My Guardian Angel

by Sylvie Weil

  Elvina returned home as quickly as the solemnity of the Sabbath would allow. Her heavy woolen cape was gathered around her shoulders with the hood pulled down over her face. As she was about to enter the courtyard, two Christian neighbors called out to her from where they were chatting, spinning, and taking the air on their doorsteps. They stopped Elvina to ask her for news of her mother. “We never see her anymore!”

  Elvina explained that Miriam and Precious had gone to Ramerupt to look after her Aunt Yochebed, who was soon to give birth. This normal conversation reassured Elvina, somewhat, that everything was just like before. She bid the neighbors good day and went home.

  Later Judah and Solomon came in, followed by Samuel, Yom Tov, and several other students who have no other home but Solomon’s. All of them had rings under their eyes from lack of sleep and cheeks that were hollow from fasting. None of their faces showed the joy and serenity that are usually part of this day of rest, and there was no guest with them, no merchant from afar who might fascinate all of them with tales of the faraway places he had seen. Elvina waited on Solomon and Judah with the jug and basin for them to wash their hands. Then she served the Sabbath meal on the table that she had very carefully set. She had forgotten nothing. There were several pitchers of wine, the silver cup for the blessing, and two round loaves of bread. The meat and vegetable stew she had prepared and cooked herself was delicious, spiced just right. Everyone was delighted by the excellent food.

  It was a meal Elvina would always remember, because Judah asked her to sit next to him, complimenting her. “My daughter is becoming an excellent housewife,” he said. “She is indeed a worthy daughter of Israel.”

  Never before had he spoken to her with such a soft, gentle voice, as if he were addressing a young bride! Elvina was so dumbfounded, she didn’t reply. She didn’t even dare look him in the eyes. Later she regretted not having at least rewarded her father with a smile. For deep inside Elvina was very pleased and flattered. She promised herself that she would make up for her silence later on when, for the third Sabbath dish, she would serve her father and grandfather the walnuts she had fried in honey. It was Solomon’s favorite sweet.

  After the meal, it was time to rest. As usual, Samuel and Yom Tov lay down on the benches in the room. Elvina suddenly remembered what Precious had said to her before leaving, so she cried to the boys, “Take care, you two. Don’t use your coats as pillows!”

  “Oh, Elvina,” they complained, “now you sound just like Grandmother!” Still, they obeyed her.

  As soon as Solomon and Judah had left to return to the synagogue, though, Samuel and Yom Tov jumped up and declared that they were going for a walk.

  “But we aren’t allowed to go out.” Elvina protested. “You heard what they said. I’m not even allowed to visit Tova.”

  “That’s only meant for girls,” retorted Yom Tov. “Anyway, we won’t go far. And then we’ll walk straight back to the synagogue.”

  She watched Samuel, the redhead, and dark-haired Yom Tov run across the courtyard. With their red cheeks to the air and their gray capes billowing behind them, they looked as if they hadn’t a care in the world.

  Usually on the Sabbath, the courtyard would be ringing with the happy voices and laughter of Elvina’s friends and those of her mother and grandmother. This is visiting time. The house would be full of girls and women chatting, rolling apples or nuts across the table aiming to hit one another’s. It’s a game that Elvina thinks is a little stupid, but she is good at it. She always wins the nuts, because she can flick them more skillfully than anyone else, but she can’t very well play by herself! She knows that her friends will not be coming. They, too, are forbidden to go outside.

  At least Muriel, Bella, the twins, and their identical mothers have one another for company. They can tell stories while they eat honey cakes. How Elvina envies them! She would have liked to spend the afternoon with them, even if it did mean talking about dresses. Even if they called her proud. She remembers one Sabbath when her friends made fun of her because she tried to teach them to play chess. “How typical of you, Elvina,” they had said. “You want to make us play boys’ games. You are so pretentious!”

