by Rena Rossner
Liba
I wait until Laya climbs out the window. I pretended to nap. It’s something I do well: pretending. It’s all I do lately. Now that I know what I am—a bear, a beast—I can pretend to be a normal girl. It feels good to pretend, because I can’t face the alternative.
I wait until she’s gone. I’m already dressed in my shabbes clothes. I climb out of bed, step down the ladder, put on my cloak, and follow her.
32
Laya
I hear Fedir’s voice
in my head
like a song:
Come by! Come by!
I hum as I creep
through the trees.
I feel the sap
of the trees
beneath my feet
and all around me.
The branches
and the leaves
sing with me,
zmiros and niggunim.
My own kind of
shabbes songs.
They point me
in the right direction.
I dance over roots
and under boughs.
Past the old giant oak,
and through
the pine glade.
My head is full
of night and air.
As the branches
start to thin
I see the dance
of orange flames
poking through
the woods ahead,
like gems on trees.
I stop and let the leaves
cover me, peeking
at the clearing ahead.
The brothers sit
around a bonfire,
and with them
many girls,
nearly a dozen.
The fire rages,
orange and angry,
and everyone holds
wooden goblets
filled to the brim
with dark and rosy liquid.
The goblets pass
from hand to hand,
and lip to lip.
My mouth opens,
nearly tasting
what they sip.
I walked so far.
I’m tired
and thirsty.
All I want
is a drink.
It is honey
of a different sort
I seek.
33
Liba
I slip through the trees and the branches. I try to follow her. At first she walks slowly, humming to herself, then she dances faster and faster until I lose sight of her completely.
I try to scent her in the air, but I’ve lost my way. I don’t know where she went.
I wander left, then right, then left again, past a giant oak and into a pine glade. I watch and wait and listen, but the forest is silent. I don’t know which way to turn, and suddenly I’m scared. I feel a buzzing in the air, my fingertips tingle. It’s as if the forest doesn’t want me to continue. I hear a branch crack and all my hairs stand on end. I am all alone in a large, dark forest. This was a bad idea.
I pull the hood of my cloak up. The sensation of the fur on my cheeks sends a chill down my spine. I feel the hair that lurks just beneath my skin. It wants release. I grit my teeth and shut my eyes and will everything to stay as is.
I start to tremble. I hear another branch crack, sounding closer this time, and even though I don’t know where I’m going, I start to run. My body wants me to get down on all fours, to feel the forest loam between my fingers again, but I don’t give in to the impulse. I just run as fast as I can.
The woods have never scared me before—they have always been my haven—but my heart thumps with a beat so fast I feel as though there are drums thrumming in my ears.
I run until I see something familiar through the trees. The village! I’m so relieved I start to cry.
I run to the Meisels’ door and knock.
34
Laya
Some of the girls
are sitting on laps,
others lurk in shadows
but I can see them kissing,
sucking at the lips
of girls and boys
looking as if madness
were upon them.
I see someone
that looks like Jennike.
My heart beats fast.
Perhaps she isn’t missing?
Was she hiding out here
the whole time?
I linger in the woods
with only the shadows
of the trees to hide me.
Watching, waiting.
I can’t tell if it’s her.
I’m cold, it’s dark
and the flames look so inviting.
I see Fedir across the fire.
His eyes flit around the glen
as though he can sense
something in the wind.
Me.
This is everything
that Liba warned me about,
everything she tried
to protect me from.
Goyishe boys
with wine and cheer
and groping hands
and tongues.
On shabbes,
no less …
He sees me.
My eyes meet his
across the flames.
I blink and in an instant
he’s beside me.
How did he move so fast?
35
Liba
I can see the fire burning inside. The windows are lit up and woodsmoke rises from the chimney. I smell chicken soup and schmaltz. Challahs fresh from the oven. Our home used to smell like that … Tears continue to wet my eyes. I miss my parents so badly it hurts. I wouldn’t be scared of strange sounds in the woods if Tati were still here. I wouldn’t be wandering alone in the woods on a Friday night if Mami were home and these smells were coming from her oven. I linger just outside the door, gathering courage from the air and waiting for the tears to subside.
I hear laughter from inside. More than one voice. And I smell kugel and brisket wafting from the chimney with the smoke. I’m about to knock again when the door opens.
