Eli couldn’t help it; despite his being a man, hot tears rose to his eyes. First Leah, now this. Yevgeny no longer looked so fine on his big stallion. Taking a closer look, Eli saw that the cuffs of the uniform were frayed and the horse hadn’t been properly curried, and suddenly Yevgeny looked only like a middle-aged man pretending to be brave and young.
Leah had said nothing during this exchange, but now she walked up to the soldier and began caressing his thigh. Her fingers moved higher, and the soldier’s breath quickened. When he moved to dismount, though, she abruptly sank her teeth into his leg and held on until he managed to knock her away.
“Aarrgh!” he roared as the horse reared back to attack. “You—you—you crazy Jewess!” He looked over at Eli and drew his sword, yelling, “Crazy! She’s mad! You were right, boy!!”
Eli saw with horror that Yevgeny was ready to kill her, so he rushed toward Leah and knocked her down just as the sword whistled past her head. He sat on her so she could not move, babbling, “Please, sir, please; she’s mad, it’s true; she doesn’t know what she’s doing. I’ll take her home right now, sir, her mother will know what to do with her. Just a child, sir, a poor unfortunate child; she’ll not bother you again, I promise!”
The soldier paused, looked down at the tear in his pants leg, then at Eli sitting in the dirt, yarmulke askew, covered in dust and perspiration. He began to laugh. “Bitten by a crazy Jewess whose brave defender is a boy barely out of diapers! I guess this’ll be a good one for the barracks.” He drew himself up on the horse and sheathed his sword. “All right, boy, but keep her in the village, hear? One more misstep and she’s dead!” With that, the horse turned and cantered away.
“Get off me, you great lump!” Leah hissed, twisting suddenly and throwing Eli off her back.
“What?! I just saved your life, you little fool!” Eli was getting angry now, the humiliation and fear eating at him, making him angry enough to forget that this woman was a malicious soul of great power.
“Hmph!” she snorted, tossing her hair at him. “I didn’t need your help. I was handling the situation.”
Eli looked at her in wonderment. “Handling the situation ” indeed! She’d almost gotten herself killed, that was all. This dybbuk had the ego of a princess—she thought she knew everything!
Thought she knew everything . . . Suddenly, an idea came to him. The important thing was not to look scared. If he could be brave, maybe it would work. Thinking of Daniel facing the lions’ den, Eli slowly rose to his feet and offered the dybbuk his hand. She looked at him suspiciously, but took it and rose, facing him.
“Look,” said Eli with a trace of impatience, “I don’t know where you come from—maybe a big city like Kiev—but things just aren’t the same here. You don’t know what you’re doing. You don’t know how to behave. You’re going to give yourself away in five seconds once you get back to the village.”
The dybbuk looked at him, surprise and annoyance on her face. “Don’t know what I’m doing?! Why, I’ve traveled all over this country! I’ve had coaches, and footmen, and jewelry so fine you’d have to close your eyes to keep from being blinded! And I’ll have you know that I’m smart, very smart, probably the smartest person you’ll ever meet!”
Eli looked at her skeptically, then shrugged his shoulders. “Suit yourself. But things are different here, I can tell you that much. Without a guide, you’ll be lost.”
Intrigued, she searched his face. “And why, proud boy, are you willing to help me so suddenly?” asked the dybbuk. Then she looked down at her bodice and smirked. She gestured toward it with a satisfied smile. “Decided it was worth it, hmm?”
Eli fought down nausea and shrugged again. “Didn’t say I was willing to help you. Just said you’d give yourself away.”
Fire flared in her eyes. “Not if you’d show me what to do,” she argued.
“And what do I get out of it?” he asked.
“Why, you stupid little boy—you get me!” She grinned, baring her lips and clenching her teeth as poor Leah tried to break through again with a moan.
Eli ignored the struggle and laughed. “You? Remember what the soldier said—I’m too young to know what to do with a woman as accomplished as you!” he told her.
Pleased at the compliment, the dybbuk smiled prettily and said, “Then what do you want?”
