Puppet (2 page)

There was only a little milk at the bottom of the pail. Pa would be angry if he didn't have milk with his meal, so I knew better than to give it to Clara. She would have to be satisfied with water. I poured water into a tin cup that had been patched several times by the traveling tinsmith. I cut a thick slice from the dark loaf of bread I had baked two days ago. There was still some lard left, so I spread it thickly on top. A large potato from yesterday's dinner completed the meal.

“I want milk! I hate water!” Clara grumbled, just as I knew she would.

She fell silent as the front door swung open and Pa came into the cottage. I quickly tightened my kerchief. Pa did not like to see his handiwork.

Pa glanced at Clara and me and, without a word, sat down at the table. He didn't look at Ma. Fortunately, there was still a chunk of bacon left. I put it on a tin plate, cut him a generous slice of bread, and poured the remainder of the
milk into a cup. I hated myself for the nervous way I scurried about, trying to please him. I stood beside the table, careful to be out of reach of his fists, waiting for him to notice me. The only noise in the room came from Ma's torturous breathing.

When Pa continued to ignore me, I knew that I had to speak up.

“Pa,” I said, trying to steady the tremor in my voice. “Pa, I'm sorry to ask you again, but I need some money. There is no food in the house. Even the milk is gone. I should go over to Mrs. Huri's.”

We didn't have a cow of our own, so we had to buy our milk from Mrs. Huri. She had two cows.

Pa's fingers tightened around the cup. I stepped back. I couldn't help it — my hand snuck up to my left cheek, but my kerchief was still covering the dark bruise. He had hit me a few days ago when I asked him for money for food.

He grunted, reached into his pocket, and threw a handful of coins on the table. I couldn't believe my luck. There was enough here for milk, a whole slab of bacon, and even some money left over for material for Clara. I put the coins in my pocket with a trembling hand before he could change his mind.

“Thank you, Pa,” I stammered.

“I had some work this morning,” he said in a gruff voice. “Rosenberg needed help on his farm. That dirty Jew, he has so much money he doesn't know what to do with it. Those
people steal money out of the pockets of God-fearing Christian men.”

He slammed his palm down on the table so violently his plate and cup jumped. I remained silent. I knew from experience he would become even angrier if I spoke.

“Rosenberg barely noticed whether I was doing what he paid me for. He was excited about the new butcher they're hiring. It's got to be somebody who can do all their crazy rituals. Can you imagine, they want somebody who'll kill their cows and chickens according to their Jew laws, and sing prayers on their Sabbath too.” He snorted.

Clara began to croon to her doll.

“Shut your mouth!” Pa snapped. “Stop that caterwauling!”

He jumped up, his hand raised high. Clara began to cry. I stood in front of her, my arms spread wide to shield her.

“Stop it, Peter! Leave the girls alone! They've done nothing wrong,” called Ma weakly.

He hesitated, lowered his arm, and, turning on his heels, stomped out of the cottage.

“Bitch!” he muttered under his breath as he slammed the door behind him.

Clara and I ran to Ma's bed and fell on our knees beside it.

“Ma! Ma!” Clara cried. “You're awake, Ma!”

Ma patted her on the cheek. She motioned for me to lean closer.

“Your pa …” she whispered, “your pa has a lot on his mind. That's why …”

“He is a bully, Ma! A real bully!”

“You mustn't say that … He is your pa. You must respect your pa!”

“But Ma …”

I never finished my sentence. She closed her eyes and returned to oblivion.

I was hanging laundry on the clothesline in the yard when I heard somebody clearing his throat behind me. I turned around and dropped the shirt I was holding when I saw who it was. Morris Scharf was shifting from foot to foot, a covered tin pot in his hands.

“Hello, Julie.” He held the pot toward me. “My step-mama hear your mama sick. She made her soup.”

“Pardon?” I could barely understand what he was saying through his heavy accent. He tried again.

“I hope your mama feel better.” I didn't want to ask him to repeat the words that were obviously kind, but I couldn't help myself. “Your Hungarian, why is it so odd?”

“My papa wife not my real mama. She teach my brother, Sam, but she don't care about me.”

“And your papa?”

“Papa Hungarian good, but he too busy to teach me. But we study Torah together,” he said proudly.

“Would you like to sit for a moment?”

“I cannot. New sochet, new butcher hire. I go hear.”

I thought I had managed the thick fog of his accent, but I still did not understand what he was saying. “Do all of your priests kill animals?”

He shook his head. “No. In small village we can afford only one person who knows rituals. So butcher priest.”

He mystified me. I thanked him with a smile and took the pot of fragrant soup gratefully.

SATURDAY, APRIL 1, 1882

The memory of winter was still in the air as I made my way to Mrs. Huri's house in the New Village. I was glad of Ma's shawl around my shoulders, but the ground was cold under my bare feet. I wished I was still wearing my boots, but to spare the leather we always took them off on the first day of April and wouldn't wear them again until fall. The earthenware jug I was balancing on my hip was heavy even though it was empty.

