The Sisters of the Winter Wood

by Rena Rossner

  you know that.

  He loves you both the same.

  Will the swans

  come for me? I ask.

  Sometimes, I dream

  of this one swan …

  Shhh! Mami says

  and puts her finger

  on her lips,

  I hear something.

  We race back home.

  When we get

  to our front door

  she puts her hands

  on my cheeks

  and looks into my eyes.

  People become swans

  because they need to fly away.

  One day you will fly.

  When the time is right.

  I want to tell her

  that I always look for swans,

  that I see them

  in the woods sometimes

  and even on our roof.

  That there is always one

  that comes to me

  in my dreams.

  He has dark eyes,

  and he is white.

  So white.

  But Mami opens the door,

  and walks through.

  11

  Liba

  Laya is putting on a white dress with wide sleeves that almost look like wings. We are getting dressed in our finest clothes for Sara Bayla Kassin and Aryeh Lev Melnik’s wedding. I almost say something to her, but the words won’t come. Do you know what you are? Did Mami talk to you too?

  We are all going: Mami, Tati, Laya and me. Everyone in the village has been preparing for the wedding for nearly a month now, but the last few days in the shtetl were especially busy. Nissel the Baker closed his shop because he had to make so many onion rolls for the feast, and people ordered challah from Mami instead. We knew we’d be busy, filling all the orders, but nobody in the shtetl ever misses a wedding, not even Mami and Tati.

  I’m comforted by the fact that they haven’t left yet, that at least we get this one last night together. As we leave to make our way to Weissman’s Hall where the wedding will take place, Tati stops to kiss the mezuzah on our front doorpost and he says the wayfarer’s prayer. We are only walking from our home to the town so I want to ask him why he says it, but the way he looks at the woods around us makes me keep my mouth shut. My heart beats fast and I squeeze Laya’s hand. She doesn’t seem to notice my apprehension. Her cheeks are pink and her eyes are bright and I know that she is only thinking about the party, the dancing, the klezmer music and the cheery night ahead of us. I admit that I look forward to the food and the general atmosphere, though I am not much of a dancer. My stomach has been rumbling for days, and nothing I eat seems to stop the hunger. All I can think about as we walk are Mrs. Weissman’s varenikes. They are soft and plump and the onions and gribenes she serves them with are always so crispy. Her borsht is thick and creamy and she never skimps on the marrow bones that flavor it. There will be sweet wine too, and Mami already brought over some of her flakiest rugelach. I lick my lips in anticipation.

  When we get closer to town, we are greeted by children who light the way to the hall with the lanterns they normally carry home from cheder. There’s always something that’s chilled me to the bone about those long lines of wavering lanterns. Our town is safe, I know that—there’s nothing to fear. But still, when Tati sees the children he tsks his tongue, and I know exactly what he’s thinking, because I think it too. Children shouldn’t be out like this so late at night. Anything could happen.

  I’m grateful that I never had to go to school so late, even though I remember there were days when all I wanted was to know what happened behind the walls of the cheder. Just once I would have liked to climb onto the roof of the Talmud Torah or the Grand Yeshiva in Kishinev, like Rabbi Akiva did in one of the stories Tati told me, and listen to the sounds of their Torah. Would I have more friends if I were a boy? Would I be invited to more parties? If only Tati would let me go to the Hebrew school that Pinny Galonitzer opened, but girls and boys study there together in Hebrew—lashon hakodesh, the holy tongue. Tati would never approve. These are silly dreams, I know. I am not a boy. I will never be a boy. But I may be a bear, I laugh to myself.

  Dovid Meisels, the butcher’s son, has invited me so many times to the Chovevei Zion youth meetings that take place in the Hebrew school at night. But Tati won’t let me go: he’s strict about our socializing with boys. He says that we have the rest of our married lives to talk to a boy—the one we marry—and that spending time with boys now, at our age, will only lead to things that are forbidden. Like touching, or kissing. But I think that perhaps if I went to these meetings, I would feel less like I am always on the outside of the shtetl looking in.