He cast his eyes downward, trying to look embarrassed, and shuffled his feet like a little boy. “Um . . . I . . . er . . .”
She smiled at him, a genuine smile, the smile of a cat who’s finally cornered her mouse. “Come, speak up!” she said. “I’ll strike a bargain with you, for I love a good game!”
Eli frowned. “How do I know I can trust you?” he challenged.
For one fleeting instant, the dybbuk actually looked pious as she gazed heavenward and said, “The Lord our God watches over everyone, as I learned to my eternal sorrow. Once I was like you, like her, but it wasn’t good enough for me. I stole and I cheated, and I left my family and never looked back. My punishment is eternal, and the rules of it are stricter than any parent could impose. Though I inhabit another’s body, I may not control her heart. What that heart would never do, I cannot force it to do. It would never break a promise; therefore, I cannot. We, too, are bound by certain laws.”
Eli was intrigued. “And what happens if you try to break a promise?” he asked the dybbuk.
She grimaced, then said, “A fate even more terrible than this one. My name will be stricken from the Book of Life, and no one on this earth will remember me. It will be as though I never had been.”
Eli thought that over; it sounded like a good enough idea to him, though he supposed the dybbuk wouldn’t like it. “So once we strike a bargain, you have to keep it—or else?”
She nodded, then said with a leer, “But I’m a lot older than you, my boy. A lot. I can remember before your great-great-grandparents were born. The chance of your being able to put one over on me is slim. However . . .” She paused, thinking. “However, I was always a gambler. So here is my offer. You may ask me one question—only one, mind you! It must be something a human can answer. And if I don’t answer correctly, I’ll do everything in my power to grant your desire, and you will be free of me forever.”
Eli turned away, pretending to be deep in thought while hiding his exultation. She’d taken the bait! He grinned foolishly to himself, and acted as though he were thinking it over for a few minutes. Then he turned back to the dybbuk with a sigh and said, “All right. It’s a bargain.”
They shook hands on it, and the dybbuk waited expectantly.
“Here is my question for you,” said Eli, pausing dramatically. “It is this: What is it that everything has?”
Then he sat down to wait. The riddle had been told to him years ago by his great-grandmother; he was pretty certain it hadn’t been repeated in the village since her death, but one never knew. He tried to calm his anxiety as he waited for her response.
“How many answers can I try?” asked the dybbuk, deep in thought.
Eli was startled; she was still trying to cheat! “Only one, of course!”
“Of course . . . ,” she said dryly, and closed her eyes to ponder the question.
They sat that way for a long time as the shadows lengthened and Shabbes drew closer. For a moment, Eli worried about being out after dark; then he silently laughed at himself. Here he was, facing down a dybbuk, and all he could think of was that?!
Finally he saw her eyes flicker open, and she smiled, a bitter, malevolent, victorious smile.
“Oh, you silly boy! You thought that because I was a woman, I wouldn’t be able to guess it, didn’t you? Now, confess!”
Eli honestly said no, because he had never thought of the dybbuk as female, only as evil.
“Well, now I’ve guessed it, and you shall be my guide and protector for all your life!” she said smugly.
Eli was beginning to get annoyed. It was almost sunset. The candles would be on the table soon, and he was get
ting very hungry. “Then, if you’re so smart, what’s the answer?”
She laughed, clapped her hands, rose to her feet, and said, “Why, it’s a soul, of course!”
And Eli, too, slowly rose to his feet, clapped his hands, gave a little bow, and then said, “No, it’s not. That’s the wrong answer.”
The laughter died on her lips and she glared at him, her face turning red. “It is so the right answer!” she shouted.
“It is not!” Eli shouted back. “I said, ‘What is it that everything has?’ A rock has no soul. A grain of sand has no soul. That is not the correct answer.”
And then he smiled, a terrible smile of righteous joy, as she slowly sank back onto the ground.
He looked down at her, no longer afraid. “And now I will have your end of the bargain, dybbuk,” Eli said.
She looked at him warily. “What is it you want? I can make you as rich as a Rothschild. I can make you as handsome as the handsomest prince. What do you want?” she asked.
