Jacob's Way (2 page)

Finally she emptied the large pot a basin at a time, throwing the water out the door, then carried the pot outside. She felt strange about taking baths, for none of her neighbors seemed to enjoy the ritual—but she was determined to have this one pleasure.

Hunger gnawed at her, and she moved quickly to prepare herself a small meal. She made tea in the samovar, heated a little of the beet soup that they had had for supper, and after she had eaten that she found a bit of
taiglech
, a small cake dipped in honey. She ate one of them, then Boris, her cat, came purring roughly and shoving his blunt head against her leg.

“Oh, Boris! Are you hungry? Here, I saved you some fish.” Quickly she took the fish out of the cupboard, laid it out, and watched as he ate, stroking his coal-black fur. He looked up from time to time licking his chops, his enormous green eyes studying her. When he finished, she broke off a piece of the
taiglech
and offered it to him. “Do you like sweet cakes, Boris?” She laughed when he ate it. “Of course you do. You like everything.”

Reisa rose and moved to the cage that her grandfather had made out of small branches, opened the door, and fed the small bird that was regaining his health. He had been mangled by a cat, and Boris was under suspicion. Reisa was always torn between her love for birds and her love for Boris. She often said to him, “Boris, you're a
mamzer!”
This was the Yiddish word for trickster that she had heard her mother use many times.

Reisa put on her coat, then picked up a package wrapped in brown paper. As she started for the door, Boris came at once with his nose stuck in the crack. “No! You can't go,” Reisa said.

Boris looked up at her—and grinned.

Reisa laughed aloud at this ludicrous sight—as she always did. “You're the only cat I ever saw that could grin.” Indeed it was true. Boris, for whatever reason, had learned to bare his teeth when he wanted something—or when he was in trouble. It was not a snarl, for the corners of his lips were turned up. It was a feat that never ceased to amaze and amuse Reisa, but now she picked him up firmly and moved him away from the door. Putting him down, she said, “Smile all you want to, but you're not charming me. I'll be back soon.”

She left the house, pulling the door closed behind her. The biting cold struck her like a fist as she made her way against it. The small village was only a hundred yards from the little house she shared with her grandfather. As she came to the first house, it never occurred to her to think what a pitiful sort of village it was, for it was all she had ever known of the world. Basically the main street of the
shtetel
was composed of two rows of ramshackle houses. All of them were weathered and made of makeshift material, and now thin tendrils of smoke curled upward from the chimneys into the cloudy sky. She passed by two starved-looking dogs that slumped away when she spoke to them, and once a hammer-headed yellow cat emerged from a small space between two of the houses. She knelt down and stroked his fur for a moment, toying with the idea of taking him home. But this would not do, so she quickly moved on.

The streets were frozen mud, and she stumbled a bit over the ruts as she passed through the village and headed toward the mayor's house. She paused two hundred yards from the main part of the shtetel, and glanced fearfully at a stiff body hanging from a roughly built gibbet. A rusty chain encircled the middle of the body, and the face of the man was blue. The eyes of the corpse, staring and wide open, looked like frozen marbles. The body turned slowly, the chain creaking as the wind caught it. The criminal's body had frozen over during the night, and now a few drops of congealed moisture fell on the ground beneath.

Reisa shivered and turned her eyes away, a feeling of disgust welling up within her.
What good do they think that does? Putting a corpse on a gibbet won't keep men from stealing and killing. Other thieves laugh at it, thinking it won't be them.

Disturbed by this gruesome symbol of rough justice left by the military who roamed the countryside in large bands, Reisa hurried along. She heard her name called and turned to see Yelena Petrov emerging from her house, which was set a hundred feet back off the road. Yelena was a short, heavyset girl with a ruddy face and a pair of shiny dark brown eyes. She had a bad reputation in the neighborhood for going out with wild young men, and was what Orthodox Jews called a
vildeh moid
—a wild Jewish girl. She even went out with the czarist soldiers, but her parents let her do as she pleased, apparently not caring.

