Suddenly I felt
as if I had lost my footing, and was suspended in the air. Then I
fell. This was my first mishap on that day. The sergeant made
believe that he did not notice it, and I congratulated myself,
hoping it would pass unremarked.
The sergeant was busy with the last of our line: somehow he did not
like the way he was standing. Just then, in a crazy fit of
contrariness, I felt a sudden desire to fulfil my duty of talking a
few words of Yiddish on Saturday. I turned my head and whispered to
Jacob in Yiddish: "He is going to keep us here the whole day! When
shall we have our hour's rest?" At that moment the sergeant passed
between the lines, and overheard me speaking Yiddish. O yes, they
have sharp ears, those drill-masters. As you know, speaking Yiddish
was considered a great breach of discipline, which never passed
unpunished. It always meant a whipping. So I had made myself
guilty of two offenses. On that day I did not go home empty-handed:
I got an order to report the next morning to receive my twenty
lashes. I received my order like a soldier, saluted, and seemed
cool about it--for the time being.
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