He nodded and put his hands in his pockets. “Wait! Rachel…” Sergei caught up to her and pulled her red shawl from his coat. “I think this is yours.”
Her mouth opened wide when she saw it. “Where…”
“I found it on the ground by the river and remembered seeing it on you. I took it because I didn’t want my father or another policeman finding it and coming to the wrong conclusion.”
Rachel took the shawl and hugged it to her cheek. “You always believed in me. I won’t ever forget what you have done for me and my family.”
“Sit down. You’re making me nervous standing over me like that.” Sergei’s father reached for his cigarette and inhaled. In the last few days his eyes had become swollen, with extra folds of skin underneath.
Sergei perched on the edge of a chair, across the sitting room from his father. It was late. His mother, sister, and aunt had already gone to bed.
“Papa,” he began. “I know who killed Mikhail.”
His father froze, the cigarette in his hands midway between his mouth and the table. “What did you say?”
Sergei took a deep breath and continued. “Someone I know saw the whole thing. He was at the river that day and saw Mikhail’s uncle and cousin Philip attack Mikhail with a knife.”
His father exhaled thin streams of smoke. “Why would Mikhail’s own uncle want him dead, hmm?”
“I’m not sure… Mikhail hardly ever mentioned his uncle or cousin.”
“I see,” said Sergei’s father. “And why didn’t this witness come to the police right away with this story?”
“She… I mean he was afraid.”
“Why?”
Sergei took a deep breath and prayed his father would believe and accept what he had to say. “The uncle is a policeman. The witness didn’t want to put himself or his family in danger.”
His father leaner forward. “Sergei, do you know what this is?”
“What?”
“A convenient story made up by a Jew to distract us from them. Don’t you see? This person approached you because you’re my son. Whoever he is, he knew you would tell me.”
Sergei’s heart started racing. “No, Papa. I know the person who told me. I trust him. He would never make up a story like that.”
“Oh, Sergei,” scoffed his father. “Sometimes I find it hard to believe you’re my son. How could you fall for such rubbish?”
“But—”
“You had better learn to tell the difference between the truth and lies before you become a police officer. Or you’re going to find yourself on the wrong end of the stick.”
Sergei stood up and glared at his father. “I’m never going to be a police officer. Never.” He ran to his room and wondered how he would tell Rachel that his plan had failed. That his father was so sure a Jew killed Mikhail, he wouldn’t even consider another possibility.
APRIL
There was an international-conspiracy meeting in the Kishinev Shul. We need to stand together to beat the Jews over the Easter Holidays.
One
“Why, on this night, do we only eat matzah?” asked Rachel, looking around the table.
It was the Passover Seder and the Paskar family, along with Sacha and his father, were gathered around the candle-lit table to remember how the Jews fled from slavery in Egypt. Rachel, as the youngest person at the table, had to ask the four important questions about the purpose of the Seder.
“We only eat matzah because our ancestors could not wait for their bread to rise when they were fleeing slavery,” answered Sacha in Hebrew. Though the answers were the same every year, Rachel found herself in awe of her ancestors’ strength. “They took the bread out of the oven when it was flat.”
She continued asking the questions, with Sacha giving the explanations—they were eating a bitter herb to remind themselves of slavery; they were dipping celery in salt water to symbolize the replacing of tears with gratefulness; and they had goose-down pillows on their chairs to sit comfortably, because in ancient times, people who reclined with ease were free from slavery.
Rachel picked up her copy of the Hagaddah, and, along with everyone else, read the ten plagues that forced the Egyptians to allow the Jews to escape. Then each person dipped a finger in their cup of wine and spilled a drop on their white plates for every plague—blood, frogs, vermin, wild beasts, pestilence, boils, hail, locusts, darkness, and the slaying of the first born.
Gazing at the stains on her plate, Rachel was reminded that when other people suffer, joy is diminished. She thought about how she hadn’t felt good inside since Mikhail’s death, and she had trouble keeping her mind on the Seder as she drank the second of four cups of wine, washed her hands, and recited the blessing.
As the fourth cup of wine was poured a few hours later, toward the end of the meal, Mr. Talansky opened the door to welcome in the prophet Elijah. Rachel’s father poured an extra cup of wine for Elijah, but while everyone else said a blessing, Rachel couldn’t keep her eyes off the open door. She was afraid that at any moment an angry Russian would come rushing through the door waving a sharp knife.
Rachel’s father ended the Seder with the traditional words: Le shana ha-ba’ah b’Yerushalayim—next year in Jerusalem. Listening to her father’s sober tone, Rachel considered the irony of the Seder, how it celebrated the miracle that allowed evil to pass over Jewish homes and spare those people who would have otherwise perished. Now, here they were, thousands of years later, hoping for another miracle to end the hostility in Kishinev without further violence.
Two
“I can’t remember when we’ve had nicer weather for Easter Sunday,” said Sergei’s mother when she reached the sidewalk. “Last year there was wet snow and it was much colder.”
“I remember, Mama,” said Natalya. “My hair and bonnet were soaking wet by the time we got home from church.”
“Oh, just look at how nice everyone looks…and the colors. It’s so nice to see bright colors after such a dull winter. I really feel as if there’s a festival today.”
Sergei watched the townspeople his mother was talking about, laughing and walking happily on their way home from church. Women were dressed in their best silks, embroidered with silver and gold thread, and they wore tall, elaborate, velvet headdresses.
“I think those headpieces look ridiculous,” mumbled Sergei. “I don’t feel like celebrating anything today.”
His mother shook her head. “That’s enough, Sergei. Let’s go to the square. I want to enjoy this lovely weather.”
“I just want to go home,” said Sergei.
“We are going to the square, as your mother wishes, and that’s final.” His father beamed at his mother. He signaled to a two-person carriage, pointed to Sergei and Natalya, and then motioned for another carriage for himself and Sergei’s mother.
Sergei, with cold gripping his chest, got into the carriage after his sister. Natalya, grinning, put her tiny arm through his. When they reached Chuflinskii Square, there were children playing games at some of the outdoor booths, while adults sat at tables drinking beer and vodka.
“Papa,” said Natalya, “why is the merry-go-round not moving?”
Sergei looked at the center of the square and saw that the carousel was, indeed, silent and still.
“The Ministry of Interior has decided that amusements like the merry-go-round should not open on holidays,” Sergei’s father replied.