Kiblych

Map

Map Key

Sirotansky house

Nissen Sirotansky’s tailor shop

Bendel’s Inn

Borukh Bendel’s home

Perel and Mendle’s house

Police Station

Fire Station

Public School

Municipality Commissioner

Wolf’s fish hole and Etya’s Yellow Notions Shop

Yankl’s stall

Kheyder

Wolf’s fishing hole, willow tree

Kiblych Lumber Yard

Donet Emporium

Loading dock

Stables

Carriage and wagons house

Zatkiva Bridge

Water Wheel Road

Miller Wheel

Animal Market

Gypsy wagons

Kahan the cobbler

Leyzer Zilber Book Store

Rebecca’s House of Lace

Old soul

Rabbi’s house

Feller new shul

Budofsky Yeshivah

Cemetery

Railroad Station and Post office

Gypsy camp

Etya and Dovid’s meeting place

Etya and Damien’s meeting place

‟. . . . compare the process of inspiration with the flashing of lightning in thick nocturnal darkness. . . . There are people for whom the lightning flashes only once in their entire night . . . and there are those for whom the lightning bursts out over and over again with little interruption, so that they dwell almost in a steady light and their night becomes day."

Maimonides

Etya

Early April 1883

She hated this man, God how she hated him. From the first moment she had set eyes on him, Etya disliked him. That was almost eight years ago. Etya and her siblings had been shoved into a bedroom and cautioned not to come out until after the interview with Wolf Zarkhanaya, the prospective groom for their oldest sister, Miriam. Etya had been five-years-old then and her brother, Yudl, nine. Her sister Perel, two years older than Yudl, hovered over them as their curiosity prevailed over obedience. The children had not been able to resist opening the door a crack in order to steal a glimpse of the man who might soon be their sister’s husband.

He’s ugly, Etya whispered, I smell fish.

"Mm yuh, he may smell, but he’s rich, Yudl said. He owns a horse and a large wagon, and does his own fishing."

So that makes him rich? Etya asked.

"That’s what I heard Mammeh and Tateh say, that he makes more money by fishing for himself."

Etya thought about that - he’s rich because he does his own fishing? "Tateh does his own tailoring and owns a horse and cart; he’s not rich." She didn’t understand. She peeked again through the cranny: Her sister, sat with her back straight as a broomstick. Her face was unusually pale even after Mammeh had pinched her cheeks. Miriam’s hands were clasped in her lap and she averted her eyes from the fishmonger’s. Etya whispered, He looks bad, real ba-a-d.

Perel rolled her eyes and begged, Please God, don’t let this happen to me.

After the fishmonger had left, Etya begged her sister not to marry the ugly man, "Say no, Miriam. Tell them you don’t want to marry him. Tell Mammeh and Tateh he looks mean."

Miriam burst out crying, "I know, I know, but what can I do? They broke a plate to make a contract, and once they do that, you know — it’s a promise that cannot be broken. Oy, it’s too late!" Miriam brought her hands to her face and sobbed.

Etya had never forgotten it. And now with Mammeh’s remark that it all started about the time of the heat wave; yes, she remembered that too. She could pinpoint the exact day, for it was not that long ago.

She had sat on the grass with her six-year-old nephew, Hyam, under a small elm tree, a sapling too young to offer much protection from the scorching sun. It was so hot that they had brought the bowl of walnuts and nutcrackers outdoors to retrieve nutmeats for the cake her mother was preparing to bake. Actually, outside the house was not much cooler than inside, but at least they were away from the oven. Beneath Etya, the uncut grass felt like hot blades cutting through her skirt into her thighs. The sun kissed her long copper braids to glowing amber. Etya rolled up her sleeves, exposing tender white skin to the searing sun. Hyam emulated his adored aunt: He, too, threw his nutcracker down, rolled back his sleeves and flipped a nutmeat into his mouth. Etya was noticeably crossing from child to adult; an intelligent and alert soon to be fourteen-year-old. When her sister, Miriam, had died two years earlier, she had taken over the care and nurturing of Hyam. Etya adored the boy, and attended to him with no less devotion than his mother had done prior to her death.

A shadow fell over the two frolicking youngsters and they ceased laughing. Hovering over them like a precipitous bluff, Wolf’s figure blocked the sunlight. His boots stood planted on the dried grass next to Etya. She kept her eyes down, staring at the toes of Wolf’s boots, holding her breath so as not to breathe the fish odor that exuded from him. She waited for them to move, but the boots didn’t go away and neither did the smell of fish. Wolf’s steadfast stance and silence made Etya squirm. Slowly, ever so slowly, her eyes, the color of a green lagoon, moved upward scanning the cracked dirt-crusted boots that ended under the knees of Wolf’s gray trousers. When still nothing moved, or sounded, her eyes continued to creep upward traveling over the blood stained fishmonger’s apron ― his trademark he’d often forgot to remove or even wash ― across his broad torso and up to the bearded face that glared down upon her. Her face tightened as she wrinkled her nose, and quickly her eyes dropped back to the bowl in her lap. She hated this man, God, how she hated him. What was he staring at? Ugh!

