Caraliza

by Joel Blaine Kirkpatrick

  It was a very precious gift that she found waiting at the very top step, and she reached for it eagerly, a small notepad with a fine little pencil inside. Something she surely could hide, something easily overlooked, if not sought directly. On the very first page of the notebook, he had written a question mark, nothing more. She was to write; he would find a way to understand.

  They suddenly spoke across the ocean between them.

  Since the mean furnishings were hers to keep clean, and suffer for if there was a lack of it, she knew several places where the prized item could be kept. She could easily keep it in different places at need, all the better to hide it, if it could never be found in the same place more than a few times. She did not dare try to write anything that night. It was beginning to darken on the street. She needed to find some filth in the kitchen and threaten to actually clean it before her tormentor came back to eat. The thought of food drove the boy, the smiles, the longing, the notebook and the kindness from her mind altogether. She did not even know such a change had taken place.

  Nothing was brought to eat. The brute was stumbling drunk instead. She cried herself to sleep on the floor next to the bed. He could not be moved to give her any room that night.

  Yousep wondered all night what she might write. He wondered how he might learn what her language meant. He thought she had spoken German, but he could not be sure. Before he left the breakfast table the next morning, he involved his father in a discussion about languages. It was a natural thing to do, they spent many mornings and evenings discussing the English they were learning. He repeated the few words he heard, making them seem to be a speech overheard on the street.

  “Ik sprik gen Engel, it sounds German enough, we have borrowed German in our own Yiddish,” His father said thoughtfully. “It could be Swede, perhaps a Dutch speech. There would needs be more of it to be sure. Was it something you heard in the shop? A customer who spoke no English perhaps?”

  “No Pape, just some speech on a street stair as I walked to the shop one morning. It caught my ear, being rather nice to hear.”

  “Aye, well, perhaps you will hear more of it, you should be on your way. Those windows are waiting to be built; the shop must be ready. Off, off! Take some bread as you go and kiss your mother.”

  Yousep did both things as told and smiled, with a bite of bread in his teeth, as he walked his path from the house. He would need a book, a book to translate her speech, when he had enough written to know which speech she used.

  He was so excited as he neared the shop street that he was almost careless and crossed his old regular path. Caraliza was not on the stair when he arrived. He paused to be sure she heard him. There was a sound at the doorway but it was rough and not cautious. He turned quickly to get to his side and the safety of his door. He saw the reflection of the man leaving the basement stair in the door glass at his nose. He had been only moments from a face-to-face meeting with a person who haunted his dreams. Was he enough man to endure that by chance? His knees told him there was still much of Yousep the shop boy at least in his legs.

  Safely inside, before even threatening the shelves with a sound dusting, Yousep gathered his best rags and carefully put himself in the display to clean the great windowpane. It was very large and with enough determination, it could take him ten minutes to polish well. He was nearing that completion when he saw a delicate hand reach timidly to the top of the stair just under the rail. The notebook was gently laid and her hand disappeared.

  Yousep was determined to read it at once and he would take an awful chance. He did not know where the brute was going, or if the man might not come back, but Yousep hurried from the window and set about trying to make an excuse to be outside again. He did not need one. Papa Reisman was leaving, to discuss the windows; he would be gone for an hour. Yousep only needed to wait a few more minutes and he would be across and back with her treasure in his hand.

  It was an eternity for him.

  His employer was finally around a corner down the street. But for a few wagons and a carriage team coming down, the street was empty. He scarcely took a single breath before he was back at the shop door, his fingers around the notebook. He opened it to see she traced his question mark, several times; she wanted the feel of his hand on the page. On the second small sheet, she wrote three words in a tiny careful script. He scarcely needed a book to translate. It was too close to the Yiddish he spoke, it was too close to the English he adopted.

  “Ik heb honger,” she traced. It tore his heart to read it.

  She was hungry. She was not being fed.

  Yousep walked slowly back towards his shop door, the paper bag in his hand was now empty - he left his lunch at the top of the basement stair for her, just beside the rail. Before he reached even half way, he heard a small cry behind him in the darkness, a footstep that was taken outside that deep door. When he reached his shop he turned with tears in his eyes, his lunch was gone. Yousep realized what he meant to her now. Without him, she was going to die. He could not do this without help. Yousep the boy, still hidden somewhere inside him, was screaming in terror.

  This was a new emotion that Yousep discovered in his heart; hatred for the man who tormented the girl. He also felt possessive of her, protective, much more emotion than the boy could ever know. It clouded his mood that day; it would come to cloud his judgment if he were not very careful. His most pressing need, was a book to study her speech, and to be able, in some way, to talk to her. Yousep's mind was becoming crowded, and he did not believe himself capable, but to fail, it was unthinkable.

  That evening his whistled tune was somber; he felt no happiness to put into it. Still, she heard it, and met him higher in the stair than she dared before. She thanked him for the food by being there, with a countenance that stirred more again than his heart. She willed him to understand from her eyes, what speech could not say to him so well. He placed his fingers to his lips for a kiss and gestured she should wait. He then touched the tiny notebook to his temple to indicate he was trying to think of something he could do. Nevertheless, his eyes told her he was very uncertain.

