by Rena Rossner
are beautiful? he asks.
He doesn’t think
I’m Jewish
but something about that
makes me feel good
and a little bit daring.
Maybe I can pretend
to be something other
than what I am
just for today …
His hand is on my arm;
his fingers are long
and elegant; I like the way
his skin looks
against mine.
Different. Other.
You are a free spirit. Like me,
he says. Nothing can
contain you.
Where are you from?
The woods, I say,
I think I saw you there.
I’m Fedir Hovlin, he says,
and takes my hand in his.
I swallow.
Laya Leib, I say,
as he raises my hand
to his mouth.
His kiss sends tingles
up my arm and
down my spine.
My heart
beats faster.
Nice to meet you.
I lick my lips.
Would you like
to buy some honey?
He grins and winks.
I’m after honey
of a different kind.
Come by tonight, he says.
We light a fire in the woods,
just past the giant oak,
through the pine glade.
Come by. He puts
his hands together
as if in prayer.
It’s a good party:
we serve wine and mead
and fruit, succulent
and sweet, like you.
My eyes are wide
and I can see a glint
of fire in his.
Is this what I’ve been missing
all this time? There is a world
out there, people I’ve never met,
and light and life and fire.
Fedir reaches out
to touch my hair.
Startled, I pull back.
But he has a lock
of my hair, wrapped
around his fingers.
You look nothing
like a Jew, he says,
carefully considering
the strands he holds.
I swallow hard.
I need to go, I say.
What’s your favorite fruit?
he calls out after me.
I open my mouth
and a word tumbles out.
Apricots.
Come by, he calls out
after me,
come by, come by.
When moonlight
sets itself high in the sky.
I flee. And it’s only when I stop
that I see it in my hand:
an apricot, golden and warm
and bursting with juice.
23
Liba
Arms hold me and I’m being helped into a chair.
“Ribbono Shel Oylam! What is this?”
“She was outside the shop.”
Where am I? Did I faint? I’ve never fainted. “I’m fine, I’m fine.” I find my voice.
“Narishkeit. Sit down and I’ll get you something hot to drink.”
No no no, my stomach says. That is not what will solve this. I shake my head because I’m worried that if I open my mouth I will vomit.
“Maybe she’s hungry?” Dovid says.
I hear a voice in my head that says, Yes … give me one of those raw shanks hanging over there—I want to gnaw on that … I shiver. What’s happening to me?
“Of course. I’ll be right back.” I hear her mutter to herself, “A ritch in kop, those parents. What were they thinking? At a time like this? First Jennike Belenko, now the Glazers …”
“Mama!” Dovid says. “She says the Rebbe’s ill, her father’s father, that’s why they left.”
“Oy. I’m bringing some barley soup, deigeh nisht!”
What happened to Jennike? But my stomach cramps again and I bend over in pain. I moan.
“Hold on, Liba. Mother is bringing you something.”
I open my mouth because I want to tell him how beautiful his cheeks look when they’re flushed like that, so beautiful I want to lick them, but I realize what I’m thinking and I shut my mouth in horror and close my eyes so as not to look at him anymore. Am I attracted to him? Or do I just want to eat him? Tears start to fall. Why am I even in here? I should never have left Laya’s side.
Mrs. Meisels comes over with a bowl of stew. “Hold this,” she says to Dovid. She puts her hands on my arms. “Liba, love. Try to sit up.”
I sit up slowly and open my eyes. “I’m okay. I’m okay.” My mouth waters.
“You are most certainly not okay, maydele.”
Dovid holds out the bowl and my eyes meet his for a brief second, but I force them down to look at the bowl. This is food, I tell my stomach. Look at it. He is not food.
“Ess gezunt,” Mrs. Meisels says. “Go on, eat up.”
My hands shake as I reach for the spoon, and somehow I make it to the bowl and then to my mouth. I start groaning at the taste, the texture of the meat, the flesh between my teeth. I shovel everything in as fast I can, as though I can’t possibly get it inside me fast enough. I am drowning and this is air, this is life, this is food, real food.
I look up as I scrape the last spoonful from the sides of the bowl—Dovid and Mrs. Meisels are watching me wide-eyed.
Dovid has a wry smile on his lips.
Oh dear God, what have I done now?
Mrs. Meisels pats me on the shoulder. “You were just hungry. Nothing shameful in that.” She takes the bowl and comes back with a cloth. She whispers in my ear, “That’s to wipe your mouth, love.”
My eyes meet Dovid’s. He’s still grinning.
I realize why he must be staring at me, and I feel my face go full-out red. I take the cloth and wipe my face.
