Her voice softened. “The brit milah is in two days now. The One has led me to you for a reason. This must be the answer. What else can we do?”
”We’ll go back to Paris and figure that out.” I wrapped the prayer shawl around me. “Serakh, about your...um…intertwinings. Have they ever gone wrong? Have you ever failed?”
Silence. A line of tears ran down her cheek. And it was her turn to look away.
I reached for the blue thread.
CHAPTER THIRTY
A red-faced Mon Trésor was screaming in the kitchen. Celeste jiggled him as she paced, cooing and patting his back.
”Nothing helps,” she told us as we stepped inside.
Serakh took the baby and sat on a stool. She laid him with his belly on her knees and she rocked her legs up and down. Three shrieks later, Mon Trésor let out a belch that would have impressed even Josh and immediately stopped fussing. Serakh cradled him in her arms and gave him her knuckle to suck on.
Celeste blinked. “I have never seen such a thing.”
”It is nothing,” Serakh said. “I have been with many babies. Rest from your labors, Celeste, and we will bring him to Dolcette upstairs.”
Dolcette was not as easy to comfort. “Mama is not coming at all,” she wailed. “Yom Tov contracted an ailment of the bowels while the wagon wheel was being repaired, and my parents are returning to Falaise.”
Yom tov meant “good day” in Hebrew. Actually “day good,” but either way it made no sense.
”Yom Tov,” I whispered to Serakh as I sat on the edge of Dolcette’s bed. “What kind of a name is that?”
”It is the name that the parents of daughters and more daughters might give to the first child who is a son.”
I couldn’t help rolling my eyes. “Can’t your father return to Falaise with Yom Tov while your mother travels here? You need her.”
”My mother leave my sniveling, little, overprotected, brother? Ha! And he is already eight.” She stared at me, desperation in her eyes. “Now who will help me after the brit milah? Who will take Mon Trésor from me and save him from Avram?”
Serakh paced with the baby. “We will not let your child come to harm. Tikvah will see to that, even if she has to raise him herself.”
What?
Dolcette flung herself at me. “Oh, Tikvah, would you, please? I beg you!”
I suddenly imagined myself zapping back from medieval Paris with Mon Trésor in my arms. Mom would come home from Israel to a new addition to the family. Dad would add BUY CRADLE to his to-do list for the funeral and shivah. Ridiculous.
Still, Dolcette needed reassurance, and I needed time to think of a better alternative. What could I say? “I’ll do anything to save your child.”
Dolcette kissed my hands and cried, and finally calmed down enough to nurse Mon Trésor.
Serakh turned to me, gratitude spreading across her face. I answered her with a skeptical look, one that I hoped she knew meant I was stalling.
Dolcette smiled at her nursing baby. “I know that you speak with Avram at the bakery, and Celeste has hidden a ball of wheat dough in her chambers, where Tante Rose does not go. Tante Rose does not trust you as I do. Celeste is unsure, but she’s loyal to me.”
Wheat? “But Avram eats rye bread, doesn’t he?”
Dolcette nodded. “Oh, yes, it is his favorite when he goes to the Rhineland. But Tante Rose insists that rye is for the poor, and we can afford to eat wheat and barley. She says that she would be embarrassed to have my mother visit and see a loaf of peasant rye on the table. Silly woman.”
Thank you, Tante Rose.
This time Shmuel was nowhere to be seen. Serakh put our loaf on a pallet and angled it into the oven. Avram was hunched over his open ledger book again.
I mustered a bright smile in counterpoint to his haggard face. “I hope that you are enjoying the Hanukkah top,” I said. Our small loaf wouldn’t take long to bake, and there was so much I wanted to know.
He patted the pouch that hung from his belt. “Yes, that was a most gracious gift,” he said, his voice a monotone.
”The rabbi’s wife has invited my…um…sister-in-law and me to attend the brit milah. We are so happy that you have started a family after the…um…catastrophe in Mainz. Your wife says you’ve suffered terribly.”
