Another Me (11 page)

I
was sitting by the window of our shop waiting for customers, but none came. Most people stayed at home, hiding from the pestilence. Others spent their days and nights in public houses, drinking, singing and carousing as if the end of the world was upon us. Perhaps it was.

Vera had gone to visit her sister and Natan was at Rabbi Weltner's house. Papa was resting in his room, still recovering from the aches and pains of the beating he had received at Kaspar's hands. I leaned back in my seat and closed my eyes, luxuriating in the silence. Immediately, all kinds of thoughts crowded unbidden into my head.

Before I could hear his answer, a noise transported me back to reality. Papa was standing in the doorway, a tumbler of ale in his hand. His face was red and droplets of sweat dotted his brow.

“You should be in bed!” I scolded.

“I was thirsty. I came down to get some ale.”

“Why didn't you call me? I'd have brought it upstairs. You're flushed.” I put my hand over his brow as I would have done for a child. He was burning up. Fear squeezed my heart. “You're feverish, Papa!”

He laughed. “It's nothing. I must be coming down with the ague.”

“Let me help you back to bed and then I'll bathe
your forehead to cool you down.”

“You stay here. I'll go upstairs by myself. I don't need help.”

He started off, but then staggered and would have fallen if I hadn't sprung up to support him. He leaned on me heavily, his arm around my neck, each step up the staircase a test of both our wills. I had to all but drag him up the steps. When we finally got to his bedchamber, he fell onto his pallet, breathing heavily with his eyes screwed shut.

I pulled a blanket over him and mopped his brow. It was then that I noticed the large red boil on his neck. As I lifted him to put a pillow beneath his head, his eyes fluttered open.

“Go away!” he groaned. “Don't come close to me!”

I ran to the kitchen and prepared a cold compress. Please, God, don't let it be the Black Death, I kept repeating to myself as I made my way back upstairs.

The boil on Papa's neck was now the size of a baby's head and had turned black. He was breathing heavily, and suddenly he began to retch. I rolled him over to his side and held a bowl for him. It was soon filled with vomit mixed with blood. I didn't know what to do. I didn't want to leave him alone, but I had to go to fetch a surgeon. Everybody knew that bloodletting worked miracles.

Just then, there was a loud banging on our front door. I ran downstairs to open it. It was Natan. I threw myself into his arms.

“Thank God you're home!” I cried. “Papa is sick!”

He accompanied me to my father's room. I could see how affected he was by the way the color drained from his face.

“He looks terrible,” he whispered.

“You must get the surgeon,” I said. “He'll balance Papa's humors and restore his health.”

He shot me a pitying glance but said, “I'll go right away.”

Dark stains had bloomed under the skin of Papa's arms and legs by the time Natan and the surgeon appeared. The surgeon stood in the doorway, holding a scented handkerchief under his nose with one hand and a pail full of leeches in the other. Natan took a quick look at them squirming in the pail before saying he would leave to scrounge for food.

Once we were alone, the surgeon moved to Papa's bed. “I'm sorry to tell you, mistress, that the plague has arrived in your home,” he announced portentously.

“I can see that. But please, master, what can you do to help my father?”

“Bloodletting will reduce the hotness of his blood. It may help in this case.”

He ordered me to open Papa's shirt, then he pulled the squirming leeches out of the pail and placed the nightmarish creatures on his chest. Papa moaned but seemed otherwise unaware of what was being done to him. I screwed my eyes shut.

Once the leeches had done their work and were safely back in the pail, the surgeon took a long, sharp knife out of a sling by his side. He wiped it on his dirty apron and quickly lanced the boil on Papa's neck. The sickening stench of rotten eggs permeated the chamber and made my stomach heave.

I headed toward the window.

“Don't open it,” the surgeon said. “You don't want fresh air on your father. In his weak condition, it might kill him.”

I went to get a handkerchief instead and held it over my nose to stop myself from giving up my dinner in a most undignified manner.

Papa still seemed unaware of his surroundings. He tossed and turned and thrashed his arms and legs.

“He doesn't seem to be any better,” I ventured to say as I counted silver coins into the surgeon's palm.

“It'll take time. You must be patient,” he said. “Keep him comfortable. There's nothing more to be done for now.” He turned in the doorway and added, “I regret
to tell you, mistress, that I must place this dwelling under quarantine. Nobody goes in or out. I'll notify city authorities.”

I nodded and walked him downstairs. With a bow and a flourish of his hat, he was gone. As soon as he'd disappeared, I pushed a stout chair to the front door and slid its tall back under the handle. Nobody would be able to enter the house from the outside. I also walked around the main floor and made sure all the windows were locked.

I had just finished my inspection when some loud banging from the street led me back to the front entrance.

