Katerina

7

AUTUMN CAME ON TIME, and Chamilio brought me two baskets of provisions. His expression is mute and concentrated, as if his will has been completely effaced. His closeness embarrasses me. And though he’s barely human any longer, he’s more than human. Thank you, Chamilio, for taking such trouble. God bless you, I want to shout out loud. He puts the provisions down in the pantry and goes out to chop firewood for me.

The autumn is showing itself in my legs. The rain isn’t abundant, but it’s constant. Without a stove lit, a person could freeze in his house. For a long while Chamilio toils at arranging the house. In the end he leaves without saying anything. “My angel, many thanks to you,” I call to him with all my strength. Now, for some reason, it seems to me that he has caught my shout.

For entire days I am alone. I light the stove, and the smell of the wood on the fire brings me back to the scattered regions of my life. Again I am in Strassov, the orphans are with me, everyone deep in mourning, and no one comes to visit. A moist silence swaddles us together on the floor. At night hooligans run riot in the street and shout: “Death to the merchants, death to the Jews.” Weiss’s leather shop has been smashed open all along the front, the merchandise stolen, but the smell of leather remains and wafts up from it. The odor drives me out of my mind.

The last days, I felt, had changed me. A kind of trembling coursed through my fingers, and I knew that if one of those toughs broke in, I’d deal with him the way my father would have. I wouldn’t hesitate to stick a knife into him. Nevertheless, I decided that I wouldn’t test myself. I gathered up a few clothes and, without asking anyone’s permission, set out for the country with the boys.

Two pale Jews were standing next to the wall of the house. Fear had congealed on their faces and on their long coats. “Why don’t you clear out?” I pleaded. My cry didn’t make them budge. They looked like sick animals, sunk and hypnotized in the slumber of death.

I reached the village at noon. A small village, clinging to the hilltops, not like my native village, where the houses sag in the valley and the mud. Here the hills smile, the ravines are broad and open, and the snow reclines calmly, bright and soft.

Right away I rented a house, a low house, made of thick wooden beams, topped with a thatched roof. “The windows are wide but well sealed; there’s plenty of wood for heat,” said the landlord, happy at the unexpected deal.

“Were there riots here?” I asked.

“Nothing. Its been a normal winter.”

The children slept, and I secretly burrowed into their sleep. I went out for supplies only once a week. I was careful not to eat nonkosher food, promising Rosa I would watch over the boys so that not a speck of impurity would cling to them. In my heart I knew it was a false promise. Ruthenianism prevailed over everything here, over me too. The sight of winter captivated me with its charms. What could I do? “What shall I make?” I asked, and in my heart I knew that everything here—the stove and the dishes, the bread and the oil, every inch of the floor, the smell of linen, everything, even the bedclothes—was tref.

“What shall I make?” I asked again.

“It doesn’t matter,” said Abraham, the elder, relieving me from my hesitations.

Thus began our life here. It was a long winter, most of which we spent in the broad peasant bed. The stove roared and released its heat into the thin darkness. The boys quickly discovered the pleasures of the Ruthenian language. At first they spoke hesitantly, but later they became accustomed to it. I answered them in Yiddish and warned them in a voice not my own that they must retain their language and that forgetfulness was very powerful here.

The winter deepened and left me speechless. Vodka would draw me out of my silence for a moment. I didn’t drink a lot, but the little that I sipped rooted out fear and restored words to me. I spoke with the boys about the need to be strong and to strike at the wicked without fear. I knew there was a flaw in my speech, but I couldn’t hold my tongue. My bold mother, my bitter mother, was speaking from within me. That winter, may God forgive me, I loved the children and hated the Jews. And if I fed them tref, I meant only to strengthen them. One evening I showed them the butcher knife and told them that it was our weapon in times of trouble. We mustn’t fear. Against the wicked one must struggle with all one’s might. I was drunk, of course.

The warm winds came early and imperceptibly crumbled the mountains of snow. Masses of ice fell into the ravines and smashed with deafening thunder. At night the house shook. I knew it was a sign from above, but I didn’t know its meaning.

Before long, spring rose from the dead snow. It was a muddy, damp spring, kneaded together as though by itself. These labor pains lasted a month, and finally the fog expired and the sun bathed the house and the yard in warm light.

