Yonkel blinked in disbelief. Everyone was fleeing. He and his friends had been the darlings of all Krimsk. Why, their experience was even better than Itzik Dribble’s. Itzik had only heard about the frog and had played at being a frog, whereas they had met the frog and had been saved by him! And now, after all that, Krimsk denied their chosenness.
Matti had more questions to ask, and since he was afraid that Yonkel, too, might run away, he held his arm, encouraging him to stay. Yonkel, of course, had no desire to run anywhere. He felt cheated and hurt, but he did feel very kindly toward his brilliant classmate Matti, who remained faithful when Itzik Dribble had bested them again.
“How do you know Grannie Zara is dead?” Matti asked.
Yonkel was not listening. “Why did everyone run away?” he asked.
“Because Grannie Zara died. They’re afraid. How do you know she died?” Matti repeated.
“They told us they had to chase the cats off her with torches,” Yonkel answered, but his mind was on fickle Krimsk. “What were we supposed to do? Jump on the table with the rebbe?”
“Yonkel, I don’t understand,” Matti began, but Yonkel, nodding in agreement, interrupted Matti.
“Neither do I. Why should they be afraid? Rabbi Chanina’s frog saved us after Grannie Zara died.”
“Yonkel, why did Casimir come to the Krimsk side of the pond after Grannie Zara’s death?”
Yonkel blinked his eyes in silence.
“Were they running away from Krimichak?”
“I guess so; they all ran home, didn’t they?” Yonkel said.
“No, I mean to Krimsk. Why did Casimir and Tadeusz come to our side after Grannie Zara’s death?” Matti asked slowly although he was itching with frustration.
“Casimir thought Grannie Zara was the naked lady,” Yonkel answered in frustration of a different sort.
“Naked lady?” Matti responded in unrestrained eagerness.
“Yes,” Yonkel replied and then added, “You know you have to be an idiot to get anywhere in this place.”
Matti agreed. On most days he would have told Yonkel Berman that indeed he was right, and therefore his future was assured. Tonight, however, Matti sensed that something profound was happening, and the introduction of a naked lady even exceeded his expectations. He thought that theft or mayhem might be involved; the naked lady came as a delightful surprise.
“Yes, Yonkel, you’re right, but what naked lady are you talking about?”
“Oh, they said something about a naked lady,” Yonkel said in disgust.
“What?” Matti pleaded.
“Every month at this time she enters the pond, mumbles something in Hebrew, and then dips under the water.”
“Casimir thought she was really Grannie Zara muttering a spell, and he came to see if the naked lady would appear after Grannie Zara had died?” Matti suggested.
“Yes,” Yonkel nodded, impressed at how quick and clever Matti was. No wonder he always had the answers at Reb Gedaliah’s. Sometimes he seemed to understand the lessons better than Reb Gedaliah.
Matti turned to leave.
“Where are you going?” Yonkel asked, slightly hurt that the last of his audience was leaving.
“To the pond,” Matti said. “Want to come?”
“Not me! I’ve had enough. I think I’ll go home.”
“Whatever you prefer,” Matti said.
“Be careful, Matti,” Yonkel said. His warning was sincere, but Matti was not interested in Yonkel Berman’s advice.
“Say, Yonkel, when did Alex piss in his pants tonight?” Matti asked casually.
“Before they threw him into the water,” Yonkel replied with a laugh, but there was no one with whom to share it. Matti was already down the road. What a strange thing to ask at a time like this, thought Yonkel. There was something very cruel and snotty about the question. Yonkel took comfort in the thought that earlier in the day they had confiscated Matti’s candy. Alex had, too. It served Matti right.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
MATTI’S INSTANT ANALYSIS TOLD HIM THAT THE NAKED lady was not Grannie Zara. First of all, Grannie Zara was too old to be swimming in any pond at night. Second, if the Polish boys came to the Krimsk side to get a closer look, then the naked lady must enter from the Krimsk side. And if she entered from the Krimsk side, then she must evidently be from Krimsk.