Avram scowled. “My wife knows better than to talk to me about Mainz. I expect that you will do the same.” Dismissing me with a wave of his hand, he dipped his quill pen in a bottle of ink and scribbled something in the ledger.
So much for that. Serakh frowned in disappointment. Trying a different approach, I complimented Avram on the quality of his rye flour. “Is it from nearby?”
”From further north,” he said.
”Oh, do you travel there often? Along the Rhine, perhaps?”
He stopped scribbling. “There is another oven that is open to Jews on the east end of the island,” he said.
I stepped back and wiped imaginary flour from my hands. “I was just curious.”
”Watch the loaf for us, dear sister-in-law,” Serakh said. She let the silence build, and then asked Avram whether he had heard the news from Jerusalem. Hiding my confusion, I took a sudden interest in a stain on my gown. “Did you know the Christian knights took the Holy City last summer?” she asked.
I dared to peek at Avram. He was kneading his forehead, his lips tight against his teeth.
Serakh shook her head and sighed. “Such bloodshed. A travesty. They say that all of our kinsmen have been banished from our sacred places.”
Avram slammed his fist on the table, sending a small crock of yeast skittering to the floor. “Are you here to bake your loaf or to punish me with cruel news I have already heard?”
Serakh sighed again, then asked in a quiet voice, “What have we done that The Holy One, blessed be He, has turned His countenance from us?”
Avram seemed to shrink into himself, “Not enough,” he said. “We have not done enough.” He stared at the ledger. Then he rose slowly and came toward me. Reaching into his pouch, he said, “Thank you for your reminder of the vision that has led to a vow I have made. The time to fulfill that vow is soon upon me. Your gift is no longer needed.”
He dropped my dreidel near a bowl of salt and walked out of the bakery.
”Could I have made more of a mess, Serakh?” I marched back and forth under the oak trees, my stomach in knots. “Could I?”
She sat on a dry patch of ground. “Before you gave the token to Avram, he was firm in his vow. You have changed nothing.”
”Why did you remind him of the Crusader victory in Jerusalem in 1099, which was, what? Last summer in this…um…time?”
”The great tragedy in Mainz happened three years ago. I wanted to see why Avram should have such a vision now.”
I tripped over a rock. “So, if Avram feels guilty about not being in Mainz when the Crusaders attacked, then he feels doubly guilty now about what happened in Jerusalem? Yes, I suppose that makes sense. Avram believes that it’s all his fault, even though he has no control over the situation. Does he really think that one more sacrifice will make things better?”
”Perhaps he believes this to be true. Perhaps it is the affliction.” Serakh cradled the warm loaf. “Perhaps we must prepare to take Dolcette’s child.”
I put my hands on my hips. “That’s impossible. I can’t suddenly appear in Berkeley with a week-old baby.”
”To save a life you would do this.”
I sat next to her. “What about you, Serakh? Can’t you take him?”
”I do not live in a single place and time. I travel often. The child could not survive in my care. Avram cannot cure himself. He has tried and failed. Dolcette has told of us the leeches and other trials he has put himself through. What is left but your giving him this potion, this SLD?”
”LSD,” I corrected.
&n
bsp; ”Is it hard to find?”
”Ha! I wish it were. My sister’s blotter of doses is under my bed.”
Serakh grabbed my shoulders. “You have this LSD in your possession?”
I nodded.
Her eyes flashed. “And you choose
not to use it?”
”How can I? I have no idea how to give Avram a vision that makes him break his vow. I could kill him.”
She touched her forehead to mine. Two beats later she whispered, “You have more within you than you imagine. Do not live in fear.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Dawn drifted through the slats in Grandpa’s blinds. I sat on the chair by his bed, waiting for my body to adjust, the Paris snow to melt from my slippers, and my wobbly emotions to sort themselves into something that would hold me together. The last thing I needed when I left Grandpa’s room and walked through the kitchen to go downstairs was Josh.
”H-hi,” I said in the most civil tone I could muster.
He retied his bathrobe belt and closed a little spiral notepad on the kitchen counter. “I thought I heard you in your old bedroom up here. I’d paint the walls a warm yellow, if I were you. Ephraim would have liked you to get a fresh start in there. He was so generous and kind, an outstanding human being.”
