The Old Carpenter

Leizer the carpenter was already very old. He walked with a stoop and he obviously needed the cane he held in his right hand. Without it he surely would not have been able to go to the bes medresh. It was the only place he went, for walking was difficult for him, and anyway he had nowhere else to go. His children had left for America and he was as lonely as a stone. His wife had died three years ago, when he was still working. Leizer had worked until he lost his skills—until the day the ax slipped from his hand. It was then that the younger carpenters told him, “Reb Leizer, it’s time to retire ….”

He’d been retired for two years. But truth to say, his repose was not complete, for he was burdened by expenses. Somehow he managed with food. A couple of baked potatoes and the head of a herring sufficed him for an entire day. But when he had to pay old Zalmen the 2 gilden for rent every month—that was a calamity. At such times Leizer moved heaven and earth; he did everything he could. Not with his hands, of course, but with his head. He remembered householders scattered here and there for whom he had built houses and who still owed him money. Many of them denied their debt; others acknowledged his claim but swore they had no money; and some neither admitted nor denied the debt but threw him a few gilden anyway.

But of late it had become increasingly difficult for Leizer to get the 2-gilden rent money. He already owed old Zalmen 4 gilden for two months, and the due date for the third month was approaching. Zalmen would not have minded waiting, but he could not — he was not the landlord either. He himself paid rent and it was difficult for him, too. Zalmen was just an old tailor, blind in one eye, and he could not do much more than patchwork. And how much could he earn from a patch?

Leizer the carpenter was not angry at Zalmen when on occasion he demanded the money too harshly, but he certainly didn’t feel good about it. Leizer had never uttered a lie in his life but now, in his old age, he had fooled old Zalmen by saying that he’d give him the money today or tomorrow.

During the past few days Leizer did not leave the bes medresh after the evening service, but stayed late, looking into a sacred text in Yiddish translation and waiting for the clock to strike 10. Leizer was sure that by then old Zalmen would already be asleep and he could return home.

One day, old Zalmen informed Leizer that he would rent his room to someone else if he didn’t pay him during the next few days. Leizer became flustered. He muttered, “Don’t be in such a rush …. We’ll see ….” But it was no more than a murmur. He couldn’t say it clearly, for what was there to see? He quietly took his cane and softly slipped out of the house.

This terrible calamity upset Leizer. During his walk he stared blankly down at the ground and from side to side. As he looked at the houses on his way, his misfortune vanished and he forgot his troubles. The houses became dear to him. Many reminded him of the years gone by when he, tall and vigorous, had worked with gusto. As he passed Yankl the innkeeper’s beautiful house he recalled: I worked on this house for 10 weeks. Yankl paid honest wages—5 gilden a day—and sometimes he would offer me some whiskey after work. And the house was still in good shape. The lumber of long ago was like iron! Leizer stared at another building. But when I built this house, I no longer worked for daily wages. Here I was paid a fixed sum. I gave him a wholesale price, and ended up cheating myself. It came to no more than half a ruble or 60 kopecks a day. He couldn’t remember exactly ….

Now he passed the rich man’s house. No little hut, he thought, and was filled with pride. It’s already 20 years old and it still looks brand new. It had many rooms, Leizer recalled. He didn’t earn too badly working for the rich man—6 gilden per day. And he was astonished at the thought of those high wages. Why so much? Because he is the richest man in town, Leizer thought, answering his own difficult question. He regarded many other houses he had built in the course of his long life. As they returned his greetings, he felt a warmth spreading over his old chilled soul. Then, suddenly, his terrible predicament surfaced once more, and his old body trembled, recalling it ….

Despondent, he entered the bes medresh. He recited the afternoon service, and later, the evening service. The clock chimed 8, 9, 10. Old Zalmen must be asleep by now, but Leizer had no intention of returning home yet. He was reading the ethical text, A Measure of Righteousness, but his thoughts were elsewhere. The words What’s to be done? pounded in his old head. They pounded and pounded until they shaped a fortuitous plan. Old Leizer smiled happily, for this was his plan: Henceforth, he would stay in the bes medresh permanently: he would not even return to old Zalmen. He rethought it a few times lest there was a hitch in the idea, but he couldn’t find one, and relief overwhelmed him. Of course, of course, he decided resolutely, from now on I’ll stay in the bes medresh. A yoke has been removed! No small matter, saving 2 gilden every month. “Two gilden,” he no longer thought, but actually uttered the words out loud. It seemed to him that a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders; his spirits rose.

Nevertheless, a small worry still remained—his debt. He had to pay it, but how? And Leizer sighed again.

The clock in the bes medresh struck 12 and old Leizer dozed at the table. He dreamt that old Zalmen sat at his side, sewing a garment and stabbing him in the eye with the needle at every stitch.

“Reb Zalmen, don’t prick me,” Leizer pleaded. “I’ll pay you the 4 gilden. Tomorrow I’m starting to work on Yankel the innkeeper’s house—he’s paying 5 gilden a day.”

But Zalmen turned a deaf ear to this and continued to prick his eye and all his other limbs with the needle. Now Leizer felt that Zalmen was poking him. But the poking was real. The assistant shamesh was standing next to Leizer. He shook him and muttered angrily, “Pardon me, but this is my spot. I have to bed down now.”

Leizer began to rub his eyes. Seeing the assistant shamesh instead of old Zalmen he quickly woke up. He remembered his plan of staying in the bes medresh permanently, but before he could say a word the assistant shamesh dryly informed him that this wasn’t the poorhouse. The trustees had ordered that no one sleep in the bes medresh—it was enough that the yeshiva students slept here.

Finished.

On his way back to old Zalmen, Leizer no longer looked at the houses he had built. The night was very black and Leizer felt even blacker. He purposely slowed his pace to a crawl. He preferred dragging his feet in the dark night to confronting old Zalmen, his debtor. And how would it all end? Old Zalmen would wait another couple of days but no more. Leizer would end up having to stretch out on the street. On the street!

“Oy,” he groaned at the thought of it.

Now he remembered his wife’s remark of long ago. “Leizer, everyone is building a house. Let’s make ourselves a little house too.” But his reply was, “We can’t. No one would pay for my work.”

It was a good answer, for she had nothing further to say. Nevertheless, remembering that soon he would have no place to go, his anger at himself grew.

“You old fool!” he reviled himself. “All your life you built houses for other people, but you’re going to die on the street.”