The Sisters of the Winter Wood

by Rena Rossner

  that day, except it’s green

  and white and a little

  red with blood.

  No matter.

  I put it on my head

  and hum one of the tunes

  that Miron played

  on the flute

  last night.

  I walk into the house.

  Strange that

  the door was open.

  I close it behind me.

  Soon I will

  get out

  of this small town.

  Fedir promised.

  Nothing really

  matters anymore.

  Except his lips

  on mine.

  I turn around

  and then I see

  a bear.

  There’s a bear

  in the cabin

  with me.

  “Liba?” I say

  but the bear doesn’t answer.

  My heart beats so fast

  I feel as if it will leap

  out of my chest.

  My shoulders ache

  and my arms buzz

  all over. I back away

  and reach for the door

  and when I look

  at my arm

  I see wisps

  of white feathers

  starting to bloom.

  I scream

  and open the door

  and run out.

  I hear a noise

  like a honk

  and look up—

  there’s a swan

  in a nearby tree.

  I climb

  up the tree,

  but when I reach it,

  the swan

  takes off

  and flies away.

  47

  Liba

  “Come join us for lunch,” Dovid says, his breath hot against my cheek.

  This is all moving too fast, I know it, yet I can’t seem to stop.

  “I can’t. Your mother didn’t invite me,” I say.

  The closeness of him awakens everything inside me. I feel wild and free for the first time ever. I don’t want these feelings to end.

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” He puts his fingers on my chin and tilts my face up so that my eyes meet his. “Of course you’re invited.” There is so much sincerity in his eyes, so much truth and simple goodness. “Mother’s cholent is the best in town,” he grins, and his dimple appears.

  I reach up my hand and touch the place where his cheek becomes indented, then pull my hand away and shake my head. Now, Liba, tell him now. Stop this madness. You know better. “I have to go home and eat with my sister. I need to talk to her about last night. Dovid, I …”

  “I love that about you …”

  “What?”

  “How much you care about your sister. I know it means that that’s how you’ll care for your own family someday. It means a lot to me. I’m so close to my brothers.”

  “Dovid, stop!” My head suddenly hurts and my heart races. I’m scared, but I don’t know why. “I have to go.”

  “Okay,” he sighs, and tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. “I’ll pick you up tonight? Before the meeting?”

  I nod, even though I shouldn’t.

  “I have to go,” I say.

  He nods. “Be careful.” He leans over and pecks me on the lips.

  My lips part and I kiss him back. Being with Dovid makes me feel more. Brave. Like I could stand up to my parents someday and tell them how I feel, what I want.

  I pull away from him and turn to go before I make an even bigger fool out of myself.

  “Gut shabbes, Liba!” I hear him call out as I walk away.

  I can’t help but smile as I walk as fast as I can to the place I said I’d meet Laya. But when I get there, she isn’t there. I wait for an hour, watching the townsfolk go about their business. I watch couples walking arm in arm—it almost looks natural, like we Jews are the only ones who do things differently. Why shouldn’t a man and woman hold hands if they choose to? I see mostly people walking home from synagogue, and non-Jews making Saturday purchases. It’s obvious that everyone knows about Jennike: people are walking a bit faster, looking right and left and nearly sprinting home, relief clear on their faces when they open the door to their homes.

  I wait for Laya for what seems like forever, but she doesn’t show. I put the hood of my coat up over my face and walk quickly over to the fruit stand, hoping that no one sees me. I can’t believe I’m going to the marketplace on shabbes. I’m adding sin upon sin in my father’s absence. What has become of my good sense? But when I get there, I don’t see Laya.

  I look for Fedir through the crowd—all non-Jewish neighbors of ours, people I know, people I’ve seen in town. Already I hear the whispers. Murdered? Can you believe it? The crowds are abuzz with the terrible news. “They say it was a bear, but I heard it was a Jew,” I hear someone say and I turn my head. Who said that? I keep walking, turning this way and that in the crowd. I pick up the voice again—or is it a different voice? “The Jews think they’re better than we are. They avoid our shops. Did you hear what I heard? It must have been a ritual. Last night was Friday night. Who knows what they do in those synagogues. I bet they use blood.” I can’t believe my ears. I turn and see that it’s Vasyl Tsulenko, the greengrocer.

  “I heard they’re training a militia—I see them on patrol,” I hear Anton Gutzo, the clockmaker say. “Perhaps this is just the beginning. Next they’ll need more blood.”

  Why are people saying these things? I don’t understand. I nudge my way through them, looking for Fedir. “The Jews have all the jobs,” I hear Sophia Katyuk, the milliner’s wife, say. “That’s why my son Denis is unemployed. He came back from the army, and there’s nothing left for him here. And as if that isn’t enough, now they’re murdering us. If the Jews left Dubossary, we would all be better off.”

  My eyes well up with tears. These people are our friends, our neighbors. Why would they say such things?

  I finally get to the front of the stand and I see Fedir. His eyes find mine. “Where is my sister?” I whisper.

  He shrugs. “She was here earlier. She must have wandered off.”

  “Don’t lie to me.” I raise my voice, not caring if I make a scene. “Where did she go?”

