****
After lunch Millie was no longer able to work, and she pleaded for Mr. Kurtz to let her go home. He did so reluctantly, then came by Kefira’s work station to demand, “Vhat’s de matter vit her?”
“She’s sick, Mr. Kurtz.”
“Vell, she’d better get over wit it. Dere’s plenty folks who vant to verk.” Disgusted, he turned on his heel and went away, and Kefira wondered how a man could be so brutal as to feel no compassion. She had watched him cruelly run women out of his shop for no fault at all, knowing they had no place to go and no other work available to them. He seemed to have been created without any sense of pity, or of right and wrong, and she wondered what he had been like as a boy. Probably just like he is now—only shorter, she thought as she went sullenly back to her work.
She left early that day, even though it meant less pay, but she was worried about her mother. As she walked down the street she did not see the old man who had sold her the apple, and she wondered if the freezing weather and snow had driven him from the streets. Her own clothing was insufficient, and by the time she got to her building, she was numb with cold. She saw a young girl no more than eight or nine years old shivering, clutching her ragged coat about her, and Kefira thought, There are rich people in this city who are sitting in warm rooms and eating off china plates, their food being brought to them by servants. They don’t have any worries. I wonder if they ever think about anybody like that little girl there who’s freezing and starving? Anger surged through her as she thought of the injustice in the world. She wondered how God could let such things happen. At times God seemed to be her enemy, but she hated to think this. Unable to come to grips with such overwhelming problems, she turned and went upstairs, where she found her mother weaker than she had ever been. Kefira piled more covers on her and turned the gas up to warm the room, not knowing how she was going to pay for it.
Mrs. Simmons came after she had started cooking and said, “She’s very bad, Kefira.”
“I know. If only this cold spell would pass….”
Mrs. Simmons was a compassionate woman. She lived alone, and no one could understand how she stayed so heavy when she had so little to eat, but she was indeed very fat. Her eyes, however, were kind, and she came to stand closer to Kefira. “I think we’d better send for someone.”
“Send for someone. For who?”
“For the rabbi maybe.”
Kefira hesitated. She knew her mother had a great deal of confidence in the rabbi, and she nodded. “I think you’re right. I’ll go get him.”
“And maybe a doctor.”
Kefira felt a moment of bleak despair. She wanted to scream, “I don’t have any money for a doctor!” but the situation surely wasn’t Mrs. Simmons’s fault. “I’ll go ask him,” she said quietly. “Will you watch Mama while I’m gone?”
“Yes, and you’d better hurry.”
Kefira threw on her coat and shawl and hurried from the house. She knew that the rabbi would come, but a doctor had to have money. At the doctor’s office, she humbled herself and begged. “I promise to pay as soon as I can,” she offered. “You’ve got to come. You’ve got to!”
Thankfully the doctor did agree to come. But after examining Rachel, he gave Kefira no hope. With as much kindness as he could muster, he said gruffly, “She can’t last more than a day or two, Miss Reis. You must be prepared for it.”
The rabbi stayed for over an hour. He sat beside the dying woman and held her hand. He was young and thin, his face planed down almost to the bone, but he had large beautiful brown eyes that reflected the kindness in him. He stayed until Kefira finally said, “You must go now. You have others to see.”
“I will be back. At times like this we must look to the Eternal One for strength.”
“Yes, rabbi,” Kefira whispered.
When he left, the apartment seemed frightfully empty. She sat beside her mother, whose eyes were closed, her light breath scarcely stirring the thin breast. Often Kefira would lean over and stroke the gray hair and whisper loving words, but she never felt that her mother heard them.
She remembered what her mother had said about seeing her Samuel again. And in the silence of that lonely room, Kefira Reis wondered if there was anything to the stories she had heard—that there was a heaven and that people she knew would be there. She knew that Gentiles were much firmer in their beliefs about the afterlife than Jews. She had once asked the former rabbi, who was an old man, if she would see her father again. He had been evasive and had given her little comfort. He had clothed his own doubt with words she did not understand and left her feeling more miserable than she had been before asking the question.