“Reisa! Come in and get warm.”

“I can't, Yelena. I've got to go take this blouse to the mayor's wife.”

“Always working! Always working!” Yelena grinned. She was missing one tooth, and there was a vitality in her that seemed to leap out. “You know who came to see me last night?”

“Who?”

“One of the sergeants. His name is Retzov. We went over to the next village and danced until nearly two o'clock. I think I drank a little bit too much.”

“You shouldn't do that, Yelena. You're going to get in trouble.”

“Life's too short to worry about that.” Yelena turned her head to one side and reached over and tugged at Reisa's sleeve. “Come and go with me. The soldiers would go crazy over those green eyes of yours.”

“I can't do that.”

“I know what you're thinking, Reisa. I saw your grandfather talking to the
shadchen
last Monday.”

“The matchmaker? Oh, that's nothing. They're good friends.”

“Good friend, my eye! Your grandfather's looking for a good deal. I think he wants to marry you off to Ivan Tankoff.”

Reisa laughed shortly and shook her head firmly. “I'd just as soon marry a
goy
, a Gentile, as him.”

“Well, he's got lots of money.”

“He's got three children, and he needs a new wife. He's worn out two women already, now he's ready to start on a third. No matchmaker for me! I've got to go.”

Yelena called out after Reisa. “You'd better come tonight. We're going out sleigh riding. I can have my fellow bring you a friend.”

Reisa shook her head and moved steadily down the road. She came to the mayor's house and knocked on the door. The mayor himself, Vassily Trecovitch, opened the door. He was a large man of fifty with a round, pale face and muttonchop whiskers. “Ah, it's you, Reisa. Come in out of the cold.”

“I brought the blouse for your wife, Mayor.”

“Fine. She only has twenty more, but she won't be satisfied until she has a hundred.” He took the package and stood looking at her for a moment. He was not a Jew, but had been a good friend to her grandfather and to many of the other Jews. His wife had given Reisa a great deal of work, and the mayor himself had always been pleasant enough to her. His wife was a thin, dark woman who was sharp and rather harsh. Reisa much preferred dealing with the mayor himself.

“Reisa, do you still study English with Yuri?”

Surprised by the question, Reisa blinked, then nodded. “Yes, sir. I do.”

“Why do you do it?”

“Oh, I don't know, Mayor. I just like it. It's fun, and it's such a
strange
language. The sounds they make are so funny.”

Trecovitch nodded and pulled at his muttonchops. They were fine and long, and he was rather vain about them. “I'm glad to hear you're trying to better yourself. It may be a good thing.”

“A good thing to study English?” Reisa asked, puzzled. “Why is that?”

But Trecovitch merely shook his head. “Here,” he said, fumbling in his pocket and coming out with some change. “I put a little bonus in there.”

“But your wife hasn't even looked at it. She may not like it.”

“You always do good work.” He smiled.

“Thank you, Mayor.”

As Reisa turned to go, the mayor said, “Reisa, where's your grandfather?”

“He's teaching Hebrew at the synagogue.”

“Have him come by and see me before he goes home.”

“Yes, sir. Shall I tell him what you want to see him for?”

“No,” Vassily said, and his eyes refused to meet hers. “Just have him come by.”

“Of course, Mayor. Thank you very much.”

Reisa left the house somewhat puzzled by the behavior of Mayor Trecovitch. He was a jolly sort of man—yet there had been something almost furtive in his behavior. She could not understand it, and as she made her way down the street and headed toward the synagogue, she was puzzled. More than once she looked up at the gray skies and thought of the goose that she had found. The thought of how he had eaten and was now sleeping pleased her. “My fine fellow—soon you'll be well—then I'll set you free and you can fly to the warm south. You'll be honking and pulling at the green grass with your fellows.”

