The next day Berta and Lhaye cooked all day for the celebration that night. Zev should have been in shul reading the Megillah for a second time, but instead he went to work. He was a Bolshevik and had nothing good to say about the ritualistic nonsense of his forebears. It was a sore subject between him and Lhaye. She nagged him to go to shul and to stop lighting his cigarettes on the Shabbes candles. In turn he begrudged her the few kopecks for a Shabbes goy.
That night the Purim players came to their courtyard and put on a play about King Artaxerxes, Haman, Mordecai, and Esther. There were songs; a man dressed as a woman; three-cornered hats made out of brightly colored cardboard; and kozeh, the goat, a man dressed in a goatskin decorated with beads, coins, and little bells.
Berta and the children stood on the sidelines and watched the play, clapping and singing at all the appropriate parts. After that came another play about Joseph, more songs, and even some pathos. To lighten the mood, kozeh came bounding into the circle, leaping into the air, twirling and shaking until all the bells, big and small, were ringing. He sang a nonsensical song that made the children laugh and even Sura forgot her shyness and joined in.
IT WASN’T long before Berta’s money was gone and she had to rely on Lhaye and Zev for her most basic needs. To their credit they never complained or even mentioned the work that awaited her down at the factory. They didn’t have to. She knew where she was headed and so did they. She had even begun to wake up before dawn to the sound of the factory whistle.
She hadn’t thought of another line of work until she went to Alix’s house, one afternoon in late March, to sell the pearl bracelet. She thought she might get a better price from Alix than from the Baranov brothers. She purposely made an appointment on Thursday, because the Tretiakovs always went to the Melgunovs’ for a late supper after the theater on Thursdays and she knew Alix would want to wear it that night and be more likely to accept her price without question. So at half past four she arrived at Alix’s house and was shown into the sea green parlor.
Berta had been counting on tea at Alix’s all day long. Since she had to rely on Lhaye for her food, she had taken to eating less and that day had eaten nothing in anticipation of a proper Russian tea. She was not disappointed. There were cakes and tea sandwiches and a large plate of scones. When Alix left the room to have a word with the cook, Berta scooped up several sandwiches and four scones and put them into her just-in-case bag. She had a fleeting notion of regret, that she was not only manipulating her friend to get more money out of her, but also stealing food from her as well. Then her stomach rumbled and all thoughts of regret evaporated.
When Alix returned, Berta took out the velvet pouch and removed the bracelet. She had no feelings about it now. It was no longer the bracelet Hershel had given her when Samuil was born. Now, it was simply food.
“Put it on,” Alix said eagerly, holding out her wrist.
For a moment Berta was worried that the bracelet wouldn’t fit. She put it around Alix’s wrist and tugged on it a little to make the clasp lock. “Perfect,” she said, thinking that if it had been a millimeter shorter, she would’ve gone hungry that night.
“It’s not too small?” Alix asked, moving her hand this way and that so she could see it from different angles.
“No, it’s a little snug, but they’re wearing them like that.”
Alix looked at her doubtfully. “You sure?”
“Absolutely.”
“How much? Give me a bargain. I’m your best friend.”
Berta quoted her a price that was twice what the Baranov brothers would give her.
“It that a good price?”
“Of course. You think I would take advantage of you?”
Alix apologized for doubting her and went to a cabinet decorated with carved shells and seaweed and got the money out of a little box. Berta stuffed the bills into her bodice, kissed her friend twice, once on each cheek, and saw herself out. On the way down the hill she stopped off in a little public square and sat down on a bench to eat her tea sandwiches and scones. There she surveyed her feelings and found that she was relieved and happy to have the money, but saddened by the change in her friendship with Alix. Alix was no longer her best friend. In fact she was no longer a friend at all. Alix was a customer.
After that, she sold a brooch to Maria Gerasimovna Melgunova, who had no problem doing business with Berta Alshonsky as long as she came to the back door like any other tradesman. When Berta ran out of jewelry to sell she borrowed some from the Baranov brothers, who were happy to give it to her at a steeply discounted price. Their discount plus a modest markup kept her out of the factory and her children fed. After that she acquired other customers, some strangers, some former friends. Soon she was branching out into furniture, shoes, clothing, whatever was wanted. She knew where to get the best merchandise at a discount and how to make profit.
By the summer, Anna Mikhailovna Vishniakova had heard that Berta Alshonsky could find anything at a good price, even with the war, and ordered a gilt mirror of good quality. Berta had such a mirror stored in the professor’s basement. She wrapped it in burlap and took the train to a station that was several versts from Anna Mikhailovna’s estate. Since she didn’t have the money to hire a cart, she had to walk all the way with it. It was hot and her shoes hurt and she was worried about breaking it. A small convoy of trucks passed her loaded with supplies for the front. Their heavy tires left a choking cloud of dust in their wake, which stuck to her sweaty face and made it hard to breathe. There was a family of muzhiki at a haying station near the road, an old man, his wife, and several young girls, who stopped by their cartload of hay to watch the pretty woman, with arms like sticks, carry the heavy gold mirror down the dusty road.
Finally she reached the country estate, limped up the stone steps, and knocked on the door. It was opened by Olya, the maid from Moscow, a bony Slav with a faint moustache and prominent cheekbones. She stood there, taking Berta in, while wiping her hands on her apron.
“Who is it, Olya?” called her mistress from somewhere inside.
“It’s the house Jew, Madame,” Olya called back, keeping a wary eye on Berta. “She’s come with your mirror.”
“Tell her to go around to the back,” called out Mikhailovna.
“Yes, Madame. You heard her,” the maid grumbled, blocking her way. She nodded to a path that led around to the back and then shut the door.
Berta stood on the steps and looked out into the yard, to an oak and birch stand just beyond the grass that was ablaze with the color of autumn. The fallen leaves formed choppy waves at the base of the trees and dead branches poked bony fingers up through them like the skeletal remains of fallen soldiers. She was not the house Jew. She would never be a house Jew. She was Berta Alshonsky, temporarily reduced in circumstances. She had no doubt that her situation would soon right itself. There had been a mistake. She was not meant to live like this. She was meant for her former life and soon it would be returned to her.