She finished writing and set the pen in the inkwell. “I don’t have a stamp. How am I going to get it to them?”
“Don’t worry,” said Rena. “Since the riot, the hospital has been receiving donations to help pay for food, clothing, and medical care. I’ll get the money from this fund.”
Rachel stared at the envelope addressed to her grandparents, then handed it carefully to Rena. “This is our only hope. The only family we have.”
“What the devil! This is rubbish…absolute rubbish.” Sergei’s father stared at the document in his hands. “I did what I could with the men I had.”
Sergei looked up from the game of backgammon he was playing with Natalya. His father had just received a telegraph from his office and had been shouting at it for the last five minutes.
“It’s your turn, Sergei.” Natalya prodded him to pay attention.
“Oh no! You put me on the bar. Now I have to start all over again.” Sergei pretended to be upset that his sister was making him start from the beginning.
Natalya grinned. “I’m going to beat you! I’m going to win!”
He smiled wanly, envious of his sister’s youth, of her inability to fully understand the gravity of the situation in Kishinev.
Sergei’s father ripped the telegraph message into pieces and threw them on the floor. Since his admission to the mayor and the governor, Sergei had seen his father fly into a rage every day, as he received such documents from his superiors.
“What’s wrong, Aleksandr?” Sergei’s mother turned from the dishes she’d been washing.
His father began pacing. “They’re all idiots! Idiots, I tell you! Saying I didn’t do my job…I’d like to see them do better. There were thousands of rioters. What could I do?” He waved his arm in the air as he raged. “Besides, Mikhail’s uncle and cousin were arrested at their home last night. There will be a trial. Justice will be done. What more do they want?”
“I’m sure you did everything you could, Aleksandr.” Sergei’s mother tried to put her arms around him, but he pushed her away.
Sergei frowned; his mother had no idea that his father could have averted the riots entirely.
Carlotta sat by the stove, knitting a yellow shawl. She cleared her throat loudly. “You cannot pull a fish out of a pond without labor,” she said.
“Be quiet!” Sergei’s father barked at Carlotta. “If you want to keep a roof overhead and food in your belly, be quiet for heaven’s sake!”
“Is someone mad at you, Papa?” asked Natalya.
Sergei’s father stood still and stared at Natalya. “Sergei, take your sister outside. To the square. The merry-go-round should be working again. Take her there.”
“But we haven’t finished our game yet, Papa,” cried Natalya. “And I’m going to beat Sergei!”
“Do as you’re told, Natalya.” Their mother looked at her and Sergei with an expression that left little room for argument.
Sergei stood up and faced his father. “You waited until after the riots to arrest Mikhail’s uncle. You wanted to see the Jews ruined; and you don’t really feel bad about not coming forward earlier, you’re only upset because people blame you for what happened.”
His father glared at him, his eyes boring into Sergei like knives. Sergei’s knees started to buckle. Before he knew what was happening, his father slapped him across the face. “You’re too mouthy for your own good! Get out of here before I hit you again. Harder.”
“No! Papa, don’t,” cried Natalya. She ran to her mother who turned to face her husband.
“Aleksandr! Stop this right now.”
Sergei ran to the door and bolted down the stairs. His face burned from his father’s hand.
“Are you all right?” Natalya’s voice startled him. Sergei had not realized she was behind him. Natalya peered anxiously at his face.
“Is there a red mark there?” he asked her, feeling the sore area with his hand.
“Yes, but I’m sure it will go away soon, Sergei.” She paused. “What’s wrong with Papa? He’s been really mad lately.”
They reached the ground floor and walked out to the street. “Well…when you do something wrong and people find out about it, you don’t feel very good,” he said.
“Like the time I took the new pink ribbon from Maria’s doll for my doll, and put my old pink ribbon on hers?”
Sergei gave his sister a half smile. “I think Papa has more at stake than a ribbon, but yes, it’s sort of the same thing.”
“When will Papa be happy again?”
She looked so innocent that Sergei hoped she’d never find out what their father was really like. “I don’t know.”
“Will you promise not to make him so upset, Sergei? I don’t like seeing him hit you.”
“I’ll try. I really will. But I can’t promise. Sometimes he makes me so angry, I can’t help it.”
“I wish you’d promise,” she said, putting her small hand in his.
Sergei looked at her upturned face. “I’ll do my best.”
“You’ve got to believe me. I won’t hurt Menahem. I just want to talk to him. He was moved from the hospital before I had a chance to see him,” Sergei pleaded with a woman wearing a black kerchief on her head. Her expression was hard to gauge in the dim light.
“My father is the chief of police, remember? And you told me yesterday that I’d be able to see Menahem today.” Sergei tried to imitate his father’s authoritative voice.
The woman put down her pen and regarded him for a moment. “You have to be eighteen in order to sign a child out from the orphanage.”
“I am eighteen,” Sergei lied. He would be fifteen in one month, so it wasn’t a horrible lie.
She looked him up and down. “You don’t look eighteen.”
“You should see my father. He looks even younger than I do.”
