by Sylvie Weil
I answered that animals could not express how they felt or what they wanted and that they had no Mazal to protect them. Then I remembered Peter the Hermit’s donkey.
“Is it not true,” I asked, “that only man has the gift of speech?”
My grandfather’s eyes sparkled. “Don’t forget women and little girls!”
“For example, can a donkey talk?” I insisted. “I mean a donkey down here on earth?”
My grandfather knew immediately what I was referring to. “So you, too, have heard what they say about Peter the Hermit and his donkey? Why on earth must our own community spread such nonsense? I hope you gave your friends a sensible reply!”
“I told them that Peter the Hermit’s donkey wasn’t Balaam’s she-ass.”
“An excellent answer! I am proud of you.”
Before leaving, I told my grandfather how much I enjoyed writing. How I loved to look at the words I had set down on the page, all beautifully written and arranged in neat rows. I would so have loved to be a scribe! What more wonderful occupation could there be than copying out holy texts? If only it weren’t forbidden for women! How I envy those who can devote their lives to copying sacred texts on beautiful parchment! I envy Rabbi Shemaiah, who spends most of his time copying my grandfather’s commentaries to make books.
Solomon ben Isaac promised me that he would give me the opportunity to satisfy my passion for writing as often as he could! For a start, he gave me three pieces of decent-sized parchment, recommending that I use them only for matters of importance.
VIII
Mazal, O Mazal, keep watch over your poor Elvina, who has become mistress of the house overnight, and mistress of a household of men and boys at that! My mother’s heavy keys are fastened to my belt. There are five in all: two for the linen chests, another for the cupboard where we keep pots and jars of remedies. (That one must never fall into the wrong hands!) There is the key to the chest where we keep all our precious things like jewelry and silver, and, finally, there is the key to the cellar. This is the largest and most important of all, because that’s where we keep the wine.
All day long, these keys jangle against one another every time I move. I hear myself coming and going as if I were my mother! But no, I am only Elvina, and I must show myself to be worthy of her confidence. That’s why I’m talking to you, Mazal, as it makes me feel less alone. This house is so empty! My dear Aunt Rachel left the day before yesterday with a group of merchants on their way to Châlons. And yesterday my Uncle Meir took my mother and grandmother to his house in Ramerupt. There they will care for my Aunt Yochebed, for she is just about to give birth and she is terrified of the Crusaders.
Jews who must travel take all kinds of provisions with them to offer the Crusaders in exchange for permission to come and go. We heard that the chief Crusaders gave orders not to steal oxen or horses. For the rest, we can only hope and pray.
Before leaving, Aunt Rachel gave me a sleeveless rabbit skin tunic to wear under my dress when it gets really cold. She also gave me a pretty silver clasp to fasten my coat.
In return, I gave her my favorite amulet. It’s a finely rolled piece of parchment on which, when I was small, my grandfather wrote: “The Lord is thy shepherd. The sun shall not harm thee by day, nor the moon by night.”
At the last minute, just as she was about to leave the house, Rachel gave me her songbirds. “But you love them so!” I protested. “There’s bound to be a corner of the cart where you can fit the cage! Those birds are your pride and joy.”
“Quite so! That’s why my husband says they stop me from thinking of the children I should be bearing for him. He accuses me of caring more for the birds than I do for him.”
She smiled, but her eyes remained sad.
“He doesn’t deserve my sweet Aunt Rachel to care for him!” I replied.
Immediately I regretted my words. Rachel burst into sobs, and so did I. We cried on each other’s shoulders; then I dried her eyes with my sleeve and she dried mine with her great woolen scarf.
“How am I going to sleep all alone in the bed?” I moaned.
“Poor Gazelle! Take some more eggs; they’ll keep you company!”
I pinched her and nipped her cheek. “Don’t be mean!”
We laughed, then cried some more until they called us, saying that the merchants were ready to leave.
