Irina panicked. Immediately, she understood he would wonder about two well-dressed women wandering through a craftsmen’s alley twice in the same hour. At best, he might ignore them, but at worst, he would cause them undue and unwanted attention. As she reached for Velka’s arm, her companion wasn’t at her side, but was several feet away, her gaze apparently fastened only on the piles of dung in her path.
Tension arose in her voice. “Velka!” she commanded, her tone that of a mistress toward a servant. When the girl finally looked up, she said, “Come here, foolish girl! You have taken us the wrong way!”
Dumbfounded, Velka stopped and looked at Irina, her face wrinkled in puzzlement.
In a much softer voice, Irina said, “Never mind, girl. Come with me.” Out of the cobbler’s sight, she put her arm around Velka’s shaking shoulders and said, “I am so sorry, sweet soul. We were almost found out, I think, and I said the first thing that came into my mind.”
Velka’s soft brown hair fell over her dampened eyes as she looked up at Irina’s warm smile. “What is amiss, then?”
“I must be honest with you, Velka. I think we are lost. The alleys are so narrow, it’s hard to see the sky to find the morning’s sun. We will have to walk a bit further away until I can see our way forward.”
“But who will you ask? Where are we going? Aren’t you hungry yet?”
Irina stopped and faced her companion. “I don’t know, Velka. We will have to find a square or a fountain, and then some food.” She inhaled and let out her breath, waiting for other passersby to give her a bit of space. “Last night I had no faith that God exists, but now I have no choice but to seek His help.”
Velka held back her tears, regaining her composure only when Irina once again put her arm around her. “Come. We will find our way.”
After another round of aimless wandering with Yip as their protector, they came upon a small square.
“Ah, we need to turn ourselves this way.”
“How do you know that?”
“See the sun?” Irina pointed upward. Then she turned. “See over there? You can just make out a church spire. It is there where we want to go.” She had no idea where their steps would take them. It wasn’t to the cathedral that had two spires. The church they could see had only one.
Velka broke into a bright smile.
One thing Irina knew for certain was she and Velka could go nowhere near Jewish Street ever again. They could not appeal for help at the castle, and they could not make their way toward St. Michael. We shall go in the one direction that takes us away from yesterday.
Here and there, they saw the devastation wrought by mobs burning out their neighbors, encouraged, surely, by a few sips of ale. “It’s easy to see where some of the Jewish merchants had their shops,” Irina said. “The only good fortune to have visited here came with the heavy rains that kept the fires from sweeping the city. These fools almost let their hate burn them all out.”
She kept her eyes on the distant spire as they gathered the stares of many. Is it because of the colors we wear? Where the working men and women were garbed in browns, grays, and dull greens, Irina’s top was dark blue and trimmed in rabbit fur, while Velka’s dress, though simple, was well made. Only Yip’s presence, ever wary and unfriendly to all, gave them some assurance of safety.
As the pair walked along, they talked in low voices about the horrors they’d been through overnight, but Irina decided her companion need not be burdened with her losses. To Irina, none of it seemed possible, yet it had happened. It was a lesson, she knew, for her heart and head never to forget. Life is short. Do not hesitate—and there is no time for sadness.
After a long silence, Velka said, “When we reach the spire, then what?”
“I do not know. What I do know is we had to leave Jewish Street—and what we saw there.”
“Are you scared, Irina?”
“Last night, I was scared out of my wits.” When she said this, she stopped, turned around, and faced her “servant.” “What I learned, Velka,” her voice steely in resolve, “was that being scared did not help me and it did not save the Joselewiczes. So, no, today I am not scared. Today, we take charge of our own lives. Understand?”
“I think so, but I’m not like you, Irina.”
“Then will you trust me—no matter what?” Even as she said the words, Irina knew she had to hide the fear she felt.
“Yes, Irina.”
“Then try to remember. I am now Lady Irina Kwasniewska, and you are my servant.” She looked down at Yip. “And you’re to take care of both of us,” she said to the dog, and scratched his neck. Yip’s tail signaled ready acceptance of his duty.
“I understand, My Lady,” Velka said, crying softly, and showing every bit of her age.
At that, Irina continued their procession. Irina had chosen her words carefully. She had almost said being scared had not saved “my Berek.” Velka did not know about their love. She did not know about the baby she was carrying.
“Why did it have to happen?” whispered Velka.
“I heard people say the plague is amongst us.”
“Have you seen anyone with plague?”
“No. Not so far. Listen to what the people are saying. It makes no sense to me. But plague is plague, and people blame the Jews. We must take care.”
As the morning wore on, they began to hear muttered rumblings of pestilence, passed from person to person, from wharf to wayfare. It was said the disease came from Srodka, and that the Jews had been caught poisoning wells.
Leaning toward the ear of her servant, Irina whispered, “They know what they’ve heard from the person next to them.” What the elder Joselewicz said was true: news was always tainted by ignorance, and good sense seldom overruled rumor. She noticed, too, that such news was passed on with both glee and terror. Glee, because it gave them something important to say, and terror, because they knew the plague might come for them. Irina made sure she and Velka kept moving.
