“Maybe an operation?”
Israel moved away and wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his shirt, and then took out a handkerchief and blew his nose. He was breathing heavily, panting for air. He swallowed a time or two, and then said, “I asked about an operation. He said it is too late.”
Hanna flung the tears from her eyes. “I will find another doctor,” she muttered desperately.
Israel shook his head again, hopelessly. “There is nothing to be done. It is all in the hands of God.” He began limping towards the door, and then stopped and turned. “No more tears, Hanna. Whatever time your mother has left, we will give it to her with our love.” Then trying with all his might to straighten his shoulders, he walked into the house.
CHAPTER 10
Hanna met Stephen at the boat shortly before dark. He was sitting on the bank, idly tossing stones into the water. He started getting up as she approached, but she motioned for him to remain seated. She sat next to him.
“Mama’s worse,” she said quietly.
“I’m very sorry,” he said, taking hold of her hand and pressing it gently. “Is there anything I can do?”
She shook her head, tears making their way into her eyes. “Everything seems to be happening all at once,” she said chokingly.
His attention was caught by an unusual sound in her voice, and he stared at her in the pale gray of dusk. “What else is there?”
She sighed wearily. “I do not know what to think.”
He turned towards her; his tall, square body blocking out lights springing up across the river. “What is it, Hanna?” She sat still, the only movement her teeth gently biting her lip. “You’re trying to tell me something. Come on, my dear, out with it.”
“My bleeding has suddenly stopped,” she said, turning her face away.
Stephen sat as still as stone for a few moments, then he placed his arm around her shoulders, drawing her close to him. “Are you sure? Could it be caused by your troubles, or something like that?”
Her lips tightened as she rested her head against him. “I hope it is. But it never happened to me before.”
“Perhaps it’s due to making love for the first time.”
“I don’t know, but if nothing happens in a few more days, I guess I am pregnant.”
He tightened his arm around her. “We’ll get married,” he said, his voice calm and determined.
“We can’t do that, Stephen. Not now, at any rate.”
“It’s not a matter of what we can’t do,” he replied at once. “It’s a matter of what we must do. I want to be your husband for the rest of my life. I love you, Hanna, with all my heart. Being pregnant is only making us do what we should do anyway.” He leaned over and kissed her lightly on the cheek.
Her shoulders drooped under his arm, and she let out a sigh of dejection. “I don’t know what to say. There are so many problems at home that I can’t think of being pregnant and getting married.”
“How can you not think about it?”
She suddenly began to cry. He held her in his arms to comfort her, rocking her gently, knowing that now was the time to let her shed her pain and fears and sorrows on his shoulder. For a moment, upon learning the news, his heart had leaped into his throat, and his brain had almost stopped functioning with the shock of having to face the first truly important decision of his life. His initial reaction was that he must protect her at all costs, and the only shelter he could offer was marriage. Now, as he held her, he began to think of more practical requirements, the most important being to earn a living, since marriage with her would create many bitter problems as well as the joy of having her for his own.
He decided to put all of that out of his thoughts for the present. The immediate issue was to determine whether Hanna was really pregnant, and if so, to find some way they could marry without everyone in the world knowing of it.
“Hanna,” he said, softly. “You must not become ill with concern. You have enough to worry about with your mother. Just remember that we can handle anything.” He lifted her chin gently so her eyes met his. “Do you believe that, my dear?”
“I will try to, Stephen.” She leaned forward and kissed his lips. “Sometimes I think the only thing that gives me courage is loving you. But the thought of Mama’s dying feels like a knife turning inside me.” She got to her feet. “I will have to go home now.”
He stood at once. “I’ll walk back with you.” He stayed her for a moment. “Will you promise me something?”
“I will promise you anything,” she said simply.
“I want you to know that I’ll take care of everything. So don’t worry. Will you believe that?”
She nodded her head, a smile of devotion crossing her lips. “I know you will, my dear.”
He walked her directly to the door and waited until she went inside.
