Poland, 1907, three Jewish boys set off to walk to Lublin to sell brushes. Such a simple premise for a story that, in a way, matches the innocence of the boys as they begin. Along the way there are promises of food and girls, laughs, tales of mythic villages and jokes. The boys will endear themselves to you. But as the journey progresses the veneer of innocence fades as the future begins to cast a foreboding shadow - though the jokes remain.
A large, sandy marketplace, in a small Polish village not on Elya's map, looks promising. They decide to stop and set up their wares. They open their suitcase and display their paintbrushes, which come in many shapes and sizes. A small brush for window frames, sashes and sills; a medium-sized brush for doors and cabinets; a large brush for walls. 'Dzien dobry', Elya greets every potential customer. 'A new brush will make painting easier. Even a child could do it,' he cries a mixture of Yiddish and bad Polish, attracting a crowd. 'I use these brushes myself. Good clean brushes. Not broken bristles. Ideal for the house painter. Long-lasting in both square and tapered versions. Well-balanced. Well-priced. Quality controlled with a special seal of approval from a licensed brush inspector.' (This is untrue but sounds good.) 'Durable, all-purpose brushes. Made in Mezritsh. Home of the Bristle.'