Since she was from Krimsk, it was obvious to Matti that she was ritually purifying herself after her menstrual period. What was not at all obvious was why she would choose to go alone through the woods at night to purify herself. According to the Torah, before any woman could have sexual relations after menstruating, she had to dip in a natural body of water or a man-made mikveh, but in practice only a bride or married woman would have any need to do so. Now, thought Matti, if the only reason for the naked lady to purify herself was to have sexual relations and the only reason for the naked lady to use the pond was that she didn’t want anyone to know that she was purifying herself, it followed that she didn’t want anyone to know that she was having sexual relations.
Matti’s talmudic mind considered several possibilities. The most obvious was that the naked lady was an unmarried woman having an affair. In this category he included lonely widows. In fact, he considered a widow a more probable candidate. A young passionate girl would not bother with a mikveh. If she sinned, she would sin completely. A widow would have grown accustomed to the purification process during her marriage and might find it a necessary prelude. The trouble was that Krimsk did not seem to have any widows that Matti considered appropriate candidates. Still, who knows, someone is fooling someone. Well, if that were the most obvious possibility, there was a most ethical possibility. The naked lady had been secretly married against her parents’ wishes and was purifying herself for her husband. The question arose as to where she could have gone to get married that Krimsk would not have heard about it. And frankly, such a possibility did not appeal to Matti because it was so ethical; it wouldn’t even involve violation of a rabbinic proscription, much less a real Torah sin.
Another more complex possibility occurred to Matti. The naked lady was married, and indeed she did go to the mikveh in town, but she went to the mikveh in town later because she was also sleeping with someone else and she wanted to sleep with the lover first without being bothered by her husband. As long as her husband believed that she hadn’t gone to the mikveh, he could not touch her. After several days of domestic quiet and adulterous profligacy, she would go to the mikveh in town and switch from her lover’s bed to her husband’s.
Such a duplicitous, degrading, and dishonest, not to mention sinful, possibility thoroughly appealed to Matti. It offered a cynical view of society and a rich, perverse view of the individual. And it was fundamentally sound, based on a violation of one of the Ten Commandments, adultery. Matti was very pleased with himself for having found such an altogether satisfying explanation. He particularly admired the perverse distortion of the mikveh: not one purification as the Torah required, but two in order to pursue the more stringent demands of sin.
Matti was aware that this premise of an adulteress going to a mikveh might be criticized as weak, but he sensed it was not all that weak. He was familiar with the talmudic concept of a “believer denying one principle only.” Although quite young, he was incredibly precocious, and he understood the logic of illogic and the illogic of logic, or as he himself would have put it, “the torah of sin as opposed to the sin of Torah.” Both appealed to him. Although too young for sexual appetites, he had insightful dreams. He dreamt that he was a Polish noble, and with his fair, blond lady at his side he sat at a great baronial table heaped high with rich delicacies and every manner of nonkosher trophy of the hunt, such as boar. One morning upon awakening, he reviewed the dream and was amused to discover that as a Polish prince he never had served milk and meat on the same cornucopic table. At a very early age he had developed a tolerance, even an appreciation, for the inconsistencies that were life.
All of Krimsk appeared inconsistent. Here were God’s most beloved and chosen people living in the midst of and at the whim of an idolatrous empire. Life in Krimsk revolved around a hasidic rebbe although neither the Torah nor the Talmud knew of hasidim, not to mention their rebbes. Matti realized that most people were unaware of such inconsistencies, although others were aware and very disturbed by them. After Yechiel Katzman’s agonized outbursts in class today, Matti strongly suspected him of belonging to the second category. No doubt Yechiel lost a lot of sleep over such things. Matti sensed that the trick was to enjoy the inconsistencies and not lose any sleep. Not to lose any candy either; Matti sincerely regretted that. He made one more mental note that he should not appear so dispassionate when someone acted a little meshuga. It was a general problem for Matti; people resent anyone who is untroubled.
