“She’s fine, nothing to worry about,” answered Rena quickly. “I have an idea. Rachel, would you like to read to a group of children? I was going to, but I have so much work. I have a few books somewhere.” Rena rummaged through a wooden box and pulled out a couple of books covered in dust. “Here we are. And since Leah still gets headaches when she reads, she can listen too.”
Before she could protest, Rachel found herself sitting on the courtyard steps surrounded by at least one hundred children of all ages. She cleared her throat, looked at Leah sitting off to the side, and held out the book so the children could see the cover. “Russian Fairy Tales by Verra Xenophontovna,” she began in a feeble voice.
“Louder,” said Leah.
Rachel nodded and opened the book. The crisp pages were like long-lost friends. She cherished their smoothness, the smart way they sounded when she turned them, and the delightful smell of words made of ink.
“Baba Yaga.” Rachel showed the children the picture, then started to read from the first page. Suddenly she remembered that the story was about two children whose mother had died.
“Ei! Maybe this is not such a good choice,” she said, leafing through the pages. “Here’s another—Woe Bogotir.”
Rachel began to read. “In a small village—do not ask me where; in Russia, anyway—there lived two brothers; one of them was rich, the other poor. The rich brother had good luck in everything he undertook, was always successful, and had a profit out of every venture. The poor brother, in spite of all his trouble and all his work, had none whatever.”
Rachel looked up and saw the children’s eyes fastened on her. She continued reading, pausing once in a while to clear her throat. Just as she was about to start the last page, she sensed someone watching her from behind. Turning around, she saw the journalist, Korolenko, regarding her with serious, dark brown eyes. Rachel felt awkward under his gaze, and tried, unsuccessfully, to ignore him as she finished the story. She stuttered, tripping on words, gratefully closing the book when the story was finished.
“So you see, the lesson in this story is if you treat people kindly, you can expect good luck to follow,” she told the children.
“Rachel, the rich brother treated people badly and ended up with bad luck. Isn’t that right?” asked a young girl. She was about ten or eleven years old and had sat with her hands clasped together the entire time Rachel had been reading.
“Yes.”
“Well,” the girl continued, “will the people who hurt us end up with bad luck?”
“Yes.” A tall, thin boy with freckles spoke up. “My father says they’re going to jail.”
Rachel glanced over at Korolenko and saw him writing furiously on his notepad, while Dr. Slutskii stood nearby with his arms crossed. “That’s right. They will be punished.”
“But most of us didn’t do anything bad,” said another boy, who looked older than the rest of the children, “so how come we’ve had such bad luck?”
A little girl nodded and added, “My mother told me it doesn’t pay to be good.”
Rachel shuddered, recalling her conversation with Sergei when she had said the exact same words.
The children started arguing amongst themselves, their voices getting louder and louder.
“If my father was here, he’d remind me about one of Sholem Aleichem’s stories,” said Rachel loudly enough to be heard over the children. “When the character Tevye discovers his daughter loves a gentile, he thinks about the differences between Jews and gentiles. He wonders why there are Jews and non-Jews. Why should one be so cut off from the other? And why should they be unable to look at one another, when they are from the same place?”
“What did Tevye decide?” asked Leah.
“He realized he didn’t know the answer,” said Rachel. “And I suppose nobody really does. If they did, maybe we all wouldn’t be here right now.” She glanced back at Korolenko. He was writing quickly, his pen moving fluidly across the paper. Rachel glanced up and met his dark eyes. She wondered what he was thinking and what he would end up writing. Even though Rena was sure this man was honorable, Rachel was not convinced.
Rachel heard Chaia’s laughter. It was coming from behind her but when she turned around, nobody was there. Everything was green. The trees, the grass. Spring was everywhere. There was the laughter again. Rachel turned in a circle. Her father’s violin played a haunting melody she’d never heard before.
“Sholom aleichem.”
“Sacha! Sacha Talinsky, where are you?” she called. Her voice echoed.
“It serves you right,” said Nucia’s voice, which seemed to float above her like a cloud.
Rachel looked up, but the sky was clear and bluer than she’d ever seen.
“Where is everyone? Why are you hiding?” Rachel cried. “Come out, let me see you.”
She walked and the green started to become a murky yellow. The trees lost their leaves and the wind began whistling by. Rachel crossed her arms and shivered.
Mikhail’s voice suddenly interrupted the silence. “Stop! Please don’t!”
Rachel covered her ears to keep Mikhail’s words out of her head. She began running until the sky was gray and snow was falling. Chaia’s face appeared before her, staring at her with blank eyes.
She stopped running and looked around. A path led to the right, where an arch of barren trees seemed to be waiting for her. Rachel began walking, but stopped when she heard wolves howling in the distance.
“Help!” she cried. “Help! Please, someone help me.”
A crashing noise sounded from in front of her. Rachel froze in place. There was a river, with three large objects floating in it. Rachel tiptoed closer until she could see they were heads. She screamed. The heads turned in the water, revealing the faces of Mikhail, her father, and Mr. Berlatsky. All three faces smiled at her.
“No!” screamed Rachel. “No!”
“Wake up! Wake up, Rachel, you’re having a nightmare.”
Rachel opened her eyes when she heard her mother’s voice. She pulled the cover over her face, expecting to see her mother’s head bobbing in the river.
Her mother pulled the cover down. “It’s all right. You were having a bad nightmare.”
Wearily, she turned her head away, but when she closed her eyes, she saw the river again, with the heads floating on its surface. The rest of the night Rachel lay awake with her eyes wide open, waiting for daylight to obscure her nightmare.
Three
A soft cry woke Sergei. The flat was bathed in early morning light. He sat up slowly and remained sitting on the side of his bed until the grogginess subsided.
His mother sat at the kitchen table staring blankly out the window. As his eyes cleared, he saw that she was still wearing the clothes she had on the previous day. She looked exhausted. Rachel was right. His mother needed money right now. He tiptoed over to the coffer and replaced the money he’d taken.
“Mama, didn’t you sleep?” Sergei sat down beside her and tapped her lightly on the shoulder. “Mama?”
“Your father didn’t come home last night,” she said. Only her lips moved as she spoke, and she looked old and tired, her skin ashen gray.
“He probably lost track of time at the tavern, Mama. He’ll be home soon.” Sergei wrapped his right arm loosely around her shoulder.