Under a Red Sky

by Haya Leah Molnar

  “You are a lucky girl,” Mama tells me. “You were lucky even before you were born.”

  “How could I be lucky before I was born?”

  “The doctor didn’t believe that I could get pregnant, and when I did, I had hepatitis and so did you,” Mama explains. “That’s why you looked jaundiced at birth. Then, when you were just an infant, you got sick with dysentery and we almost lost you. Dr. Meyers came over and fed you carrot juice and herb tea with pureed rice. We all took turns feeding you lots of liquids so you wouldn’t be dehydrated, and here you are.”

  “What else happened?” I want to hear more now.

  “Isn’t that enough?” Mama laughs. “Actually, when you were nine months old, I was locking the front door when your carriage rolled down the steps and you landed upside down at the bottom with a big thud. I started to scream because I thought I had killed you, but you cried even louder than I did, so I knew you were still alive. You landed on top of all those baby blankets. You were frightened, but there wasn’t a single scratch on you.”

  “What else makes me so lucky, Mama?”

  “Well, you’re lucky because you’re not a genius,” she teases.

  “What’s a genius?”

  “A genius is a person with above-average intelligence, someone who’s very, very smart. But trust me, you don’t want to be a genius.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because geniuses are generally unhappy people who don’t fit in, that’s why,” she continues. “Don’t worry, you’re not a genius.”

  “I’m not?” I’m a little disappointed but don’t want to show it.

  “Nope. You’ve just got a wild imagination. Dr. Meyers had you tested when your kindergarten teacher called to tell us that you said a witch had put a spell on you so that a pencil would start to write stories in your guts. You insisted that it was a good witch.”

  “I remember that,” I tell her.

  “Of course you do. What a scare! Your kindergarten teacher said that you are either a genius or disturbed. Or both!”

  “So which am I?” I swallow hard, but my ear isn’t crackling anymore.

  “Neither, of course.” Mama laughs.

  “Dr. Meyers had a talk with you and reassured me that everything is just as it ought to be. You’re one lucky girl. So many people love you as if you were their own, even Dr. Meyers, who’s never had children. We’re all lucky to have you. You’re my miracle, Eva. What would any of us ever have done without you?” Mama asks, smiling.

  What would they have done? I have no idea, so I keep my mouth shut.

  A QUICK MARRIAGE AND A QUICK DIVORCE

  UNCLE NATAN is getting married. That means he won’t be sleeping on the cot in the dining room anymore and hiding behind his newspaper with those thick glasses of his that make his eyes look three times bigger than they really are. I asked Grandma Iulia how come Uncle Natan’s getting married, and she snapped, “Your uncle Natan’s got his needs, you know, just like all men.”

  I have no idea what she’s talking about, but I can tell that she’s not happy with the situation and doesn’t really want to discuss it. Uncle Natan brought Rosa, his bride-to-be, home yesterday to introduce her to the family. Everyone was polite, especially Rosa. She wore a yellow dress with silk stockings, black pumps, and a blue silk scarf tied around her neck in a giant knot. Rosa would almost be pretty if she weren’t so stiff. Grandpa Yosef didn’t say much to her, and Grandma Iulia said even less and just kept looking her up and down.

  Sabina served Turkish coffee in our white porcelain cups and pieces of rahat, a sugar-powdered, fruit-flavored, jellylike treat. I was surprised that Grandma Iulia didn’t bake her famous cozonac, which she always serves to company, but maybe Uncle Natan didn’t give her enough advance notice. Uncle Natan sat upright in a chair, holding Rosa’s hand tightly the whole time. They didn’t stay long, and after they left, Grandma Iulia started speaking in Yiddish, which is what she always does when she doesn’t want me to understand what she is saying. Her words tumbled out, and Grandpa Yosef sat on their bed looking miserable and nodding. When she finally spoke Romanian again, it was a lament. “It had to be a shikse for my only son, Yosef? The war wasn’t enough to teach him to stick to his own kind?” Grandpa didn’t answer.