Good on you, Liba. Embarrass yourself in front of the first boy who’s ever looked your way, even if he was only looking at the stew all over your face.
I hand the dirty cloth back to Mrs. Meisels.
“Thank you. I …” I look down at the ground. “I’m sorry.”
“Shtuss! Don’t be ridiculous.” There is pity in her eyes. “Why didn’t they take you with them, maydele?”
I swallow, still tasting meat at the back of my throat, unsure what to say, but I decide to trust her. “My father’s brother came—he said that the Berrer Rebbe, my father’s father, took ill and is on his deathbed. My father wouldn’t go without my mother. They have no travel permits. The Glazers were supposed to be looking out for us. We came to the market today and we heard … that they’re gone.”
“No travel permits? He was a smart man not to take you with him.” She shakes her head. “Such tsuris, crazy times we live in. Did you hear what happened in Gomel? And the roads are not safe. Be’ezras Hashem, these things will pass right over Dubossary, tfu tfu tfu. Nobody knows what happened to the Glazers. I don’t believe the rumors. They must have had their own reasons for going.” She stops to think. “But it is curious that they didn’t think to come tell you. Why didn’t your father let people know he was leaving either? We would have stepped in.”
“My father only trusts his kehilla—the Chassidim. And he did tell someone—he told the Glazers.” I frown. “What happened to Jennike?”
“Nobody knows. She’s been gone for a few days now. Her mother is beside herself with worry. I think she took up with those no-goodnik fruit sellers–those boys are too handsome for their own good, if you ask me. But who knows? Maybe she ran away.”
“It doesn’t seem likely that the Glazers would have left if they promised Tati to take care of us, does it?”
Mrs. Meisels shakes her head.
“But it’s okay, really. I’m nearly eighteen. I can take care of
things. It’s just me and my sister. ”
“Eighteen is nothing,” she tsks. “You’re all alone in those woods! Anything could happen to you and nobody would know. Come here for shabbes, maydele? You and your sister?”
I nod enthusiastically before I even realize what I’m doing. Dovid laughs.
I blush again. Clearly this boy just likes to laugh at me … maybe I won’t come back here after all.
“I mean … I’ll have to ask Laya,” I say, “and only if it’s not too much trouble … I … I can bring babka.”
“We’d be delighted, wouldn’t we, Dovid? Your mother’s babka is the best in town, even if …”
“Mama!” Dovid warns.
They look at each other and something passes between them.
“I should go,” I say.
I’m not sure I want to know what they’re going to say about me or Mami when I leave. There’s a reason my mother never fit in here—nobody gave her the chance. You’re not supposed to make a convert feel that they’re different; you’re never supposed to remind them of their past. Tati taught me that. But nobody around here seems to know those laws.
Still, part of me doesn’t care. I want to spend the first weekend away from my parents with a big family, siblings around a table, candles lit and a table full of shabbes food, not alone with Laya in our cabin. My mouth waters just thinking about it. Especially the meat.
Right, Liba, time to go before you make an even bigger fool of yourself.
“Thank you,” I say.
Mr. Meisels comes out from the back room, which makes me realize that he must have been listening. He hands me a package wrapped in paper and string.
My eyes grow wide. “Oh no, I couldn’t possibly. Tati wouldn’t want us to take charity.”
“Narishkeit, take it,” Mrs. Meisels says. “We don’t give handouts. Trade me for some honey. I saw fine-looking jars in your basket there.”
I nod and hand one over. “Thank you. Thank you so much,” I say, and wrap my arms around her.
She laughs and hugs me back. “You’re welcome, dear. It’s nice to have a maydele over here, eh, Dovid?”
“Mama!”
“Oy. Best be on your way. We’ll see you soon?”
I nod my head again, not trusting my mouth anymore. As I walk to the door of the shop, Dovid follows me.
“I need to go find my sister,” I say.
“I’ll walk with you,” he offers as I open the door.
“No. No, that’s not necessary,” I say, not sure I want to be seen walking alone with a boy in town. People will talk.
“My mother will smack me if I don’t at least walk you out,” he whispers. “Like Abraham escorted the guests out of his tent, at least daled amos.”
I can’t help but smile. He recites Torah law like my father would. “Well, in that case …”
He offers to take the basket from me. I put it down so he can take it without touching me. “Shall we?” he says.
As we walk out of the butcher shop and towards the market stalls, I feel this distance between us like something I want to bridge. I’ve never felt this way before.
“The kahal already has shomrim taking turns walking the town at night,” Dovid says, “like they always do on shabbes, but I’m going to talk to Father about sending out some patrols in your direction too until the threat of the bears is gone. Pinny is organizing things with Shmulik the Knife and some others. We’ve been meeting at Donniel Heimovitz’s place. I can … I can volunteer for first shift tonight,” he says and I think I can see him blushing out of the corner of my eye.