Motlie went into a coma two days later. Even while passing in and out of unconsciousness, the pain stayed with her until it so exhausted her body that it snapped her will, the driving force that had withstood so many adversities of her life. Jakob was by her side frequently, praying for her life, wanting so badly to lift her head to sip water when she begged thirst, or to hold her hand when her fingers groped at the bed for relief from the excruciating torment. But in his belief, he could touch only mother, sister, wife, and, if the Lord so decided, his daughter.
At dusk on the second day, as Hanna lit the lantern in the kitchen, Jakob walked to the open door of the house, his tallis, his long praying shawl, around his shoulders. He rocked back and forth in prayer. Then he said in a loud voice, “Lord, all here suffer. We are too unworthy to know the cause, but in Thy exalted name, help us comprehend that we suffer for Your sake. Rebecca Glassman lies here, Lord, ill to the point of death. Help us, Lord. Tell your Angel of Death that Rebecca Glassman, who lies here in agony, is praying for your intervention.”
He stepped backwards towards the door leading to Motlie’s room, always bowing to the entrance of the house. “Angel of Death,” he cried. “Please help Rebecca Glassman, who lies stricken in this room behind me. The mercy of God over her, Angel of Death.”
Reba sat wide-eyed at the table with the others. She nudged Hanna. “Why is he mixing up Mama with that Rebecca Glassman?” she whispered.
Hershel leaned forward towards her. “He is trying to deceive the Angel so it may pass by.”
Suddenly, Jakob stiffened, and his body stood up straight as a ramrod. In a flash, he spun round and ran into Motlie’s room. He bent over her.
“Shma Yisrael,” he said softly. “Motlie Barlak, say Shma Yisrael.”
From her pain racked lips came the words, her eyes rolling in their sockets as she recited the Shema Yisrael, the confession of faith of the Jews, the last words they should hear.
“Adonai Elohanu,” he went on. She did not respond, so he bent closer and raised his voice. “Adonai Elohanu,” he repeated urgently. Motlie did not respond, just lay there sucking in air hoarsely.
Israel came to the open door and looked at his wife. He turned to the door jamb, tears rushing from his eyes and began bowing and striking his chest with a clenched fist. “Shma Yisrael,” he said in a quavering voice.
“Adonai Elohanu,” said Jakob more loudly. “Say it, Motlie Barlak!”
Her lips moved.
“Adonai Ehud,” whispered Jakob. Motlie’s face began to fall slack. “Motlie Barlak,” he said gently. “Please say it. Adonai Ehud.”
As the rattle began in her throat, her lips formed the phrase.
Then she died.
Jakob rose from his bent position and turned towards the door. All were standing there. “Hear, O Israel,” he said softly, almost in a whisper. “The Lord Our God. The Lord is One.”
And just as softly, amid the tears streaming down their faces, the family repeated his words.
Jakob stepped forward and embraced Israel. “Blessed is the name of the Lord,” he said. “Forever and forever.”
Death rides on wings, and within
half an hour, alerted by signs or sounds, or the lack of them, two of the four women of the village Chevra Kadisah, the burial society, were at the door to perform the tohorah, the preparation of the body for burial. One was the tiny Mrs. Feldman. With whispered condolences, they went straight to the bedroom, laid fresh straw on the floor, and placed Motlie’s body on it. One of them covered her with a blanket while the other began to heat a pot of water. Hanna stepped forward and told Mrs. Feldman where her mother stored the linen shroud she had made at the onset of her illness.
In short time, the other two women came, one carrying a long, smooth board. In the bedroom, they placed the board atop two chairs, laid Motlie upon it, and washed her body. They slipped on the shroud’s pants, sewn at the ends so her feet would not show, then the upper portion, also sewn at the ends to conceal her hands. On her head they placed a white bonnet to hide her hair. When all was done, they put the blanket on top of the straw, laid Motlie back upon it, and folded it around her. All was covered by a black blanket with a golden Star of David in the center. They lit candles at her head and feet. Two of the women volunteered for the shemirah, the continuous watching of the corpse, and sat on chairs in the corner of the room while the others quietly left.