That Friday, Wolf had arrived earlier than usual to pick up his son, Hyam, who spent much of his free time at his grandparents’ house. Now, Wolf stopped and stared at the two youngsters as they shelled nuts. He fingered the mole on his upper left cheek as his eyes shifted slowly from Etya’s face and worked their way down over her budding breasts and her exposed creamy white arms. He watched Etya squirm uncomfortably under the weight of his gaze. She hurried to finish her task, bending to gather up the walnut shells, her thick braids falling forward over the curve of her bosom.

Hyam had acknowledged his father with a nod, "Tateh"; he wasn’t accustomed to Wolf coming to fetch him this early in the day.

Without taking his eyes off Etya, Wolf Zarkhanaya spoke to his son in his klaxon voice.

What are you doing sitting on the ground?

"Etya and I are cracking nuts for Bubbeh Shaindl. She’s baking a cake."

"Etya? What is this ‘Etya’? She’s your aunt. You call her Mume."

"I know she is, Tateh. But she’s my friend, too, not only my aunt."

Your aunt is not a child; she’s too old to be your playmate. You must respect her and call her by her proper title at all times. Do you understand, Hyam?

"I respect her, Tateh. I respect Etya. Don’t I, Etya?" He pouted on the verge of tears.

It’s all right, Wolf, her voice quivered. "I’d like it better if he doesn’t call me Mume."

She poked intently at an overlooked nutmeat. Etya had never ever attempted to look at him directly; he was that revolting. Everything about his face was wide: his beard, his nose and even his cold eyes that peered out of slits. Everyone in her family had light eyes, but only Wolf’s made her think of the blue in a cake of ice. So, now that Etya finally did allow herself to look up at him, she found his wide mole compelling. Her eyes were drawn to it; it was dark as the straight, thick hair on his head.

Etya’s comment was the most she had ever spoken to her brother-in-law in all the years he had been married to her sister. They had never exchanged more than a mere nod or a mumbled greeting.

Wolf had fixed his eyes intensely at his deceased wife’s sister as though he had never seen her before. For you it may be ‘all right’ that Hyam call you Etya, but it is not all right for me. Wolf’s finger pointed upright as he made his declaration, Proper it is not. Proper it must be! He ended with a firm nod and headed toward the house releasing the sun to burst upon the two youngsters with blinding brightness. At the open doorway, Wolf turned and gazed once more upon Etya.

Squinting in the glaring sun, Hyam sulked as he waited for his father to enter his grandparents’ house before he tested his aunt’s new name. He repeated it over and over stressing a different syllable each time. "Mume Etya, Mume Etya, Mume Etya. I don’t like calling you that," his words hissed from under his breath.

I don’t either. Etya had looked over her shoulder to watch Wolf’s back disappear into the depths of the house. Yes, that was when it all started.

When Wolf had entered the house that Friday demanding that his son call Etya, ‘Mume’, the intense heat had thrust him back as if he was hit in the face by a tidal wave. The door opened into the kitchen, a large room in which the family cooked, ate, worked and entertained. "Good morning to you, Shvigah, and to you, Bubbeh."

His mother-in-law, Shaindl, and Bubbeh were startled by his voice. And a good day to you, Wolf, they responded, hastily dropping their rolled sleeves and adjusting the kerchiefs on their heads as Wolf stood, a bulk of intrusion, in the midst of the busy cooking activities.

What brings you here so early in the day, Wolf? Is something wrong that you left your fish store alone? Bubbeh said as she and her daughter quickly buttoned the top of their blouses.

"I brought you fish for Shabbas. I had extra; I didn’t want it to go to waste."

Bubbeh raised a wooden rolling pin from a large, flat sheet of dough lying on the baking board. She groaned as she straightened her back. "Wolf, extra food never goes to waste; you should know that. It goes to those who don’t have enough to eat for Shabbas."

Thank you, Wolf, said Shaindl, "but you shouldn’t have closed your fish store on our account. Would you like a glass of tea with fresh mandelbrot, just baked?" Her generosity poured from her mouth out of habit; her intentions were not that sincere. This was not the time to be entertaining. She was too busy, it was too hot, and she knew as reticent as he sometimes was, Wolf could become garrulous when least expected. When excited, he stuttered, for which Shaindl definitely had no patience on this blistering day.