****
When dawn arrived, Kefira knew it without looking outside. As always, a mysterious inner clock had told her that morning had come, and she left her mother’s room to stand before the apartment’s only window in the living area. The snow was swirling, and the streets outside had been transformed into a beautiful wintry spectacle. They were covered with snow, and the traffic had not yet trodden it into mush. The light posts were sculpted into graceful white crystal forms, and the ugly buildings across the way looked like castles now with snow-capped chimneys and roofs. Someone had left clothes on a line that looked like white ghosts frozen solid. It was strange to see such beauty where the day before had been such ugliness. It struck her then how strange it was that ugliness could be covered over with just a few inches of frozen water, when the snow and the cold were really the enemy, bringing sickness and pain. Still the scene was beautiful. She had always loved to get out in the snow when it first fell. The silence of the streets seemed almost supernatural. Now she stared out at the empty frozen streets and felt only despair.
Kefira went back to her mother’s side and held her hand. Time passed, and the rising sun began to filter its pale light through the living room window. She had been sitting there for so long she was startled when she felt the slight pressure of her mother’s hand. Quickly she leaned forward and saw that her mother’s eyes were open.
“Mama, do you know me?”
“Yes … Kefira.”
“Mama, don’t leave me.”
Rachel Reis found strength to squeeze her daughter’s hand again. Her eyes fluttered, and she whispered something that Kefira could not understand. Kefira leaned forward and asked, “What, Mama? What are you saying?”
The words came out slowly but firmly. “You have … been … a good … daughter. Learn to love God … for He … loves you.”
These were the last words her mother spoke. She sighed and then seemed to settle in the bed. Her eyes were closed, and the lines of fatigue and pain eased away. Kefira held her mother’s hand, kissed it, leaned forward, and kissed the thin cheek. Then she held her mother in her arms, pulling her up and sobbing. She wept wildly at first and then quietly. When the spasm of grief had passed, she laid her mother’s still form down and arranged her hands and her hair.
When she stood up, she found two things within her heart. The first was a great sharp, piercing grief, almost like a sword being pushed through her breast at the very thought of losing her mother. The other was anger at God for taking both of her parents away.
CHAPTER FOUR
Flight
Slowly Kefira wrote a line, then paused and looked at it. Overhead, the single naked bulb threw harsh light down on the sheet of paper, and she read again the words she had written:
Dear Chaim,
I know you are grieving over Mama, as I am. It’s only been two weeks, but every day has been a misery for me—
A knock sounded at the door, and Kefira put the pencil down and rose from the table. When she went to the door, she saw the tenement manager, Mr. Goldman. He took off his hat and said quickly, “I’m sorry about your mama.”
“Thank you, Mr. Goldman. She was very ill, but I’m grieved to lose her.”
“We all have to go,” Goldman said. He was a man of medium height with pale blue eyes and only a fringe of hair on the sid
es and back of his head. He turned his hat around nervously and said, “I’m sorry to mention this, but I have to have the rent, Miss Reis.”
“I don’t have it right now, Mr. Goldman, but I’ll have it for you very soon.”
“It’s not me, you understand. I just collect rents. The owner—he says you have to pay it now or evacuate.”
“But, Mr. Goldman—”
“Please don’t make this harder on me than it is. I hate this job, but it’s all I could get. You think I like telling people they have to move?” Goldman ran his hand around the fringe of hair and shook his head. His lips were drawn into a bitter line, and he said, “He’s a rich man. He owns six of these tenements. You think he has any mercy in him? Not a bit! I begged him, Miss Reis, but you’re just a name to him. And he told me if I didn’t bring this message, he’d get somebody who would.” He looked down, and shame marred his face. “I have four children, Miss Reis. I don’t have any choice.”
Anger flared in Kefira but not at this man. How could she hate a man as ineffectual as this? The rich owner sat somewhere in the midst of luxury throwing people out. She was angry at him, although she had never seen him.