  She watched him turn and almost cried out to him.

  Yousep was early to the shop street the next morning, he wanted time to wait, and judge the routine of the man who kept her hidden. It was very near his own time. He was due in the shop when the brute walked a distance away down the street that Yousep could feel safe to continue to the stair. He first whistled softly, and stepped down twice as she opened the door. They were within reach of one another in a moment - she coming up to just a few steps below him. He extended his bag with his lunch so she could take it, but she rose so quickly to his hand that she nearly stumbled, and gently kissed his hand as she took the bag. Her eyes were blue, and very tired, and she held his hand to her lips and tasted him with her tongue.

  “Yousep,” he said indicating himself, and he touched her cheek softly. She closed her eyes and held his fingers there for another moment.

  “Caraliza,” she said with another kiss to his fingertips.

  They had taken too long. He had no strength to leave her. When she moved back down into the darkness, and closed the door, the spell was broken, and Yousep was able to walk to his shop, his heart felt on fire within, next to his soaring soul.

  Caraliza! He knew the sound of her name! He could see weariness in her eyes; her strength was failing. He knew he could not help her while she stayed prisoner there. He needed to find a way to get her out!

  They constantly looked for one another that day, but missed too many times, and it upset them terribly. Yousep was in a panic to find a way to purchase the book he needed, and in a rash gesture, he simply asked if he could take his lunch a bit longer to find the bookshop a few streets over. Papa Reisman nearly received a kiss when he approved of the extra time, and suggested Yousep come by a grocer’s shop, to inquire about a rose bush or two for the garden in the back. Neither of them - it seemed - mentioned such things and Papa laughed heartily, saying the r
oses did not fall from the sky, they grew on a bush, and one was needed.

  Yousep flew until his heart nearly burst from running, to the bookshop when the lunch hour came. Moreover, he was too excited to be timid about asking for the book, or waste time searching the hundreds of books cluttering the shelves. He just breathlessly held out the notebook and asked if the shopkeeper recognized the speech, and did he have a book to help with learning to speak it? His heart was dashed when he heard the price of it. They only sold a lexicon, which could translate Dutch and German into English. The precious little notebook appeared to be written in Dutch, the bookseller told him. Surely, it would be best to have both, right?

  “I do not earn enough at Mr. Reisman's studio to pay for a book expensive as this!” He must have been a pitiful sight as he said it, handing it back to the book seller with trembling hands.

  “I know our Papa Reisman, a good man. You must be the honest clerk he endlessly boasts of. Mr. Reisman should repent his boasting and pay you a more decent wage,” the shopkeeper smiled. “Your English is very good, you study hard, I can tell. This seems a treasure to you, and for your honesty to a good friend, I will loan you this book for a week. If it suites your need, we can find terms to satisfy us both. I would not like to sell an expensive book to an honest boy, if it were really useless to him after all.”

  Then suddenly, he noticed the prayer cloth under Yousep’s coat.

  “Forgive me, it seems the shop clerk is a man to be proud of, not a boy. Take this and learn what use it might be.”

  Yousep was so thunderstruck he spoke his heart, not his mind.

  “It may save a pitiful life. It may be that dear,” Yousep breathed.

  The bookseller became silent as he looked into Yousep's eyes; they were begging the seller not ask the question which was nearly upon his lips.

  “Bring it back when you can. A life is dearer than the cost of a book.”

  Yousep found no words to give in thanks, but his eyes showed it.

  Roses were to be easily bought just two streets away from the studio. Red and yellow were on the shelf. Yousep asked if small trees could be bought at the grocers and they told him they only needed an order for them, to have them delivered within the week. Papa Reisman sent him directly back to get four bushes to plant in the yard that very afternoon, the variety was for Yousep to choose. Only a few doors from the grocer’s, a small bauble in a shop caught his eye and he had the idea of a gift for her. It was quickly purchased and he hurried his way back down the street.

  When he returned with his bundles, his Caraliza was in the stair, to watch him take them into the shop. She understood, work was being done in the back; he would be down one of the alleys in a few moments.

  Yousep found himself in the back with a borrowed spade, and four lovely little bushes to be planted. He took off his jacket and prayer cloth and laid them on the tiny porch. Papa Reisman took only a moment to discuss where the holes should be dug, and went back inside the shop lest any customers happen in.

  Yousep was so happy at finding the book, he immediately set about thinking of which questions should be written first. Where did his Caraliza come from? Who was the menacing man she shared the basement with? Was she being hurt? That last one seemed to be the most important. It would be best to ask questions she could answer simply. But it was urgent he learn if she were being harmed, if starvation were not harm enough already.

  He was completely lost in his thoughts and in the holes being dug. Had the person quietly approaching behind him meant him any harm, he would likely have died never knowing it. But a timid, gentle tug on his shirt surprised him, and he turned, nearly to fall down from surprise. His Caraliza was in front of him, crying sweet tears, and holding out her hands, terrified, but smiling. His breath was gone from him and he could not think any more. They were surely in desperate danger. He took her hands first, and sweetly kissed them both.