  His eyes suddenly change. They pin me where I stand. “I said she was here earlier, and she isn’t here now. Do not accuse me of lying. You Jews are all the same,” he spits.

  I’m shocked. I don’t know what to say. I swallow hard. “Okay,” I say, scared by the look I see in his eyes. “Okay.”

  I run all the way home. The branches of the trees feel like they are all in my way—separating me from my sister, grabbing at my arms and legs, trying to stop me, to prevent me from getting to her. I feel them lashing at my face and arms, trying to trip me. A vine tangles itself around my wrist and I have to rip free. Something is wrong; something happened to her—I feel it in my heart, in the air. Just let her be home and safe, I pray. And if she is, I’ll never sin again. Shema Yisroel, I say. Please God, open my lips so my words will declare your praise. Hear my prayer and listen to me, Lord—I will not sin again with these lips and with my hands. Just let Laya be safe.

  When I burst through the front door, I see Laya sleeping in the rocking chair.

  “Danken Got!” I say, breathless. But there is a scent in the air that I can’t shake. Someone was here. Something was inside. I know that smell. My heart struggles to catch up with my mind. My skin grows cold and I slump down onto the floor. It’s the scent of a bear. It was here, in this house, and I wasn’t here to protect her.

  She opens her eyes and blinks and looks around the room, as if she isn’t quite sure where she is.

  “Laya! Are you okay?” I get up and rush over to her, taking her in my arms.

  “There was a bear, Liba. I came home and the door was open.” She’s trembling.

  “Shhh …”

  “I ran out, and then there was a swan. It saved me. I followed it
up a tree and waited for the bear to go. But I was so scared and my skin … my back … it’s starting, Liba … I felt it. There were feathers …”

  A bear? Did it come for me? But why? And a swan? Are these the swans that Mami said would come for her? Things are happening too fast.

  “You disappeared. We said we’d walk home together.”

  She starts rocking again. She starts to hum and twirl a crown of thistles between her fingers. I look down and see that her fingers are covered in blood.

  “Your fingers! What happened?”

  She looks down and sees the blood. She shrugs. “I didn’t notice.” She tosses the thistle crown to the floor. “Let’s make tea.”

  “First let’s dress your fingers.” I take hot water from the kitchen and strips of white cloth. “Did you hear about Jennike?”

  She nods.

  I don’t know what to say.

  “I went to the market to find you. They’re saying horrible things about the Jews. Fedir … he wasn’t nice to me.” I want to find the words to tell her what he said to me, but I don’t even know how to begin.

  “You’ve never liked him,” Laya says coldly, and I feel her pull away from me.

  “Laya-bell, that’s not true,” I say, even though it is. She’s right: I don’t trust Fedir at all. “I’m just … worried about you.”

  “They won’t find her,” Laya says.

  “What? Who?” I stop what I’m doing and look at her.

  “Jennike.”

  “What do you mean? They found her in the Feldmans’ orchard. What do you know?”

  She shakes her head.

  I take her fingers in mine and clean them. “Laya, look at me. What do you know about Jennike?”

  She stares past my head at something I can’t see. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “But you just said …” I wrap her fingers in mine. “If you know anything, you should tell the kahal.”

  She’s still looking past my shoulder. I turn to look at what she sees, but there’s nothing there. Just a cat at the window.

  I stomp my foot and hiss at it, but it doesn’t move.

  “One day I will grow wings and leave you,” Laya whispers.

  “What?” My heart plummets.

  She shakes her head from side to side.

  “Laya, you’re scaring me,” I say.

  She doesn’t stop.

  “Laya!” I take her head in my hands. Her head stops, but her body is shaking. I help her to our parents’ bed, cover her in a blanket and lie down beside her, cradling her trembling body in my arms.

  What now? I think. What sort of sickness is this? Should I fetch a doctor? I get up and pace around the cottage, not knowing what to do.

  I pile more blankets on top of Laya, and she seems to stop shaking. Maybe she just has a fever. I’ll wait it out. No need to get someone on shabbes.

  I tie bundles of lavender to the windowsills to rid the house of the smell of the bear, and spend the rest of the day reading one of Tati’s books of Talmud, losing myself in the arguments about the waxing and waning of the moon. I watch Laya sleep, drifting in and out of a dream, whispering nonsensical things. The ancient arguments help me understand what is happening around me. They remind me that in every generation Jews have struggled with an enemy, and they have always found a way to prevail because they kept the commandments and followed the laws and let the Torah be their guide. People are scared by what happened to Jennike and the disappearance of the Glazers, that’s all. The Talmud reminds me that just like we wait each month for the sliver of the crescent moon, and it comes without fail, the sky going from darkness to light, so too will we see the end of this. The kahal will work with the police to get to the bottom of things and everything will go back to normal. What I don’t find in the pages of the book is what to do when you know there was a bear in your house, or when your sister follows a swan up a tree, or what to do when you’re scared because you are a bear, when as much as you want to protect your sister and everyone around you, you really have no idea where to even begin.

  When the sun sets, there’s a knock at the door.