Soon the mourners came. They kissed the family, then went into the bedroom and said prayers from the psalms of David, reciting those which started with the initials of Motlie’s name. Others brought in stools for the family to sit on, so they would remember how mortal they are, and that at this point of time for the one who died, there is only God. The single mirror of the house was draped with black cloth, and the family had changed to clothing of the same color.
The women of the village prepared a hot meal for the family, since that was also custom, then they all left except for the two volunteers standing watch in the death room. After eating, Jakob took Zelek upstairs to sleep with him, Hanna and Hershel moved the cot from the bedroom into the kitchen for Israel, then she stretched out in her own room. There was little sleep for her that night. The loss of her mother was finally sinking in. Her mind did not dwell on the many problems she must face, replacing Motlie. Instead, for hour after hour, she saw her mother’s smile, the way she walked, the sound of her voice, the motions of her hands as she gave the Sabbath prayer, the tender, loving care the children and she had gotten during the chicken pox and measles, and the various ailments that came to all families. She wondered how one, slight woman could find so much love for a household of people, for each of them felt that Motlie loved her or him the most.
Poor Papa, she thought, her teeth clenched to hold back the sobs that filled her throat. What will he do without Mama? Thank God there are young children for him to occupy himself with. She knew that when he came back from the cemetery, he would wipe away the tears and start taking over Mama’s duties. She knew that as surely as her own name. He will walk around with half a heart, but he will not give up. He will do what must be done while he is waiting to join her, and he will look forward to that day as eagerly as a child looks forward to a special gift. But when he goes, he will take the report that he did the job, that all the children were raised as Motlie would want them raised.
The funeral took place the following day. Four men of the village came with a stretcher and lifted Motlie’s body by the blanket enfolding her. The family, and a gathering of friends and relatives followed them as they carried her through the streets towards the small cemetery outside of town. George Wilson was there, his nose red from blowing it into a handkerchief, and Mrs. Merkys, and everyone they knew from Slabodka.
Stephen walked at the end of the procession with his sister, Larisa, amid half a dozen gentiles who had grown to admire the gentle, hard working woman.
The grave was already open, the earth piled high and raw, a yellow base atop the darker surface soil. Nearby were fresh gravestones mingled with the weathered markers of those gone years before. The sun and wind and snow had sucked off layer after layer until the words inscribed were difficult to read. A stone would be put up for Motlie on the anniversary of her death, at the conclusion of the fourth period of mourning.
Rabbi Warnitski said a prayer, then signaled for the interment to begin. One of the men dropped down into the grave, placed a cement block at each end of the hole, then helped the others lower Motlie between them by the blanket enfolding her. Once she was in position, a wide board was placed on top of the two blocks to cover her. This was the moment of the most profound grief as the family performed the keri’ah. The rabbi made a small cut in their clothing, on the left side for Hanna and the children, and on the right for Israel, and they tore it open to a hand’s-breadth, cries of anguish bursting from their lips.
Blinded by tears, they were led to the grave and poured on the first shovels of earth, and then stood back broken-hearted as relatives and friends filled the hole and shaped the mound. Rabbi Warnitski led them in reciting the kaddish, the prayer for the dead, and then the gathering formed two rows for the family to pass out of the cemetery. Outside, a basin of water and towels were waiting for all to wash their hands. The mourners returned home, where avelut, the period of mourning, began.
The women of the village had brought baskets of food, for it was forbidden that family members eat their own at the first meal after the funeral. The baskets had to be of wicker instead of the more ostentatious types in deference to the poor.
The funeral ended the first period of mourning, that of weeping. Now came shiv’ah, seven days of lamenting, sitting on stools, receiving consolation from friends. It was a mitzvah for others to visit, for now was the time to take the minds of the family off the one they had lost.
It was on the second day of shiv’ah that Stephen stopped by Hanna’s house to express his sympathies more fully. She led him out to the bench in the yard, and they sat down. Her face was pale, and her mood subdued.
