She patted his hand. “You’re a good boy, Sergei. A good boy.”
He flushed with embarrassment.
“Your father… he used to be good also. Honest. Smart. But somehow he lost his way. I don’t know how it happened, or when.”
“It’s all right Mama. You don’t have to talk about—”
“Hush.” His mother interrupted with an urgency that surprised him. “I must talk. I don’t want you to lose your way.”
“I’ll stay with you, Mama, so that I don’t lose my way.” He was surprised by the words that had slipped so easily from his lips.
“No! That’s not what I mean. You must go far away from here—where you can escape your father’s reputation, where you can start fresh.”
A few months ago, this was exactly what he had wanted, but now he wasn’t so sure. He didn’t want to leave his mother and sister behind.
“I have something for you.” His mother stood up, walked to the cupboard, and took out the coffer.
Sergei held his breath as she pulled off the lid and took out the money he had just returned.“Here. Take this.” She pushed the rubles and kopecks into his hand.
Sergei pushed it back. “You need it for yourself and Natalya and Carlotta. I can’t take it.”
His mother fixed her teary eyes on his. “There is still enough money for us, and I have found work as a seamstress. We’ll be fine.”
Sergei stared at the money, which lay heavy in his hand.
“Put it in a safe place where your father won’t find it. He’s squandering everything he has on cards and drink. Go. Make haste. Hide it safely away.”
He hugged his mother tightly. Now he could go away with his mother’s blessing. Still, his throat constricted as he thought about leaving Natalya with his drunken father. And he worried about leaving Menahem all alone in the orphanage. But if he stayed, it would be hard to find work with his father’s tarnished reputation. There was no perfect solution, no easy answer.
Curious eyes peered around the corner as Sergei waited for Menahem. He attempted to smile at the children watching him, but his mouth refused to cooperate.
“Hello, Sergei!” Menahem beamed when he saw him, making Sergei feel even guiltier about the prospect of abandoning the boy.
As Menahem moved closer, Sergei noticed a lump on his forehead. “What happened to you?”
Menahem looked down at the floor. “Nothing. It’s all right. Can we just go?”
Sergei searched for the matron, hoping for an answer, but she was busy tending to a weeping child.
As soon as they were out of the courtyard, Sergei stopped walking and took hold of Menahem. “We’re away from the orphanage. Now, tell me what happened. How did you get that lump?”
“There’s this group of big boys,” Menahem answered slowly, “and when they tell us to do something, we have to do it, or they hit us.” He took a deep breath. “This one, named Ivan, told me to steal the matron’s key so he could go into the kitchen at night for food. I couldn’t do it. If you get in trouble, you have to sleep in a dark room all by yourself. I was afraid of being caught.”
“That’s horrible! When did he hit you?”
“When I was asleep last night. But it doesn’t hurt too much.”
Sergei groaned. “Didn’t the matron punish him?”
“I didn’t tell her. If I did, Ivan would keep hitting me.”
“But… your head?”
“She’s too busy to notice.” Menahem looked up at Sergei. “Don’t tell her. It’ll be worse for me if you do.”
Sergei sighed. “I promise. Come. Let’s get something to eat.” How could he ever say good-bye to Menahem, when the people who were supposed to be looking after him didn’t care about him.
“You look sad today,” said Menahem as they waited in line at a street vendor.
Sergei forced a smile. “I might have to go away.”
“From Kishinev?”
Sergei nodded. “I need to find a job. There’s nothing here.”
Menahem’s eyes brimmed with tears.
Sergei averted his eyes to keep from changing his mind. “What would you like to eat?” he asked.
“I’m not hungry.” Menahem turned and walked away.
Sergei followed. “I know that’s not true. You get barely enough to survive at the orphanage.” Menahem kept walking. Sergei grabbed his shirtsleeve and stopped him. “Talk to me, Menahem.”
“What do you care about what I eat? You’re leaving.” Menahem pulled away from Sergei.
Sergei pictured him covered in bumps and bruises from boys at the orphanage and flinched. “Don’t be mad,” he said. “I’m not leaving yet.”
Menahem peered at him. “Do you mean it? You’re really not going away?”
Sergei bit his bottom lip and nodded. “Not right away,” he said. He would keep trying to get work in Kishinev so he could watch over Menahem, and take care of his mother and sister. It was crazy, thinking he could just leave as if this boy meant nothing to him.
Sergei woke abruptly to the sound of breaking glass. He shook his head and touched his money pouch to make sure it was still there. Running his hand through his messy hair, he stood up and stretched. Outside his window the night was heavy and black.
Sergei heard a loud smash in the front room. Afraid that his family was being robbed, he walked cautiously from his bedroom, grabbing the heavy drinking cup from his bedside table to throw at an intruder if necessary. But the only person in the living area was his father, who gazed at him with hollow eyes from the sofa. Sergei entered the room and just missed stepping on a broken vodka bottle.
His father belched and kicked a glass tumbler lying at his feet.
“When are you going to stop drinking and get a job?” he asked his father. “How can you expect Mama, Natalya, and Carlotta to put up with this?”
“Do you have a cigarette?” his father asked, searching the room to find one. Sergei saw despair in his eyes, which frightened him. He hardly recognized his father anymore. It was as if a stranger had taken over his body and mind—a curse for not helping the Jews during the riots. Sergei trudged back to bed, where he lay awake for the rest of the night.
Rachel smiled when she saw Sergei waiting for her in the crowded hospital courtyard. “What are you doing here?” she asked.
He grinned and handed her a leather-bound journal full of empty pages. “If you’re going to write about Kishinev, you’ll need lots of paper.”
She looked down at the journal and cradled it in her arms, against her chest. “Thank you. This is a wonderful gift.” Her eyes glistened.
Sergei nodded and glanced at the entry to the courtyard. “I’ve been turned down for jobs at three cabinet makers, four shopkeepers, and a wax chandler today.” He paused. “So I’m hoping you can go for a walk and cheer me up.”
Rachel fell in step with him. “I know what you’re feeling. If you watched me sew, you’d be laughing in no time,” she said as they strolled out of the courtyard. “I spend more time getting rid of knots in the thread, and then re-threading the needle, than I do sewing. Fortunately, my mother and sister are making much better progress, or we’d never make enough money for our passage.”
“I know you’ll be safer in America, but I wish you weren’t leaving.”
Rachel blushed. “Maybe you’ll come to America one day and visit me.” She twisted her braid. “I hope you come.”
He stopped and touched her shoulder while people rushed by, jostling them as they stood in the middle of the sidewalk. In the distance, she heard the sweet sound of a balalaika. Her heart fluttered with the music.
“It’s too crowded here. Where do you want to go?” he asked.