Hot tea? No thank you! I’m not exactly feeling chilled today. Wolf pulled a gray handkerchief that had long lost its original color from his pocket. Wiping his brow, he pushed a chair away from the table into the middle of the kitchen and dropped his mass of sweaty flesh. From under the handkerchief he said, I didn’t close the store; I left my new apprentice — who hasn’t learned as much as to sweep the floor yet — to manage it. That’s how busy I am in this infernal heat. But the brainless one will have to learn sooner or later, so better sooner. I’ll be glad when Hyam is old enough to help me. Wolf inhaled deeply as he searched for the right words to explain his newly conceived desire. But Wolf was far from a discreet person, so anything that spurted or stuttered from his mouth was not with circumspection. Shaindl and Bubbeh waited.

"By the way, I noticed as I came in that Hyam still calls Etya by her name and not her title. I think it’s time he called her Mume."

Shaindl stopped mixing the batter. Her soft gray eyes deepened as she studied her former son-in-law. "Wolf, they’re children. He’s been calling her Etya all his life. Suddenly you want him to call her Mume? Don’t be ridiculous. It’s not necessary." She wiped her brow with the corner of her apron.

"She’s not such a child anymore, Shvigah. It is befitting she should be addressed by her appropriate title." He wiped his face and forehead and the back of his neck, where the soiled kerchief stuck.

"Oy, Wolf, please, I think the heat has gone to your head."

It has nothing to do with the heat. He raised his black beard along with his voice. It has to do with growing up. In case you haven’t noticed, Etya is not a baby anymore.

Silence fell heavily on the two cooks. They threw quick glances at each other, each glance a sentence, each sentence a statement of mutual understanding. It remained quiet for a long moment. Eyeing Wolf from under her brows, Bubbeh wiped her hands on her apron. She poured water from a pitcher into a glass and brought it over to Wolf. Gently, she patted his back, Here, Wolf, have some water. This unbearable weather makes everybody irritable. She waited as Wolf quaffed the water and handed the empty glass back to her.

There. She patted his back again. "Go check on your apprentice, it’s hot enough outside, you don’t have to sit in this boiling kitchen. We still have much more cooking to do. Go, and have a gut Shabbas. Oh, and here, she picked up the wrapped fish, drop your fish off at the widow Bloom’s house, where food is scanty. You’ll be doing a big mitzvah. Go and enjoy your dinner with your family tonight."

Am I not having dinner here tonight...as usual?

Patting him on his arm, Shaindl escorted her ex-son-in-law toward the door. Give your sister the pleasure. She lives closer to you, so you won’t have to walk back in this heat to fetch Hyam: he can stay here tonight.

From the open doorway, Bubbeh and Shaindl watched as Wolf strode down the slab-stone path and stopped to have another look at Etya, who was gathering the scattered nutshells from the ground. "Remember what I told you, Hyam. You call your aunt ‘Mume’ from now on. He soft-swiped his son across the top of his head, and Hyam winced, Ouch!" Wolf looked back over his shoulder at the two women in the doorway, and then strutted down the street.

Shaindl let out a burdened sigh, "Oy!" and slapped her thighs as she returned to her baking. Once more, with strong deliberate movements, the two cooks rolled up their sleeves. Silently, their lips taut as violin strings, they unbuttoned their collars and retied their blue cotton head-kerchiefs. The kerchiefs served as coverings worn virtually every day except on the Sabbath, holidays or special occasions where otherwise wigs would be worn. In strong contrast to the grey blue of her eyes, Shaindl’s wig was a deep brown to match her own natural color; Bubbeh’s a pepper and salt. Once headscarves had been tied securely, both women continued where they had left off. Only the rhythm of heavy breathing ruptured the silence. Angst and portending thoughts flew from one to the other, invisible darts playing tag back and forth in the culinary quietness. All at once, Shaindl stopped whipping and threw the spoon into the bowl of batter.

No! she shouted, I won’t allow this! I will not let him have Etya. He took one daughter and put her into an early grave and he will not do it to another.

Then you must act fast, Bubbeh said firmly, as she lifted her flour covered hand and pointed to the door. Get to the rabbi right now; ask his advice on how to prevent Wolf from inciting an issue about his marrying Etya. Wolf is as sly as his name implies. We have to beat him at his own game. Both of you, Nissen too, hurry to the rabbi and seek his advice.

With spread hands, Shaindl spun around, The cooking…there’s so much to be done.

So, who did it before you? It’ll get done. Etya will help. Wolf was right about one thing, she’s not a child anymore.

Upon those words Etya entered carrying the small bowl of shelled walnuts close to her body like a babe-in-arms. What? What? I’m no longer a child? Setting the bowl of nutmeats on the table, her arms akimbo, But I’m not yet an adult either? Then what am I? The two women eyed each other for a fleeting moment.

You’re a girl, Shaindl said.

At the threshold of adulthood, Bubbeh added.

