After that Berta’s thoughts grew even darker and she stopped sleeping. Then she was sleeping too much and later she was back to wandering the fields in the early morning. Furious, indignant, wretched, and lost.
IT WAS a warm day and Berta was down at the river, although the water was still too cold to stay in for long. Soon she was wading back out, her toes avoiding the rocks and digging into the fine sand, her body wet and nearly numb, her clean hair streaming down her back. She reached for her towel before lying down on the beach and closed her eyes. She could hear the women by the water who had come down to wash their clothes. Their chatter mingled with the jays fluttering in the oak trees. Off in the distance she heard the low chug of a barge traveling down to the docks, and from the cemetery that lay between the river and the town she could hear the wailing of the mourners at a late-afternoon funeral.
Even though the wailing was faint compared to the lap of the water over the rocks and the distant roar of the rapids farther downriver, it still seeped into her consciousness, soon becoming a prickly source of irritation, a hard bright reminder of her own hopelessness. When it was all she could bear, she got up, put on her clean clothes, tucked the dirty ones under her arm, and followed the path up the slope.
The path led around the perimeter of the cemetery, where she could see the funeral party assembled at the gravesite. They were burying the shul klopfer. There were a few mourners in attendance along with the rabbi and the beadle. The shul klopfer’s son was there too, watching the plain pine box slip into the ground, looking a little lost with his wife’s arm around his waist. A little girl stood next to them toeing the dirt and looking around at Berta, for no other reason than there was nothing else to do.
On the road back to town, Berta met Froy Salanter, the proprietress of the tearoom. Froy Salanter was something of a rebel with her wild frizzy hair and her high-heel lace-up shoes bought special in Kiev. She could afford to be because she had a successful business that sold only new items and a very good string of pearls that secured her place among the best people. For this reason she often spoke to Berta Lorkis, flaunting her friendship with the outcast, disdainful of the gossip that it would undoubtedly encourage.
“Nu, maybe now you will come back to my shop and play a little chess? Now that your partner is back.”
“Excuse me?”
“Your chess partner. That nice young man. Didn’t you know?”
“No, I didn’t know.”
“Well, he is here all right. Arrived about an hour ago.”
Berta was glad she had been forewarned, because now, when she walked into the square and saw Hershel’s droshky tied up outside the grocery, she was able to maintain an air of disinterest. This was fortunate because the shoemaker’s good-for-nothing son, who was planted outside his father’s shop in his usual chair reading a Yiddish paper, actually put it down to watch her. The women at the well, their hair shiny with kerosene, turned in her direction, and the porters playing cards on the bench under the trees looked over at her with interest. With all these eyes on her it was important that she maintain her composure as a quick succession of emotions washed through her: first icy apprehension, then relief at his return, and finally a knotted ball of anger in her stomach.
“He’s back,” Lhaye said in a hurried whisper, when Berta walked through the door to the sound of the jingling bell. “He’s come back to you.”
A yelp of incredulity. “To me? Oh, that’s rich.”
“Shush, he’ll hear you.” She flung a worried look up the stairs. “He asked about you right off. He even wanted to go looking for you, but Mameh said you were bathing. Do you want me to fix your hair?”
“What for?”
“Oh Bertenka… don’t be like that. He really wants to see you.”
“And that’s why he stayed away all this time.”
“I’m sure he has an explanation. Don’t be angry with him.”
Berta looked at her sister and batted away a circling fly. “You don’t understand,” she said turning to the stairs. “He’s come to buy wheat, that’s all. I’m just a sideline.”
She didn’t expect the jolt she felt when she saw him standing in the front room with a glass of tea and a plate in his hand, awkwardly searching for a place to set them down. He left them on the side table and came over to her with a look of eagerness that was unmistakable. “Berta…” he said, holding out his hand for hers. There was nothing guarded about his greeting.
Ignoring his hand she said, “Reb Alshonsky.”
Her chilly reply produced the effect she wanted. His smile faded and he slowly dropped his hand. The samovar went on bubbling in the corner, giving off its comforting smell of charcoal, while her mother served poppy seed cake on the good plates, of which there were only three left.
She held one out to Berta. “Come have some tea with us, maideleh. Reb Alshonsky was just asking about you.”
“Another time. I have a headache.”
“Nu, a little tea will do you good.”
“I don’t want tea. I want to be alone.”
“Stay with us. This is your favorite.”
“I told you I don’t want any. I’m going to my room.” She turned and left before her mother could object any further.
That night over supper, Hershel told them about a stage show he had seen in Odessa featuring Wondrous Wisarek, the human snake. “I don’t know what kind he was supposed to be. A big one, I suppose… maybe a python or an anaconda. He had on a leotard that was covered with glittering scales and he slithered across the stage and up a tree trunk and wound around and around the branch. I don’t know how he did it. It was as if he didn’t have any bones at all. It was really quite amazing.” He took a sip of wine and tried to catch Berta’s eye, but she kept her expression neutral and her eyes averted.
Mameh kept fussing over him. She filled his glass the moment it was empty and gave him the best piece of fish. It infuriated Berta to see her mother behaving like that to a man who had treated her daughter so badly.
After supper, while Lhaye and Mameh were gathering up the dishes, Hershel took Berta aside and asked her if she wanted to come out with him.
“I have to help. I have dishes to do.”
“No, you don’t,” said Mameh, clearing away the plates. “Go with him. It’s all right.”
“Stop nagging me, Mameh. If I wanted to go, I would.” She picked up a platter, pushed past her mother, and went into the kitchen.
Mameh gave Hershel a wan smile. “She’s not herself tonight, Reb Alshonsky. Girls have their days, you know.” She didn’t like discussing monthlies in front of a man, but she was desperate to explain why her daughter was such a meshugeneh.
Later when Mameh and Hershel were settled on the settee and Tateh was in his chair with his Yiddish paper, Hershel told Mameh a story about a man who had goat’s hooves for feet and was cured by a miracle rabbi. She pretended to listen, but she couldn’t keep her mind on the story. For the first time, news from her own house seemed more tragical than anything she could hear from the outside world. Everything was going wrong. Berta was determined to ruin them and drive them deeper into poverty and there was no reasoning with her. Like most young people, she had a head full of chicken feathers and didn’t know the first thing about common sense. Why she didn’t jump at the chance of marrying such a boy, so accomplished and well-mannered, such a choshever mentsh, was baffling to her.