My Guardian Angel

by Sylvie Weil

  For the twelve and a half years that she has been alive, Elvina has never given much thought to fear. Of course, she is familiar with the dread she feels of Judah ben Nathan’s disapproval and the terror that everyone knows at the dead of night or the fear inspired by a rabid dog or the sight of a serpent slithering away underfoot in the summer fields.

  But right now, Elvina is getting used to an entirely different kind of fear, which she has never felt before. She can sense this new fear all around her, and she is beginning to recognize it. The beggar, still clinging to her skirt, whines, “Please give me a remedy; the Lord will repay you. I may not look it, but I assure you, I am a worthy son of Israel.”

  “Are you in pain?” asks Elvina.

  “My head aches as if someone was hitting me,” he replies.

  Elvina rummages around in her basket and pulls out a vial. “I can do nothing for your legs, but rub this ointment into your temples. It’s made of ashes mixed with vinegar; it will do you good.”

  Marguerite is starting to get impatient. She tugs at Elvina’s sleeve, pulling her to her feet. “Come on. If you have time to care for this poor wretch, you certainly have time to visit your friend Jeanne.”

  Elvina kisses Naomi and Rachel and tells them to go home.

  Now Marguerite and Elvina are walking quickly, their clogs clip-clopping over the ground. They have soon gone beyond the Jewish quarter, and Elvina feels uneasy. How life has changed! Only two weeks ago she would walk around in any part of this town without a second thought; after all, she was born and brought up in Troyes. This morning, however, she feels as if she is venturing into foreign territory. Enemy territory, she thinks to herself. Just this morning Judah ben Nathan has begun to speak to her again! If he finds out about this latest adventure, he will be displeased once more! But does she have a choice?

  Marguerite, still holding on to Elvina’s arm, throws her a mischievous glance. “I heard that the other day you took care of a young Crusader called Gauthier. He’s good-looking, don’t you think?”

  “I have no idea,” replies Elvina, trying to sound calm.

  “Am I supposed to think that you looked at nothing but his leg?” hints Marguerite.

  “I was terrified! They had captured Samuel and Yom Tov.”

  “They only did it for a laugh,” replies Marguerite. “You take these things too seriously.”

  Elvina does not reply. Her heart is beating so hard that she feels certain Marguerite must hear it. She tells herself to calm down. After all, Marguerite is sweet-natured and kind, even if she does like a joke. The voice inside Elvina continues, trying to reassure her. You can stay at their house just a few minutes — long enough to say hello to Jeanne. There’s nothing to be afraid of.

  XIV

  Marguerite’s house stands on a large farm- yard. Clucking hens run hither and thither, and grunting pigs root around in a pile of rubbish. Marguerite’s mother and the ser- vant are stacking logs and kindling, their skirts gath- ered up in their belts. Two geese cackle threateningly toward Elvina, their open beaks ready to bite. Elvina has a hard time pushing them away. She swings her basket at them, but they duck their long necks to avoid it, then stretch up again and come rushing back at her. Marguerite’s mother and the servant have stopped their work to observe the scene. They are screaming with laughter. “Do our geese scare you, Elvina?”

  “Your geese are worse than dogs!” Elvina retorts.

  The two women stand with their hands on their hips and laugh harder. “They don’t recognize you anymore,” jokes Marguerite’s mother. “It isn’t nice to neglect us so, especially since you have always been at home on our farm. Jeanne will give you some fresh curd cheese; we have two big pots full. And if you fancy it, you can drink some of the whey. I remember how much you liked that when you were little. Tell me, is your grandfather, Solomon ben Isaac, in good health?”

  “He’s fine, thank God.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. We haven’t seen him for a long time, and we miss him.” Marguerite’s mother has a pleasant voice. Some of her front teeth are missing, and this gives her a slight lisp, which adds to the softness of her speech.

  Elvina’s anxiety melts away. She no longer sees any reason to hurry. The faces around her are familiar and reassuring, and there is no trace of Crusaders. The farmer’s family is making her feel welcome; they have asked about her grandfather and are offering her the whey she loves to drink so much. It is as if nothing has ever happened, as if Peter the Hermit, the Crusaders, and all the fear has been just a bad dream. Here life goes on as usual, with its background of peaceful grunting pigs, hissing geese, and clucking hens.