The merchants were on horseback, while boys, who must have been their sons or servants, drove the carts that were loaded up to overflowing. The carts had two horses each to pull them, so they could cover the distance quite rapidly. The men were armed with sticks and knives to ward off the usual dangers: boars, wolves, or even bandits. There is no question of trying to put up any fight against the Crusaders, though, as there are too many of them.
We helped Rachel make herself comfortable in the cart. She was squeezed between bundles of material, barrels of wine, and chickens strung together by a rope tied around their feet. They struggled and clucked while Rachel put on a brave face. “At least I won’t die of starvation,” she joked. “I’ll try to pluck, cook, and eat one of these chickens before the Crusaders get hold of them!”
The idea that she might, in fact probably would, meet Crusaders made my heart sink. My grandmother was crying and wringing her hands. She only stopped wringing them to fasten some amulets around her daughter’s neck. My mother bustled about, straightening Rachel’s hood, tying her scarf, and calling to Zipporah to bring her some apples and a cake for the journey. . . .
During this time, my father spoke to the merchants, telling them which roads they should take so as not to get lost in the forest.
We watched the cart drive into the distance, taking Rachel to Châlons and to her husband, Eliezer, who certainly does not deserve her. She is so gay and good-natured that there is no one on earth who doesn’t love her . . . except mean old Eliezer.
I noticed the deepening lines on my grandfather’s forehead. I took his hand and asked him why Rachel was leaving the people who loved her to go back to that horrible man, who, in any case, had threatened to send her away.
“A woman’s place is at home with her husband,” he answered.
I replied that I would prefer not getting married at all to marrying an unkind husband. My grandfather pretended not to hear me.
Later I went with my mother to Tova’s. She was no longer alone but with her cousin, who had come to join her from Ramerupt. The cousin had traveled in my Uncle Meir’s wagon with all her children and two of my uncle’s ewes.
As we entered Tova’s house, we were overwhelmed by the stink of the asafetida. The leaves from this plant are always left burning near a newborn’s cradle to keep the mazzikim away. I told my mother that only a demon with no sense of smell would dare come into this house, it smelled so terrible.
“Are there demons without noses?” I asked her. “I know that none of them have shadows, but do they all have noses, eyes, and ears?”
My mother put on her displeased look. “The less we mention such things, the better off we’ll be,” she muttered in reply.
Tova’s room was fairly covered with amulets; they were everywhere, including on the bedpost and around the baby’s neck. I lifted little Bellassez up in my arms. Just a few days old and so sweet! But of course it doesn’t do to say so. As I hugged her, I exclaimed, “How ugly she is! Poor Tova, I’ll bet she’ll give you nothing but trouble!”
I laughed as I said these words, but then I added in all sincerity, “Poor little thing! What will the future bring her? Will she end up married to a mean man?”
“What a black mood you’re in!” chided Tova. “I would like to think that she’ll be just like you, lively and kindhearted, impulsive but generous, and always ready to admit that she is wrong.”
I retorted that it wouldn’t necessarily stop her from being sent back by her husband, to which my mother told me to keep quiet.
Yesterday morning it was my mother and grandmother’s turn to leave home. They set off in a big
wagon pulled by two oxen. Loaded around them were cooking utensils and everything needed to help Yochebed with her baby’s birth. There was plenty of food and a dozen live chickens tied together with string. These poor birds were destined to soften the hearts of any Crusaders they might meet on the way. My Uncle Meir rode his horse alongside the wagon, and there were several other men returning to the country to take care of their sheep and prune their vines. The two ewes due to lamb are staying with us. My grandfather is convinced that the Crusaders will not come all the way inside the town to steal animals. Even if they take my uncle’s sheep in Ramerupt, at least he will still have these two ewes and their lambs.
As my mother and grandmother were hoisting up their skirts to climb into the wagon, I felt my throat tighten. Never before had my mother left me! I hung on to the edge of the wagon and said that I wanted to go with them, that I wanted to see my cousins, Fleurdelis, who is soon going to be six, and Isaac, who must be three by now. “I could teach them to read,” I begged. “And anyway, I can help you. I promise, I’ll make myself useful, indispensable even!”