“All right. I’ll leave at the end of the week.”
“I’m sorry,” Goldman said and whirled away, jamming his hat down over his head.
Kefira closed the door and sat back down at the table. She picked up the pencil and finished the letter. There was really nothing she could say, but now she added one postscript:
I will be moving from here soon, and I will send you my new address just as soon as I have it.
With love,
Kefira
She folded the letter, put it in an envelope, and laid it on the table. She stared at it for a moment, then suddenly laid her arms down on the table and rested her forehead on them. The two weeks since her mother’s death had been terrible. The funeral had been as inexpensive as she could make it, but there were some things that had to be paid. She had spent what little money she had saved up and promised to pay the rest out by the week, but it had taken all of her cash, and she had been unable to pay her rent. As she hid her face with her eyes closed, she tried to think what to do. She knew she would have to leave, and the only thing cheaper would be to share a room with another girl or maybe two other girls. She valued her privacy, and besides, this place had been a home for her. True her father had never lived in it, nor her brother, but she and her mother had made it a home, and it wrenched her within to think of leaving it.
Tears gathered in her eyes, and she rose and rubbed at them fiercely with the heels of her hands. “I’ve got to go to work,” she muttered.
She had only two apples, a half loaf of bread, and a chunk of hard cheese in her larder. From this, she scraped together a small lunch. Then she put on her coat and shawl. She turned around and looked at the unlovely room, but still her only home, and wished for one moment that she had died with her mother. There seemed to be so little to live for. She turned and left, shutting the door with more force than necessary.
****
Kefira sat at her workbench, mechanically cutting out her patterns, and at lunchtime she joined Millie. Aggie had gone to another job. Millie noticed that Kefira was unusually quiet. “What’s the matter? You’re not talking.”
“I’ve got to find another place to live, Millie. I couldn’t pay my rent. I can’t afford to keep the apartment. My mother’s funeral expenses took all I had and more. I’ll have to pay them.”
Millie sat quietly for a time, and finally she spoke up. “You can come stay with me, Kefira.”
Kefira looked up quickly. Her friend’s kindness touched her, and she blinked quickly, saying, “Do you have room, Millie?”
“Well, I live with my parents, of course, and it’s a small room. But at least it’s a big bed. You and I’d have to share it.”
“I wouldn’t mind that. What would it cost?”
“Not much. I’ll talk to my father. You can take your meals with us too. Breakfast maybe and supper. We’ll work out something.”
Kefira felt a sudden warmth. “You are kind, Millie.”
“No, you’ll be company for me. I’ll have to warn you, though, that my dad doesn’t like Jews much. If I were you, I wouldn’t tell him about your religion.”
As the afternoon wore on, the idea of living with Millie’s anti-Semitic father seemed less and less appealing, so Kefira took off early to look for another place. She did find a room to share with another working woman, but it was a grubby, filthy place, and the woman drank excessively and let her boyfriends stay overnight.
Confused and not knowing what else to do, Kefira understood that she would have no choice but to stay with Millie, at least until she could find something better. She spent two nights packing up, and Mrs. Simmons agreed to store some of Kefira’s treasured items for her.
There were actually many things she wanted to keep. The furniture, of course, was hardly worth selling, but there were pictures and letters, and Mrs. Simmons promised to keep them safe.
On her last night in the apartment, she read a book she had bought at a used book store. It had only cost ten cents and was badly worn. The cover was torn off, but the owner had told her, “The name of it is Call of the Wild, written by a guy named Jack London. It’s all about a dog, I think.”
Kefira did not particularly want to read a book about a dog, but it was cheap, and she had heard others mention the book. It had made London a successful writer.
She got caught up in the story and read until late in the night. The story was simple enough. Buck, a large strong dog from the south, was captured and taken to the north, where he was made into a sled dog. The gold rush was on, and muscular dogs were at a premium. Buck nearly starved to death, for he was basically a gentle animal, but he was not going to survive in the harsh realities of the frozen north. His survival was assured, however, when he learned to steal. He stole a fish from another dog, and from that time on, he lived doing what he had to do to survive.