  Marguerite has already rushed into the house. “Jeanne, Jeanne, guess who I’ve brought home? Your friend Elvina!”

  “Elvina! I’m so happy!” Jeanne cries.

  Inside, the room is as hot and dark as an oven. Jeanne runs over to Elvina and hugs her. She is holding a long willow stem. “Come and see the pretty baskets Marie and I are weaving.”

  In the darkness, Elvina can hardly make out Marie, the youngest of the three sisters, who is kneeling next to the stove. Marie nods at Elvina without putting down her work. Near her on a stool stands a terra-cotta lamp, its flame flickering and spluttering as if it might go out at any minute. Jeanne leads Elvina close to the stove, where there is a roaring fire.

  “You have come to visit us on a day that is hardly better than the night. We lit the lamp, but the wick won’t burn as it should; it only gives out a tiny bit of light and we have to weave our baskets by feel, as if we were blind!”

  “Do you have any salt?” Elvina asks her friend.

  “Of course we do!” answers Marguerite.

  “Bring me a pinch.”

  The three sisters watch Elvina as she cautiously lifts the cover of the lamp and throws the salt into the hollow that contains the oil. Immediately the wick catches and a bright flame appears. “There you are!” cries Elvina triumphantly.

  She turns around to face her friends, delighted at her success. Their silence and the expression on their now clearly visible faces turn her blood to ice. She forces herself to keep smiling. “Aren’t you pleased? You are looking at me as if you’ve never set eyes upon me before! What’s the matter?”

  “The matter is that we find witchcraft scary,” replies Marguerite.

  “What witchcraft?” asks Elvina in disbelief. “That’s not witchcraft! The salt clears the oil, so the wick catches more easily and burns with a stronger flame. My grandfather taught me that when I was small. It’s in our books.”

  Jeanne stands directly in front of Elvina and takes her by the shoulders. “That’s just it,” she begins accusingly. “Those books of yours. You said it yourself. My cousin, the priest, told us all about them. You Jews always have your heads bent over those big books of yours because they give you special powers. And of course you don’t want to give them up, and that’s why you’re so frightened of the Crusaders. If you would only get baptized and give up your books, you could be just like everyone else.”

  “But we are like everyone else!” cries Elvina, scarcely able to believe her ears. “Don’t you remember when we were little, how we liked the same games and played with the same dolls? We used to gather flowers to make crowns; we ate hazelnuts together. . . .”

  “Even so, you are different. What about your wine that Christians aren’t allowed to touch? That, by the way, is very upsetting for us. And your synagogue where you go every Saturday instead of going to church on Sundays? What do you do in your synagogue anyway? Everyone wonders. And even you yourself are different. You know how to read and write . . . and there are your ointments and potions. . . .”

  Hardly able to speak, Elvina murmurs, “But your sister just asked me to give her some medicine for you!”

  “I like your infusions and they do me good, but I’m not telling you anything new when I say that people around here whisper about your family. They say that all of you know a little too much
about witchcraft.”

  Elvina is speechless. She wants to run away but has no idea how to go about it. She tries to extricate herself from Jeanne’s grasp, but Jeanne is stronger than she is. Jeanne keeps her grip on Elvina, and now that she has started nothing stops her. “How can you explain that your mother and grandmother managed to save Thibault’s wife last year, when she was practically given up for dead?”

  “They know the herbs,” counters Elvina. “They know when to pick them and how to use them; that’s all. Anyone can learn that.”

  “What about your grandfather, who cured our cows of that sickness that was killing them off? I was only a little girl, but I remember it. People talked about it.”

  “You’re lying,” replied Elvina furiously. “Everyone respects my grandfather.”

  “I’m only repeating what I’ve heard.”

  Elvina cannot think what to say. The fear rushes back and now it is worse than before because she wasn’t expecting it, not here, not now. It has caught her off guard, and, verging on tears, she only manages to stammer, “I thought we were friends.”

  “We are friends, but there are things you can’t deny.”