“Are you well, my dearest?” he asked quietly.
She smiled wanly. “I will be all right soon. It is just that the house seems so empty. But everyone has been trying hard to make things easier for everyone else.”
“How is your father?”
A line of concern crossed her forehead. “I can’t tell yet, Stephen. On the surface, he appears to be bearing up well, and he discusses things that he would not bother with a month ago. But every now and then, in the midst of a sentence sometimes, he just…well, fades away. As if the world he was in a moment ago was full of play acting and he has suddenly gone back to his real world.” She shook her head sadly. “He is thinking of Mama. But each time he drifts away, he seems to come back with a piece of himself missing. I try not to show it, but it worries me.”
“It will take time.”
“I know.”
He kicked at a turf of grass, his eyes fixed to the ground. “Is there any news about…you know, your period?”
She shook her head again and looked away, and it occurred to her that she had been shaking her head all day and not facing up squarely to the situation. She would have to stop that at once.
“Hanna,” said Stephen softly. “Please don’t turn your head away from me.”
She looked at him, and he was so obviously sad for her that she was tempted to kiss him directly on the spot. “All right. I am sorry.”
“We must always talk things out. I don’t have a crush on you, like a schoolboy. I love you with all my heart, and I will never love another woman. To me, you are already my wife. I want you to know that and to lean on me. Do you understand what I am saying?”
“Of course I do, my dear. And I could never love you more than this very minute.”
His shy grin returned. “That makes me feel better. When will your mourning be over?”
“Shiv’ah ends in five days. Then we will have sheloshim for about three weeks. We will say kaddish for eleven months.”
Stephen opened his mouth in astonishment. “I cannot kiss you until then?”
Hanna finally smiled. “Certainly you can. As far as you and I are concerned,
we can be together again after shiv’ah. I will also be starting back to work after then.”
Stephen got up and held out his hand. She rose and placed hers in his. It felt so comforting just to touch him. “I’ll be off now,” he said. “I have work to do at the house. But don’t forget–call on me whenever you need anything.”
He started down the street, his mind full of love and longing for her. But there was a deep apprehension inside, for he had still not found a solution for the two of them. He walked slowly towards his large house on the knoll with a clear view of the river. He had no one to speak with about Hanna and himself. Now and then he considered taking Larisa into his confidence, but she was not a worldly person and might inadvertently blurt out a hint to his parents. He had casually mentioned to his mother that one of his schoolmates at the university had fallen in love with an Oriental girl, and his mother’s reaction was immediate and biting, that he was an absolute idiot who would get exactly what he deserved. Furthermore, she went on, he should avoid that fool like the plague.
There were still six more weeks remaining before returning to the university, and he decided that if Hanna was still pregnant, he would begin seeking a job. In Kiev, or perhaps even in St. Petersburg. Obtaining a position as an engineer was out of the question, since he did not have a degree, but he was qualified to be an assistant to one, and there were jobs as foreman of building projects. Once he had an offer of work, he would have her join him and they would be married. If they lived frugally, they would be able to send money to her family. It would not be an easy life, but having Hanna would be worth any hardship. It was just impossible to consider living without her.
On the third day after Motlie’s funeral, Jakob and Hershel took a walk to discuss the situation in the house. Jakob was a continuing curiosity to the village folk, especially to the Jews, who had been raised to believe that Hasidim were a “bisel meshugge”, a little crazy, and so rabid that merely being in their presence would be tantamount to walking through an infectious ward of a hospital. Rabbi Warnitski, though, had kept his promise to his cousin by passing the word that Jakob must be protected from any snide remarks, and he had also informed all of them that Jakob was learned in Talmud far beyond his years. So it was with a mixture of novelty, bias, and respect that the village Jews treated him. The gentiles, however, were less generous. They stopped in their tracks to stare rudely at him or to begin laughing. It was his peiyes, of course, his long cheek curls that tickled them. Brushed behind his ears, he would be little different than many of the older Jews, who wore essentially the same attire.
Enemy of the Tzar Page 10