by Rena Rossner
“You should go see …”
“No. I won’t leave you alone.”
“Please. I want to know what happened.”
“What if something or someone comes while I’m gone? Maybe they’re just waiting for me to leave you.”
Maybe they are or maybe, just maybe, Fedir is waiting for Dovid to go.
“I won’t leave you,” Dovid says firmly.
Think, Liba, think.
“Then I’ll go. You stay with Laya.”
“No! You’re not going out there alone! Are you crazy? I won’t let you go.”
“You don’t get to tell me what to do!” I rage at him and make a move for the door. “I’m afraid sometimes, yes, but that doesn’t make me weak and it doesn’t stop me from seeking out the truth. I am my father’s daughter, and I’m proud of that.” And as I say the words, I actually start believing them. “I’m not afraid of danger. I’m only afraid of losing everyone I love.”
Dovid rubs his hand over his face. “Liba, I care for you very much, don’t you get that? Why don’t you understand that maybe I’m scared too, huh? Maybe I don’t want anything to happen to you because … I’m in love with you …”
I can’t believe his words. “You barely know me …” I say.
I can’t do this now. I don’t know what I think. So many conflicting thoughts and emotions swirl in my mind. I don’t have time for this. Where is Fedir?
“I know it’s not the place or time,” Dovid says, “but … do you feel the same way about me? Does this … do we have a chance?”
I don’t know what to say to him. He doesn’t know the truth about me. And none of this can be real until he does. I swallow. “I will think about it if you go out there and see what happened.”
“Why are you doing this?”
I look away from him. “Please.”
He shakes his head and sighs. “Fine. Lock yourself inside. Barricade the door. You understand me? I won’t be gone long.”
“Thank you.” My eyes shine with gratitude and relief.
“But, Liba?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t make me wait forever.”
64
Laya
We wait
and wait
and wait.
No one comes.
Not the bears.
Not Fedir.
I will die of thirst
and pain
and heart-
break—
where is he?
Why didn’t
he come
for me?
why
why
why
65
Liba
As we wait, I put the kettle on and take out a volume of Talmud. The stories in it will calm me. They always do.
Someone knocks at the door.
Laya looks up from the bed. My eyes meet hers across the room and I rush to open the door.
It’s Dovid. He looks terrible—like he’s seen a ghost.
“What happened? You’re back so soon!”
He shakes his head. “They found another body. Mikhail Sirko.”
“What? No …!” My hand goes to my mouth. “How? He wasn’t even missing—was he?”
“Since last night apparently. In Yankl Feldman’s orchard down by the river—again. His body—” His voice cracks. “—was drained of blood. Just like Jennike’s. But there’s more. Apparently, after the news about Jennike, there was a pogrom—in Kishinev. Forty-nine Jews were killed, women were raped, hundreds were injured, Jewish homes and businesses destroyed …”
“What?” My heart starts to pound so fast that I have trouble breathing. “Why?”
“There were articles about Jennike, that she was found in the Feldmans’ orchard drained of blood. They blamed the Jews. And the Bishop in Kishinev called for action. And now Mikhail …” His face pales. “Liba, I fear for Dubossary. For all of us.”
Drained of blood? What does that mean?
I think about the Hovlins and their big rumor-spreading mouths—the anti-Semitic slurs I heard from them in the marketplace. I wonder if they told the newspapers, if they’re responsible. None of this happened in our town until they showed up. And now another goy was found dead in a Jewish man’s orchard? Perhaps they are the ones that have something to hide.
Dovid looks as haunted as I feel. Nothing good will come of this. He knows it too.
“Come, sit down,” I say. “I was making tea.”
He sits and stares down at his hands. “It wasn’t gruesome, not if you didn’t look closely. But there were gouge marks at his wrists, ankles, and neck. A ring of thorns, as though he’d been chained or bitten. And his lips … they were red and raw, nearly an open sore where his mouth used to be. The men said that Jennike looked the same when they found her. Who could do something so horrible?”
I swallow hard so as not to vomit and I place my hand on his arm. “What is everyone saying?”
“The kahal thinks it was a bear. But I’m not so sure. It didn’t look like a bear did that. All they’re saying is that it doesn’t look good that Jews found him, just like we found Jennike. The police are looking for someone—or something—to blame. And there are already riots happening—all because of something that happened in Dubossary! Can you believe? Most of the kahal cleared out and went home. There’s a meeting tonight at the Heimovitzes’. The kahal plus all the men who searched. Those men you told me about were there too, searching with us in the woods when we found Mikhail.”
“They were?”
“They seemed really suspicious to me. But they said they would come to the meeting tonight. There is talk of sorting out a proper self-defense organization. Not just patrols. Arming us all with weapons. If they come for us, we’ll be ready. My father says that he’ll be damned if he’ll let a massacre happen here. If we all go out to hunt for the bear we can put a stop to this before the rumors spread and show the goyim we had nothing to do with this.”
