A YESHIVA STUDENT, ONE of Mirkin’s synagogue pupils, entered the room; he looked askance at Geverman, handed Mirkin a note, whispered mysteriously, “From Hillel,” and then beat a hasty retreat.
The note consisted of only a few words: “Agreed. She’ll be where she’s supposed to be tomorrow after dinner. Take action.”
After reading the note, Mirkin described in detail to Geverman the plan for Beryasheva’s “betrothal.”
“Splendid!” Geverman blurted out, without even thinking. “That’s just the way to do it! I’ll take it upon myself to carry it out. I’ll get engaged to her.”
“What are you saying? Old man Beryashev knows you, and as soon as you enter his shop, he’ll guess that something’s amiss. . . . Esther Geverman’s son has suddenly come all by himself to buy himself a scarf or some socks. . . .”
“So let him guess! Before he manages to figure it out, I’ll get it all done.”
“No! And don’t insist! You’ll ruin the whole thing!” Mirkin declared. “If need be, you’ll help in some other way. . . . I’m going to the Ore Miklet now. This evening I’ll drop in on Kapluner. When you finish work, you come over there, too.”
“All right!” Geverman agreed. Saying goodbye to Mirkin, he asked again, “So, you think I did the right thing parting from my mother once and for all? Yes?”
“Yes!” replied Mirkin definitively.
However, in spite of his definitive tone, Mirkin was unable to free himself from an oppressive, irksome feeling; after Geverman’s departure, he paced the room in agitation for a long time, trying to convince himself that his young comrade had behaved appropriately. After all, man is free, and no one has the right to force another to live and behave in a manner he doesn’t deem rational! That’s clear as day. It’s also clear that one must break with the old life and begin to live a new, reasonable, free life. . . . But the image of Geverman’s mother arose before Mirkin’s eyes—pitiful and heartbroken; his heart, in spite of whatever conclusions reached by his reason, was gripped by agonizing pity.
Geverman’s mother had been widowed early and was considered both an admirable and prosperous housewife. She was involved in charitable causes and was known in her circle as a benevolent woman. She doted upon her only son and dreamt of his becoming a great rabbi. When he “strayed from the path” and became a freethinker, she ascribed this to the influence of his new comrades. Behind their backs, she cursed and abused them, even threatened to drive them from her house; but when she met them, she didn’t behave rudely to them at all; she would often invite them to dinner, and sometimes, when she forgot about their freethinking ways, she would treat them with maternal solicitude, scold them for not taking good care of their health, and urge them to wrap scarves around their necks when they went out at night in bad weather. She treated Mirkin with special warmth, even though in her soul she considered him her son’s principal tempter. She regarded him as the most reliable of the group, and when she was annoyed by some social injustice, she shared her irritation with him, feeling instinctively that he’d understand her better than any of her close friends. She would usually begin that sort of conversation with the words, “You stand for the truth—so that’s why I must tell you about an atrocious injustice that ‘makes the blood in all my veins boil.’ ”
She’d describe some violation of a poor, weak party by a wealthy, powerful one. Mirkin understood her, took an interest in all the details, and would share her distress. Geverman would usually destroy this idyll with a shrill observation: “But that bloodsucker you’re talking about is a pious Jew! They’re all like that! And your tsaddik himself is a thief, a crook, and a hypocrite!”
In general Mirkin was genuinely fond of Geverman’s mother and now felt deeply sorry for her.
“Well, there’s nothing to be done!” he suddenly shouted to himself in a shrill voice. “Pity or not, that’s not the point! Geverman acted just as he should have!”
Back in the Ore Miklet Mirkin discussed all the particulars of the “betrothal” in detail with his comrades. Uler was assigned the responsibility for monitoring Sonya’s entrance into the shop and then informing Kornblat and Tsiporin at once; they’d be waiting for him in the town garden nearby. They’d drop in, ask for some linen for a shirt, and thus divert the elder Beryashevs. Then Faevich would come in, ask for a scarf, agree on the price without negotiating, hand Sonya a silver coin, and in a loud voice utter the formula for betrothal. Then Faevich would serenely announce to the old man, “Your daughter is now my wife. I have betrothed her in the presence of two witnesses. I’ll write you about the remaining details tomorrow.” Then they’d all leave the shop together.