  I’M HAPPY that Uncle Natan’s moving out because now I can do my homework at the dining room table without feeling like I’m intruding on him. I love working here, where my notebook can rest on the hard surface of the table. It’s so much better than writing in our room on the bed.

  No one in the house seems to mind that Uncle Natan’s getting married, except Grandma Iulia. It’s been less than a week since he moved out, and she’s been walking around with a long face, like the time she swallowed a fish bone at dinner and almost choked. Grandpa Yosef hasn’t said a word about the marriage, but I notice that he’s smoking more. Maybe he’s worried about Grandma. Sabina hasn’t commented about Uncle Natan leaving us, but I guess she must be happy, since she’s got one less bed to make.

  IT’S BEEN ALMOST three months since Uncle Natan left with Rosa. The house feels different. Grandma Iulia is still moping around with a face full of salt and vinegar, but I don’t care. I’m happy because Andrei and I have become close friends. I have to be careful about this, though, because I don’t want anyone to think that he’s my boyfriend. Aunt Puica and Uncle Max have already made a few snide remarks. That’s why I’m glad when Claudia, one of my classmates who lives three houses down the block, asks if it’s okay for her to walk home with us from school. Now no one can tease me about Andrei since there are three of us walking home together. Claudia is a tall, thin girl with spindly legs and bony arms. She wears starched dresses that rustle under her pinafore, and her hair is always tied with a giant white bow right on top of her head. She has huge birdlike eyes and a high-pitched voice, and she’s an only child just like I am. Andrei is also an only child, so it’s fun that the three of us are becoming friends.

  Claudia’s mother works nights and Sundays in a hospital emergency room. Her father used to be a teacher, but now he stays home because he’s blind. He wears dark sunglasses even in the house. I had a peek at his eyes through the side of his glasses, and they look strangely caved in. It gave me goose bumps, knowing that his eyeballs might be missing. No wonder he covers them with sunglasses.

  Claudia invites Andrei and me to do our homework at her house. Everything is going just fine until her father gets involved. We are doing math when he appears in the dining room with his cane knocking against the furniture in front of him. Then he pulls out a chair, feels its edge with the backs of his legs, and sits down next to us.

  “There’s a much easier way to solve this problem.” He speaks into the air. Evidently, he’s been listening to every word we are saying.

  “But, Tata,” Claudia argues, “we have to solve the problem by the method that Comrade Popescu has taught us.”

  “Nonsense, Claudia. A problem should always be solved in the quickest, easiest, and most elegant manner.” Her father’s words spray a little spit into the air. “I don’t know why your Comrade Popescu chose this method, but I can tell you that there is a far quicker, more efficient solution.”

  Andrei and I exchange glances and wait to see what Claudia will do. Andrei looks uncomfortable and mumbles something about having to go home to do his chores. He excuses himself and leaves quickly. I linger because I don’t know what else to say and I feel sorry for Claudia, who looks like she is going to burst into tears.

  “Tata, can’t I just solve it the way Comrade Popescu showed us and I’ll do it your way at home?”

  “Absolutely not. The very basis of learning and teaching is to question your thinking, and you’ll find out that there’s more than one way of arriving at the same solution. I’m certain Comrade Popescu would approve of you exercising your gray matter. Do you know what gray matter is, Eva?” Her father blows this question like a big bubble into the dining room.

  Before I have a chance to
open my mouth, Claudia sighs and rolls her eyes. “No, Tata, she doesn’t. What is it?”

  “It’s your brain, honey. It’s what really matters!” Claudia’s father laughs at his joke. Claudia looks upset, so I motion for her to come to the bathroom with me.

  “Eva’s got to go to the bathroom,” she announces into the air. “I’m going to show her where it is and we’ll be right back.” Claudia walks backward without taking her eyes off her father, who continues to sit motionless at the head of the table with his hands folded on top of his cane handle. He nods at Claudia and looks up into the air from behind his dark glasses. When Claudia and I are finally in the bathroom with the door shut, I whisper, “Why don’t you tell him that you’ll do it his way and then just write it in the way Comrade Popescu wants us to do it? He can’t see what you write in your notebook, and you won’t get in trouble at school.”