She gave him a skeptical look and sighed. “All right. You can take him for two hours. But first I need some information.” She rifled through the papers on her desk and handed one to Sergei.
“Do you promise not to fill his head with dreams about the future?” She glanced at Sergei and began writing something. “His future is here. It’s unlikely he’ll leave the orphanage until he’s sixteen, so promises of any kind would be devastating.”
“What can I promise? Friendship. That’s all I have to give him.” Sergei finished writing down his name, address, phone number, and his fictional age.
“Wait here. I’ll go and get the boy.” She stood up and headed down a long, narrow hallway. The floorboards creaked with every step she took.
Sergei looked away from the stained walls as he waited. What if Menahem was mad at him for taking so long to visit? What if Menahem was upset that he couldn’t help him get out of the orphanage?
“Sergei!” Menahem ran up to him and gave him a big hug. “I knew you’d come. I knew you wouldn’t break your promise.”
Sergei held him tightly. “You look good. A bit skinny but good,” he told Menahem.
“The food tastes terrible here.” Menahem made a face.
“Well then, how about I take you out for something to eat?” Sergei smiled at Menahem and tousled his hair.
“Let’s go!” Menahem was already on his way to the heavy door.
“How are your pirozhki?” Sergei watched Menahem finish the last pastry filled with mashed potatoes. They were eating in a small, rundown restaurant in the Jewish quarter, one of the few restaurants that had re-opened after the riots. Sergei had paid for the meal with money he’d been saving for train fare out of Kishinev.
“Good!” Menahem grinned. He had a dab of potato in the corner of his mouth.
“I’m not that hungry. You can finish mine if you want.” Sergei pushed his plate over to Menahem.
“Really?”
“That’s all right. I’m just glad you came. You’re my first visitor.” Menahem polished off the pirozhki from Sergei’s plate and looked up happily.
“I’ll try to come a couple of times a week, after school,” Sergei said.
“That will be good!”
“So…is it all right, living at the orphanage?” Sergei looked at Menahem and saw a flicker of pain cross the boy’s face.
“I guess. Mostly we have to stay on our beds when we’re not doing our chores. The lady in charge only yells if we get off our beds or if we don’t do our chores the right way.”
“What about school?”
“It was wrecked in the riots.”
“Do you have any books to read?”
“No.”
“Playing cards?”
“No.”
“I’ll try to bring some books with me the next time I come.” Sergei didn’t know what else to say.
“I don’t know if you can bring me anything. We’re not allowed to own things the other children don’t have. That way there won’t be any fights. This one boy had a wooden boat that his father had carved for him. But an older boy stole it and smashed it into pieces.”
Sergei frowned. Menahem was small for his age, and too trusting. There was no way he would survive until his sixteenth birthday in the orphanage.
Five
“I need a few women and girls to sew garments,” said Rena, walking into their room and opening the curtains. Rachel, who was curled up beside her mother, sat up and shaded her eyes to protect them from the sharp morning light. Some women and children were still sleeping; others were talking quietly. She was losing track of time with no school schedule to frame her day, and she was sleeping more and more to pass the long hours.
“What time is it?” she groaned.
“Ten thirty,” said Rena. “You’ve already slept half the morning.”
“Oh, I’m still tired.” Rachel dropped back down beside her mother, who hadn’t stirred.
Nucia’s head appeared as she rolled out from under the cot where she had been sleeping. “Where are Elena and Esther?”
“Visiting Chaia,” said Rena. She clapped her hands together and looked at Rachel’s mother who had just opened her eyes. “Mrs. Paskar…I understand you and your daughters are talented seamstresses. The Society in Aid of the Poor Jews of Kishinev has raised money to make clothes for victims of the massacre. Two thousand families have been left with nothing after the riots. You would be paid for your efforts.”
Rachel’s mother faced Rena and blinked.
“I don’t think my mother has the strength,” said Rachel. “She’s lost weight since we arrived at the hospital and hardly eats anything at the soup kitchen.”
Rena put her hands on her hips and stared at Rachel’s mother. “Nonsense. I think your mother needs to be busy. Idleness is never good for anyone.”
“She used to get mad at us for if we were dawdling or wasting time,” said Nucia. “But that was before…”
Rachel got up quickly when she saw her mother’s eyes flicker. Since the riots, her eyes had been vacant, as if they understood nothing, recognized nobody. Now her mother’s eyes roamed the room, as if seeing it for the first time. When she saw Rachel, she reached out and caressed her cheek.
“Mother,” said Rachel softly.
Her mother’s bony arms reached out for her. Rachel bent down into her embrace, feeling Nucia’s arms around her as well. Her mother’s eyes welled up with tears and a raw, guttural sound escaped from her throat. She began crying for the first time since they had arrived at the hospital, softly at first, then rising to an intense wail that reverberated off the walls. Her body shook as all of her anguish and despair emerged. Rachel and Nucia held onto their mother, their bodies moving with hers until the emotion within her subsided, and she was still.
“Are you all right?” asked Rachel.
“Girls, give your mother some room to breathe,” said Rena, pulling them gently away from their mother.