  Laya has always run with a gang of kids from the town—Jews and non-Jews. She doesn’t need to go to any meetings—she makes friends everywhere she goes. I see her with Jennike Belenko and Alla Navolska, and with boys like Mikhail Sirko and Ivan Tsipkin, thick as thieves the four of them, Laya sometimes tagging along even though she knows that Tati would never approve. She’s also friends with Jewish girls her age—Tziporah Beltser and Miriam Groysman, even with Sara Bayla, who is getting married tonight. Laya gets along with everyone. I wish it were that easy for me. I never know what to say or how to act. I prefer the pages of my books—they don’t talk back and ask questions that I don’t know how to answer.

  As we near the hall I can already hear the sounds of the music being played by Iser Klezmeke and his kapelye. I see Aaron Kartoffle, the matchmaker, guarding the door, welcoming all the Jews of Dubossary to the wedding. He’s not letting anyone inside the hall yet. I’m sure his wife Yiska is already inside, just tasting a bissl of everything in the kitchen. It’s not uncommon for girls in our town to marry as young as twelve. At eighteen I must be the oldest unmarried girl in Dubossary, with Laya coming in a close second. I hope Aaron doesn’t say anything to me tonight, especially now that I know what I am and who I must marry. I should be happy, excited even, because I know what the future holds, but somehow the thought makes me sad. I don’t know if I want to marry someone I’ve never met before.

  Aaron’s eyes don’t meet mine. He doesn’t greet us, or even look our way. I’m a bit relieved. But still, it stings. Maybe I’m not pretty enough. Or maybe Mami’s conversion is a stain that we can never wash away.

  The chuppah ceremony takes place outside, under the stars. The white canopy is already set up. Its four corners flap in the evening breeze, almost like wings. Mami looks happy. And even I agree: this night feels like a little bit of light in our darkness. Mami and Tati are going soon, but not yet, not tonight. For one last night, we can be a family.

  As Sara Bayla starts to circle Aryeh Lev seven times, her mother Rivka Kassin and her soon to be mother-in-law Gittel Melnik each hold candles in their hands. Laya puts her arm around me and rests her head on my shoulder. She sighs audibly, and I can’t help but grin.

  “Soon it will be your turn,” she whispers.

  I shake my head. “No. Not yet.” But somehow saying that turns my stomach, because it might be sooner than I think. I want to say more to Laya, but I don’t want any of the yentas like Elkie Zelfer to hear. Her husband is called Reb Motel the Silent for a reason—he can’t get a word in edgewise.

  “Don’t you have eyes for anyone here?” Laya asks.

  I let my gaze drift from the scene of Sara Bayla’s slow circles around Aryeh Lev to the faces on the men’s side. I see Tati standing there with them, watching the bride and groom as though they are everything that is holy and good in the world. I see too that there are many wandering eyes that are not watching what is happening under the chuppah, but instead are searching the women’s side in the same way that we look at them.

  Laya sighs again. “I’d be interested in Pinny Galonitzer if he wasn’t so set on moving to Eretz Yisroel next year.”

  “Really?”

  “He’s handsome,” she whispers, “and I do wish to travel, just not to there …” My eyes follow hers, and we both see Pinny looking at Fayge Ten
nenbaum who stands almost near the door of the hall.

  “Looks like he might be taken …” I whisper.

  Laya shrugs. “You never know … Nu? What about you? Nobody here catches your eye?”

  I shake my head. “You know Tati doesn’t want me to marry someone from the shtetl.” I almost add, He wants me to marry a bear, but I shudder and rub my arms to make it look as if it’s from the chill in the air. Sara Bayla stops her circles and Rabbi Borowitz recites the blessing over the wine. Laya and I both say, “Amen!”

  Then she elbows me. Hard.

