Once in the street, he let out a long, deep sigh that ended with a nod of his head and a mournful, heavy moan: ‘Oh, my God, my dear God!’ Sometimes he groaned because the gescheft, the deal, hadn’t worked out, and all his efforts, the weeks of endless discussions and schemes had been in vain; sometimes because he’d actually managed to win out over his rivals. But he had to sigh or moan no matter what happened: God was immovable and ever-present, like a spider at the centre of its web, stalking man and ready to punish anyone who seemed proud to be happy. God was always there, fervent and jealous; it was necessary to fear Him and, while simultaneously thanking Him for His goodness, also to make sure that He didn’t believe He had granted all of His creature’s wishes, so that He didn’t lose interest and continued to provide protection.

Afterwards, they visited another house, and then another. Sometimes they even went up to the wealthy homes. Ada would wait in the entrance hall, so overwhelmed by the magnificent furniture, the number of servants and the thickness of the carpets, that she dared not move. She sat dead still on the edge of a chair, staring wide-eyed and trying not to breathe; sometimes she pinched her cheeks so she wouldn’t fall asleep. Finally, they would return home on the tram, in silence, holding hands.

2

‘Simon Arkadievich,’ said Ada’s father, ‘I’m like the Jew who went to complain to a zadik, a holy man, to ask his advice about his poverty . . .’

Israel Sinner mimed the encounter between the poor man and the saint:

‘“Oh, Holy One, I am poverty stricken; I have ten children to feed, a difficult wife, a mother-in-law in perfect health, with a hearty appetite and plenty of energy . . . What shall I do? Help me!”

‘And the holy man replied: “Get twelve goats and let them live with you.”

‘“But what will I do with them? We’re already piled one on top of the other like herrings in a barrel; we all sleep on thin straw mattresses. We’re suffocating. What will I do with your goats?”

‘“Hear me, ye of little faith. Take the goats into your house and you will be glorifying God.”

‘A year later, the poor man returned: “Well, are you happier?”

‘“Happy? My life is a living Hell! I’ll kill myself if I have to keep those damned animals!”

‘“Well, now you can get rid of them and you will appreciate the happiness you didn’t realise was yours before. Without their stench and their butting horns, your poor hovel will seem like a palace to you. Everything on this earth is relative.”

‘In the same way, Simon Arkadievich, I complained about my Fate. I had my father-in-law to lodge and my daughter to feed. It was hard to find work and they had little to eat. But it is natural for man to sweat a great deal to earn a little bread. I was wrong to complain. Now I find that my brother has died and my sister-in-law, his widow, is coming to live with me with her two children. Three more mouths to feed. Work, toil, pitiful man, poor Jew: you can rest when you are deep beneath the ground . . .’

That was how Ada learned of the existence and imminent arrival of her cousins. She tried to picture their faces. It was a game that kept her occupied for hours on end; she saw and heard nothing of what was happening around her, then seemed to wake up as if out of some dream. She heard her father say to Simon Arkadievich:

‘Someone told me about a shipment of raisins from Smyrna. Are you interested?’

‘Leave me in peace! What would I do with your raisins?’

‘Don’t get angry, don’t get angry . . . I could get you some cotton from Nijni cheap?’

‘To hell with your cotton!’

‘What would you say to a batch of ladies’ hats from Paris, just a tiny bit damaged after a railway accident? They’re still being held at the border and would cost half what they’re worth.’

‘Hmm . . . how much?’

When they were in the street, Ada asked: ‘Are my aunt and cousins going to live with us?’

‘Yes.’

They were walking down an enormous empty boulevard. As a result of ambitious planning, a number of new avenues intersected the town; they were wide enough for a squadron to march between the double row of lime trees, but only the wind rushed from one end to the other, swirling the dust around with a sharp, joyous whistle. It was a summer’s evening, beneath a clear, red sky.

‘There’ll be a woman in the house,’ Ada’s father finally said, looking sadly at her, ‘someone to take care of you . . .’

‘I don’t want anyone to take care of me.’

He shook his head. ‘Someone to stop the servant from stealing, and I won’t have to drag you around with me all day . . .’

‘Don’t you like me coming with you?’ asked Ada, her little voice trembling.

He stroked her hair gently: ‘Of course I do, but I have to walk slowly so your legs don’t get tired, and we brokers earn our living by running. The faster we run, the quicker we get to the rich people’s homes.