“Yes, I believe I am all right,” their mother replied weakly, propping herself up on her elbows. She gazed sadly at Rachel and Nucia. “I have not been a good mother…”
“Don’t worry. We are just grateful to hear you speaking again,” said Nucia. She and Rachel moved forward, away from Rena, and helped their mother sit up.
“I felt like I was in a dream, a nightmare really,” she said. “Words and faces would appear in my head and then vanish. I could breathe, walk, move my head, but it was as if I was watching everyone else and couldn’t join in.”
“Dr. Slutskii believes you were in shock,” said Rena, now standing at the foot of the cot. “There are many people here in the same condition.”
“Like Chaia?” asked Rachel.
“Yes.”
“Will she come out of shock, like Mother has?”
Rena shrugged her shoulders. “Hopefully, yes. But the doctor says some people take longer than others.” She returned her attention to Rachel’s mother. “Did you hear what I said about needing people to sew?”
“We can earn some money, Mother,” said Nucia. “And you like to sew. You always tell me how proud you are to wear something you’ve made.”
Rena moved around the cot and took hold of Rachel’s mother’s hand. “I know you are ready to help your daughters. They need you very much.”
“Then I must stop mourning and move forward. He helps those who help themselves,” she continued, her voice rough and dry. “We will be grateful for work as seamstresses. Thank you, Rena.”
Rena cleared her throat and walked toward the door. “That’s fine. I’ll gather the supplies and orders. Come to Room 12 tomorrow morning to begin.”
“Tomorrow is too soon,” said Rachel’s mother. “I don’t know if I will be ready.”
“We will help you, won’t we Rachel?” said Nucia.
“Yes, of course…only…”
“What is it?” asked her mother.
Rachel sighed. “You know I’m hopeless with a needle and thread. I’m worried about sewing well enough for other people.”
Her mother and Nucia shared a smile.
“You will be fine,” Nucia promised. “I’ll help you.”
Rachel smiled, feeling closer to her sister than she’d ever been before.
Rachel and Leah waited for Yoram to say good-bye to Chaia and then stood on each side of her bed. She was still bandaged from head to foot and hadn’t spoken a word since the riots.
“Look Chaia,” said Rachel. “I brought Leah to see you. She’s had her hair cut, like you.”
Leah’s eyes darted from Rachel to Chaia. “So? How are you Chaia?” She scratched the back of her neck and continued in a shaky voice. “You should see me now.” She laughed nervously. “I’m practically bald with a big scar on my face. I don’t think any boys are going to want to marry me but that’s all right…” She choked back tears and looked at Rachel.
“Don’t worry about Leah,” Rachel said, struggling to keep her voice from faltering. “She doesn’t look so bad. The doctor told her the scar will eventually fade so you’ll hardly notice it.”
Chaia’s eyes remained fixed on the ceiling, blinking occasionally but showing no sign that she heard them.
“You’re looking much better, Chaia,” said Rachel. “You have more color in your face and your bruises are almost gone.” She took Chaia’s hand, which was cold and limp. “It’s not so bad in here. A bit crowded but it’s clean.” She inhaled. “Tomorrow I’m going with my mother and sister to start sewing clothes for…for people. You really have to wake up to see me with a needle and thread. I’ll be lucky if I don’t sew my hands togethe
r.”
Leah laughed gently. “I will definitely come and watch you, Rachel. And I feel sorry for the people who get your clothes. They will likely fall apart.”
Rachel peered at Chaia’s face to see if her lips moved at all, maybe a hint of a smile. She shook her head at Leah.
Leah frowned. “Yoram really misses you. He was just here, do you know that?” She and Rachel stared at Chaia’s face but saw no response.
“I miss you so much, Chaia,” said Rachel. “So does Leah. And your mother, she is so sad that you aren’t talking. We know you need time. I just hope that soon you’ll come back to us.” She let go of Chaia’s hand and backed up, watching intently for any change in her expression. Nothing. She stifled a cry, then trudged out of the room with Leah.
The gaslights cast an eerie fog onto the black streets. An afternoon rain had left the night air warm and moist. Sergei spied two officers down the street and hurried toward them. “Have you seen Chief Khanzhenkov?”
The officers eyed Sergei suspiciously. “Who wants to know?” one of them croaked.
“He’s my father. He left for work early this morning and hasn’t come home.”
“Have you checked the station?” asked the other officer.
“I’ve already been there. Nobody’s seen him all day.” Sergei saw the two men exchange glances. “I know he’s drinking somewhere. But there are a lot of taverns in town.”
“Try the Moscow,” the first officer replied. “If he’s not there, try the Bear. Yes—that’s what I’d do.”
Sergei nodded in reply and headed down the street, anger churning his stomach. “Why does my father have to make such a fool of himself?” he muttered, his fists clenched.
Lights from the taverns, gambling dens, and restaurants glowed hazily as Sergei walked past open doors. The smell of alcohol and smoke assaulted his nose. Taking a deep breath, he entered the Moscow and found himself in the reddest room he’d ever seen. Lit sconces against crimson walls infused the floor with a ruby tinge. Thick red stripes ran along the edges of the tablecloths.
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