  “Ouch! What?” I hiss at her. People are now looking at us. Laya cups her hands around my ear. “Don’t look now, but I think that Dovid Meisels is looking at you.”

  “Where?”

  “Two men behind Moishe Fishel.”

  I make a face because Moishe Fishel is the last man on earth who I want to think I might be looking at him. He works at Tomakin’s tobacco factory, his teeth are a horrid shade of yellow, he always smells like smoke, and he is most definitely still looking for a bride.

  When Aryeh Lev places the ring on Sara Bayla’s finger and says the words that bind her to him—“Harei at mekudeshet li—Behold, you are betrothed to me—kadat Moshe ve’Yisroel—in accordance with the laws of Moses and Israel”—everyone exclaims, “Mazal tov!” and I take the opportunity to flit my eyes up. As I do, two brown eyes meet mine across the room and I blush. My first instinct is to look away, but Dovid holds my gaze with his and something in me decides not to look away for once. We’re at a wedding. What harm could come of it? Maybe if I drink and dance enough tonight, I can forget who and what I am and what the future has in store. What harm could come from trying to be more like Laya—free and open to possibility—just for one night?

  Dovid smiles at me and I see that he has a dimple. Maybe if you looked at people more, they would look back. I swallow hard, silencing the voice in my head. I quickly look away, only to see Laya grinning from ear to ear. She saw. Of course she saw. And now my face is most certainly flushed as pink as the roses that Mami embroidered on my blue dress.

  When the Rabbi finishes with the seventh blessing and Aryeh Leib breaks the glass, everyone breaks out in jubilant song: Od yishama b’arei Yehuda … Soon there will be heard in the cities of Judah, and in the streets of Jerusalem. The voice of joy and gladness, the voice of the bridegroom and the voice of the bride. I think about that lone gravestone in the cemetery and of the names that no longer can be seen on it and the song gives me chills. I shake my head. Enough morbid thoughts for one evening, Liba, tonight you will have fun! I brave another look up, just to see if Dovid is still there, but he isn’t, and part of me is relieved. I take a deep breath. Weddings bring out strange emotions in us all. It was just a glance across the square, nothing more.

  We follow the bride and groom into the hall with Yankl the Violinist accompanying them. Inside, Velvel the Crier, Yankl Kol Mikdash Kretenko, Motti the Flautist, and Sender the Trumpet are already starting to play, with Herschel Everything Holy on the tuba, Big Isser on the drums and Gutnik on the trombone. Shevchenko the Goy is also there, and Boiko the Fiddler. Nobody misses a Dubossary wedding.

  I smell the fried onions and the raisins from the sweet kugels, the roasted chickens and the heady scent of the borsht, and I grin. Laya is already jumping with the beat, as are many of the others that surround us. We crowd into the hall and everyone starts to take their places at the very long narrow tables that line the room.

  “We need to get a corner seat so that I can get up and dance,” Laya says as she pulls me after her and winds herself through the wedding guests. We take a seat and I see that already there are small portions of gefilte fish at each table setting. My mouth waters. Laya sees where I’m looking and she laughs. “Careful with the horseradish—I hear it’s Mrs. Tennenbaum’s and that it’s strong enough to wake the dead.”

  I cover my mouth with my hand. “Who told you that?”

  Laya waggles her eyebrows at me. “I think she’s trying to kill anyone who might try to talk to Fayge.”

  “Either that or give them bad breath.”

  We snicker.

  “You brave enough to try it?” Laya challenges.

  My eyes meet hers. “Watch me,” I say.

  The music starts up in earnest and Laya bounces out of her seat and is swept up by the tide of dancers. She doesn’t let anyone or anything stand in the way of her having a good time.

  I pick up a fork, about to taste the sweet fish and its spicy beet-red sauce, but when I look up I see Dovid looking at me. He tilts his head at the dance floor and raises his brows in question.

  I look back at him, imagining for a moment that I could be brave like Laya. I feel something reach across the expanse of the room as my eyes meet his again, and my body flushes from head to toe. I break the connection. My stomach twists. Look away, Liba. Look away. He’s not for you.