  It would be better to talk about frivolous things with them than to be all alone in this dull, deserted room! What a wonderful occupation, sitting here by a window staring at a courtyard! In the courtyard, a solitary chicken is pecking around, and even it looks bored! The two ewes, after stuffing themselves with fresh hay, must have gone to sleep in the stable, because no sound is coming from them, either. Rachel’s birds are twittering happily in their cage. Elvina looks out at two huge, heavy snow clouds that are wending their way slowly across the sky. What a comfortable, soft-looking sky! Elvina dozes off like old Zipporah!

  Suddenly she is awakened by the panic-stricken clucking of the hen. Three men have just entered the courtyard. They are not Jews and Elvina has never seen them before. Two of them are carrying the third, a young boy whose leg is bleeding profusely. They are heading for Elvina’s door. Her heart pounds so loudly that she hardly hears them knocking.

  What she hears loudest of all is the servant shouting, “Don’t open the door, mistress; they’re sure to be Peter the Hermit’s men!”

  “Open the door!” Elvina orders. “One of them is wounded.”

  X

  Tonight even old Zipporah found it hard to settle down to sleep. For the last hour I’ve heard her tossing and turning, moaning and imploring the heavens. She has called me at least ten times to make sure that I am really here. Where else could I be? Now, at last, she has fallen asleep.

  Mazal, dear Mazal, if I could write down everything that happened this Sabbath afternoon, which I thought would be so boring, there wouldn’t be room for it all on the three pieces of parchment my grandfather gave me. Anyway, I’m not sure I know how to write all the words I’d need to describe it in our holy language. And in our everyday language I don’t know the spelling. It isn’t a recipe, or a letter where I just have to reply to the same simple questions I’ve answered over and over again. What happened to me today is something that has never happened before!

  No sooner had I told Zipporah to open the door than I was seized with fear. I was so scared, I felt I might faint. But I didn’t. Maybe it was you, dear Mazal, who at that precise instant came down from the sky and whispered in my ear.

  “Pull yourself together, girl; you only have yourself to count on!”

  I stood up and faced the three men. They certainly didn’t wait to be invited before entering the house and coming toward me. They were unkempt, their tunics were dirty, and their shoes and cloaks were covered with mud. The eldest of the three was the one who spoke.

  “We were told that there are Jews here who know how to heal the sick. We met one in the street, but he refused to listen to us. He just mumbled something and ran away, the godforsaken dog! And what about you, girl? Have you lost your tongue?”

  The rough-looking man stared at me. His pale eyes shone under bushy eyebrows. No man had ever looked at me that way, but I kept my self-control.

  “I have not lost my tongue. Sit your wounded friend there, on the bench. Stretch out his leg, and take off his sock and shoe.”

  Among all the thoughts spinning around in my head there was one that stood out. I remembered hearing my grandfather say that if a non-Jew’s house catches fire on the Sabbath, a Jew is permitted to help put out the fire, because not doing so could have terrible consequences. Also, I must admit, I felt sorry for this wounded boy who was scarcely older than me. He was crying in pain, and I feared his wound might be dangerous. It is permitted to save a life, even on the Sabbath.

  Thinking of this, I felt perfectly sure of myself. “How did your friend get injured?” I asked.

  “He was trying out a sword,” replied the man. “It seems he is more skillful with a pen than with weapons. Not that I can judge; I don’t know how to read or write myself. All I can say is that in the Holy Land a pen is not going to be much he
lp fighting the infidels!”

  The wounded boy’s two friends laughed meanly, and I tried to ignore them as I knelt down to examine the young man’s wound. I sent Zipporah to fetch water, linen, herbs, an egg for the compress, and some wine for him to drink. Then, imitating my mother and grandmother, I said calmly, “Don’t worry. I’m going to clean the cut and put on a dressing. It isn’t very deep.”

  I added the last part because it’s the kind of thing my mother always says to reassure her patients. In fact, the flesh was cut so deep I could see all the way down to the bone. It was white and a little shiny. I had never dressed such a gash on my own before.