“Open the door! It's me, Natan. I've brought us food.”

“I can't! We're under quarantine. The red cross will be painted on our door very soon. It's dangerous for you to come in.”

“Don't be silly, Elena. I'm not scared of the sickness.”

“Then you're a fool! Leave the food in front of the door and get as far away from this house as you can.”

I turned a deaf ear to his appeals until he finally gave up and left. Only then did I open the door and retrieve a basket filled with dark bread and a pitcher of ale. I put some of the bread on a plate, poured the ale into a tankard and carried them upstairs. I couldn't stir my father enough to make him eat, but I did wet his lips
with the ale. Then I went back downstairs and ate my own meal. It tasted like sawdust in my mouth.

The next day, Papa remained insensible. I tried to keep him as comfortable as I could by changing his bedding, giving him a dry shirt and wiping his brow and hands with cold water. Despite my ministrations, more boils appeared under his arms and in his groin area. I couldn't think of anything else to do except to fall on my knees and beg God for his mercy. I prayed on my father's behalf to the Lord Jesus and his mother, but they weren't listening to me. Papa remained in torment.

“Get better, Papa. Get better. I couldn't bear to lose you!” I pleaded.

He too remained deaf to my words.

What if you catch the pestilence from him? a little voice whispered in my ear. You should leave while you still can, before you get sick too! There is nothing more you can do for him.

I fell on my knees once again and prayed until I ran out of words. I begged our Lord to give me the strength to do the right thing.

I must have fallen asleep with my head on Papa's chest, for a sudden noise startled me back to wakefulness. Somebody was throwing stones at the window high up on the wall of Papa's bedchamber.

I pushed a bench below the window and climbed on top of it to see outside. I flung open the shutters and felt the cold air rushing into the chamber. Natan and Vera were in the street, waving to me. There was a basket on the snowy ground beside their feet.

“How is your dear papa faring?” Vera asked. She began to weep.

“He isn't well. He's still unconscious. Nobody is allowed to come into the house or to leave it.”

Vera crossed herself. “May the good Lord take care of him.”

“I've brought you food,” Natan said.

“I'm not hungry and Papa is too sick.”

“You must eat to keep up your strength. Come to the door. I'll give it to you.”

“No, I don't want to get so close to you. My miasma—”

“Go downstairs and open the door,” Natan said in a firm voice.

“I won't. I don't want you to catch the sickness.”

“You don't have to worry about that. I've been helping Rabbi Weltner nurse the sick in Judenstrasse. It's the only place where his aid is welcome.” He smiled broadly. “As you can see, I'm still in good health.”

“I must bid you good-bye first, young mistress, for I must return to my sister's,” Vera interjected. “I won't see you for a while. My sister has been infected by this terrible plague, and it's my duty to nurse her.”

“I pray to God that you'll succeed.”

“And I you, mistress.”

I shut the window and descended the staircase. Natan was waiting for me in front of the door, the basket clasped in his hand. After looking down the street both ways to make sure that nobody was observing him, he pushed me gently aside and mounted the steps, two at a time, to Papa's bedchamber.

“You shouldn't be here, Natan,” I said wearily. “The Great Pestilence might carry you away.”

He grasped my hand. “I'm not frightened, my love. My fate is in Hashem's hands.”

He crossed to the bowl of water I kept on the table, dipped a cloth and wiped Papa's forehead with it. He smiled at my father with such sweetness that it broke my heart. But Papa was too feverish to recognize him.

“Poor devil. He is burning up,” he said as he pushed Papa's damp hair off his brow.

Suddenly, my stomach growled loudly.

He grinned. “You're hungrier than you know. Come, let us make you a meal.”

I began to protest, but he waved my objections aside.

“Elena, you must eat and keep up your strength,” he repeated.

We went outside to the kitchen and I unpacked the basket. Food was scarce nowadays, so he had filled it
with whatever goodies he could find. There were nuts, ale, bread again and even two roasted partridge eggs carefully wrapped in a clean rag. At the sight of them, I found, to my surprise, that I was famished.

“There's enough here for both of us,” I said.

“I can't stay. Rabbi Weltner is expecting me.”

“Be careful.”

“Hashem will look after me. He has already proven that,” he said, smiling. “I'll try to bring you more food tomorrow.”

Once he was gone, I poured some ale into a cup and picked up a knife, intending to cut myself a slice of bread. I noticed that my fingers were stained with Papa's blood, and that there was grime under my nails. I remembered how Natan always washed his hands before he ate. Suddenly, it didn't seem right to eat with such dirty hands, so I washed mine too. Then I had my meal, my mind lost in the gentleness of his expression and the kindness of his smile.