  Jeanne seems about to continue when Marguerite, deciding to play her role as elder sister, interrupts.

  “That’s enough!” She puts her arms around Elvina and wipes her eyes with a rough sleeve smelling of flour and milk. She kisses her and says soothingly, “Don’t quarrel anymore. Look, Jeanne, you’ve made Elvina cry, when I am the one who invited her to come and visit us!”

  Jeanne kisses her, too, and Marie, still sucking on a willow stem, comes shyly over from the corner where she has been watching. She takes Elvina by the hand and smiles.

  “Don’t cry,” says Jeanne. “You know I didn’t mean to upset you. Come and have some of my curd cheese; it will make you feel better.”

  Her friends give Elvina more hugs and kisses and persuade her to eat a big ladleful of curd cheese. Outside the sky is clearing. A faint ray of pale sunshine peeps into the room through the open door. It might have been a signal for happiness, but Elvina remains walled up by her fear. She hardly hears Marguerite’s and Jeanne’s voices with their kind words.

  As Elvina is leaving, Jeanne says comfortingly, “In the springtime let’s go gather strawberries, just as we used to. Would you like that?”

  “Yes,” Elvina replies. But her heart is no longer in it, for nothing is as it used to be.

  XV

  A week has already gone by since Miriam and Precious left the house. It has been two whole weeks since Elvina last slipped discreetly into the back of the younger boys’ classroom, and tomor- row it will be the Sabbath once more!

  As Elvina quietly opens the door to the school, she is thinking, Mazal, Mazal, since you are the one who speaks up for me in heaven, please see to it that my Sabbath is calm and peace- ful, even if the day of rest decreed by our Lord isn’t as joyful as it should be. The door is a heavy one of worm-eaten wood, and no matter how careful she is, it creaks on its rusty hinges. A narrow hallway leads from the door to the classroom, and that is where Elvina stops.

  The first thing she notices is a thick pile of straw on the ground in the corner where she usually sits. It is here that she can listen to what goes on in the classroom, without anyone being able to reproach her for attending a class where a girl has no business being.

  The straw smells fresh and sweet. Elvina smiles to herself, thinking that it cannot possibly have been lying here on the icy ground for the last two weeks! Could that mean that someone puts new straw down every few days? Just for the only person who ever comes to sit here . . . just for a certain Elvina?

  Elvina remembers the first time she found a pile of straw in “her” corner. It was during the first cold spell of autumn. That morning she had found a shiny boar’s tooth left on the straw as if by accident. No scribe could have dreamed of having a more beautiful boar’s tooth to smooth his parchments! And that morning, like all the others, Obadiah had pretended not to notice Elvina’s presence.

  She sits down on the straw and takes a bone stylus and a wax tablet from her sleeve. Pulling her cape tightly around her, she casts her eyes over the classroom.

  The room is poorly lit. On one side are two narrow windows, and on the other are two resin torches that produce more smoke than light. An open fire gives out a little heat, most of which escapes out of the windows along with some of the smoke. The smoke makes Elvina want to cough, but she has to stifle it. With luck Samuel and Yom Tov won’t see her! They are sitting in the front row, with their backs to her. This is their last year in the younger boys’ school. Elvina is glad to think that next year she will be able to come here without worrying about her brother and cousin and the embarrassing scenes they always make for her at home after school.

  Obadiah ben Moyses, the master, is one of Solomon’s pupils. He has chosen just the moment when Elvina closes the heavy door to turn his back on her and kneel down beside a row of five- or six-year-olds. As Solomon likes to remind his students, the scriptures say that a master should always place himself at his pupils’ level and not talk down to them. Elvina can only see Obadiah’s mane of black hair falling about his shoulders. It is a mane, thinks Elvina, but a clean mane. Obadiah’s clothes, too, though patched and worn, have obviously just been washed. In the summer, keeping clean is easy. Everyone can go to the river to wash themselves and their clothes. But at this time of year, in winter, it’s a different story! What is more, Obadiah lives in the school dormitory! Elvina wonders how he manages. She knows that he is the eldest son of a poor widow and that he has taken on teaching the little ones to make enough to live on while he studies, for he is proud and doesn’t wish to owe anything to anyone. Elvina thinks of the previous master, Jacob ben Eliezer. He was thin, dirty, and always angry. His shrill voice rang out with the children’s, especially when he was shouting, which was most of the time!