  Zipporah came back pale and trembling. She brought everything I had asked for, not forgetting the wine that the poor boy was in dire need of. I tried my hardest to do what my mother and grandmother would have done, starting by gently rinsing the skin around the wound. Still, I was shaking a little, rattled by the thought that if their friend’s leg did not heal, they could accuse me of harming him on purpose. And then, who knows, they might come back and kill my whole family and all our friends.

  As I poured a little wine on the open cut to cleanse it more thoroughly, the boy cried out, and the two men jumped toward me. I thought they were going to hit me, but they only laughed — they were always laughing — then they sat down again.

  “Peter will be pleased with us,” one of them said. “But believe me, we’re going to have our work cut out with those two captive Jew boys. We’re going to have to tame them.”

  “They’re young,” the other replied. “Once they’ve been baptized, they’ll quiet down. I’ll teach them how to use weapons; then we’ll have two more Crusaders.” They began to laugh again.

  I was wondering who those two boys could be when suddenly I felt as though I had been punched in the chest. Where were Samuel and Yom Tov? Those young idiots had gone off for a walk in the country. Could they have fallen into the hands of the Cru-saders? I leaned over the wound so the men couldn’t see my face. As I was making up the compress with oil and herbs, I told myself to stay calm and, above all, not let them see that I was crazy with fear! I applied and secured the compress as slowly as I could, trying to play for time. How was I going to save my brother and cousin? Who could rescue them? What should I do?

  I had absolutely no idea.

  As I finished the dressing, the man with the bushy eyebrows watched me wind the clean bandages around the wounded leg.

  “You wouldn’t by any chance be related to the two Jew boys we captured this afternoon?” he asked slyly.

  I stood up very calmly and with a steady voice I asked, “What are the two boys called?”

  “One has an impossible name. The other refused to open his mouth at first, but later he told us his name was Samuel. The one with the impossible name spit at us, probably to show us how much he despised us . . . but that won’t last long.”

  “They can’t be more than ten years old,” added the other man, “and they’re already arrogant like all you Jews are.”

  Samuel and Yom Tov’s fate was in my hands.

  Then I had an inspiration. With much effort, I managed to grin from ear to ear. “You have captured Yom Tov and Samuel, my little brother and my cousin. I have to tell you that Samuel is an idiot child, poor thing. He understands nothing and hardly knows how to talk. He is the family’s hopeless case. As for Yom Tov, whose name in our language means ‘celebration,’ he has a toothache so he dribbles and spits. It’s not really his fault. He has too much saliva.”

  At that, the two started laughing again, but I must admit that this time their laughter sounded rather good-natured.

  “That’s enough, girl.” The man with the bushy eyebrows grinned. “Your little lies don’t fool us, but you have shown kindness toward our friend and we will do the same for you. We will bring back your brother and your cousin this evening. They’ll get off lightly with having had the scare of their lives.”

  XI

  What girl could sleep after being so shaken, so frightened, and so upset? Your Elvina is so sad, Mazal. I’ll tell you why, just in case you don’t already know. Right now, the wind is howling and huge raindrops are beating against the canvas stretched over the window. I thank the Lord that my family and I are warm in bed, but still I can’t sleep.

  When my father and grandfather returned, they found me huddled in a corner, shivering with terror, still clutching the jug of wine I had served the Crusaders before they left.

  Samuel and Yom Tov came back at nightfall, dirty, disheveled, and green with fear and exhaustion. They had put up a brave fight against their captors; their tunics were torn in several places. Their teeth were still chattering, but they had not been harmed.

  I quickly gave them mulled wine to drink and began to tell them they should be grateful to me, but my father did not let me finish my sentence. Mazal, you know that I had played no part in their misadventure, so why did my father direct his anger at me?

  “Are you never going to behave like a self-respecting daughter of Israel?” he shouted. “Are you always going to meddle with things that are none of your business?”

  Finally, he told me that he was sorry he had paid me compliments earlier.

  Zipporah, who was bringing in the lamps, made things worse for me by repeating at least ten times that she had tried to stop me from opening the door to the Crusaders. And poor me sitting there sniffling, stuttering that I only thought I had been doing the right thing.