Etya watched the sleeves come tumbling down her mother’s arms. "What’s the matter, Mammeh? Where are you going, in the middle of cooking?"

Having no time to answer her daughter’s confused look, Shaindl said, "I’ll be back soon. Help Bubbeh with, her hand circled the room, whatever is necessary." And she took off to her husband’s tailor shop.

Etya watched her mother fly out the house, turned to look at Bubbeh — who averted her eyes — and then again looked back at her fleeing mother. What’s going on?

The Rabbi

Shaindl had hurried to her husband’s tailor shop cutting through alleyways and around houses and fences all the time keeping her head lowered, less the neighbors stop to chat. She headed to the town square where Nissen’s shop jutted out from the side of the Bendel Inn ― which used to be the inn’s woodshed. In spite of her anxiety that Wolf had implied his intention to ask for Etya’s hand in marriage that day, she couldn’t help but remember the time Nissen worked from their home: When there no longer was room for Nissen’s fabrics, spools of thread — few as they were — or his sewing table. And given that his sewing table was in front of the kitchen window to allow him maximum light, he cried endlessly, I’m being pushed out the window! With the children whining and playing under his feet, he couldn’t get his work done on time and he became petulant. Many a night he worked into the late hours by the dim light of his oil lamp to have a garment ready the next day. Shaindl had complained he didn’t love his children. He complained Shaindl didn’t love him. It was time to move his tailor shop. She couldn’t help but smile at the memory of it.

Shaindl arrived at her husband’s tailor shop out of breath. As usual, she looked up at the sign to see it swing in the breeze and hear the clank of the bell, but today it hung in the thick heat ― fixed: A slab in a pocket of motionless air.

Her arrival caused Nissen to frown; his red hair and beard tilted upwards as his large, protruding eyes reduced to squinting. He put his sewing down with concern. His wife was short of breath and dripping moisture down her forehead, and along the tip of her nose a drop lingered stubbornly. "What’s wrong? Why are you here while preparing for Shabbas?"

Shaindl wiped the drops of sweat off of her nose and pointed her head to the rear of the store, to where they retreated. There’s nothing wrong, but something is not right, either. Yudl, sensing a problem, left his work table up front.

"Mammeh, what’s wrong?"

Shaindl wrung her hands. Quickly, she unfolded the morning’s discussion she had had with their son-in-law, Wolf. "And so, Bubbeh and I think... she turned to Yudl and discreetly lowered her voice, Yudl, what you hear is not to be repeated, understand? This is strictly family business. Yudl made a concerned nod if not with annoyance — when did he ever divulge family secrets? So we think Wolf is going to ask to marry Etya. And you know Wolf; he’ll stop at nothing until he gets his way."

No-o-o! Nissen’s hands flew up over his head. Not this one! He took one daughter from me; he can’t have another. No, no, no, I will not allow it! We must find a way to avoid it. No, absolutely not!

Shaindl said, I’ve been knocking on my head so much, I believe my head is broken from thinking and thinking about it, but I can’t find a way and neither will you. So, let’s not waste any time, and let us go straight to the rabbi for advice. Shaindl was already at the door. Nissen removed his short tailor apron and the measuring tape from around his neck, and looked to Yudl.

"Don’t worry, Tateh, if you’re not back, I’ll close up. Go! Go!"

The rabbi’s home was a ramshackle excuse for a house, which stood aslant behind the shul. Its walls, doors, windows all crooked and in disrepair waiting for the first strong wind to demolish it to a pile of firewood. From the dark hollow, Rabbi Ephraim Benyumen’s aged voice croaked, Please, be so kind as to come in. I’m back here, in my study. Husband and wife entered through the open door and looked around. Inside everything was awry as the outside. The study, a small cubicle crowded with stacks of books that had lived through many an age, overflowed from broken bookcases and slanted shelves. Rabbi Benyumen fit well into his ambience: His black crocheted yarmulke — made before his ordination — and long having turned gray with age, was about to slip off his brown hair that looked like it was dusted with flour. His beard, however, was all white, long and shabby. Even his tzitzit was shorter on one side. The study smelled of leather and dust, as did the Rabbi. Shaindl thought the rabbi needed a wife. Actually, Rabbi Benyumen had had two wives, who blessed him with three sons, not one of whom chose to take a rabbinate in Kiblych; they argued Kiblych wasn’t large enough for any more rabbis. They took their wives and moved on, leaving their father to his sanctuary of Biblical studies. He had no regard for his physical needs; his world revolved around the wisdom of Torah, in which he submerged himself from morning to night. Yet, he was always available to meet the needs of his congregation.

Come in, come in. Please sit down. What can I do for you?