  I walk on tiptoe and peek out the window. “Dovid!” I say, as I open the door.

  “I came as soon as my father said havdallah.”

  Before he can say any more I launch myself at him and his arms are suddenly around me. I can’t help myself. I spent the day alone, and I don’t know what’s wrong with Laya. I’m scared about the bear, and the things I heard in the marketplace. I’m worried about Laya, and with his arms holding me close I feel less alone. As he holds me, I start to cry.

  He lets go and takes my face in his hands, wiping away my tears with his thumbs. “Liba, what’s wrong?”

  “It’s Laya. She’s not well. And she says … she came back here and there was a bear in the house.”

  “A bear? Liba, you have to move in with us. I don’t care what people say—I won’t let you stay out here anymore like this. It’s sakanas nefashos; your lives are in danger!”

  He looks over at Laya and sees her as I see her, asleep but not asleep.

  “How long has she been like this?”

  “Since I got back. We were in town. After I saw you I went to meet her, but she never showed up. I … went to the marketplace to look for her … Dovid, they’re saying horrible things. You won’t believe what I heard. They think we had something to do with Jennike’s murder because she was found in the Feldmans’ orchard. The kahal has to do something! I ran all the way home and when I got here she was in that chair just rocking and rocking. She said she ran from the bear and climbed a tree until it left the house. When she came back in and locked the door, she couldn’t stop shaking.”

  “Has she eaten?” Dovid crosses the room to Laya’s side.

  “I’ve tried everything, tea, babka, nuts …”

  “Fruit?”

  My eyes meet his.

  “The kahal cancelled the meeting tonight. They’re redoubling their search, together with the police and the non-Jewish men from the village. I’m supposed to be out with them now; I took two shifts. We will get to the bottom of this, Liba. We will find that bear and rid our forest of the threat. I’ll be around all night so I’ll check back in with you when I can, but I must go tell the others what happened here. If you think she needs to see the doctor, I can go get him too.”

  “She said something strange about Jennike,” I say.

  His eyes go wide. “What?”

  “She said they’d never find her. But I told her that the police found her body. I tried to get her to tell me what she knows, but she won’t say anything more.”

  “What do you think she knows?”

  “I don’t know.” I frown.

  “Should I ask my mother to come here? I can go get her now. I hate the thought of the two of you alone out here.”

  “It’s okay. We take care of ourselves.”

  He raises one eyebrow.

  “What? We do! This is just …” I wave my hands in the direction of the bed. “People get sick. It happens all the time.”

  “And bears wander the woods and enter people’s homes? These are not normal times.”

  “I don’t know what to do.”

  “Maybe I should get my father. What she knows might be important.”

  “I know, but if she won’t say anything to me, I doubt she’ll talk to your father.”

  “I should go get my mother. Maybe she’ll talk to her.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “You take care of Laya and I’ll take care of you. And I think you should have some company. Bar the door behind me and try to get her to tell you what she knows, okay? I still think that you two should move in with us for now.”

  “I don’t know. But thank you, Dovid,” I say.

  “I don’t like this, Liba. I don’t like it at all.”

  “I know.”

  “I’ll be back soon,” he says, and runs out.

  I feel ashamed. He doesn’
t know what I am. I’m a bear, just like the one in the woods.

  A few seconds after Dovid leaves, I change my mind. I rush to the front door and open it. I want to call after him to tell him not to bother, not to bring his mother, that I don’t need their help. I’m a bear, what could I possibly have to fear? Another bear? But the words refuse to come. The cold air swallows them.

  I look back at Laya. Maybe I’ll draw her a bath. I lock the door behind me and walk down to the river to get some water. I have nothing to fear. I tell myself. I’m a bear. Maybe if I repeat it enough, it will feel true.

  I walk through the orchard between our house and the river. The trees are not yet in bloom, but they will be. I see the ripening of shoots, the little buds on branches breaking through and searching for the light of the sun. It’s the most beautiful place when all the fruits are heavy on the trees. A magical glen.

  I think about the fruit that Laya thought she saw when we were walking. Clearly she imagined that. Maybe she imagined what she saw happen to Jennike too? The forest has never betrayed us before. As I wash my hands and fill a bucket, a fish swims by. Before I know what I’m doing, my hand is in the river, swiping at it. The river is ice-cold and my hand feels frozen, but I still catch it on the first try. I’ve never done anything like this before, but it seems natural, like I’ve been fishing this way my whole life. When I lift my hand I see that I’ve speared the fish with five long and ugly claws. I scream and drop it back in the river. I run all the way home, cradling my hand. When I arrive, I see that the front door is wide open. I run inside, heart racing. I see the empty bed. Laya is gone.

  48

  Laya

  I see her leave.

  She goes outside,

  busy with some chore

  or another.

  She won’t notice

  if I’m gone.

  I’m here

  but not here.

  I slip the key

  from my pocket

  and unlock the door.

  I walk until I reach

  the old oak tree.

  The pine leaves part for me

  like curtains.

  They steer me

  to the clearing.

  The needles feel good

  against my skin.

  I see the orchard ahead,

  full of heavy fruit