  She was accepted, but he put his fingers to her lips, to keep her from laughing with pleasure, she was unwise to be there.

  He led her into the darkest alley, pulled her gently, and quickly, back closer to the street. Once he was sure they were not easily seen, he gathered her into his arms, and she melted against him to weep. Yousep was horrified to hold her at last; the evidence of her constant hunger was painful to his heart as he felt her tiny body beneath her dress. She was shockingly dirty, not properly bathed for an unknowable time. Her dress was threadbare and loose and he could easily see into it in a few places. She was naked but for that simple dress.

  He was near panic they might be discovered, and she was so hungry for him she refused to release her embrace, seemingly willing to die being held in his arms. It took more than just strength to pull away from her tiny form. She was confused that he wished to pull away, but his eyes remained kind and so very sad. The fear in them was not entirely gone, but being controlled.

  Yousep kissed her hands again, and let her put her arms around him once more to reassure her. It brought such a smile to her lips that he turned her face up to his and smoothed her hair and drank in her smile with his swimming eyes.

  She was so lovely.

  His tears fell to his cheeks and she kissed them to drink them up. Their lips met, and Yousep was given her hunger to keep as his own. They must find the strength to part. He whispered her name into her ear so she could hear him say it, Caraliza whispered his name and he was suddenly hers to keep. But she must get safely back to the stair. He kissed her once more, and pulled her arms from his middle, she shook her head to refuse, but he kissed her hands and told her to go. She left so quickly his heart skipped, and he was alone in the alley, perhaps only dreaming she came to kiss him. He had completely forgotten the present; he never expected her to cross the street to him.

  The next morning he was better prepared to be surprised and the Waterbury was set on a stand to test the lens he replaced. He exposed one of his plates on a view of the brick wall, and then felt a tickle to his ear as he stooped to put the plate away in its box. She was at his side smiling and seemed a bit better washed. She had tried so very hard to be ready as well to meet him again. So eager to embrace him, she fairly bounced on her toes as he took entirely too long to set a new plate in the back of the camera.

  He was captured at last, and had not actually struggled. Within moments, they were closer into the alley, to be less seen from the old house to the rear. She ravished him with kisses, until his laughter annoyed her. But she laughed as well and tasted his neck and ears with some fewer kisses. He begged her release him, as he brought a present for her. A small trivial thing he found the day before on his trip to the bookshop. A very tiny chain, and a tin pendant to put on the chain. It was very inexpensive, but his name was engraved upon the face of the pendant. She cried to see it, and he was again smothered in kisses as he placed it upon her neck.

  He hoped to make her understand he also wanted her picture; no one could be invited to capture them together in an image. He wanted to photograph her, perhaps to treasure later, when their troubles were ended, and they could come out of hiding. She had no fear, but did not understand, she could not have it done if standing in his very shadow. He moved her to the wall with a smile and faced her to the camera again, only to find her watching him make his adjustments, once again at his side. She pouted when he laughed, but the last time he moved her, she stood her place. His focus was made and he began to whisper to her, and direct her in simple motion, how she should stand and smile for him.

  She was no longer listening, or watching.

  A wisp of cloud that was refusing the sun, finally blew away, on a fresh breeze. The warmth, and light, fell into the new garden, and lifted Caraliza to her toes. Before Yousep could move, she was naked in the light breeze, her poor, worn dress a billow in her hands behind her. The sun held her face, and her eyes were closed, her arms out like angels wings, drinking the warmth into her skin and she glowed.

  The smile she wore pierced his heart, and he tripped the shutter of
the Waterbury, without knowing he had done it. The sudden sight of her without the dress took all thought from his mind for a moment and he just stared at her. When he recovered, it was in fear they had taken much too long a time. He begged her to return quickly across the street, and kissed her for the longest time before she left.

  When she was closed back into the darkness, he went back to the Waterbury, to discover the unexpected plate, waiting to be removed. It would be a terrible wait, to be seen, it was not removed at all that day, the shop was suddenly busier than expected, and he could not spend a moment in the closet with his own plates.

  They would not have such a moment together again for much too long a time, and it would nearly kill them. The studio walls were finally torn out and the windows installed, the roses loved the tiny plot of earth, which waited for so long to have anything growing, the blooms began to come up. The yard was becoming the garden in Yousep's dream. There were new things in that dream as well, new sensations, the taste of tears and of soft trembling lips. The warmth of an embrace that aroused him as nothing before had done. His dreams of her, pulling him closely to her skin, they tormented and soothed him together. He loved dreaming of her.

  She endured a different torment, and felt too little of Yousep's arms around her to light the flame of any dreams. The brute completed his work, which was so distant they could enjoy his absence, with stolen moments in the alleys. Home almost all day now, Caraliza suffered his rough hands under her dress, when she desired only Yousep. She was owned, and horribly used, and for the first time since she was sold, and made to endure his stink, until he was spent of his lust, she hated the man.