He hurried toward the pond; he did not want to miss a performance of the naked lady. Any naked lady held great interest for Matti. In fact, he could not go to the mikveh Friday afternoons with his father without fantasizing about concealing himself inside until the weekday nights when the women came for their ritual immersions. Like most intellectuals, Matti indulgently considered that the world reflected his conception of it; consequently, he was enthusiastically anticipating the discovery of the naked woman’s identity; he absolutely worshiped creative people.
At the pond, the crickets chirped and the frogs croaked —perhaps Rabbi Chanina’s very own frog led the chorus—as if oblivious to the miracle that had occurred one short hour previously. The illuminating moon had moved closer to the horizon, and the silver-gray light above the lake had grown weaker. This delight was lost on Matti, too; he had not come in appreciation of nature but in appreciation of man.
Noting the moon’s position, Matti glumly suspected that it was too late for the lady to come. She had probably come even before the Polish boys arrived; but then he grew hopeful and thought that since tonight was Tisha B’Av, her schedule might be different—and as he articulated that idea to himself, he realized what a fool he was. On Tisha B’Av no woman immersed herself. It was forbidden because of the fast, and it was unnecessary because sexual relations were forbidden. No wonder she had not appeared—and to think Casimir was convinced that the naked lady was Grannie Zara since she had not come tonight. Matti, the young cynic, shook his head; Krimsk faithfully believed the water in front of him swarmed with miraculous frogs, whereas Krimichak fearfully believed it was cool with death, and Matti, who believed neither, knew the sad truth: not magic frogs, not death, not a naked lady, was or would be in the water tonight. Such an ironic contrast amused but did not satisfy him. He had lusting appetites. He had lost those sweets earlier in the day. At this late hour he had come to observe something titillating, and he wanted to satisfy this desire. He thought of the cats being chased off Grannie Zara’s dead body and wondered if the witch had been buried. Perhaps her body still lay in her hut; perhaps Krimichak was waking the body. That would be interesting.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
FAIGIE SOFFER WAS APPROACHING THE STEPPING STONES when she heard frightened screams echoing across the pond. She could not tell whether they came from the Krimsk side or from Krimichak. Wherever their origin, they gripped her heart in fear, and she hesitated to cross the stream. As she stood barefoot, shoes in hand, she heard more yelling. She could make out that it was Polish and had something to do with an eye. She assumed it must be the evil eye and spat quickly into the stream. Bewildered, she stepped off the path into the surrounding wood, and as she did so, Casimir, Tadeusz, Stefan, and the other Krimichak boys came rushing madly up to the stepping stones and stopped.
The tallest one was clutching his eye in frightened, near-hysterical agony. He rocked his head and moaned, “I’m blind. I’m blind.” The shortest one said, “Let’s go. We’re almost home.” The injured boy cried, “There’s death in the water!” in such terror that the others froze in fear. A pimply boy said, “Damn that Jewish witch,” but two of the others quickly hissed in warning, “Sh, don’t even mention the name.” The short one, although fearful, said, “We can’t stay here, can we? Give me your hand.” He took the tall boy and led him across. The moaning grew louder like a strong wind as it crosses water. Then it dropped off, and Faigie heard them renew their mad dash toward Krimichak.
Faigie wondered what Jewish witch they were talking about. If she had a Jewish witch in Krimsk, then she had no need to go to Krimichak to see Grannie Zara. Having heard that death lay in the water, she did not want to tempt fate on a night like this; she had no one to help her across. As she peered out, the stepping stones seemed to be growing smaller and the dark stream seemed to be rushing faster and climbing higher.
The idea of a local Krimsker witch was very appealing. She wished they had mentioned the name. But surely she would have known about a local witch in Krimsk. It was the smallest of small towns. Who could it be? Everyone she knew in Krimsk who was capable of evil was an ordinary gossip. No one in Krimsk approached Grannie Zara’s aloof dignity and bearing. With one exception—the rebbetzin, Shayna Basya. She had dignity and bearing, and she was aloof. But Faigie was unconvinced. The rebbetzin definitely was lacking something. Faigie could forgive her the lack of cats; no matter how enriching, they were only props. A purist, Faigie believed in the direct, immediate powers of the Other Side. Intermediaries—frogs or cats—were unnecessary. The problem with the rebbetzin was that she did not have much contact with people; Grannie Zara was approachable day and night. In addition, the rebbetzin did not have the cat lady’s essential vigor. Of late, the rebbetzin looked faded and washed out.