This boy isn’t for you, my mind tries to reason.
“Oh. That’s really not necessary,” I say, though my heart beats fast at the idea of seeing him again.
“Of course it is! Liba, wild bears are dangerous.”
I shake my head, “I don’t think there are bears … I mean … I’ve never seen anything like that out by where we live.” I don’t know what else to say. The only bear in the woods is me?
“I have to go,” I say. “I think you’ve walked me far enough.” I reach out my hand for the basket, but he doesn’t put it down. Part of me suddenly wants to feel the forbidden tingle of his hand against mine, but I’m careful to take it from him in a way that our fingers don’t touch. Can this day possibly get any more strange? “Thanks for everything.”
“You’re welcome, Liba. I hope to see you again soon—maybe tonight. I’ll stop by?”
“Oh … okay,” I say, because I really have no idea what else to say. “Bye!” I quickly turn and run as fast as I can back to the village square. I don’t give myself the chance to take back what I just agreed to, even though I know I should.
24
Laya
When I get back
to our meeting point
Liba is not there.
I wait wait wait.
The apricot in my pocket
pulses and burns.
I’m thirsty and hungry
and it begs to be eaten.
It’s kosher, what could
possibly be wrong?
It’s just a fruit.
Liba arrives, breathless.
I lost track of time,
sorry, she says.
What is that package
in your basket? I ask.
She hesitates.
It’s okay. We both have
different hungers, I say.
She swallows. It’s meat;
I traded it for honey.
I talked to them,
the fruit sellers,
I tell her quickly,
before I lose my nerve.
They’re handsome, Liba,
and kind. They must be
from far away
to have such fruit.
They offered me some …
You didn’t …? she says.
I took just one, I say.
Laya!
But meat’s okay, right?
I spit back.
Liba’s eyes go wide,
That’s totally different!
It’s kosher—the Meisels are Jewish!
Tati never trusted
the Meisels’ kashrus, I say.
You know that.
This isn’t just about meat.
I hold the apricot
in my hand.
There’s nothing trayf
about fruit. I take a bite.
They are after one thing
and one thing only, Liba says.
And all Dovid wants
is to make sure
you’re well fed, right?
I hear Fedir’s voice in my head:
It is honey of a different sort I seek,
and I smile.
I seek something too,
I want to know
where he’s from,
where he’s traveled.
And what Fedir knows
about the bears
in the woods.
And I will find out tonight.
It’s cold outside,
but his voice makes me feel
warm all over.
25
Liba
I see the way Laya looks at the door and the window. She can’t go out tonight. Not with the Glazers and Jennike missing, not with the strange men in the marketplace and the rumors of wild bears. Those fruit sellers may not be the swans that Mami told me to look out for, but they aren’t Jewish, and nothing good will come of this. It’s too dangerous out there. If she goes, I must go too. I made a promise to Mami that I would protect her. And I will. Wherever she goes, I will follow.
When I think Laya is asleep, I go downstairs and sneak pieces of raw meat from the white-wrapped parcel I put in the icebox. My stomach doesn’t hurt so much anymore.
I lie down on Mami and Tati’s bed downstairs to wait for Dovid, and think about his eyes, and the way I wanted to feel the touch of his fingers. I start to imagine a different future than I’ve ever dared to dream abo
ut before.
26
Laya
I pretend to sleep
waiting for Liba
to drift off.
I’m going tonight
no matter what.
It’s just a walk
in the woods.
The forest will
protect me.
I know its ways.
Nothing bad
will happen.
I take an apricot
out of the bag
while I wait,
and bite into its flesh.
The juice drips
down my chin.
I suck on the fruit
until my lips are red,
until I’m satisfied.
When I stop
hearing noises
from down below,
I open the window
above our bed.
As I climb
out onto the roof
the air churns
and in a burst of white
a swan lands beside me.
I nearly cry out in fear
and lose my footing.
Is it the same swan as before?
My heart beats fast.
I’m scared to move.
I see its dark eyes
watching me.
I reach my hand out,
slowly, so as not to startle it,
I want to feel the touch
of feathers.
The swan doesn’t move,
and when my fingers graze
its feathers—my whole body
trembles, ice-cold but hot
at the same time.
The swan takes a step back
then launches itself
off the roof
and takes off.
I want to follow it,
but I don’t know how.
I take a deep breath,
close my eyes, and jump.
For a second,
it feels like I’m flying.
My shoulders ache
and the hairs on my arms tingle;