I can barely breathe. “How is Esther Feldman taking it? She must be a wreck.”
“She’s beside herself. The Feldmans fear for their lives—they are going to go stay in town now with the Kassins.”
“But … what happens if you find a bear and kill it, but the murders don’t stop?”
“There is no other explanation that makes sense,” Dovid says. “We have to do something. We’d all better hope it’s a bear. Tonight we’ll hunt. Tonight and tomorrow and the night after that, until we find the beast and kill it once and for all. Either that, or someone must find out what really happened to Jennike and Mikhail before the villagers here all point their fingers in our direction.”
66
Laya
Jennike is dead.
Mikhail is dead.
Gone gone gone.
And Dovid,
the one my sister loves,
says that they will hunt
tonight
for a bear,
a beast.
My sister is a bear.
And there are bears here
who have come
for her.
Somehow,
I must
protect her.
I feel myself
wasting away.
I will die
if Fedir does not
return to me.
My head spins.
I am in orbit.
I see stars;
they surround me.
I look for his lips,
the only constellation
I know.
Everything aches.
Your love,
I want to say to him,
was better than wine.
I am parched for it.
Come back to me, Fedir,
please come back.
Kiss me.
My lips are dry
but my eyes
are wet.
67
Liba
The villagers gather in the cemetery. Frost coats
every tombstone in an icy sheen and our breaths ome out like puffs of cloud. Jennike’s mother, Galina, sobs and mewls, sounding like an injured kitten. Her father, Ivan, is stoic and trying to look brave, but I can see that he is broken. Today the town will bury Jennike. Tomorrow, Mikhail.
Dovid stayed back with Laya so that I could be here.
I’ve never been to a Christian funeral. I can’t believe I’m even standing in the Christian cemetery. Yet I can’t stay away. Something did this to Jennike, someone killed Mikhail, and it wasn’t a bear. There are journalists in town; they’ve already written articles blaming it on the Jews. If only I could prove what I know in my heart—it was the Hovlins, it has to be. As much as I don’t like Ruven and Alter, the way that Miron and Fedir threatened me shines the guilt in their direction. And Laya is the only proof, the only one who might know the truth, but she won’t say anything. I pull the hood of my cloak down so that it covers as much of my face as possible.
I’m trying to nurse Laya back to health. I’ve tried everything I can. Every sapling and plant I find, boiling leaves, drying and crushing them into powder, feeding them to Laya like a broth. I’ve gone to Krakover’s drugstore and tried everything that Velvel the Druggist suggested. Nothing works. And still Fedir does not come.
I twist the stems of the daisies I hold in my hands as the villagers shovel rich dark soil onto the coffin below. As the last few clumps of earth fall, the pastor speaks.
“We are gathered here today to celebrate the life and to honor the memory of Jennike Belenko. It is the untimely and brutal death of this daughter of the town of Dubossary which has brought us together but it is her life that we wish to remember. Jennike was a bright spark. She brought love and life to her parents. We are drawn here by our common love, our common respect and our common grief. We are thankful that Jennike lived among us, even for a short time. God is great. God gives and God takes. God will revenge the slain as he sees fit and we will root out the evil from our midst.”
Amen.
“A person’s days have been described like the grass of the field in their brevity, but they also represent a flowering of creative potential, of beauty. And that’s what Jennike was—a flower cut off in her prime. Just as the trees of the great Kodari forest shelter us, so may we find shelter in the boughs of kinship, family, and community as we mourn this loss. Blessed be the name of the Lord.”
Amen.
The villagers begin to disperse and follow Jennike’s parents back to their home.
I linger, wanting to put my hands on the warm earth that I know will soon turn cold, wanting answers that perhaps only Jennike can give me. I close my eyes in a long blink and I think of her, all alone down there under all that earth. I think of the bride and groom in the Jewish cemetery, how at least in their death they had each other. Who does Jennike have now? When I open my eyes there are tears on my cheeks. I bend down and put daisies on her grave. I look around for a rock.
But as I do so I hear someone shouting. “Murderer! Murderer!”
What? Who? Did they find the culprit? I stand up and look around and see that Borys Tomakin, owner of the town’s tobacco factory, is pointing a finger in my direction. I look behind me, and my stomach falls. He is pointing at me.
68
Laya
I dream of a lazy
sleeping vine
twined around a tree,
inching its way slowly
upwards to the sky.
It wants to reach the sun,
but the forest and the branches
keep getting in its way.
My hands twist and turn
like leaves fluttering;
my heartbeat
says the same thing
over and over again:
he didn’t come for me
he didn’t come for me
he didn’t come for me
My heart is a pearl
hidden inside me;
he held it, shiny and warm
in his palm.
But now it hurts.
Why does it
hurt so much?
I must go find him.
Fedir didn’t kill Jennike.
I know what happened.
I saw her fall.
I must find a way to prove it.
I must fix this.
I must fix everything.