  Although he is only nineteen, Obadiah has a deep voice, and he speaks with the even tones of a man who doesn’t lose patience easily. “Now, read, and pronounce each syllable distinctly. Follow the text with your finger and show me each word as you say it.”

  The four little boys are reading a passage from Leviticus, the first book in the Bible to be read and learned. Obadiah has copied the passage onto two wax tablets. The four childish voices chant the Hebrew text in chorus, and Obadiah translates slowly:

  “‘All that which slithers on its belly, or moves on four feet or on a great number of feet, as do reptiles crawling along the ground, these thou shalt not eat, for these are unholy things.’ Now it’s your turn; repeat.”

  The four high voices repeat, “‘All that which slithers on its belly . . .’”

  “Good. Now tell me, which are the creatures that creep and crawl on the earth? We read it last week.”

  The boys all shout at once. “Mice, rats, tortoises!”

  “Toads, centipedes!”

  “Slugs, moles, hedgehogs, lizards!”

  One of the children shrieks with laughter. “Who would want to eat a slug?”

  “Our neighbors eat pigs!” retorts another.

  “But we don’t. For us it’s forbidden . . .” says the third.

  “Because we are the children of Israel!” pipes the fourth child.

  “That’s enough! Calm down.” Obadiah taps a few of them on the head, but they are light taps, delivered by a friendly hand. Elvina knows he must be smiling, even though she can only see his back. In his left hand Obadiah holds a stick — what schoolmaster doesn’t hold a stick or a whip? But he holds it as if it were a sprig of myrtle for a wedding dance. Elvina has never seen him use the stick to hit a pupil. Jacob ben Eliezer, on the other hand, would often whack the children smartly on the shoulder. Elvina remembers having left the classroom crying on more than one occasion, revolted by his unnecessary and useless brutality. Obadiah follows Solomon ben Isaac. Solomon teaches that one should always treat young pupils gently, so that they will
learn to love studying.

  Obadiah has risen to his feet. Of course Elvina doesn’t look at him, but she sees him place his hands on the boys’ heads. His large hands cover their heads completely.

  “Now you will repeat this whole passage by yourselves until you can read it perfectly. Then you will learn it by heart. When we read the Torah, which is the divine Law, we must not stutter or stumble. Every word of the sacred language must be pronounced to perfection.”

  He pats their heads and then goes over to the other side of the room. This time he kneels down opposite Elvina, in front of Samuel and Yom Tov, who are in the front row. Obadiah speaks quietly, never raising his voice, but Elvina hears every word he says.

  “It’s your turn now. I’m listening.” Obadiah gives the children his attention and they read. “‘They brought before Moses the tabernacle and the tent and all the parts, staples, planks, pillars, and supports . . . ’”

  Half a dozen of them read the week’s lesson together. Elvina can make out the voices of her brother and cousin, especially Yom Tov. She thinks to herself that nothing on earth will ever make her brother less conceited, even being captured by the Crusaders through his own stupidity.

  “Let’s explain the words.” Obadiah begins. He often quotes Solomon, saying, “This is the way in which our master Solomon ben Isaac wishes us to interpret this verb; this is how he translates this difficult passage.”

  Elvina doesn’t feel the long morning pass. She stays there in the warm little hallway, bent over her tablet, her head empty of everything except the words and the explanations, which she writes carefully on the wax with her stylus. She loves to hear her grandfather’s explanations transmitted through the serious young voice of Obadiah.

  She hears Obadiah continue, “Tomorrow, as you know, it is the Sabbath. After the morning service, our master Solomon ben Isaac will, as usual, give his commentary on these verses. He will explain that because Moses had not been able to do any work on the tabernacle, the Lord reserved for him the privilege of putting it up. Now, no one was strong enough to put it up because the planks were so heavy. Tomorrow Solomon ben Isaac will tell us how God ordered Moses, ‘Get to work, and it will seem as if you had built it yourself.’”