The anxious couple sat themselves on uneven chairs and waited for the other to speak. Shaindl nodded, and Nissen began. Rabbi, we have reason to believe that our son-in-law, Wolf, would like to marry our daughter, Etya. As you know, our oldest daughter, Miriam, to whom he was married, died two years ago from sadness, from a marriage of misery, and now he has an eye out for our younger daughter.

So? It is not unusual to marry a wife’s sister. The rabbi centered his yarmulke.

Shaindl sat forward in her seat. But, Rabbi, she is only thirteen years old and not yet mature for marriage.

Nu, then he will have to wait until she is; which at her age should not be too long.

Nissen jumped out from his chair adamantly shaking his finger from side to side, No, no, no, Rabbi, we cannot permit this. We do not want this man to marry any more of our daughters, and if you know Wolf, he’ll insist, and carry on, and do anything in his power to have his way.

Shaindl placed her hands over her heart, which seemed to be sinking down to her abdomen. Rabbi, you don’t understand, please listen, we’re not here to promote this marriage, rather we want to prevent this from happening. Wolf is a beast; he has the ability to destroy a human being to a speck of dust. Just tell us how we can avoid that from happening. Wolf did not treat our daughter well. She was unhappy. He abused her. I do not want to live to see the pain in this child’s eyes as I saw in her sister’s.

Rabbi Benyumen responded with silence. He leaned back in his seat and concentrated on twiddling his thumbs. He rocked back and forth deep in thought. A promising twinkle in the rabbi’s slate gray eyes had Nissen move to the edge of his seat, whose breathing got heavier as he gripped the arms of his chair anticipating the brilliant advice that would soon flow from the rabbi’s mouth. Shaindl pressed forward nodding her head to prompt the rabbi on."

But the rabbi took his time answering. His hand smoothed the beard around his mouth and said in a soft voice, Has he asked for her yet?

No, but he hinted at it, Shaindl pushed her chin out firmly, and we’d like to be prepared with a good reason to say no, when he does.

The soft- spoken rabbi, squinted his eyes appearing deep in thought and nodded, Why do I seem to remember that Etya has been promised to somebody else? Do I remember correctly? If she’s betrothed to another, then you cannot break that contract, brother-in-law or not.

As though thrust by a sudden windstorm, Shaindl and Nissen’s backs hit their chairs. Shaindl’s hands flew to her chest and the muscles on her face stiffened, while Nissen resorted to yanking on his earlobe as they let the rabbi’s leading question sink in. A heavy silence blended with the mustiness of the room creating an atmosphere of profound wisdom. The rabbi went back to rocking in his chair and rolling his thumbs. A hidden smile revealed satisfaction; his wily message was received. The couple stood up and faced each other. Their eyes had an unspoken conversation and immediately both their thoughts converged into one.

Thank you, Rabbi, we appreciate your help. Nissen shook hands with his rabbi and wished him a good Shabbas, Shaindl nodded. "Our town is proud to have you as their rabbi, truly with a mind of a sage. A good Shabbas to you, Rabbi."

Not wanting their plotting thoughts to escape, they hastened to get home almost stirring up a breeze with their quick steps.

Nissen looked around and whispered, less their scheming words be overheard. We must act fast, Shaindl, not a moment can we waste. We have to stitch the hem before it falls.

Absolutely fast. A lost minute could mean a lost life. I’ll speak to Gittle, the matchmaker tomorrow.

Shaindl pressed her shoulders back and Nissen inflated his chest as they strode home — their cunning plans disguised beneath the appearance of a most upstanding and honorable couple.

While they were gone, Etya had skillfully prepared the fish and had it cooking in a pot next to the chicken soup. Bubbeh had the cake in the oven and had just finished placing cookies on a baking sheet when Nissen and Shaindl arrived.

Shaindl retied her headscarf at the nape of her neck and once again attended to her Sabbath cooking, Let’s get finished before we get seared alive in this broiling kitchen.

Etya, Nissen said, go tell your brother to close the shop so we can go to the bathhouse. Going to the bathhouse was a Friday ritual to bathe for the Sabbath.

Etya removed her apron and skipped to the door, glad to leave the steaming room. Shaindl called out, Etya, roll down your sleeves.

Immediately after Etya left, Shaindl and Nissen relayed to Bubbeh the conversation they had with the rabbi. Bubbeh listened attentively and nodded her approval. "Yes, we must act quickly. Get to the matchmaker right away and set up a shidakh with Etya. Yes, yes, we have to make haste."

We’ll be one step ahead of Wolf, ha, ha, Nissen gloated, yanking on his ear.

Lifting lids from one pot to the other, checking, tasting, stirring, and speaking in between, Shaindl said, "I can’t go now, she’s preparing for Shabbas and she won’t talk business. She slapped her thigh with her fist. And tomorrow morning in the synagogue, she won’t talk either. She leads the women in prayer. Gittle is known not to talk when she prays."