The streets were coming alive on this bright Saturday morning. Merchants were opening their shops. A man with a donkey cart was delivering lumber.

I finally arrived at Mrs. Huri's house. It was much larger than our cottage and much nicer with its thatched roof and walls painted a cheerful yellow. I knocked on the front door,
but there was no answer. I knew somebody was home by the yelling going on inside, but I couldn't make out what was being said. I shifted the jug to my other hip and rapped on the door more loudly. Still no answer. Finally I turned the doorknob and the door swung open.

I stood on the threshold, rooted in my tracks. The room was completely empty except for a few paintbrushes, brooms, and dustpans. I could see through an open door on the far wall that the furniture had been piled up in the courtyard. The stuffing that had been taken out of the straw mattresses was blowing about in the breeze.

Mrs. Huri was chasing Esther around the empty room, swishing a long and supple stick at her. Mrs. Huri's little son and daughter were huddled in a corner, crying.

“This'll teach you to be such a lazy, good-for-nothing girl!” said Mrs. Huri with another wave of her stick. Her handsome face was contorted by anger. “You don't listen to me! Didn't I tell you to get everything ready for spring cleaning?”

“You surely did, mistress!” cried Esther. “I'm so sorry, but I didn't know you wanted to paint the bottom half of the walls today. They looked clean to me.”

Mrs. Huri raised her stick.

“How dare you question my orders!” she snarled.

“I don't, mistress! I never do!” said Esther. She sunk to the floor, covering her head with her hands. “Please don't hit me! I'll go to the store to buy the blue paint if you want me to.”

Mrs. Huri lowered the stick.

“Of course you'll go. The Jew store in the New Village will be closed today. You'll have to get it at Kohlmayer's in the Old Village. And you better be quick about it!” she added with another swish of her stick.

When she noticed me, her complexion darkened.

“What are you doing here, spying on me?” she roared. “How dare you sneak up on me?”

I kept my voice level.

“I'm sorry, mistress. The door was open. You didn't hear me when I knocked.”

“What do you want?”

“My pa was wondering if you could sell us some milk?”

I held out my money. She grabbed the coins greedily.

“My milk is in great demand, but your pa is an old customer,” she said curtly. “Esther, fill up her jug with the milk in the kitchen!”

“But, mistress, the milk in the kitchen is from yesterday. Let me milk the cow. It'll take only a few minutes and then I'll be able to give Julie fresh milk.”

Esther was speaking so meekly I could barely hear her.

Mrs. Huri's fingers tightened on the handle of her stick.

“You insolent girl! How dare you question my orders?” She looked like one of her angry hens. “You'll do exactly as you're told!”

“The milk from the kitchen will be fine,” I said quickly.

I didn't want Esther punished because of me. I followed her into the kitchen and she filled up my jug from a pail full of milk.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered. “She is too mean to give you fresh milk.”

“It'll be gone before it has a chance to curdle.”

After she filled my jug, Esther lifted the pail and drank greedily from it.

“The mistress gave me no food for breakfast,” she said, “not even a cup of milk. She said we were too busy cleaning to eat. I'm so hungry!”

Mrs. Huri came into the kitchen.

“You're still here? Be gone with you,” she yelled. “Stop wasting my girl's time!”

“Meet me by the well. I'll wait for you,” I whispered to Esther behind her mistress's back before I scurried out of the house.

The well was in the village square, across the street from the Jew church, an ugly, squat building that didn't look like a church at all. It had no spires or bells like the churches Esther and I attended every Sunday. I waited for Esther for the best part of a half-hour. Several women were lined up at the well, filling their containers with drinking water. The water from the wells in our own yards was fit only for animals.

By the time Esther got there, the sun was shining weakly. I judged that it must have been an hour before noon. Esther finally saw me waving at her. She had on an unbuttoned red, white, and black plaid jacket, white blouse, black skirt, and white apron. The red-striped belt she always wore was
twisted around her waist and she was barefoot like me. She was shivering despite the faded red shawl she had thrown over her shoulders. She was clutching a small tin container.

“Brrr, it's cold today. What I wouldn't give for my boots,” she said miserably. “But the mistress says I have to save them for the fall and winter.”

“Pa says that too. I'll keep you company. I don't have to go home yet. I'll come with you to get the paint at Kohlmayer's.”

A strange look I couldn't identify flitted across her face. It was gone so quickly I thought I must have imagined it.

“Don't come,” she said. “I must hurry or the mistress will skin me alive.” She held out the container. “I don't have time to tarry. The mistress wants me to buy blue paint. Take the milk home to your ma and to Clara. They must be waiting for it.”

“When will I see you? I wish you could get some time off. Ma and Clara would be so happy to visit with you. Pa is hardly ever home during the day.”

