Page:Etta Block - One-act plays from the Yiddish (1923).pdf/21

 What are you talking about?

What you hear, Her own sisters she hates—they’re prettier and younger than she.&emsp;(She breathes hard.)

Lord of the World!

&ensp;(hoarsely) The younger one, Saril, I didn’t keep at home when her time came. I sent her out to service…

I cried out against that myself. Everybody was stirred up—the daughter of a scribe, a servant!

I wanted at least to marry her off. Let her get together a bit of a dowry at least. From the potatoes and the handful of onions I deal in, one can’t accumulate much of a dowry. And her I guarded, also. Her mistresses’ husbands threw eyes at her. More than one of their sons was ready to trifle with her.

May their names be blotted out!

But what is a mother for? I wore out my feet. Ten times a day I ran to her into her kitchen. I preached, cried, implored, fainted…

Children must be beaten. I give it to mine, too!