Shaindl stirred the chicken soup. I won’t be able to get to Gittle until tomorrow night and that’s not soon enough.

Don’t wait for tomorrow, go now, Nissen pointed to the closed door.

Now?

Just as Shaindl was about to leave for the matchmaker, Dovid, their son’s closest friend, popped through the doorway his brown eyes twinkling with excitement.

Dovid

The boys had played with one another from the time they were babies and went to kheyder together. Even after they became Bar Mitzvahs and left the kheyder to work in their fathers’ businesses, their friendship endured.

What are you doing here, Dovid? Shaindl asked.

I have something for Yudl. Dovid held up a small flat package and looked around. He’s not here?

He’s coming, he’s coming. And you, you’re not going to the bathhouse?

Of course I’m going, but a little later.

Shaindl asked, Dovid, how is your mother feeling?

Not well at all. The heat has got to her and she’s expecting the baby at any time now.

Oh yes, this miserable heat. I must go see if I can be of any help to her.

Ignoring Dovid whose presence in the household was commonplace, Nissen motioned to Shaindl to leave for the matchmaker. Dovid stood in the middle of the room holding the small package and looking from face to face for their regard, which he was not getting. In a louder voice, he said, It’s a gift for Yudl’s birthday. The three elders, Shaindl, Nissen and Bubbeh turned to him. He had finally caught their attention.

What birthday? Nissen asked. It’s not until next month."

Just then Yudl entered the house short of breath and complaining, Even walking is too much of an effort in this heat. A good day Dovid, what are you doing here?"

Dovid smiled showing his one crooked tooth. He offered Yudl the flat package. It was narrow, about two inches wide and six inches long, and wrapped in a newspaper. This is for you; a birthday present. Early, true, but I finished making it and couldn’t wait for you to see it.

For me? A gift? It’s not my birthday, yet. How come?

Etya tapped Yudl’s hands excitedly, Don’t ask so many questions. Open it already and let’s see what he made for you. Impatient, she bent her head close to the gift and her braids hung directly over Yudl’s hands.

Dovid yanked her braid. Etya, get your hair out of there. He can’t see to open his gift. Etya flung her head back and pulled on Dovid’s side lock.

Etya always teased her brother calling him a red-head, which Yudl constantly insisted he was not. In truth, he was a combination of both of his parents. He had shades of Shaindl’s dark brown and bits of Nissen’s fiery red. Mixed, he was actually an auburn; a straight patch of which frequently fell to the left side of his forehead.

Yudl unwrapped the gift and held up a soft, thin strip of leather, the color of the belly of a calf. It had a string hanging from each of the four corners. Just above the strings, two thin lines inlaid with the blue of a sunflower ran across its narrowness. Yudl’s large gray eyes engaged Dovid’s asking for an explanation.

A book mark! For your prayer book, Dovid answered. I can’t believe you don’t know what it is.

"It looks like a tallit, a tiny prayer shawl," Etya said.

"Exactly, that’s what it’s supposed to look like, a miniature tallit!" Pleased, Dovid tugged Etya’s braid again. This time more gently.

Yudl felt the soft leather as an experienced tailor fingered his fabric. How did you get the leather so soft and so light? It’s almost white!

Dovid’s crooked tooth beamed. I tanned it well. Do you like it?

Absolutely! Thank you; it’s a very thoughtful gift. He shook Dovid’s hand.

I think it’s beautiful. Make me one, Dovid, please. My birthday is this summer. I’ll use it for my Yiddish books.

Before I made any more, I wanted to see how much you liked it and what you thought of my idea. Now that I know, I will make more — a lot more! To sell! Make a business out of it: Take it to Uman, Kiev, find someone who’ll sell it for me. Dovid’s face turned red with excitement, his enthusiasm poured from his mouth like wine from a cask. I’ve got ideas for shoes, too. Wait until I tell you about that.

Etya threw her shoulders back, with unhidden pride she announced, "Dovid Kahan, I’ve always told you, ‘you shall be the best and most famous shoemaker in the shtetl of Kiblych.’"

Dovid’s face flushed under its thin, undeveloped fuzz, Thank you, Etya.

Stunned, the elders suddenly looked upon Dovid as though they had never seen him before. In all the years he had been coming into their home, never did they recognize him as an entity other than their children’s playmate. Bubbeh lifted her kerchief above her ears as if to hear better; Shaindl’s mouth dropped open, then she looked to her husband, whose eyes had popped as he pulled rapidly on his earlobe. Immediately their thoughts merged; there it was! The answer to their problem was right under their noses.

Shaindl placed her arm around Dovid’s shoulder. "Tahteleh, come for midday meal tomorrow and tell us all about your plans. We’d love to hear them."