The boys worked with me in the vegetable beds. The sun beat down pleasantly from the early morning hours till dark. The day would slip by in the wink of an eye. At night I would cook mamaliga with cheese, a bowl of milk, and hard-boiled eggs. Our appetites were strong, the touch of darkness was pleasant, and sleep was deep.

The boys grew taller and their skin tanned. In my heart, I knew that Rosa wouldn’t be happy at the sight of her boys in the vegetable garden. But I, or rather the evil spirit within me, said: You must be sturdy. Sturdy people give back blow for blow. Frightened Jews arouse the devils.

In those summery expanses a person easily becomes addicted to the sights, the pleasant water, and the flat, soft grass. My life was limited, but it was full of strength. At night I would collapse beside the boys, and my hand seemed to want to make the sign of the cross. I knew that something wasn’t right, but what exactly was wrong, I didn’t know. The children grew forgetful together with me. The days grew longer, and at night we used to sit on a ledge and gobble watermelons.

During that long, marvelous summer, may God forgive me, I forgot Rosa more than once. I didn’t remind the boys about their duties and I didn’t insist that they pray. After a day of work they would race over the hills like the peasants’ children. Often, I sinned by lying. I promised them that one day we would return to the city and the Jews. They didn’t ask many questions, and I didn’t offer any answers. I knew—at every moment I knew—that this pleasure wouldn’t last long, but I ignored evil thoughts and fears. I worked in the field. I washed. I ironed. I was sure, in my innocence, that those deeds had the power to hide me from evil eyes.

While the summer was at its height, as in the midst of a nightmare, Rosa’s sister-in-law appeared, a broad, sturdy woman, accompanied by two Ruthenian thugs. She stood at the door of the cabin, and my body froze. “Where have you been?” she addressed the boys as if I didn’t exist. The boys were dumbstruck. Then she addressed me, and with a voice I hadn’t heard since my mother died, a mixture of anger and choking, she said: “Why did you kidnap the children? It’s forbidden to kidnap children. Everybody trusted you. And this is the reward we get?”

Blood boiled in my veins, but my words were stifled. It was like long ago in the field, when my mother would ambush me and beat me till I bled. This time it wasn’t a hand striking me but a mouth. She immediately turned to the boys with a false smile and said, “We haven’t forgotten you. We’ve been looking for you everywhere. We’ve searched every nook and cranny.” The boys didn’t utter a word. They drew near and huddled close to me, their closeness freeing me from my silence. I opened my mouth and said, “Why are you making false accusations against me? I’ve watched over the boys. Rosa’s sons are as dear to me as my own children. Let the boys speak for themselves!”

The boys remained at my side and trembled.

She ignored me. “Don’t you recognize Aunt Frantzi?” she said to the boys in a thick, discordant voice.

I was immobilized, like in a dream. Everyone seemed taller and stronger than I. I turned to the husky Ruthenians and said: “Don’t believe her. She’s leading you astray.”

“Kidnapper. Keep quiet!” She heard me and roused herself.

“Damn you!” The sound escaped from within me.

The Ruthenians approached me and told me that the Jews were paying them six thousand in cash for every missing person they located. “What do you need those boys for? We’ll give you a new coat and galoshes from Germany.” They spoke to me in my language, like brother to sister.

Meanwhile, the woman squatted down and was speaking to the children. Her words were like nails in my flesh.

Leave them be, I wanted to shout.

“Take your belongings and let’s go,” one of the Ruthenians said to the boys.

That direct address frightened the children, and they clung closer to me.

“We want to return you to your family.”

“I want Katerina.” Meir burst into tears.

“Katerina isn’t your mother, and she’s not even your aunt.”

Now the aunt spoke to them: “You mustn’t forget that you’re Jews. Your mother is in the world of truth, and she has no peace. For two months now I’ve been dragging my legs from place to place.”

“We want Katerina,” wailed Meir again.

“You mustn’t talk that way. Your aunt has come to save you. You’re Jews. You mustn’t forget that you’re Jews.”

“Why are you talking to him? Why are you begging?” One of the Ruthenians said. “Let’s just take them.”