“You know I'd love to come, but the mistress never lets me off except for church. All she does is yell and scream at me. Yesterday she was mad because I washed the dishes in the bread trough. Today — well, you heard why she was yelling today.” Tears filled her eyes. “Sometimes I wonder if it wouldn't be better if …”

Her voice trailed off as we watched a group of men file into the Jew church. Morris and Sam walked hand in hand behind their father. Four Jew beggars followed them all into the building. I waved at Morris, but he didn't wave back.

I told Esther Pa's news about the butcher the Jews were hiring, but I could see she wasn't listening.

“I really have to go, Julie,” she said. “The mistress will be mad if I don't get back quickly and Kohlmayer's is so far away.”

Two old women at the fountain barred her path.

“I couldn't help overhearing that you're going to Kohlmayer's, dear,” said Mrs. Lanczi, one of Mrs. Huri's neighbors. She patted Esther on the shoulder and pressed some money into Esther's hand. “Could you bring back a block of soap for me?”

“And bring me a few nails,” added Mrs. Csordas. “I must fix the sole of my boots.” She handed Esther a coin and stuck her hairy chin into her face. “Now be careful with my money!”

“I will,” answered Esther. “I have to go, Julie!”

She broke into a run but then turned around and came back and hugged me.

“Good-bye, Julie! You're a good friend. The only friend I have.”

Then with a final wave, she was gone. I never saw her again.

Ma was in a heavy sleep and I had just put Clara down for her nap. Pa was at the Rosenbergs' farm, and I was peeling potatoes in the kitchen for our evening meal. I tried to pare the skin so it would come off in one piece. I would take the
potato skins with me the next time I went to see Sophie and Esther. We liked to throw the skins to the ground to see if they would fall in the shape of a letter. Mrs. Rosenberg had taught Sophie how to read, so she could tell us what letters the potato peels formed. If the letter matched the initial of a boy we knew, it meant we were fated to marry.

Suddenly, there was loud knocking on the door. I hastened to open it because I didn't want Clara to wake up.

Esther's mother stood in the yard. I stepped outside and closed the door behind me.

“Good day, Mrs. Solymosi! What brings you here?”

She was pale and on the verge of tears.

“Is my Esther here?” she asked in a shaky voice.

“I haven't seen her since this morning.”

“Mrs. Huri told me you were at her house to buy milk. I was hoping Esther had come to visit you.”

“I saw Esther at the well before she left for Kohlmayer's, but I haven't seen her since.”

I sat down on the back steps and motioned for Mrs. Solymosi to join me, but she remained on her feet.

“Esther should have been back hours ago. Sophie and Rosie Rosenberg met her when she was heading back to Mrs. Huri's around one o'clock this afternoon, but she never arrived there. Mrs. Huri came to me looking for her. I've just been to Kohlmayer's, but he told me she had left his shop before noon. Where could she be?” She finally sank down onto the step beside me, her fingers working the tassels on her shawl. “It's not like Esther to go somewhere
without telling her mistress. Esther is a good girl. A hard worker. If she didn't go back to Mrs. Huri's, something must have happened to her!”

She began to weep. I put my arms around her shoulders.

“My Esther must be hurt! I can feel it in my bones,” she cried.

I didn't know what to say.

She struggled to her feet. “I'll go down to the riverbank. Esther might have gone there.”

I remembered the depth of Esther's unhappiness the last time I saw her. I wondered what she had been about to tell me when the sight of the Jews distracted her. Surely she wouldn't … I pushed the thought out of my mind and told myself not to be stupid. I stood up.

“I'll come with you,” I said.

Mrs. Huri was on her way home when we met her.

“I was at the Tisza,” she said. “I remembered how much Esther loved the river so I thought she may have gone for a walk beside it.” The hardness of her eyes was at war with the syrupy sweetness of her words. “I must go home now. My little ones will be waiting for me. If you find the dear child, tell her not to be late for supper.”

Mrs. Solymosi stared after her.

“She is a hard woman, that one, no matter how she pretends to be so good and kind,” she said. “Esther told me how badly she treats her. I am keeping my eyes open for another
place for her.” She began to weep again. “I wish Esther could give up her job with Mrs. Huri right away, but with Mr. Solymosi gone” — she crossed herself — “I can't feed four people. Esther will have to stay where she is. I'm lucky that both Sophie and Janos have good places.”

As usual, the river was full of caravans of rafts transporting all kinds of goods — lumber, rock salt, and even fruits and vegetables.

Mrs. Solymosi scanned the riverbank.

“There is no sign of Esther anywhere! Where is my daughter?” she asked in a pathetic voice.

“Let's walk along the river.” I grasped her hand. “Mrs. Huri might be right. Esther may have decided to take the day off and go for a stroll by the river.”

I knew this was unlikely. Esther had seemed determined to return to Mrs. Huri's as quickly as possible, but I didn't want to upset Mrs. Solymosi further.

We walked along the Tisza, the same route Esther might have taken, but we did not see her. Finally, darkness fell and we had to return to our homes.

We said good-bye when we reached my cottage.

“I'm sure Esther will be waiting for you at home,” I told Mrs. Solymosi.

We both knew how afraid Esther was of the dark.