69
Liba
I run all the way back to the cottage. I can’t breathe—it’s like I have one long heartbeat. I am shaking from head to toe. I must get back to Dovid and Laya. I must protect her. Dovid has a gun. Maybe he’ll know what to do.
I make it back home and bang on the door as loud and fast as my shaking hands will let me.
The door opens and I duck inside, slamming it behind me and bolting it closed. “Dovid! Dovid! They think I did it,” I scream. “They’re coming for me.”
“What?” He looks out the window. “What are you talking about? What happened?”
“They saw me—” I can’t breathe. “—putting flowers on her grave … Borys Tomakin …” I sink down to the floor. “He called out, ‘Murderer!’” I gasp for air in big gulps. “I ran, Dovid, I just ran …” I start to sob. “I didn’t know what else to do …”
“Did they come after you?”
“I don’t know …” I can’t catch my breath. “I heard crashing in the trees … Yes. Maybe. I don’t know. What should I do?”
“Stay here. Stay inside. I will go speak with them.” He takes out his pistol from a satchel in the corner and I can see that his hands are shaking too.
“You need to go tell the kahal …”
Everything in me hurts.
“Don’t worry. Stay here. I will handle them.”
“Dovid! Wait!”
“What?”
Tears tumble down my face. “I don’t want anything to happen to you …”
I see his eyes shining. “Don’t worry, Liba. I’ll figure it out. Just stay inside, stay down, and hide. I will take care of this. I promise.”
He goes outside and I bolt the door behind him.
I crawl over to the bed on all fours and climb under the covers. I cover my face with the blankets and wrap my arms around Laya, trying to stop my shaking.
It feels as if an age goes by.
“Liba?” Laya whispers. “What’s wrong?”
“They’re coming for me …”
Laya sits up in bed. I can see it takes all of her strength. “Who?”
“Get down!” I whisper. “Stay quiet!”
Thankfully, she listens to me.
“What happened?”
“It doesn’t matter … It’s all over for us.”
“Is it the bears?”
My stomach drops. “What?”
“Those men, who came for Tati … the bears?”
I don’t know how she knows what they are. I pull the blankets over both of our heads and I whisper, “Tell me what you know, Laya …”
When there’s a knock at the door, I cringe. Will they shoot me in the square? Will they take me to jail? Will I even get a trial?
“Liba, open the door! It’s me!” I hear Dovid’s voice.
I crawl to the door and open it, staying as low as possible. Dovid is there with his father and Shmulik the Knife.
“What happened?” I ask.
“We caught up with them on their way here,” Mr. Meisels says. “We convinced them to go talk to the Chief of Police. To blame you is clearly ridiculous.”
“What are we going to do?” I say.
Laya turns over in bed and says hoarsely, “We’re going to fight.”
Everyone looks at her. “What?” I say.
“That’s what Tati would do,” she whispers. “He would fight them. We need to prove that you didn’t do it. And we need to let them know that the Jews of Dubossary will not be blamed for this. We will not go down without a fight. Jennike wasn’t murdered,” she says.
“What?” I look at Dovid and the men behind him
. “Come inside,” I say.
They lock the door behind them.
“Laya, what are you saying?”
“She fell on the ice; I saw it happen. So did Mikhail. He and his uncle, Bohdan, took her back to his house. That was the last time I saw her.”
“But I thought you said you saw her with the Hovlins? Why didn’t you tell me this before?” I say.
“I thought I saw her one night, but there were a lot of people there. I could have been mistaken. What I do know is that I saw her fall—there was blood on the ice.”
The men all look at each other. Dovid’s father says, “Someone needs to go to Bohdan Sirko’s house.”
“We have to let the police know,” Shmulik says.
“But will they believe us? With Laya as the only witness?” I ask.
“We have to prepare for a fight either way,” Dovid says. “There are enough of us. We can’t let a pogrom happen here. We can station ourselves all over the town, at the river and the docks, in front of every home. We can prevent it from happening here, or at least go down fighting.”
“Have you lost your mind?” Shmulik says to Dovid. “We just have to tell the truth, and this will all get sorted out.”
Mr. Meisels shakes his head. “No. Dovid’s right. Forty-nine Jews lost their lives in Kishinev. Over what? A rumor that started here—twenty-five miles away? What makes you think that anyone will listen to reason now.”
“We have to try,” Shmulik says.
“Sure. We can try. But we must organize ourselves in the meantime, and if we’re smart about it, we can outnumber them. Liba, stay here with your sister. Dovid and Shmulik will guard the door, and I will send others back here too. Shmulik—you talk to them when they get here. Tell them what Laya said. I will organize the kahal. Some will station themselves at the river; others will help Dovid guard the house. I will go knock on doors. There will be no pogrom in Dubossary tonight.”
Dovid and Shmulik go outside to guard the door. I open the chest under my parents’ bed, hoping they’ve left some weapons behind. Sure enough there are knives there: sharp black claw-like blades which must be my father’s, and a pistol. I tuck a knife into each of my boots and the pistol into my skirt. Then go outside.