“Gut shabbes!” Mrs. Meisels says. She is dressed in a green velvet dress and her hair is covered in a lace tichel. Her cheeks are red and shining.
I swallow. My hands are trembling. My mouth struggles to find words.
“Is everything okay, maydele?” Mrs. Meisels asks.
I shake my head, no. And realize I forgot the babka.
“Come in, come in. Take off your coat.” She coaxes me inside.
She hangs my coat on a hook by the side of the door. There is the smell of iron in the entryway, a good smell. And lavender hangs above our heads.
My heartbeat slows. This is a home, I think. Our house doesn’t feel like a home anymore.
“Shhh. Dry your tears. Where’s your sister?” she asks.
I shake my head.
Then I see Dovid. His eyes grow wide and he’s beside me in an instant.
“Is everything okay? Where’s Laya?”
Of course he asks about Laya. What must I look like? My cheeks tear-streaked, my hair wild.
I don’t know what to say. My sister’s in the woods with goyim? “I’m sorry I’m late,” I say instead. “I was following Laya, but I lost my way in the woods. I heard something and I got scared. I ran as fast as I could, but I forgot the babka at home.”
“Where was Laya going?” Dovid asks. “Should I go look for her?”
I don’t want to tell him. I don’t want him to think I’m like her, that I would ever desecrate the sanctity of shabbes. My father is a learned man, and though my mother is a convert, she is devout. For the first time in my life I’m embarrassed by my sister. Something I’ve never felt before. And I realize that maybe I don’t want to be like her after all.
“No. She’s fine,” I say. “She went to meet some friends.”
Mrs. Meisels saves me. “Now’s not the time for qu
estions. The men just got home from shul. We were about to sing ‘Shalom Aleichem.’ Come, sit down. Join us.”
My stomach rumbles and I swallow. “I would love that.”
I follow Mrs. Meisels and Dovid into the dining room. His three brothers are seated with his father. Shabbes candles illuminate the center of the table and the challahs are tucked under an embroidered cover like two babies in their beds.
The heady scent of pine is in the air above the odor of chicken soup and meat, and something else, something green and wild. Cedar smoke dances in the hearth and I feel safe and warm and welcome. I forget about the woods and the dangers lurking there. I forget about who Laya’s with, and why. I forget about the Glazers going missing, and Mami and Tati being gone. I smile and listen to the sound of singing and let myself enjoy a home-cooked meal and company as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.
36
Laya
You came, he purrs.
I did, I smile, but
I should go.
Why? His eyes grow wide.
You’ve only just arrived!
We’re just getting started.
Kliment plays a mean fiddle,
and Miron, as you know,
is magic on the flute.
You must stay for a bit
and feast upon the music …
Music? On shabbes?
I shrug my shoulders.
Thank you, but I really
must be going. My sister
is waiting for me …
He looks
into my eyes
and sighs.
What? I say.
You are like
a moon-lit
poplar branch,
he whispers.
So strong and wild.
I’ve longed to see
the way the fire
dances in your eyes …
I shake my head
and turn away.
From the moment
I first saw you
in the woods, he says,
like a lily growing
in the forest, all alone,
my heart and mind
have thought of
nothing else
but you.
Stop, I say.
You’re scaring me.
He tucks a strand
of hair behind my ear
and whispers,
I wasn’t done …
I shiver.
Is Jennike here?
I thought I saw her before,
I ask before I lose my nerve.
Girls come and go,
he says. I don’t keep track
of anyone but you …
Have you seen
strange men
in the woods?
I say.
Nobody is out here
but us, me and you,
he says.
I look around
and see that we
are suddenly alone.
Where did everybody go?
I’m confused
and a little scared.
The moon wanes
and the night
grows late,
he answers.
I should go,
I say.
Go go go.
My sister
is waiting
for me.
Stay? he begs.
Just for a spell,
one song.
He takes my hand.
Come to the fire
for a bit,
warm yourself
before you go,
and drink some wine,
at least.
I feel his pulse
beating against mine.
Vein to vein.
His hand so large
and soft.
Just one song, I say.
He whoops in victory
and picks me up
as though I am
a feather in the wind.
He carries me over
to a wooden chair
that looks like a throne.
He puts a wooden goblet
in my hand. It’s carved
with trees and fruit
and little men.
A gust of wind
blows smoke
into my eyes
and everything
goes soft and blurry.
I shouldn’t drink, I say,
though I am thirsty,
and in my head I think:
It isn’t kosher.