He paused, arms at his sides, then simply said, “I want Leah back.”
The dybbuk scrambled to her feet, grimaced at him, and angrily said “No!” Then she began running, running away from him as fast as she could, screaming “No! No! No!” And Eli, desperate to make her fulfill her end of the bargain, raced after her, but he could not catch her. She ran and ran, and he stumbled after her, but the dybbuk was running with the speed of a demon, while Eli was only human. He was panting and winded, about to give up, when there was an enormous clap of thunder, as though heaven itself had parted. Eli smacked his hands against his ears in pain, then froze as the dybbuk fell to the ground, where she lay as if dead.
He looked up at the sky; there was not a cloud in sight. Then he looked at the dybbuk, lying like a corpse. Slowly he approached the body, and standing as far away as possible, he turned it over.
Leah gave a small moan, and her eyelids fluttered open. Eli cautiously moved forward. He saw with joy that there was no sneer on her lips, no cunning in her face now. He helped her sit up, then held her as she wept against his shoulder, smelling her clean hair and marveling at the softness of her tears as they fell upon his skin. When the tears had run dry, he stood and helped her up. He looked into her eyes, and each began to speak at once.
“I’ll never be a soldier or want a sword again—” Eli began.
“I never saw anything so brave in all my life as when you—” Leah said.
They looked at one another, startled, then tried again.
“Leah, I am so sorry for—” he said.
“Eli, I can’t tell you how sorry I—” she said.
They stopped again, then both began to laugh. Leah put her arm through his and shyly whispered, “I saw everything, Eli. Everything! You were so brave, braver than any soldier could be! Weren’t you afraid?”
Eli was about to say he hadn’t been afraid, not for an instant, but he blushed at the thought of lying to her, who’d already been through so much that day. Instead, he pulled her close and whispered, “Leah, I was terrified . . . but I couldn’t let her have you.”
They went back to the path, and Eli gathered up his wood. Then, with her arm through his, they walked toward the little village, Leah braiding her hair and straightening her clothing as best she could. And the farther they walked, the further the details slipped from their minds, until Eli looked at Leah’s tousled hair and dusty blouse and said, “Wow. That must have been quite a fall you took!”
And Leah looked at Eli’s unkempt yarmulke and dusty shoes and said, “It must have been! I hit my head so hard I barely remember a thing! I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t come along.”
And in that manner they entered Eli’s home, where both sets of parents waited with anxious expressions. Seeing them, Leah’s mother jumped up with a start, exclaiming over her daughter’s appearance. “What, did you fall? Whatever happened here? Are you all right?”
“Yes, Mother, I’m all right,” Leah replied, watching Eli place the wood in the tiny hearth. “I fell, so badly I can’t remember a thing, but Eli found me and saved me.”
Eli’s mother looked at him in consternation, taking in his torn pants and dirty shoes. “A fine thing, out there romping around like a hooligan, probably playing soldier with those filthy Cossacks again while we wait and worry. A fine thing indeed, Eli!”
Eli opened his mouth to protest, but his mother continued, now looking at Leah.
“And you, young lady! Running around like a boy, of all things. Look at your hair, look at your blouse! What will the neighbors say? You couldn’t at least stop at your home to change?”
Leah prepared to explain—although she really had no explanation—but before she could say a word, Eli placed his finger over her lips to silence her. Slowly he took her hands in his. He led her to his mother, then said, “Mama. That’s no way to speak to my future wife, is it? Come, let us share the Sabbath meal, and you can begin planning the wedding.”
And the parents, not understanding what had provoked this sudden turnabout, could only weep with joy as they welcomed the young couple to the Sabbath table.
That is how, in one short afternoon, young Eli left his dreams of soldiering behind and became a true man.
Years later, walking with his firstborn son, Eli tried to explain why some men were soldiers and others scholars. “You see, my son, sometimes to know is a more powerful tool than to do. For those who do are forever bound by their actions, and those they act upon are bound as well. Whereas those who know can be more flexible, for knowledge occupies no space and knows no limits.”