  Then my grandfather spoke, and according to the rules of respect toward Solomon ben Isaac, everyone fell silent. He spoke as he teaches, beginning with a question: “What is one supposed to do if a sick or wounded person arrives on the Sabbath and the person is not one of our community?” Without waiting, he gave the answer himself: “In such a case we must think carefully whether there are lives in danger. Not only the life of the injured person, but also the lives of those on whom his companions might take revenge.”

  From the corner of my eye I saw my father biting his lip and fidgeting with his beard, as he does when he is displeased but unable to say anything. Solomon ben Isaac is not just his father-in-law. He is also his teacher! Throughout his whole life, a man remains the pupil of the teacher he has had in his youth.

  My grandfather concluded, “We must be cautious, but we must also show charity.” He remained silent for a few seconds, and so did we. You could have heard a fly, if there were flies in winter. My grandfather continued in a lower, sadder voice, “It is only in this way that we may avoid catastrophe.”

  He laid his hands on my head. “In the future, Elvina will not sit by the window when she is alone in the house. But for today, Samuel and Yom Tov owe her their gratitude.”

  “We would have gone to fetch them,” my father said, half-protesting.

  “Of course we would have gone to fetch them, but this afternoon God willed that Elvina’s kindness not go unrewarded. We should all be grateful and thank the Lord. And now that the Sabbath is over, we shall recite Havdalah.” He asked Samuel to bring the spice box and fill it up. He blessed the wine and the spices. We all smelled the spices and filled our nostrils with the warm, rich scents; then we burned them so that their perfume would spread throughout the house to comfort us for the departure of the Sabbath.

  Next my grandfather lit the lamps and blessed the light. We all looked at the light through our nails and fingers. This is usually the moment when we all look at one another, relishing the pleasure of being all together and in good health. My grandfather taught us that on the evening of the first Sabbath, Adam had been terrified of the darkness. Then the Lord sent him two stones and inspired him to rub them together until sparks flew. From these sparks fire was born, and that is how Adam discovered light. “It is the light that we bless, not the lamps,” says my grandfather. “And the best way to bless light is by watching it illuminate the faces of those we love.” But yesterday there was no joy in our faces, even though Samuel and Yom Tov had come back to us safe and so
und!

  We ate, and then everyone went to bed. Zipporah unfolded a bed for the boys in the downstairs room. They were too tired to go back to the dormitory. My father went up to his room without saying a word. He didn’t even wish us good night.

  First Letter to the Mazal

  My Dear Mazal,

  My heart is heavy and my head is full of trouble, and the night has brought me no relief.

  My father left as soon as Simcha, the shamash, knocked on the shutters. Zipporah went down to give the boys their meal. I went down, too, but I wasn’t hungry. I grabbed a torch, lit it with embers from the oven, and came back upstairs to hide in my room. I couldn’t possibly write you in front of the others.

  My dear Mazal, I want to tell you what is on my mind. It isn’t only that I have once again displeased my father. There’s something else, too. Last night, I saw my father, Judah ben Nathan, worn and tired. I saw him biting his lip to keep back his words. He was displeased, but he had to hold his peace out of respect for my grandfather, Solomon ben Isaac. And it was all my fault that my father was humiliated. For once, I regretted that Solomon ben Isaac didn’t pour out his wrath on me, as the Bible puts it. Can you understand that, Mazal? Do you see why I woke up with such a heavy weight on my heart?

  XII

  Turiel is sick!” The servant standing outside the door is wrapped in a cape with the hood pulled tightly over her face. Elvina can only make out one anxious-looking eye and the tip of a nose, red with cold.

  “Muriel is sick!” the servant repeats.

  “Don’t tell me she is sick,” says Elvina. “Tell me she’s well.”

  “If she were well, do you think my mistress would have sent me out to fetch you, in the dark and in weather that even dogs avoid?”

  Elvina pulls the servant inside by the arm and shuts the door. “Warm yourself up. And tell me, what’s wrong with Muriel! But don’t shout. It’s not the sort of thing you yell from the rooftops.”