  Claudia considers this for a moment and then whispers, “I can’t do that. That would be lying to my father, and he can see right through that. Then I’ll really get in trouble.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know.” She shrugs. “I suppose I’ll have to tell Comrade Popescu the truth and hope she doesn’t get angry.”

  WHEN I GET HOME, Uncle Natan is lying on his cot in the dining room as if he has never left. I am really annoyed because I have to take my books back to our room and finish my homework on the bed. In the evening, Uncle Natan shows up at the supper table as well and no one says a word about it.

  The next morning I notice that his cot has been slept in, so before taking off for school I stick my head into the kitchen and ask Grandma Iulia what’s going on.

  “He’s getting a divorce,” she says.

  “Why? He’s only been married three months!”

  “You can’t expect a man to stay married to a woman who encourages stealing.” Grandma shakes a wooden spoon over a hot pot. “Aren’t you late for school?”

  “Mama,” I ask as I’m getting into my pajamas that night, “why is Uncle Natan getting a divorce?”

  “He and his wife, Rosa, had a big disagreement,” Mama answers, “and when a couple doesn’t get along, they stop living together and they get a divorce. That frees them up to go on with their lives.”

  “But, Mama, Uncle Natan’s not going anywhere. He’s back on his cot as if he’s never left. How did he know so quickly that he can’t get along with Rosa?”

  “That’s a good question, but I don’t know the answer. All I can tell you is when people don’t get along, there are little disagreements and there are big disagreements. My guess is that they had a very big disagreement.”

  “Grandma Iulia said that Rosa expected Uncle Natan to steal.”

  “Did she say that? It’s possible, but you know, sweetheart, no one can really get between a husband and a wife. You’ll never know the truth, because the truth is different depending on who’s looking at it.”

  “Mama, isn’t the truth the truth no matter what?”

  “No. Most of the time the truth changes.”

  “I wish I knew what really happened,” I say, and look up to see Mama’s reaction.

  “Then you’ll just have to ask Uncle Natan. But all you’re going to get is his side of the story, not Rosa’s. And even if you were to ask her, you’d find that she disagrees with Uncle Natan, so you’ll have to decide what the truth is for yourself.”

  “How can I decide what the truth is?” I ask.

  “It isn’t their truth that matters. It’s your truth. And only you can decide that. Time for bed, darling.” Mama tucks me in.

  “Mama, are you and Tata going to get divorced?”

  Mama’s smile fades. “Of course not.”

  “But you don’t always agree with Tata, do you?”

  “Right. But we love each other far more than we disagree. You should never be afraid to disagree with anyone, Eva. It’s just part of life. It takes a very big disagreement for two people to get a divorce.”

  “Please promise me that you won’t get divorced, Mama, even if you have a big disagreement. Aunt Puica’s said some awful things about Tata, and she thinks that you ought to divorce him.”

  “That’s none of her business,” Mama snaps. “Puica’s got no right to talk about us. Don’t you worry, we’re not getting divorced.”

  “That’s good, Mama, because I don’t want you to, even though I’m not sure that Tata loves me.”

  “Oh my God, Eva, why would you ever say such a thing? Of course your father loves you! He loves you very, very much.” Mama peers into my eyes as if I were hiding the truth there. I can tell that she believes Tata loves me, but I’m not sure that this is Tata’s truth. If it is, then how come he never tells me he loves me?

  THE HIDDEN TORAH

  GRANDMA IULIA is sick in bed, her body propped up against her monogrammed, down-filled pillows. She is leaning against the headboard, her glasses perched on the tip of her nose, and her novel is turned facedown on her crisp, embroidered linens. Her feet are raised on three stacked pillows, her unpolished toenails are yellowing. There are dark brown, almost black leeches placed all over her legs. The shiny worms swell up as they suck the blood out of Grandma Iulia’s thin veins. I am so disgusted, I want to run out and scream until all the walls of our house shake the worms off of Grandma’s legs, but she isn’t frightened. Instead, she smiles and takes my hand. Her hand is so soft and thin you can see the blue of her veins beneath her skin.