“Why do these people hate our Jews? The Joselewiczes—all the people we know—would never harm anyone,” Velka said.
“I know,” Irina said. “These people know that, too, but hate needs no reason.”
“Why hate the Jews?”
She is so innocent. “Envy breeds hate, dear one. What’s more is that for some reason people always fear those who are different, and for those who they fear and come to hate? God help them.”
Not long after she had assured Velka no plague was to be seen, they spotted three people bent over, retching in the muddy alleyways that passed for thoroughfares. Other people out and about noticed them as well and stepped well clear of the ill ones. Irina, too, had vomited that morning, but she knew it was the sickness her mother had had each time she was with child. She knew it would soon pass, but she did not want anyone to see her. She had told Velka she did not feel well, and not to worry. Velka wants to trust me, and I must never let her down.
The evening before, when Irina had been so fixated on her reason to hurry back to the city, she had not fully considered the possibility that she could be one of the many who would soon sicken and die. The strangers warned me, didn’t they!
She reminded Velka—and herself—that seeing people sick in the street was not all that unusual. Sickness of one kind or another—often from rotten food—was ever-present. The young women did not pause to observe those who were obviously ill, yet well enough to step outside for whatever bodily discharge overcame them. Stench fouled the morning air, and in a natural reaction, the pair kept their mouths and noses covered.
As they walked, Irina noticed something else. Without much noise or notice, the merchant and middle classes were already throwing large sacks of belongings into carts. “They will depart the city for any refuge their coin pouches might buy them,” Irina said to her companion.
“I see. And they make no farewells to anyone
outside their household,” whispered Velka.
“Ah, but look. A few servants will leave with them, and the rest will have to look after themselves. No escape for them!” Irina saw Velka quickly cast her eyes downward. Sensing another thought might cross Velka’s mind. She added, “Never to worry. I would never leave you.”
Velka looked up, beaming.
“And the poor,” Irina continued. “They, too, are terrified, but they cannot ready themselves to leave. They have no possessions, and they have nowhere to go. I heard Pan Joselewicz say that the underclasses were the first to face life’s demons. At the table one time, he told the family there was no point in trying to outrun a terror, only to meet up with it down the road.” Irina hoped their talking might make them appear less afraid to some who might take advantage of them. “Even so, we are not waiting here for our fate.”
Not long after their scare by the curious cobbler, they were moving slowly amongst the hustling mass of people when a tall, nearly toothless man barred their way. In a loud voice, he said to Irina, looking her up and down, “What are the likes of you two doing here amongst the poor? Why aren’t you leaving the city along with your rich folk?”
Irina wrapped her hand around the thick silk strings of her pouch, ready to swing her ball of precious metals at the man’s head if need be.
“It does not concern you why we are here. Now, step out of the way,” Irina demanded.
Brave with morning ale, no doubt, the lout did not give way. “Let’s see what you might be carrying in your little bag,” he said, reaching out to take from Irina the means for their survival. Before his hand could reach his prize, however, Yip leapt from the ground, pain and all, and clamped his jaws on the man’s wrist. The would-be robber yelped in pain and tried to shake off the dog, reaching at the same time for a knife with his free hand.
At once, Velka stepped forward, knocked his knife hand aside and kicked him solidly in the groin. Next, she grabbed Yip’s collar and tugged him away while their assailant doubled over. Without so much as a look around to the growing crowd, Velka extended her hand and said, “My Lady?” a sign to her mistress they could proceed.
Wide-eyed and astonished, Irina grasped Velka’s arm and the two of them walked on, equally impressed murmurings from the crowd filling the air behind them.
The incident reminded her of what the elder Joselewicz said one day after a Gentile tradesman had left. “Do you know in what way a man is like a wolf?” He turned his head to look at her and raised his eyebrow in expectation of a good answer, but when Irina remained silent, he said, “In every way! Watch out, Irina—the wolves are everywhere.” How well he knew! She then recalled her father warning her about wolves, too. Only he was talking about being alone on a pathway. “They come from nowhere,” he had said. “Usually in packs of two or three—all the easier to bring down their prey.” The more she thought about it, the more she realized how lucky she had been not to have encountered a predator on her walk from St. Michael to Poznan. She shivered. Was it luck? Or was someone watching over me?
As they walked on, Irina couldn’t help but admire the tiny Velka, a mere girl who didn’t let her size defeat her. Irina made up her mind that in a world filled with the kind of wolves old Joselewicz and her father cautioned her about, they would learn to fear. Whether someone is watching me or not, I will be sure to watch out for myself. No oaf will get the better of me, no matter how much shade he makes!
By late morning, they were near the city’s newer parts when Velka muttered something about not having eaten anything that day. Despite all the smells of stews and soups, of breads and pastries, they dared not stop.
Finally, they’d reached the great spire. It stood atop the Church of the Heart of Jesus, they learned, and its stone finger pointed to where the noonday sun would soon take its position. Irina looked first at the church, then at Velka.
“We’ll go in for a bit.”
“Why? It’s a church. Aren’t you hungry?” she demanded yet again.