The thought of the goose's long journey south intrigued Reisa. She loved geography, but knew little of the great world. The mayor had a book filled with beautiful maps, and several times he had gone over them with her. As she moved along, she tried to think what it would be like to travel. She had never been so much as ten miles from her village, but since childhood she had dreamed of strange lands far away. Perhaps she was so determined to see the great goose make his way to a distant place because she herself would never do so. Once it had pained her to think that she would live and die in her small village, never seeing anything of the great world the mayor's book had revealed to her; now she had moved past that thought, putting it away with other girlhood fancies.

If I can't see the great world, my goose can!
The thought cheered her, and she smiled as she made her way through the village.

Two

R
eisa sat in the outer room which had been added to the synagogue, waiting for her grandfather Jacob to finish his Hebrew lessons with five bored and unruly boys. Across from her sat Reb Chaim Gurion, the spiritual leader of the small congregation. He was a thin, worn man with kindly brown eyes and sunken cheeks. His voice was soft, and there was a gentleness in his spirit that Reisa had always liked.

“And how goes your Hebrew lessons, Reisa?”

“Oh, I'm keeping up as well as I can, Reb Gurion. I'm afraid I'm not as good a student as I should be.”

“Nonsense.” Gurion waved his thin hand in a gesture disclaiming her answer. “You were always smarter than any of your grandfather's students.”

“I'm pleased you should think so, but I'm afraid I didn't get my grandfather's brain.”

The rabbi smiled suddenly, which made him look younger than his forty-five years. Time and troubles had lined his face and bent his thin frame, but his eyes were clear and sharp. “Tell me, Reisa, I know your grandfather's giving you different subjects in the Torah and the Talmud. What are you studying now?”

“For the last month he's had me looking up passages on the Messiah.”

“Indeed! Fascinating subject. Let me test you then. You're familiar with Moses Mamonides?”

“Yes, indeed. He was the famous Jewish scholar of long ago.”

“And how many articles are in the creed of this famous scholar?”

“Thirteen, Rabbi.”

“I would have you recite them for me.”

Reisa began reciting:

“
I believe that God alone is the Creator.

That he is absolutely one.

That he has no body or bodily shape.

That he is the first and the last.

That only to him may we pray and to no other.

That the words of the prophets are true.

That the prophecy of Moses is true, and that he is the father of all prophets.

That the Torah now found in our hands, was given to Moses
.

That this Torah is not subject to change, and that there never will be another Torah from the Creator
.

That the Creator knows all the thoughts and deeds of man.

That he rewards and punishes according to the deed.

That the Messiah will come; though he tarry I will expect him daily.

That the dead will be resurrected.”

“Very good indeed, daughter! You have a fine memory. And so the twelfth item is that the Messiah will come. Your grandfather has you studying that.”

“Yes. It has been very fascinating.”

“Yes. One day he will come. He who will deliver Israel and the nations from all the troubles of the world.”

“Yes. I believe that, Rabbi.”

“It has been a part of Jewish faith since biblical time. Has your grandfather told you of the origin of the word Messiah?”

“No, sir.”

“The word
Messiah
is derived from the Hebrew
Mashiah.”

“And what is the meaning of
Mashiah
, sir?”

“It means ‘the anointed one.' Originally it meant a designation for a ruler king.”

Reisa leaned forward, very interested in all of this. “And what will the Messiah bring, Rabbi? In what form will he come?”

“Ah, that is a matter of some disagreement—that and other questions such as what phenomena will accompany the Messiah's coming. How does the Messianic age relate to the end of history? I'm sure your grandfather will take you through all these questions step-by-step.”

Reisa showered Rabbi Gurion with questions, and he, with a smile, answered them as best he could.

Finally she said, “I think my grandfather's view of the Messiah is different from those I have heard from others.”

Rabbi Gurion was interested. Leaning forward, he folded his hands. “How so, Reisa?”

Reisa could not answer this exactly. She thought for a moment, then said, “So many that I have heard about believe that the Messiah will be a victorious political leader who will lead Israel into battle and win.”