  “Don’t worry, the leeches are doing a fine job,” she says, adjusting one of my braids.

  “Do they hurt?” I ask her.

  “No, not really,” she says serenely. “The leeches are helping thin the blood in my legs to prevent a clot.” She motions for me to sit next to her. “Last night I had my first phlebitis attack since the war,” Grandma explains. “Dr. Khan is coming to check on me and remove the leeches soon.” I can’t take my eyes off the slick leeches as they grow fat with her blood like inflated black balloons. Two minutes later, Grandpa comes in to announce Dr. Khan’s arrival.

  LUNCH IS WAITING for me in the dining room. Sabina has prepared my favorite sandwich, Sibiu salami sliced paper-thin and served with butter on crusty black bread. I usually love having lunch alone at our dining room table, but today I don’t feel much like eating. I can’t stop thinking about the leeches that are attached to Grandma Iulia’s swollen legs, and I wonder how Dr. Khan will ever make those bloodsuckers let go of her. I am sipping my tea with lemon with a sugar cube tucked in behind my teeth when Grandpa comes in and sits across from me. He is hiding something in his right fist as he waits for me to finish eating.

  “I’m not hungry, Grandpa,” I tell him, sliding the plate away.

  “That’s all right,” he says. He watches me intently as I sip my tea. His dark brown eyes are moist, and there are deep wrinkles etched beneath them, just above his cheekbones.

  “I have a present for you, my little Leah.” I wonder why he’s using my middle name, but before I have a chance to ask, Grandpa opens his hand, revealing a small metal container nestled in his palm. I stare at it from across the table. Grandpa rises abruptly and comes over to my side. He places his present in my right hand and closes my fingers around it, his hand cupping mine.

  “What is it?” I feel the cool, smooth metal in my hand.

  “It’s better than magic,” Grandpa whispers.

  I open my palm and look curiously at a metal cylinder. I know the name of the shape because we have just started to learn geometry in school.

  “What’s inside?”

  “The truth,” he answers. “If you hold on to this truth, always, your innermost and highest wishes will unfold. Open it up,” he says. I pull off the cap and peer inside the small tube, where I can barely see the edges of a scroll rolled up tightly. Grandpa takes the cylinder out of my hand and taps it lightly onto the table until the top of the scroll emerges. He slides it out, unfolds the thin parchment with great care, and lays it flat on the table. The enti
re scroll is smaller than the palm of my hand. The text is in ink, but it isn’t Romanian. The tiny black letters stand out against the cream of the parchment, and they are very beautiful.

  “What does it mean?” I ask.

  “I told you, the truth,” he says, without taking his eyes off my face. “And when you learn to read it, study it, and believe it, what is in your highest interest comes true. Always.” Grandpa cups his hand over mine and curls my fingers around the metal container. “Not to be taken lightly, but to be held in your heart at all times.” He takes both my hands and taps them on my chest.

  “How can I hold this in my heart, Grandpa, when I don’t even understand what’s written on it? Tell me what it means.”

  “I have trouble reading the text myself, but you will have to take my word for it, on faith. If you wish, you will study and understand the meaning of this writing in good time,” he answers, and leaves the dining room as quietly as he entered.

  I examine the scroll. It feels powerful, even though it is so small. I roll up the thin parchment and slide it back into the metal tube. I decide then and there not to tell anyone about this; not Mama or Grandma Iulia, not Uncle Max, certainly not Tata—not even Andrei. I kiss the cylinder and decide to put the magic powers of its contents to an immediate test.

  I tiptoe to Aunt Puica’s room and scratch lightly on her door, expecting her to bark back her usual “What do you want? Go away. Can’t you see that I want to be left alone?” But instead, a calm voice I barely recognize answers.

  “Come in,” Aunt Puica says.

  I enter her bedroom, where the black curtains are drawn as usual and my eyes have to adjust to the dark and blink against the sting of her cigarette smoke.

  “What is it, sweetheart?” Aunt Puica looks up from her thick novel, her hand picking away at an ingrown toenail.