting nothing for it some day, and – on top of that – getting shot in the Tsarist army. Just have a look at the Mennonites. First, they were promised that they’d not have to join the army, now the Tsar has been calling up all ze young fellows. By ze way, many Mennonites have already gone to Canada. They’ve even founded a town over zere: Steinbach. And, from hearsay, they’ve been doing pretty well.”

Silence spread, and was then interrupted by Salomon.

“The Tsar wants to bring everything under Russian control. My foter still remembers it, when ze village you live in, once was called Johannesdorf. And what’s it called today? Janowka! In Deitsche and Polish and Ukrainian schools children have to speak Russian, everybody has to serve in the Russian army. If you don’t obey zere orders, they either revoke your lease contract or ze bank no longer gives you a loan. So, either you become more Russian than ze Russians or you become poor as a church mouse slogging as someone’s vassal.”

“Up to now neither your family nor mine has become impoverished. Butter is always eaten,” Friedrich replied with a smile.

“As long as you’re still able to afford it. Just think about it, mayn friend. I’ve been hearing quite a lot, but most of it is not good. There’s something brewing in Europe. My cousins travel from ze Black Sea coast to Hungary, from Poland to ze Deitsche Reich. Ze only thing that matters to ze emperors in Austria and Deitschland is power. They don’t care about ze common people – ze farmers, ze workers or even ze Jews – they show as little concern as ze Tsar.”

At this moment, a farmer’s wife came by with another butter delivery, so the chat was over. Friedrich said good-bye, mounted his horse and rode away.

“See you next week.”

Salomon shouted: “Give your parents my regards!” Then he turned to the woman with a smile.