Having rejected the rebbetzin as a candidate and with no others, Faigie stepped out of her hiding place to examine the stepping stones. She saw almost nothing in the increasing darkness. Tall trees stood on both banks and shaded the now-feeble light of the quarter moon, which itself had fallen helplessly toward the horizon. She wished her Itzik were with her. He never stumbled, even in pitch black darkness. Beryl was forever saying that he was part cat. Faigie never responded to that particular compliment, but she did have to admit that he had uncanny sight at night and remarkably graceful coordination.
Not knowing what to do, Faigie sat down. Although she could not cross the stream to Grannie Zara’s, she could not turn back either. In spite of her dilemma, she remained convinced that fate demanded she visit both Grannie Zara and the Krimsker Rebbe tonight. Somehow she would cross the stream. At the moment, she had no idea just how she might do so, and it occurred to her that perhaps she might visit the Krimsker Rebbe first and Grannie Zara later. She quickly rejected this thought, for her deepest inner instincts were very clear to her—first the witch and then the rebbe. She must reverse the order of her visits before Itzik’s birth.
As she sat, she wondered about the Krimsker Rebbe’s jumping like a frog with her son. She was sure both things were connected, but she could not grasp what that connection might be. Would such things—had such things—set the earth rumbling toward her and her family?
She was sure that she heard something. Yes, the sound of someone on the path walking slowly and deliberately. Certain that this must be the person to guide her across, she continued to sit with her shoes in her hand. Wondering who the Krimsker witch really was, she watched a short, pudgy figure come around the corner, moving calmly and carefully.
Faigie was afraid that he might not see her at all, that he might even bump into her, so she greeted him when he was still several steps from her.
“Good evening, Matti,” she said with a trace of nervousness, even a twinge of disappointment. She was hoping for someone sturdier who might actually carry her across in his arms. There was, after all, death in the water.
“Ugh! Ugh!” Matti responded, his debilitating fright rendering him speechless. Cynical disparager of Torahs, rebbes, and witches that he was, it was still midnight on the path to Krimichak, home of Casimir, Tadeusz, and a host of other murderous hooligans. Paralyzed, he came to a halt as his heart careened ma
dly on a journey of its own.
“Matti, don’t be frightened. It’s just me,” Faigie said gently.
She was an expert at quieting a frightened boy. Through his fright, Matti heard the comforting assurance, and he started breathing again. His heart, still beating fiercely, seemed to have rejoined his body.
“Huh!!” he managed, and then “Huh?” to which Faigie replied,
“I’m sorry if I frightened you. I tried not to. Are you all right?”
“Uh-huh,” Matti nodded. He came closer and said, “Hello,” rather weakly.
“Come sit down and rest a minute.” She patted the ground next to her.
Matti, whose eyes had not yet adjusted to the darkness as well as Faigie’s, edged over until he felt her hand touching his. He self-consciously sat down with the clumsy, bulky grace of a small bear. Then he poked his head inquisitively toward her to see just who she was.
“I’m Faigie, Itzik’s mother,” she said.
“Oh, yes, good evening, Mrs. Dribble,” Matti spontaneously greeted her, and as soon as he heard his own words, he realized what a horrible thing he had said.
“Yes, that’s right. Itzik’s mother, Mrs. Soffer. How are your parents?” she asked.
Matti heard that she was not really offended, and he was thankful for that. With the whole town thinking of Itzik as Itzik Dribble, it must happen to her all the time. Mentioning his parents was a gracious way to change the subject, although the inquiry sounded out of place. When Matti went out alone, his parents always seemed very distant from him, as if they were not related.
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