The story was stark, and the frozen north sounded terribly cruel. The weak did not make it, only the strong who would take from their weaker neighbors. This was true of men as well as dogs.
Finally Kefira closed the book, her eyes gritty with fatigue. It was very late, or rather early in the morning, and she had to get up at dawn to go to work. What a terrible story, she thought. She went to sleep and dreamed about the book. She could almost see the big dog Buck fighting to stay alive. She woke up in a fright and lay awake thinking about the book. Her mother’s death was still painful to her, and she was still angry with God. I’ll do whatever I have to do to stay alive, she thought bitterly. Whatever I have to do—no matter how hard I have to be. I’ll stay alive.
****
The next day was difficult, for Kefira was weary from lack of sleep, and her emotions had been bruised until she could not think straight. She knew she had to have more money and made arrangements to move to Millie’s house after work.
“I’ll have to stop at the apartment first and pick up the last of my things. I may be very late.”
“That’s all right,” Millie said. “I’ll save something from supper for you to eat. Just come on in. I’ll be waiting for you.”
“Thank you, Millie. You’re so kind.”
After Millie left, Kefira thought, Millie wouldn’t make it in the world. She’s like that dog Buck stole food from. She’s just not hard enough. She had worked all day thinking about the book and how hard life was, and she resolved to steel her heart. I can’t be sorry. I can’t be helping anybody, she thought. I can’t buy apples from old men. I’ve got to keep the money for myself.
All of this was somewhat foreign to Kefira’s nature. She was basically a kind person, but hard times and cruel blows had wrought a bitter streak in her.
She worked until almost ten o’clock. Only one other woman was working late, and she finally left. Doggedly Kefira kept on until her hands were aching and her eyes blurry. She had counted her p
atterns and put the last batch of them on the table, then went to the office. Kurtz was sitting there drinking from a bottle. “I’m all through, Mr. Kurtz.”
“Vell, you verked late.” Kurtz got up and moved out to the table with his tally book in his hands. Kefira went with him to watch as he counted.
Announcing the total, he jotted it down and said, “That’s a gut day’s verk.”
“I’d like to be paid now if you don’t mind.”
“Of course. Come into my office.”
The place was deserted, and the quietness seemed more startling than the noise she was accustomed to. When she stepped into the office, he shut the door, for he had a stove in there. He can stay warm, she thought, while the rest of us freeze.
Kurtz opened his safe, removed a box, took out some money, replaced the box, and slammed the door. He came over and counted out the money, and Kefira said, “Thank you.” She put the money in her pocket and turned to go get her coat. She did not make a complete turn, however, for suddenly he seized her arm and swung her around. Before she could even protest, Kurtz’s meaty arms were around her, and he was kissing her roughly.
She smelled the reek of alcohol on his breath and struggled to free herself, feeling powerless against his strength. She hit him in the chest, and then in the face with her fist, but it was nothing to him.
“Look,” he said, dropping his grip on her arms but still holding her fast. “You don’t have to verk so hard. You’re having a tough time, leipshen. I know. I am sorry about your mother and I heard about you having to move in vit Millie.”
“Let me go!”
“Now, don’t be so hard. I’ll put you up in a nice room, pay all your bills. We’ll have a gut time. Right now ve’ll go out and eat and then I’ll set you up.”
“No, let me go!”
But he did not let her go. He was very drunk and began tearing at her clothes, his hands groping her body. Fiercely, with all her strength, Kefira fought. She knew he was cursing and saying awful things in German, and she knew she had to get free. She reached up and scratched his face, and he bellowed what sounded like an oath and released one hand. She wrenched herself away from him and half fell, but she had only angered him. His face was bleeding, and he muttered in German again and reached for her.
Beloved Enemy, The (House of Winslow Book #30) Page 4
