"I'll just
cut you to tiny bits and put you into my pipe and you'll go up in
smoke." Or, "I'll give you such a thrashing that you won't be able
to sit down, stand up, or lie down. The only thing you'll be able to
do is to fly--to the devil."
This teacher used me as a living advertisement for his school. He
would take me from house to house, flaunting my recitations and
interpretations. Very often the passage which he thus made me
read was a lesson I had studied under one of his predecessors, but
I never gave him away
Every cheder had its king. As a rule, it was the richest boy in the
school, but I was usually the power behind the throne. Once one
of these potentates (it was at the school of that kindly man)
mimicked my mother hugging her pot of pea mush
"If you do it again I'll kill you," I said
"If you lay a finger on me," he retorted, "the teacher will kick you
out.
Your mother doesn't pay him, anyhow."
I flew at him. His Majesty tearfully begged for mercy. Since then
he was under my thumb and never omitted to share his
ring-shaped rolls or apples with me
Often when a boy ate something that was beyond my mother's
means--a cookie or a slice of buttered white bread--I would eye
him enviously till he complained that I made him choke.
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