He could see that his son was losing interest, and thought perhaps this was all a bit abstract for a child who hadn’t even reached puberty. He wondered how to regain the boy’s attention. As they walked, Eli suddenly had a vague memory of a riddle he’d asked someone years ago. He slowed his steps, trying to recall the exact puzzle.
When it came to him, he smiled at the boy and said, “Joachim, here is a riddle for you. If you answer correctly, I will give you a sweet tonight after dinner. Listen. What is it that everything has?”
The child thought for a long moment, then lit up with anticipation of the sweet. “Oh, Papa, of course, the answer is ‘A name’! Because if it doesn’t have a name, how can we know it exists?”
And Eli laughed aloud and lifted the boy to his shoulders, and together they ran home to Leah, who did not know the answer to the riddle and did not need to know. For so long as there were Elis and Joachims in this world she would be forever safe, and no darkness would inhabit her soul.
JANIS IAN
JANIS IAN is normally a singer-songwriter, with two Grammy Awards, nine Grammy nominations, and twenty-two albums to her credit. She published her first song at twelve, made her first record at fourteen, and released a book of poetry (since reissued) at sixteen. Her father and grandmother were wonderful storytellers, and she grew up on the tales of Sholem Aleichem and her family’s own stories of life in the shtetl. When not singing or writing songs, Janis reads, mostly science fiction and young adult books. Her two favorite books in the world are Madeleine L’Engle’s A Wrinkle in Time and Orson Scott Card’s Ender’s Game, probably because they both feature young heroes, both male and female. Janis writes: “I love the idea of women as warriors, since my generation didn’t really have them available as mentors.”
Janis began writing prose stories two years ago; this will be her eighth published story. For more information, go to www.janisian.com.
HEARTLESS
Holly Black
O Moon! old boughs lisp forth a holier din
The while they feel thine airy fellowship.
Thou dost bless every where, with silver lip
Kissing dead things to life.
—John Keats, from Endymion
ACROSS THE LANDSCAPE of the battlefield, men stared sightlessly into the sky, their armor black with blood, their steaming intestines spread over the ground. Swarms of crows covered them in a jumping, fl
uttering carpet. Camp women scavenged among the corpses, cutting the throats of the dying and looting the bodies for anything of worth.
Ada bent close to one man, his mouth already darkened like a bruise on his pallid face. For a dizzying moment her sight narrowed until all she could see was a gore-clotted eye-lash, a stitch of livery, the twist of a pale worm. She gagged, but a second quick breath steadied her. Ada was surprised the stench could still make her choke. It reminded her that she hadn’t always been a camp follower; her hair hadn’t always hung in knots and the hem of her dress hadn’t always been stiff with filth. It reminded her of things better forgotten.
The army’s food had already been cooked and distributed—boiled horseflesh, cabbages, onions, and what dried stores the Baron’s men had managed to frighten out of the local churls. The camp women had a few hours before they must return to the fire pits, to scour the pots and begin planning for tomorrow. Ada had to move quickly if she wanted her share of what was left on the field.
The dead man had a good set of spurs, new-looking, with bronze details. She stripped them off his sabbatons and tied them up in her skirts.
The next man she squatted near was still breathing. His brow was sweaty, and his eyes moved feverishly under closed lids. She held her knife near his throat. She had been warned never to leave a man alive while you robbed him: he might wake at any time, and even a wounded soldier was dangerous. Still, she hesitated. No matter how many times she told herself that it was like killing a sow, it still wasn’t. Maybe it was the memory of compassion that nagged at her, the remembrance of what she had been before she’d bespelled her heart into her finger bone.
“Help me.” The soldier’s mouth began to move before his eyes opened. He spoke in a dreamy monotone.
Ada jumped back, the blade just nicking the flesh of his throat.
“Help me,” he repeated. He didn’t seem to notice that he’d been cut.
“No,” Ada said. She’d had enough of knights and their commands. She had to feed them, to bind their wounds and be bothered by them when she sought only sleep. Just because she hadn’t killed him quickly didn’t mean she owed him anything.
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