“I’m starved, but we need a bit of rest. This is a good place for rest and gratitude.”
“What have you to be grateful for? We’ve lost everything! Our family in the city, the place where we slept and ate,” she protested, fighting another round of tears.
Irina smiled at her young companion. Though not many years separated them, the difference seemed vast. Velka could think only about what lay immediately ahead. Irina, on the other hand, knew more than their empty stomachs mattered this morning.
“Just two hours ago, we were lost, and now, we are found. That is enough reason to visit this place.” Truly conflicted, her inner feelings conveyed another emotion, she knew. I cannot forget last night and a God not very almighty. Yet habit was habit, and for some reason, she was still standing, and in front of His own house. Where else do we have to go?
They climbed the steps, seven in all, to reach the great front doors, each three times as high as the people who walked through them.
“Yip! Stay here.” The sheepdog wagged its tail a few times and rested on its haunches where the sun warmed the stone and, no doubt, the poor dog’s hurts. As they entered, they heard a choir singing a hymn to Mary, the Mother of God. The nuns’ voices rang in great beauty throughout the stone cavern. Irina hoped the priest would not see them—she would not have much to say to him. On Sundays, she was allowed to attend Mass at the cathedral, the church closest to the Joselewicz compound, but, she thought, the priest there was no man of God. He was a man of the altar wine, and died from it. I have no reason to trust a priest right now.
Rapt in their attention to the beautiful words of the song, the pair found a place for themselves and knelt on the stone floor. The deep blue of Irina’s gown caught the light gilded by the single stained-glass window high above them.
“So, you have come to speak to Jesus’s heart?”
The strange voice startled her. “Y-yes. Y-yes, Sister,” Irina responded as she looked up at the woman in white and black above her. “In truth, there is much to say.”
“Indeed. It is good to see those who honor the Almighty with their presence,” the nun replied. She was dressed mostly in heavy woolens but wore a starched, white wimple that surrounded her face and draped over her shoulders. “I am Sister Mary Elisabeth, Mother Superior of our convent here.”
“Oh. This is a convent?” She did not offer their names.
“Yes, we are the Dominican Sisters, in service to this parish, and to the poor of Poznan. Is there something we can do for you?” These words were relayed with the utmost kindness, a tenderness so different from what they’d experienced the past day and night.
Velka had never known her parents, and Irina had just lost her own to anger and fear. Her eyes became teary and Velka could hardly suppress her tears when hearing the older nun extend her heart to them.
“We do not wish to impose,” said Irina, quickly recovering, and remembering their roles as mistress and servant, “but we have been travelling through your city the entire morning, and have not found a safe place to take bread.” She took a deep breath. “I am so sorry, Sister. I am Irina Kwasnieska and this is Velka, my attendant.”
Irina watched the older nun carefully. She wasn’t sure the woman believed her. Sister Elisabeth seemed to be making up her mind about something as she took in their mud-spattered clothing. Finally, she nodded to herself and said, “Come, my children. We will feed you. I want to hear all about you and your travels.” She smiled broadly. “And your other companion may join us,” she said with a wide smile, nodding toward the shaggy dog that had followed them inside and crept quietly out of the shadows.
…
Tomasz refused to be seen running anywhere but to his duke’s command. Even so, he propelled himself at a quickstep to the Joselewicz house, his furtive, dark eyes glancing in every direction as he went along. Once there, he stepped across the courtyard, giving the smoldering
piles of char nary a regret. He took to the stairs, three at a time. At the top, Big Franciszek stood guard, just inside the doorway.
“Did you look around?” Tomasz demanded.
“No, Sire, I thought I should wait for you.”
“You shouldn’t think, Franciszek, but it’s good you waited. I wanted to see if things were as I left them.” He paused, rubbing his temple. “Not that I remember all that clearly.” Tomasz stood in the center of the room and inventoried what he saw. He walked into each sleeping room and back into the main room.
“Someone has been here. The Jew girl’s clothes are gone and some of the mother’s things are missing as well. It makes no sense! You’re sure no one was here?!
“I’m sure, Sire. I was awake until very late,” he lied.
Something about one of the large cabinets caught Tomasz’s eye. Stepping through the pool of blood, now nearly dry, Tomasz kicked aside the hand pointing its guilty finger at him, and stood staring. As he swung its doors wide, full daylight filled the interior, and he saw it.
“God’s curses! Look at this—a secret door. Someone was here!” He ran his hands all around on the inside of the cavity. “This must be where the real treasure was hidden. Those filthy Jews! We should have done a bit of work on them—we let them off too easy!”
“Yes, Sire,” Franciszek agreed, then looked away and muttered something about the bonfires—“but not an easy death, to be sure.”
Tomasz glowered at his underling. He would repay the insolence later. “Someone must have stayed hidden here all the time you were awake,” he said with biting sarcasm.
“Yes, Sire,” he said again, this time in submission.
“We’ll have to find whoever it was. Are any of the servants left alive?”
“I don’t know, Sire. Who can I ask?” Franciszek laughed, and said, foolishly, “We killed all the Jews and their people.”
Irina Page 8
