Suddenly my father's face turned fiery red! He became beroygez, angry, beyz, angrier, en kahs, really angry...He shouted "Eynora oifim!" He wished an evil eye on this particular carcass.
Mama tried to calm him. "Sh...sh...It was long ago. Forget it. Forgive him."
Pappa shouted, "Farges? Forget? Keyn mol nishtl Never! Moykhelzeiri? Forgive? Keyn mol nisht! Never! "No stones on this grave!" he said, striding towards a little headstone. "I'll spit on this grave!"
Mama reasoned with him. "Okay, no stones. But Menashe … no spitting either!"
When Papa finally calmed down and then walked away, Mama explained why he was angry.
The deceased had been Papa's first lehrer, his melamed, his primary teacher. In Koshovato a boy began school when he was five and studied till he became bar mitzvah. There were no dropouts, no special ed classes. Schools were not free, either. The boy's parents had to pay the teacher something--a kopek, a chicken, something. Only an orphan went to school for free. Well, that is not exactly right. There were some exceptions. My father was an exception. You see, the lehrer, Chaim, was the first cousin of Israel, my father's father. When your alter zayde, great-grandfather Israel, sent his son Menashe to Chaim to learn his alef-beis, he sent no money. According to der alter zayde, a cousin should beg for the pleasure of teaching a family member.
Now Mama confessed to me that when zayde Menashe (or Papa) was a boy he was maybe a little mischievous. In fact, he was a regular mazic, devil. And in Koshovato, no lehrer hesitated to use a whip on a mazic. On the other hand, as Mama further explained, no lehrer with a family to feed would be foolish enough to strike a paying student. So what did the melamed do? Every time a paying student fell asleep, or misbehaved, or forgot his lesson-Chaim hit Menashe, the student who paid nothing!
Papa heard all that Mama told me. When she turned her back, he announced in a strong voice, "I never hold a grudge!" Then, in my ear, he whispered, "But I never forget."