Truly? You want to hear all about them? He looked upon their smiling faces and nodding heads; he had never expressed his plans to anyone before; not even to his parents. Now, he finally had an audience. Sharing a meal with the Sirotansky family was not a new experience for Dovid. They were as his second family. But finding them willing to share his dreams and future plans, which he had kept to himself all this time, completely overwhelmed him. His arms sprang up, his legs kicked out and with a song and dance he whooped out the house. "I’ll come tomorrow, straight from shul." He left behind him gaping faces.

Don’t know why you’re all so surprised, Etya said. I’ve known about his dreams for a long time.

Rukhel Leah

Something was amiss . Etya could sense it. Routines were disrupted. Mammeh gathered Tateh ’s clean clothes from the cabinet for the Sabbath. Tateh always took his bath bundle himself. Now Mammeh lingered at the cabinet smoothing, straightening and fixing piles of clothes that had already been adjusted. It was obvious she was passing time until Tateh joined her. They whispered privately. Where there usually was rushed conversation and hasty activities in preparations for the Sabbath, setting the table with white cloth and their finest dishes, and preparing the candelabra, there was now an ominous silence. And never before had Shaindl left her Sabbath kitchen in the midst of the ritual cooking. Never! Today she was leaving for the second time.

I’m running over to Rukhel Leah to see how she feels. Dovid said the heat had gotten to her — I’m running. I won’t be gone long.

Carrying some of Bubbeh’s freshly baked cookies in a basket, Shaindl rushed out from the house and paused to look up to heaven. She thanked God for giving her the strength to get through this insufferable heat.

Again she cut through her neighbor’s yards, this time in a different direction, north, toward Cobbler Street. Like a chicken without a head, she zigzagged around deteriorated houses, running through the hot streets all day.

The sound of tapping in the cobbler store was hushed by the oncoming Sabbath, the store was silent. Shmuel Kahan and his son, Dovid, had already left for the bathhouse. Shaindl walked to the rear door, which was wide open to allow air into the house. However, when Shaindl arrived, a blaze of heat from inside forced her back. She lifted her arm and pushed the invisible air away as she stepped into the dim room. She found Rukhel Leah stretched out across a chair her arms and legs dangling limply. Her chin was tucked in, her swollen belly aimed for the ceiling and her thin long nostrils twitched as they struggled for air; Rukhel Leah resembled a dead bird. Her two young daughters, Freidele and Sara, stood fanning their mother with a sheet of leather they had taken from their father’s cobbler bench. The sisters sobbed in rhythm with each fanning motion.

God in heaven, what’s happened to her?

Sara cried, We can’t get her to talk to us.

Rukhel Leah’s clothes were soaked with sweat. Perspiration dripped from under her sheitel, running down her face and onto the floor. The wig itself was soaked.

Get me a pan of water! Shaindl ordered, And a towel. While the girls ran to do her bidding, Shaindl pulled the wig off Rukhel Leah and threw it on the floor. Why in heaven’s name is she wearing her sheitel indoors? Was she going somewhere? From under it, a mop of short black hair lay drenched. The black crown completed the unconscious women’s bulbul bird image. Tilting the wet crest with one hand, Shaindl poured a cup of water over Rukhel Leah’s face and head. The prostrate woman feebly moaned. Another cupful induced a slight stir. Response coming too slowly, Shaindl poured the last of the water from the pan over Rukhel Leah’s face and chest. Rukhel coughed and finally opened her eyes. Shaindl proceeded to undress her: She stripped her down to her undershirt and revealed the red ribbon Rukhel Leah wore around her neck to ward off an evil eye while pregnant.

Rukhel saw Shaindl’s face hovering over her. She ran her hands across her wet chest and arms and asked weakly, Shaindl, what are you doing here in this burning hell? Did you die, too?

No, I didn’t die and neither did you. You’re heat sick; that’s all. Shaindl straightened herself and rolled up her sleeves. I’ll help you freshen up. You’ll be like new. But first, I’m going to see if the food is finished cooking so that we can get some heat out of here. She lifted lids, tested the chicken, pulled the pots off their burners, the potato kugel out from the oven and motioned to the girls to stifle the flame. Now Rukhel, I’m going to help you get back on your feet. With the help of the two young girls, Shaindl managed to get Rukhel Leah out of the hot kitchen and into her bed where Shaindl continued to undress her. Using a fresh pan of water with soap and a cloth, Shaindl began to bathe her friend.

God bless you, Shaindl. But for your help, I’d be dead now.

In your condition, tsk, tsk, tsk, shaking her head. You cook too much in this dreadful heat. With the baby due any moment, you should take better care of yourself so that you have the strength to go through the birth.

That’s why I cooked so much. Just in case the baby comes today, or tomorrow, I wanted to have enough food in the house.

Family and friends take care of the food when a baby is born. You know that! So, how do you feel now, a little better? Yes?