  I turn my attention back to the gefilte fish, but suddenly I’m not as interested in it as I was before. I think about Tati, what he looked like the other night when he turned into a bear, and I know that I will never be normal. Dovid Meisels, the butcher’s son, is most definitely not meant for me.

  I get up and go outside to get some fresh air. I waited my whole life for Tati to say that he was going to find me a scholar, someone worthy of me—I just never thought that it would be a bear.

  I see my father standing just outside the door to the hall.

  “Tati?”

  “Hi, maydele. What are you doing out here?”

  “I could ask you the same thing.”

  He shakes his head. “I offered to guard the doors, just to make sure no hooligans find their way inside, looking for a free meal. The members of the kahal are all taking turns. I said I’d give them a break. Shmulik the Knife just took a stroll around the back—I asked him to. Something’s not right tonight. I can feel it in the air. But I hope I’m wrong.”

  I narrow my eyes at him. “What does it feel like?”

  Maybe this is where he tells me more about himself—and me. I wonder if I should tell him what happened to my fingernails and my arms? Unless he already knows …

  He grins. “Bubbemeisses, this schnozzle of mine—it’s too big for its own good. Not like yours, maydele,” he chuckles. “I wouldn’t wish this nose on anyone. Go back inside, zeiskeit. Enjoy the festivities. Only the Aybishter knows when we’ll have another wedding in Dubossary.”

  I want to ask him what he means, if that means I won’t get married here, but I know that tonight is not the time and this is not the place. Suddenly being outside is not the relief I thought it would be. I take a deep breath and go back inside. I see that the borsht is being served and I hurry back to my place. There isn’t much in the world that’ll keep me from a hot bowl of Mrs. Weissman’s borsht.

  12

  Laya

  I hear them talking

  as I spin and skip

  across the dance floor.

  Dvora Averbacher,

  the tailor’s wife, says,

  Just look at her hair,

  unbound like that—

  who does she think she is.

  She’s talking

  about Mami.

  And Haimke Schlessinger,

  the watchmaker,

  says to Velvel the Druggist,

  Oh, his royal highness is outside

  guarding the door

  like he owns the place.

  What a fantazyor,

  thinks he’s better

  than all of us.

  He’s talking about Tati.

  I dance and smile

  and pretend

  that I don’t hear

  everything they say.

  Liba looks sad,

  and introspective,

  and I wonder what she knows,

  what Mami told her,

  but I won’t let her mood

  ruin my good time.

  Who knows when

  we’ll get another
chance

  to dance like this.

  I bat my eyes

  at Haimke

  and take a silver

  cup of wine

  from his hand.

  He is too farschnickered

  to do anything more

  than just smile,

  eyes glazed.

  I drink half the cup,

  then stop,

  Liba looks like

  she’s about to cry.

  I dance my way

  over to her

  and give her the cup.

  Drink up, I say

  as I twirl back

  to the dance floor.

  The wine

  makes my head spin

  my feet

  make my dress spin

  and then Pinny Galonitzer

  asks me to dance.

  He takes my hand

  and I gasp.

  Men and women

  are not supposed to touch

  before marriage.

  Not that I haven’t

  held the hand

  of a boy before.

  But here, people can see.

  Here, people will talk.

  I should glance around

  and see where Mami is,

  where Tati is,

  but he slides his arm

  around my waist

  and I don’t care

  what anyone thinks

  anymore.

  First I see people

  watching us,

  as we sway

  and spin

  across the floor.

  But then

  another couple joins us.

  And another.

  And another.

  And soon there are dozens

  of couples, arm in arm,

  dancing.

  Men and women, touching.

  And for the first time

  I feel like maybe

  I do fit in here.

  Pinny whispers, You look

  beautiful tonight.

  My smile is wider

  than I ever thought possible.

  What about Fayge? I tease.