“Many do believe that. Your grandfather does not?”

“He is puzzled by the passages in the Torah and in the prophets that refer to suffering—that the Messiah will be a suffering one.”

“Those are troublesome passages for all of us. And what are his conclusions?”

“I do not think he has reached one, Rabbi.” Reisa smiled shyly. “Perhaps you could tell me.”

“I do not think one tells another about things like this. Each individual must study and wait on God, believing that one day God will speak.”

For some time Reisa continued this conversation. She could hear the vague sound of the boys reciting Hebrew in the main room of the synagogue, but as she continued her conversation, she seemed to find something troubling in the expression of the rabbi. He was ordinarily a calm man with a ready smile, but there were few smiles today, and she saw that he was worried. She wanted to ask him what was wrong, but it seemed ill-mannered for one of her age and sex to interrogate the rabbi. So she simply determined to say extra prayers for him.

Finally there was the sound of running feet. Reisa said, “I think the lesson is over.”

She looked to the door. As her grandfather came in, she stood and asked, “How was the lesson?”

“They seem to be determined to remain unchanged.”

Jacob Dimitri smiled as he spoke. He was a spare silverhaired man, but he did not look his age, which was sixty-five. Long ago he had wanted to be a university professor, but he had been forced to abandon his studies to support his brothers and sisters after the death of his parents. Instead of a professor, he had become a tutor of Hebrew to other men's children. “Has this worrisome young woman been troubling you, Rabbi?”

“Not at all! She is a fine scholar.”

“And a good cook. I think I would starve to death if Reisa were not there to care for me.”

“She has been telling me of your views about the Messiah.”

“I think it is a subject that every Jew should be concerned about.”

“I agree. Perhaps we can get together one evening this week and compare notes.”

Reisa spoke up suddenly, “Christians believe that Jesus is the Messiah.” She spoke before she thought (as she sometimes did) and saw that both men's faces changed.

“That is what they believe,” Jacob said soberly. And then, as if to terminate a conversation of something unpleasant, he said, “We must go, Reisa.”

“Good-bye, Rabbi.”

“Good-bye, Reisa. Good-bye, Jacob.”

The two stepped outside of the synagogue. As they walked back toward the village, Reisa said, “I have a surprise for you. I can't wait to give it to you.”

“A surprise? What sort of surprise?” Her grandfather's warm brown eyes gazed down at hers, his mobile lips curving in a smile.

“It's a present,” Reisa said. She returned his smile, linking her arm through his.

“Well, I always think I deserve surprises, but I usually don't.”

“You deserve the very best,
Zaideh.”
This was the Yiddish word for grandfather, which Reisa often used as a term of endearment.

“Well, do you have it in your pocket?”

“No. It's much too big for that.” Reisa's eyes sparkled, and she squeezed his arm. “What would you think of a feast tonight?”

“A feast! I'm always in favor of that, but where is it to come from?”

“It came from God.” Reisa smiled. “All blessings come from him,
Zaideh.”
Suddenly she could not wait for the evening. “I killed the fattest chicken, and tonight we will have a feast!”

“That sounds wonderful!”

“I thought we would ask Yuri and his parents over to share it with us.”

“That would be a blessing for them indeed. They would be most grateful, I'm sure.”

Chatting happily, the pair passed through the food market that had been set up on one end of the main street. During the winter there was no problem of food spoiling. In the open square a food market to serve all the area contained the hanging carcasses of animals, including cows, sheep, and fowls. There were fish, too, all frozen like silver stones. As they passed through the market, they greeted the bearded merchants and peasants, most of whom wore the Muscovite costume, long heavy cossack pants and fur caps. Jacob spoke to many, and more than one young man came to give a word to Reisa. As she responded briefly to each of them, Reisa remembered what Yelena had said.

“A little bird tells me you've been talking to the matchmaker,
Zaideh,”
she said, a smile in her eyes and on her lips.

