The Melting-Pot (A Tale of Russian Jewish Immigrants). Israel Zangwill

The Melting-Pot (A Tale of Russian Jewish Immigrants) - Israel  Zangwill


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      You are ill!

      DAVID

      It is nothing, I—not much music at Kishineff! No, only the Death-March! … Mother! Father! Ah—cowards, murderers! And you!

      [He shakes his fist at the air.]

      You, looking on with your cold butcher's face! O God! O God!

      [He bursts into hysterical sobs and runs, shamefacedly, through the door to his room.]

      VERA [Wildly]

      What have I said? What have I done?

      MENDEL

      Oh, I was afraid of this, I was afraid of this.

      FRAU QUIXANO [Who has fallen asleep over her book, wakes as if with a sense of the horror and gazes dazedly around, adding to the thrillingness of the moment]

      Dovidel! Wu is' Dovidel! Mir dacht sach——

      MENDEL [Pressing her back to her slumbers]

      Du träumst, Mutter! Schlaf!

      [She sinks back to sleep.]

      VERA [In hoarse whisper]

      His father and mother were massacred?

      MENDEL [In same tense tone]

      Before his eyes—father, mother, sisters, down to the youngest babe, whose skull was battered in by a hooligan's heel.

      VERA

      How did he escape?

      MENDEL

      He was shot in the shoulder, and fell unconscious. As he wasn't a girl, the hooligans left him for dead and hurried to fresh sport.

      VERA

      Terrible! Terrible!

      [Almost in tears.]

      MENDEL [Shrugging shoulders, hopelessly]

      It is only Jewish history! … David belongs to the species of pogrom orphan—they arrive in the States by almost every ship.

      VERA

      Poor boy! Poor boy! And he looked so happy!

      [She half sobs.]

      MENDEL

      So he is, most of the time—a sunbeam took human shape when he was born. But naturally that dreadful scene left a scar on his brain, as the bullet left a scar on his shoulder, and he is always liable to see red when Kishineff is mentioned.

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