"Much, thank you, but still weak. Oy, I feel so weak."

Of course you do. You perspired so much you’re all dried out. I’ll fix that in a moment. Shaindl brought her friend a tall glass of water. Here, drink it all and you won’t feel so weak. She sat at the edge of the bed and watched Rukhel Leah quaff the water. Better?"

Much. Rukhel Leah took a deep breath. Yes, much better — thank you.

Fluffing the pillow behind her friend’s head, Shaindl smiled and said, I’ve something very nice to tell you. It came as a total surprise to me. Today — only today — were my eyes opened to a beautiful relationship that has been going on for years between your son, Dovid, and my daughter, Etya. These two children like each other a lot and have a mutual respect for one another. Such a beautiful eye-opener this was.

Dovid and Etya?

"Yes. Right under our noses all this time and we never realized it. You know, I truly think they are bashert; absolutely meant for each other. What do you think?"

"Bashert? For marriage?"

Of course, marriage. What else? Shaindl folded her arms and nodded, Rukhel, a match from heaven.

They’re so young. How can you think of it? They’re children.

Of course they’re children. But they’re beautiful children. The mere thought of betrothing them now for someday in the future is…well, Shaindl clasped her hands over her heart. "Oy, Rukhel Leah, I just had to share it with you. So what do you think?"

I can’t think I’m too weak to think. I’ll discuss it with Shmuel later.

Absolutely, you must discuss it with your husband. I mentioned it to Nissen and he was overjoyed with the idea. You must know how much we love Dovid. Why go looking for a match when we have one ready-made, right? And just think we’d be in-laws. Good in-laws; not like the typical resentful in-laws, but in-laws that are friends.

Rukhel Leah closed her eyes. It seems a pleasant thought.

"Good! I’m leaving. Talk to Shmuel, and tomorrow you’ll let me know. Be well and have a gut Shabbas."

Nissen had looked everywhere in the bathhouse and was disappointed at not finding Shmuel. He sent Yudl back to the steam room in case he had not seen him in the thick vaporous chamber.

"He’s gone, Tateh. Dovid and his father don’t hang around more than they have to. Myself, I look forward to spending a few minutes with Dovid while we’re taking the steam, but almost always Reb Shmuel pokes his head in and calls him out. He’s always in a hurry.

The Midday Meal

Flies buzzed over the honey covered dish, and none of the heat had escaped through the door left ajar. Today these annoyances were tolerated without the usual complaints, so immersed was the Sirotansky family in learning about Dovid’s future dreams.

Shaindl removed the cholent from the oven. This time she had added beef to the potatoes and groats, which made it more of a delicacy. As she dropped spoonfuls into each plate, Dovid eagerly shared his ideas and future dreams. He went from one concept to another; eyes glazed, he looked through the ceiling, seeing each and every vision crystal clear. And all the while the Sirotansky family listened intently, chewing slowly so that they could digest all his thoughts along with their food.

I have learned to stretch and shape leather so I can make it into many different things, Dovid said seriously, not just shoes and clothes, but belts and bags, pillows and toys, and things nobody has ever thought of.

But, Dovid, who will want any of those things nobody ever thought of before? Who would use them? Shaindl asked.

The rich; who else? Dovid pointed his fork to the roof. These are not things for everyday use. They’re special. The only thing about them that will be practical is the fact that they’re made of leather so they will last a long time.

Listen, Dovid, Yudl said, If you make a product so practical with leather that it lasts a long time, it will be a onetime sale and no one will reorder, so where is the future business? You will never make a living! Kiblych has so very few wealthy people, very, very few.

You are so right! But, who’s talking about Kiblych? The wealthy people are in the big cities: Kiev, Uman, Minsk, Moscow, and St. Petersburg.

Etya asked, And how will you get to all of these big cities, Dovid?

And how many of these items can you yourself possibly make to sell in these cities? Bubbeh asked.

Nissen shook his head. Women! Women! They don’t understand business. They think everything gets done at one time. Dovid starts small, one rung at a time, until he climbs to the top of the ladder. He smiled at Dovid, understanding the young businessman’s dream. This young man has a ‘thinking head’. He works with his hands, but thinks with his head. There is no question that Dovid doesn’t just repair shoes, he creates them! He has talent and ambition; and drive. Yes, he has drive! May God bless you with much success, Dovid.

Bubbeh nodded, and Shaindl said, Amen.

Nissen’s mind wandered to the suede traveling coat he had once seen. Dovid, have you ever seen colored suede leather?

Yes, they vary from an off white to tan, and to different shades of brown.

And green, how about a forest green? Nissen said.

Dovid looked quizzically at Nissen as did everyone else at the table. It would have had to be a green animal skin, and who ever saw a green animal?

They could dye it, Etya said.

And just how could one dye an animal? Nissen asked.