But Fedir presses
the goblet to my lips,
and I smell apricot,
and plum plum plum.
I touch my lips
to the liquid,
cherry and lemon,
honeyed dates
and red ripe grapes
and baking apples.
I sip, and sip again,
and drink in lusty gulps
until it’s gone,
and lick my lips.
Fedir, I say,
but what about
the bears?
What bears?
he asks.
The wild ones,
I say.
I think you may
have had
too much
to drink.
He grins.
And all the time
he watches me.
The way
my mouth moves
and my throat,
the way I lick my lips
with my tongue,
the way it darts
out of my mouth,
tiny and pink.
He’s like a cat
watching a mouse,
I think. But then
his lips touch mine
and everything around us
disappears. I drink him in,
ravenous, I can’t get enough
of his lips, I nip at them
and tug at his tongue
with my teeth,
sucking on his lips
like they are life
and air,
like I am thirsty
and his lips
are an oasis
in the desert.
I feast on them.
On him. As
everything around me spins.
He breaks the kiss,
both of us breathless, eyes wild,
lips swollen
and red.
I shake my head
and rub my eyes
trying to clear
the glare, the fog.
I lean in again
so close, my lips
almost at his,
and beg for more.
37
Liba
After he sings “Ayshes Chayil” Mr. Meisels makes kiddush. His family passes one silver cup around the table, from lip to lip. We sip the sweet red wine.
Then we go to the kitchen to wash our hands before the bread.
“You still didn’t say where your sister went …” Dovid asks as we line up behind his brothers at the sink.
I sigh. I might as well tell the truth. “To the Hovlins … I tried to stop her. I thought I should go with her, to keep her out of trouble, even though it’s not very shabbesdik.”
“What happened?” he asks.
“I lost sight of her. And then I heard a noise and got scared,” I say. I find myself blushing again and I don’t know why. “But I really didn’t want to go there anyway. I wanted to come here.”
“I’m glad. I wish I’d thought to offer to come get you. Nobody should be walking in those woods alone.”
“I’m worried about her,” I admit.
“The kahal’s sent out extra patrols. Perhaps that’s what you heard,” Dovid says.
“Has something else happened?”
“Nothing you don’t already know about,” Dovid says.
“I really should go find her.” My eyes dart to the door.
“Liba, don’t go,” he says. “Please?” The look in his eyes is so tender, it sends shoots of warmth through my whole body.
“Come, eat with us,” he says. “There are men out there patrolling the woods. She’ll be safe tonight. Let’s wash our hands.”
I let out a breath.
I watch him pour water three times over one hand, then three times over the other. He says the blessing out loud, his voice bright and clear, and my stomach clenches—but not from hunger this time.
He waits for me as I rinse my hands after him and say the blessing quietly. Then we go back to the table and sit down.
Mr. Meisels says the brocha over the challahs, his voice loud and sonorous.
Then he passes out a tray of sliced bread for us to take. Tati always ripped pieces from the challah and threw the bread to each of us. A Chassidic custom. This seems more civilized. I like it.
“For you, maydele,” Mrs. Meisels says, and gives me the first bowl of chicken soup.
I sit down and place a napkin on my lap. I bring a spoonful of soup to my lips. It’s hearty and delicious. Fluffy kneidlach and lokshen float in the golden broth. I eat slowly and carefully, trying to savor every mouthful. I think that perhaps it’s okay for once to want something for myself—a home, a family. Someone else can look out for Laya tonight. The swans won’t come if she’s with Fedir, and there are men patrolling the woods.
The table is quiet. I look up and see that they’re all watching me. I finish chewing the bite that’s in my mouth and quickly wipe my fingers and my chin. What did I do wrong this time?
I look down and see that my bowl is clean. Have I embarrassed myself again?
“It’s okay, shayna meidel,” Mrs. Meisels says. “My boys just aren’t used to girls with such a hearty appetite.”
My heart skips a beat. Nobody ever calls me a shayna meidel. Those are words reserved for Laya, not for me.
Mr. Meisels slaps the table and the plates jump. “Nothing like a woman with a little flesh on her,” he says, a gleam in his eye, and he motions for Mrs. Meisels. He smacks his thigh and she blushes and sits on his lap. He puts his arms around her. “I like it when there’s more of a woman to love. Especially this zaftige woman.”