I gritted my teeth. Ephraim? Since when did Josh stop calling him Grandpa? My brother sounded like he was rehearsing the first lines of a speech.
”Man, you look beat. Rough day yesterday. I can imagine. Dad sprang for a puddle jumper from Burbank to Oakland, and some guy named Gabriel answered the phone here and said you and Dad were at services. Dagmar was here with him. Can you believe it? She has no sense of decorum. You can imagine what the two of them were doing.”
”S-stop it, J-Josh.”
”Hey, I’m just sayin’.” Josh got out the butter and a carton of eggs. “He picked me up in a station wagon that smelled like cigars. Not even his station wagon. It’s probably owned by the commune.”
I let it go. Why bother? “T-two f-for m-me,” I managed, pointing to the eggs. Food was food, and I was famished. How long had it been since I’d eaten? How long had I been in Paris?
”Scrambled.” Not a question. That’s how they were going to get done, period.
”Dagmar plans to stink up the house with some smoldering clump of dried sage. She says it clears the air. I told her to stay the hell out of my room.”
He pointed the spatula to a yellow-lined pad on the kitchen table. “There’s the list. Dad borrowed Mr. Nash’s car. He’s getting Mom later. I’m leaving after breakfast to get Dad’s suit and my suit pressed. If you need anything, write it down. We’ve got everything under control.”
He made the funeral sound like a stockholder’s meeting. I poured a glass of orange juice and ran down the list of who was supposed to do what when. Dad had included everything from when the rabbi was going to visit us (tonight at 7:15) to notifying the school Monday morning that I’d be out until at least Wednesday. If death is about phone calls, then funerals are about lists. Grandpa would have been appalled to see the fuss we were making over him.
A plate of scrambled eggs appeared under my nose. Josh announced he was off to do…whatever he was off to do. He sounded official. I gave him my official nod.
The rest of the morning and half the afternoon was a blur. I wandered through the day on automatic pilot. Dagmar appeared at some point. And disappeared. Dad came and left. Sylvester stayed next to me everywhere I went. The phone rang. I ignored it.
Mom looked smaller than I remembered her. She gathered me up in her arms and I clung to her. She smelled like the sandalwood soap she always brought back from Israel.
”I-I tuh-ried, I r-r-really tuh-ried. I-I d-did the b-best I could.”
”Of course, you did,” she whispered in my ear. “Of course, you did.”
Tears flooded my face. “I-I w-w-anted s-s-o m-much to k-keep him alive until you c-came home.”
She stroked my hair. “Shhh…. It’s okay, sweetie. I understand. I couldn’t keep your grandmother alive another few weeks until you were born. And now you have her name, which is a beautiful reminder of her every day. Honey, we can’t control life and death.”
Dad enveloped the both of us, and we stood silently together for one precious moment. Then he said, “We have to let your mom rest, Nudler. She needs to get off her feet.”
”Just for a little while,” Mom said. She studied my bandages. “Is everything healing properly? No redness? No pus?”
”F-fine.”
”Good,” she whispered. She seemed to shrink before my eyes. Dad handed her his handkerchief and guided her down the hall toward their bedroom.
I sat on the back porch for who knows how long, the sun warming my face. Our little Meyer lemon tree had started to bear fruit. I thought of my grandmother’s prayer shawl—the “garment of fringes” as Serakh had called it—that was passed down from Miriam to Miriam. Who would have worn it if my grandmother had lived until I was born, and my parents named me for another dead relative?
”There you are.” Leona’s voice pierced my thoughts. “I’ve been looking all over the house for you. My mom let us in, so we wouldn’t disturb anyone. We brought over chicken noodle soup and corned beef sandwiches for dinner. And a roast beef sandwich for you. I told her you like roast beef better.”
I stood long enough to hug her. Leona pulled up a chair and sat beside me. “How are you? You must be devastated.”
”I f-feel like a l-lump of n-n-nothing.”