My mother let go of her skirt and took both my hands in hers. And suddenly I realized that I had grown as tall as she. Our eyes were at the same level. Her eyes were red, her nose was red, too, and for a moment I had the feeling that I was the mother and she the daughter.
“Who will look after your father and grandfather, not to mention the boys? Tomorrow evening is the Sabbath. Who will prepare the table and the three meals? Who will light the Sabbath candles? Who will give the servants their orders?”
As far as giving orders was concerned, I decided to begin then and there. My grandfather’s two servants and our old Zipporah were sobbing and sniffling away. Anyone would think someone had died. I sent them to get several bundles of hay, so our two travelers would be more comfortable and feel less cold.
My mother had taken the household keys off her belt and put them on mine. Then, right in front of my father, who was silently staring into the distance as if he was thinking of something else, she put on a solemn tone and began to give me instructions.
“Make sure that for the Sabbath the house is in good order. Everything in the kitchen should be in its place. The oven should be cleared of ash and filled with glowing embers hot enough to last until the next day. And see that the water compartment is filled with freshly drawn water.
“For the meal, remember, one plate per person. On the Sabbath we don’t share as we do on the other days. Use wooden plates for the boys and silver for your father and your grandfather. Put the silver cup and the wine for the blessing in front of Solomon ben Isaac. Don’t forget, it’s your job to go to the cellar and draw the wine.”
She wasn’t telling me anything new. I’ve been preparing the Sabbath with her ever since I could walk. But yesterday, as we both stood there hand in hand, shivering, our freezing breath mingling in the cold air, I drank in my mother’s words as though my life depended on it.
It was all because the little voice that I sometimes hear inside me took advantage of the fact that my mother was blowing her nose to whisper, “Soon she won’t be here, Elvina. You’ll have to manage by yourself. What if something happened to her, Elvina? You are a little girl no longer.”
Miriam and Precious climbed up on the wagon, and they set off for Ramerupt. The oxen plodded along slowly as usual. My grandfather, my father, the servants, and I all walked along beside it. I held my mother’s hand, but it was as if she had already left me. It was at that moment that my grandmother decided to give me a thousand and one instructions of her own. I knew exactly what she was going to say before she said it; I knew it all by heart. It was hard to hear her because her voice was drowned out by the chickens squawking and flapping their wings as they struggled to break free. She, too, sounded solemn. “Make sure the servants sweep the floor every evening and that they leave no crumbs,” she was saying. “Crumbs bring poverty. See that there is not the slightest trace of dust on the lips of the jugs and pitchers. That also brings misery.”
“Yes, Grandmother, I know.”
“Don’t interrupt me! In the evening, make sure you are the last to go to bed and see that the servants have left no water uncovered, because evil spirits will land on it. If one morning you find that the water has been left uncovered all night, you can use it for washing, but never let anyone drink it.”
My mother patted my hand. She was smiling, and her smile meant, “You know what your grandmother’s like. She’ll never change!”
“Yes, I know all that, Grandmother,” I said. “I’ll be careful; I promise.”
“I know, but I want to remind you. And see to it that not a scrap of bread is left lying around. If mice nibble it and then Samuel and Yom Tov happen to eat it, they will forget everything they have ever learned! And don’t let them use their folded clothes as pillows when they fall asleep in the room after the Sabbath meal; that will also make them lose their memories!”
“Don’t make such a fuss, Precious. Don’t weigh Elvina down with all your instructions! Do you want her to worry herself sick the way you do?”
Solomon, my grandfather, was walking behind me. Normally, he would have interrupted Precious or just given her a look that meant “keep quiet.” But this time we all knew that he was sorry to see her leave, and that he was worried, too.
We walked along beside the wagon as far as the outskirts of town. My mother was frowning in silence. She must have been going over in her mind everything she might have forgotten. Just as the wagon took the road leading to the forest, she shouted back at me. “Give Samuel and Yom Tov that old torn blanket to sit on when they go to school. It’s still cold; I don’t want them to catch a chill!”
