'Awakening,' a Short Story by Isaac Babel, in a New English Translation

All the people in our circle—brokers, shopkeepers, bank clerks, and steamship office workers—taught their children music. Our fathers, seeing no future for themselves, came up with a lottery. They played it out on the bones of little people. More than any other city, Odessa was possessed with this madness. And it’s true—for decades our city supplied the concert halls of the entire world with wunderkinds. Mischa Elman, Zimbalist, Gabrilowitsch came from Odessa, and Jascha Heifetz started out in our city.

When a boy turned 4 or 5 years old, his mother took this puny, feeble creature to see Mr. Zagursky. Zagursky ran a factory of wunderkinds, a factory of Jewish dwarfs in lacy collars and little patent leather shoes. He sought them out in the slums of Moldavanka, in the stinky courtyards of the Old Bazaar. Zagursky offered the initial direction, and then the children were sent to Professor Auer in St. Petersburg. A powerful harmony lived in the souls of these starvelings with blue, bloated heads. They became renowned virtuosi. And so my father decided to follow in their stead. Even though I had long since exceeded the age of wunderkinds—I was over 13—my height and puny physique made it possible for me to pass for an 8-year-old. That was the hope.

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