”I am so sorry. It must be awful. I mean you two were so close. Just a couple days ago when we got Chinese takeout—remember? You were especially careful to get exactly what he wanted.”
I touched her hand and shook my head slowly.
”You’d like me to shut up for a change? Sure. Do you want to be alone? I wouldn’t feel bad about that. I can go into the kitchen.”
I shook my head again. “Stuh-ay.”
”Okay. But I’ll be quiet.”
And she was, which is hard for Leona. I sighed once. Leona sighed back. I stared at the lemon tree and thought about my prayer shawl. One thought led to another, and soon I was back to Avram and that damned LSD. “L-Leona?”
”Hmmmm?”
”S-Suh-pose y-you c-could d-do s-s-omething t-terrible to s-someone. S-someone s-s-sick. Thuh-ey w-wouldn’t know. B-but it m-might c-cure them. W-would you do it?”
Leona frowned. “I’m not sure what you mean? Is this anybody we know?”
I shook my head, took a breath, and started again. “S-say y-you g-gave them a duh-rug that c-could m-make thuh-ings w-worse or or k-kill them. Or or c-cure them.”
”Would I give them the drug?”
I nodded.
”What are the chances of curing them?”
I shrugged.
She studied her fingernails for a minute. “Sort of like chemotherapy and cancer. The poison could kill you but it might save you. Only there you can ask the patient, right? And what you’re saying is the patient doesn’t know. You have to make the decision on your own.”
I nodded again.
”That’s a tough one.” She brushed her bangs off her forehead. “I guess you have to figure out what that person would want you to do. I mean, if you think they would take the risk, you should, too. Does that make sense?”
What did I know about Avram? Practically nothing. I bit my lip. Still…
”Thanks,” I said. “H-how was b-ballet cuh-lass?”
Leona smiled. She launched into paragraph upon paragraph. I barely listened to a word, but that let me sink into my own thoughts and I knew she’d understand.
What was Avram’s vision? Something about an angel, but what? Why hadn’t I asked Dolcette? Did she know? I couldn’t just grieve the days away in my Berkeley world while the clock ticked in Paris back the
n. The day after Grandpa’s funeral would be Mon Trésor’s circumcision and naming. They’d call him Ysaak. Isaac. And the day after that?
I lived in two worlds. Both of them were falling apart.
The Seventh Day
Paris
2 Tevet 4860
Anno Domini 1099, festival eve and feast day for Saint Olympias of Constantinople
Sunset, Friday, December 16–Sunset, Saturday, December 17
Berkeley
1 Tevet 5725
Sunset, Saturday, December 5, 1964–Sunset, Sunday, December 6, 1964
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Leona announced it was time for the two of us to light the Hanukkah candles, and I didn’t say no. We sang the blessings together, her strong clear voice helping mine along.
”You’re nearly back to normal,” she said. “Once the bandages come off you’ll sing even better.”
”He wanted m-me to s-sing Psalm One-one F-fifty when w-we l-lit the c-candles on Thuh-usrday. I s-said I was t-too tired.”
The flames blurred. She gave me a fresh tissue. “You didn’t know it would be the last time, Hope. Cut yourself some slack.”
I couldn’t. The truth was that I had let my grandfather down, and I wasn’t going to get a second chance.
Then the onslaught began. Rabbi Cohen arrived to pay his respects and help us get organized for the funeral. Mom’s brothers and their families, and Grandpa’s niece, Bella, invaded. Leona and Mrs. Nash offered everyone coffee and tea and cookies, and were able to escape to the kitchen. I wished I could go with them, but it wouldn’t have been polite. Dagmar wasn’t even home, and I refused to think that she might be out with Gabriel.
Josh and Dad took charge, which was a relief. The less I had to say the better. Mom barely spoke.
I pretty much tuned out while they talked about my grandfather. Grandpa and I had spent a lot of time alone together in this house over the last six years. Never once had he asked me to sing that soprano part from Psalm 150. And the one time…the one time…
”You don’t have to say anything. Josh can speak on your behalf.” Mom had her hand on my knee.
The Ninth Day Page 15