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Old-timers remembered
the construction of a road from Slavuta
to to Kiev via Shepetovka and
Novograd-Volynsk. The road constructor
demanded that the wealthy Jews of
Krasnostav pay them a few hundred rubles
to have the railroad pass along
Krasnostav and build a station there.
However, the Krasnostav moneybags were
reluctant to pay this much, thus the
railroad was not built near Krasnostav,
to the satisfaction of the balagulas.
The local merchants were to suffer from
this the most: they bought their goods
in Slavuta and Shepetovka and had to
transport them through the forest, where
they or their stewards were often robbed
and sometimes even killed by
bandits.
I remember a woman
saying: if bandits take merchandise or
money, then nothing is lost; if they
kill – a life is lost; but if a woman is
raped, then honor is lost, and honor is
the most important asset for a human
being. This is how much simple Jewish
women valued their honor back in the
day!
Before serfdom was
abolished in 1861, Krasnostav
belonged to a Polish tycoon, a Duke who
owned a thousand villages, but he would
rather say that he owns “only” 999. It
sounded longer and more majestic.
On black earth, Krasnostav peasants grew
such grain crops as rye, wheat, barley,
oats, buckwheat, corn; such technical
crops as linen, hemp, beets, as well as
turnips, poppy, sunflower, potatoes.
They also raised vegetables – carrots,
cabbages, tomatoes, and fruit – apples,
pears, plums, cherry, and sour cherry…
They then brought this bounty to
Krasnostav’s central square, where the
market had been bustling since early in
the morning. You could hear anything
there: the loud cow mooing, horse
neighing, sheep bleating, hen cackling,
and geese gabbling. Firewood and hay
carts stood to the side. The bargaining
ritual was in full swing: Jewish men and
women were learning the prices, leaving
and coming back and feverishly
bargaining for the last kopeck.
The blind lyre players sang
their songs here as well; the gypsies
swore to God while selling and buying
horses, the beggars asked for alms for
Christ’s sake.
When the peasants sold off their produce
and had some cash, the fair entered its
second stage. They all went shopping in
the numerous stores and workshops. They
wanted fabric and footwear, finished
clothing and pottery, beads and ribbons,
toys and paintings, toffees and
lollipops, halva and poppy cakes
(mundlich), dumplings and bagels, bread
rolls and ice cream, sparkling water and
lemonade, leather and tar, scythes and
sickles, wheels and sleds, rakes and
shovels.
Here, between carts, pots, hens, and
apples, scores of kids – half-naked in
the summer and half-dressed in the
summer – were running around, trying to
swipe a piece of fruit or two off the
carts. The peasants screamed at them,
cursed them, and at times slapped an
especially crafty boy. The orphan
Gedalia and the fearless Benya Kuchik
got punished more than others. Benya’s
mother liked to say, “It is better to
have stones than such kids.”
The barbers – Duvidl and Sheylek – had
their hands full on the day of the fair.
There were lots of people in the tearoom
and the cafeteria; the “monopolka” (a
vodka store) kept itself busy too. But
there were few drunks. Everyone knew
that the pockmarked shoemaker Yashka
would get drunk and start arguing with
his close friend Gnat – the tall and
sturdy kind-hearted builder.
Sometimes the tipsy
Avrumele Simes liked to face off against
some Ukrainian guys. He would say to one
of them, “Go ahead. Punch me in the
neck!” - trying to stay on his feet
after being punched and then delivering
his blow. But the real fights were
extremely rare. People got along
well and lived in peace with one
another. All in all, fair is remembered
as a people’s festival, a place where
Jewish craftsmen and merchants met
peasants from Krasnostav and its
vicinity. |
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