A look of surprise swept across Jacob's features, then he laughed. “Oh, yes. He's thinking of having his boy join the school.” He turned to look at her, a question in his eyes. “Were you thinking I was looking for a husband for you?”

“The thought did pass my mind.”

“What would I do without you? You'll have to have a husband some day, but not now.”

“Good! Who needs one of those troublesome things anyway?”

Just then Yelena darted across their path, laughing as a young soldier chased her.

“I worry about Yelena,” Jacob said. “She's headed for trouble.”

“Yes. She's a wild young girl. There are many such.”

Jacob put his arm around her. “But you are a good girl, Reisa. I thank the Creator of the Universe for you every day.”

Reisa felt the warmth and returned his hug. Suddenly she remembered the mayor's message. “Oh, the mayor wants you to stop by.”

“Indeed?”

“Yes. I dropped a blouse off for his wife. I got a bonus for it, too. Now we can buy you a new pair of gloves.”

“Better a new dress for you.”

The two argued amiably until they reached the mayor's house.

It was a short visit, and Reisa sat quietly waiting until her grandfather came out. He said nothing, and his silence worried her.
First the rabbi, she thought, and now Grandfather. What is troubling them?
She knew, however, that it was no good to ask, for he was a man who knew how to keep his problems to himself. She concentrated on the feast that would come that evening, thinking of what a fine time it would be.

The smell of stewed chicken filled the room, and Reisa poked at the bird with a knife. She had made a rich gravy which simmered on the stove, while another pot held the chicken liver soup, which was a favorite of her grandfather.

Across the room Yuri Pavlov sat speaking with her grandfather in an animated fashion. Yuri was a sturdy peasant in his late forties with a shock of dark brown hair and a square face carved, it seemed, almost out of granite. He spoke rapidly and waved his arms around a great deal, often laughing at something that Jacob was saying.

Yuri's parents sat quietly at the table. They were very elderly now, and Reisa sadly thought that it was unlikely that they would be alive much longer. She knew of Yuri's devotion to them, for he had left a profitable business in the United States after emigrating there. He had come home to take care of them when his other two brothers had both died and there was no one else.

Jacob, as always inquisitive, was pumping Yuri for details about America. It was a subject that fascinated him. “Why do you say such evil things about America, Yuri? You made money there.”

“Yes, I made money there—and I lost my religion there.”

“I cannot believe that!”

“Then you do not know America. It is not like here, Jacob. It is a godless place.”

“But there are many Jews who have gone to America. They have not
all
lost their religion.”

Yuri clapped his meaty hands together and leaned back in his chair, which creaked under him. He sniffed the air and said, “Reisa, how much longer do I have to wait? My stomach thinks my throat's been cut.”

“It's all ready,” Reisa said. “Everyone come to the table.”

Since Yuri's parents were already at the table, the two men took the other two places. They had made a place for another, and Reisa said, “There's not room to set this beautiful bird down. Just give me your plates. Tell me what part you like best.”

“Don't give me the part that goes over the fence last.” Yuri grinned.

“You shouldn't talk like that, Yuri,” Mrs. Pavlov said. Her voice was feeble, and her mind sometimes wandered. “It isn't nice in the presence of a young lady.”

“Oh, I'm sorry! Did I hurt your feelings, Reisa?”

“You do that every time you open your mouth, Yuri,” Reisa teased. “Now, what do you want?”

“I'll have dark meat. How about the leg?”

Reisa skillfully sliced the leg from the chicken and put it on Yuri's plate. “I made fresh bread last night,” she said, and went to get it out of the oven. “Yuri, you slice it while I serve the others.”

The feast was soon on the table, and there was a moment's silence. They all waited for Jacob, as always, and he prayed, “Oh, Father of the Universe, we thank thee for this food which came to us from thy hand. As the servant looks to the hand of his master, do our eyes look unto thee, O mighty and everlasting and almighty God. We love you for what you have given us, and we give you praise and thanks for every blessing. Amen.”