“Don’t take them by force.” The words left my mouth.

The Ruthenian’s patience snapped. “We do our best. But if people don’t understand, there’s no choice. What do you want, for us to beg?”

“Boys,” I said, and my voice was choked in my throat. “You decide. I don’t want to interfere.”

“We’ll stay with you,” said Abraham, who hadn’t yet uttered a word.

“What are you talking about?” the Ruthenian said to him roughly. “You have to go back. Your place is with the Jews. This woman has taken care of you, but now you’re going home. Is that clear?”

For a moment I was about to implore the Ruthenians, my countrymen, and tell them that these children were more precious than anything to me. I had brought them up, and without them my life was not worth living. But I understood that they wouldn’t give up their reward and my plea would be in vain.

All at once, the boys leaped away and began running toward the forest. Within seconds, they had disappeared. “What did you do to them?” The woman was shaken, but the two Ruthenians weren’t flustered. They ran to the top of a hill and split up. A chill went through my body at the sight of their sturdy approach. They advanced slowly, with graceful steps. At the edge of the woods, they leaped into the vegetation like wolves.

“What did you do to them?” The woman spoke to me again, gritting her teeth. “Why did they flee?”

“I don’t know. I’m not a witch.”I poured my fury into that last word. The woman apparently sensed my anger and said, “I’m their aunt. The obligation to raise them and educate them falls upon me. For two months now I’ve been dragging myself around. Why didn’t you bring them to us?”

“I was afraid.”I revealed a piece of the truth.

That single phrase took effect. The woman buried her face in her two hands and burst into weeping. I now knew very clearly that I had adopted the boys in the past two seasons. No one could sunder that tie.

Meanwhile, the woman shook off her tears: “I’ve walked on foot from village to village. Finally, the Jews had pity on me and hired the two Ruthenians so they would find the boys. I didn’t believe in them, but they knew where to look.”

I was weak, and in my great weakness I said, “The boys prayed every morning.”

“Thank you. I thank you from my heart,” the woman said distractedly. “They prayed, you say?”

“Yes.”

“Thank God, not everything is black.” The dread was shed from her face for a moment, and she added, “It’s hard to drag yourself from place to place. My legs swelled up. But there are things that are more important than your life. You must repeat that to yourself sometimes. More than once I said to myself, Let this weak body rest a little. Thank God I overcame that temptation. What did the children do all the time?”

“They played in the yard.”

“And you didn’t say anything to them?”

“What could I say?”

In my heart, I knew that the boys’ fate was sealed. Nothing escapes the wolf’s fangs, and those Ruthenians were worse than wolves. They wouldn’t leave the thicket empty-handed. But secretly, may God forgive me, I was glad of the boys’ courage. That was a sign that I had planted something of myself inside of them.

“Where are they?” The woman roused herself from her lethargy. “You know the forest.”

I overcame my repugnance and examined her closely. She was about forty, her hair was thin, and two pink creases crossed her forehead. She had once been sturdy, apparently. Now her legs were swollen and she could barely stand. “Rosa has left us,” she continued to mutter. “May her merit protect the boys. I can’t drag my legs anymore.”

Evening fell, but the sky didn’t get dark. The lights of the sunset glowed on the treetops. “Where are they? I’m their aunt. It’s my duty. Why did they run away from me? I’m not a monster.”

Don’t worry, they’ll find them, I was about to tell her, but it was unnecessary. Broken cries, stifled cries, were heard from the forest. Within seconds the shouts became choked weeping.

The Ruthenians came out of the forest, waving their prey in their hands like rabbits. “Sons of bitches.” My ear caught their words before they threw the boys into the deep bed of the wagon. The woman rose from where she lay and ran to them with a kind of clumsy haste, like someone who has learned of a disaster. The two Ruthenians stood by one of the horses and their stance bespoke a coarse satisfaction.

“Where are the boys?” the woman asked stupidly.

She climbed in on all fours and grasped the beams. The Ruthenians jumped on, and, without saying anything, they snapped their whips. The draft horses lifted their legs and were swallowed in the darkness.

I collapsed like a building beneath which the foundation has been taken away. For a long while I tried to force myself into the house, but my body was heavy and my strength had ebbed away.