When we got home, my father told me that he needed some pens. I ran to fetch two from my chest. They were both finely shaped pens that I kept for my own use. I gave them to him. He inspected them and then said, “It seems that you have more of a gift for shaping and sharpening pens than for hatching eggs. What a strange daughter the Lord has sent me!”
He spoke gruffly, as he always does. However, I thought I heard a note of something almost friendly in his voice. Impossible! I must be mistaken!
Mazal, what do you think?
IX
It’s the Sabbath and Elvina is bored! Such a thing has never happened to her before. There’s nothing unusual in the fact that the weather is cold and gray and that you can’t tell night from day, because it’s wintertime. It’s understandable that the house is dark, with the only light coming from the window in the downstairs room. That’s the way it always is until the Sabbath has ended and the lamps can be lit again. But what is very strange is that Elvina is all alone in this sad, silent house with no better company than the old servant who is dozing off in the corner.
This morning, the only people in the synagogue were locals or people who have taken refuge here. The Jews from villages and hamlets outside town stayed holed up at home. There is no way they would venture out so far when hundreds of Peter the Hermit’s men are on the roads!
The women’s section was practically deserted. Elvina sat next to Muriel who came with her cousin Bella, the twins, and the girls’ mothers, who are also twins and look exactly alike. Toward the end of the service, Elvina whispered to Muriel, “Don’t leave now. Listen to my grandfather. He’s going to explain the parashah to everyone who stays.”
“You know I don’t understand those things,” Muriel replied.
“Oh yes, you do,” Elvina insisted. “Today you’ll understand. It’s about how they made the Mishkan, the tabernacle in the desert. It’s a passage that my grandfather especially likes, and when he explains it, he gives examples from everyday life. It’s really interesting; you’ll see.”
Muriel made a face. “You think that’s interesting? Carpentry and masonry? I leave those things for the boys.”
“But you like jewelry, don’t you? How many times have I found you in the shop next door, watching the jeweler make gold bracelets or carve p
atterns on silver cups? You should hear my grandfather describe the lampstand in the tabernacle and the golden cherubim with their wings spread over the ark. They kiss when Israel is faithful to God’s wishes, but they turn away from each other and cry when Israel disobeys Him. And Grandfather is bound to tell the story of the daughters of Israel in Egypt and their mirrors.”
“Their mirrors?”
“Yes. They used mirrors to look attractive for their husbands. Then they became mothers and had lots of children, which explains how the Hebrews became so numerous.”
The word husbands shook Bella out of her daydream. Elvina suddenly had her undivided attention. “What do you mean? What did they do with their mirrors?”
“They looked into them cheek to cheek with their husbands and said, ‘See how pretty I am . . . much prettier than you. . . .’”
Bella burst out laughing and buried her head in Muriel’s shoulder, while Muriel laughed into Bella’s hair. Muriel raised her head to ask, “Did your grandfather really explain all that?”
“Oh yes, and not only to me. He told my cousin, too, and my brother. It was last night during dinner.”
But despite Elvina’s pleas, Muriel, Bella, the young twins, and their identical twin mothers went home with the other women, and Elvina was left all alone.
When Elvina came out of the synagogue, the narrow street outside seemed huge and empty. A lone ray of pale sunshine paused on the stone walls, turning them yellow and highlighting every detail and crack of their uneven surface. A shiver of sadness went through Elvina. It felt as if the town were deserted. There were no happy voices to be heard shouting from one house to another, none of the rich smells of meat spiced with ginger and cinnamon stewing slowly on the embers since the night before. Even the dogs had disappeared. Usually on the Sabbath day, even in winter and even in the rain and snow, the street is alive and bustling. People meet up with friends, exchange gossip, and stamp their feet to keep warm. They laugh at the clouds of steam escaping from everyone’s mouth. Girls gather in tight little groups, and those from Troyes invite their country cousins home to share the Sabbath meal.
