The Family Moskat (29 page)

But when it came to marriage, a girl had to keep her eyes open for someone settled.

Itchele wanted to keep on talking, but Shifra heard a ring at the outside door. She hung up the receiver and went to answer.

"Who's there?" she called.

"The police," came the answer.

Shifras limbs shook. Maybe Itchele had done something. She opened the door a crack and saw a short, stout officer in a silver-gray uniform, wearing a peaked hat and with epaulets on his shoulders. She opened the door all the way and then shrieked.

Hadassah was there. The girl was haggard-looking. Her coat was torn, she was wearing no hat, and her hair was disheveled. She was carrying a clumsy paper-wrapped package under her arm. She looked timid and afraid, like a provincial servant girl. Shifra's hands shot up to her livid cheeks.

"Is this where Nahum Leib Moskat lives?" the officer asked, reading the name from a slip of paper.

"Yes--here."

"Where is he?"

"He's not home now."

"His wife?"

"She's out."

"Do you know this girl?" The officer indicated Hadassah, almost poking her breast with his gloved hand.

"My God, it's my young mistress!" Shifra exclaimed.

"What's her name?"

"Hadassah."

"Ga-da-sa," the officer repeated, giving the name a Russian pronunciation. "When's your boss coming home?"

"I don't know. Sometime tonight."

"Who are you?"

"The maid."

-182-"
Da
. I'll be back tomorrow at nine. And you--" he turned to Hadassah--"you don't leave this house, do you hear?
Do sve-dania
."

The officer smartly brought his hand to the hilt of his sword, then raised two fingers halfway to the peak of his hat, and went down the stairs. Shifra started to wring her hands and move her lips, but it was a few moments before anything coherent came from her.

"Dear Father in heaven," she finally burst out, "what do my eyes see? What are you standing there like that for?"

Hadassah looked hesitantly after the retreating officer and then went into the entry hall. There was something frozen and stiff in her gait. She went into her room, Shifra following her. She stood motionless near the door, still clutching the bundle. Her eyes, which seemed to have shrunk in their sockets, were fixed straight ahead.

"Dear God, what happened?" Shifra moaned. Hadassah made no answer. "Maybe you'd like me to bring you some tea?" Hadassah shook her head. "Maybe you'd like to wash." Hadassah looked at her strangely.

"No. Not now," she answered.

A chill flowed along Shifra's bones. She went into the living-room and pressed close to the tiled stove. "
Oi, gevald
," she kept murmuring. "Wait till they come home--it'll be worse than Yom Kippur."

When she went back to Hadassah's room the girl was stretched out on the bed, her coat still on. Her head was turned to the wall.

She made no sound; Shifra could not tell whether she was awake or asleep. The soles of her shoes were torn, her stockings ripped.

The bundle, now open, was on the table. Shifra could see what it contained: a single garter, a broken comb, and a lump of black bread. Shifra stared at the objects. That kind of bread she had not seen in these parts, not even in the fare the soldiers ate. It looked heavy, half raw, doughy, full of bran. A lump rose in her throat.

That was the kind of loaf they gave to inmates of jails.

-183-

2

It was about four o'clock when Dacha got back home. She rang the bell and waited for a long time before she heard Shifra's voice.

"Who is it?"

'Me."

The girl opened the door slowly.

"Mistress, there's a letter from Hadassah," she said after some hesitation.

"A letter! When did it come? Give it to me!"

"It's in Hadassah's room."

Dacha walked through the hallway and opened the door.

Hadassah had started up and was sitting huddled over on the edge of the bed, her head bent down. There was a flush on that side of her face which had been resting on the pillow. When Dacha came in she made a move as though to get off the bed, but fell back. Dacha's face flamed red, as though in anger.

"So," she said at last. "You're alive."

Hadassah made no answer.

"Well, if you're here, you're here," Dacha continued in a harsh voice, surprised at what she herself was saying. She glanced back over her shoulder and saw Shifra standing at the open door. She closed the door with a bang. She had a desire to throw her arms around the girl and at the same time to seize her by the hair.

"When did you come?" she demanded.

Again Hadassah was silent.

"Have you gone dumb--or what?"

"I came today--before--"

"God help you, the way you look! That I should have lived to see this day," Dacha said in a half-chant. It was as though her dead mother, the pious wife of the Krostinin rabbi, was speaking through her lips.

For a long time she stared at her daughter. Hadassah's coat was filthy. Two buttons had been torn away; some of the cloth with them. The upper part of her dress was ripped. Her hair was matted. Dacha's gaze fell on the bundle.

"What kind of bread is that?" she asked.

"Bread." Hadassah only repeated the word.

"All right. I can see that."

-184-Dacha

went out, slamming the door behind her. Shifra was still outside.

"When did she come? How did she get here?"

"A police officer brought her."

"Police officer? That means she's been in prison."

"That's how it looks."

"What did he say?"

"He's coming back tomorrow morning, at nine o'clock."

"Who else was here?"

"The janitor was on the steps, with his wife."

"And all the neighbors ran to get a look."

"I suppose so."

"There's nothing to hide any more. Let the whole world know my shame." There was a glare in Dacha's eyes. "She's not long for this world, anyway."

"Please, mistress, don't say it."

"Quiet! Get a bath ready. She's filthy. Don't let anybody in."

"The telephone's ringing."

"Don't answer it."

Shifra went into the bathroom to heat the water. Dacha went into the living-room. She began to pace swiftly back and forth, her hands folded over her breasts. Her fatigue had vanished; suddenly she felt strong. She stumbled against a low stool and sent it out of the way with a kick of her foot. Unexpected broken words came to her lips: "Funeral . . . hospital . . . pregnant . . . bastard. . . ." Louder she said: "And that idiot, away all day, God knows where." She had an urge to shout at the top of her voice, to pour out floods of curses.

The telephone rang again. She went over and answered it.

"Who is it?"

"Dacha darling, it's me, Abram."

"What do you want?"

"Dacha, please, listen to me. It's about Hadassah. It's important."

"Nothing's important any more. You've killed her. You can for-get she was ever alive."

"Listen to me, I tell you. I've received a postcard--"

"What kind of postcard! You murderer, you thief, you outlaw!"

"Excuse me, Dacha, but you talk like a market woman."

-185-"May you be

cursed the way you've brought curses on us! May your daughters come to the same end as my daughter! You Satan, you murderer!"

She threw the receiver down; the instrument clattered to the floor.

Shifra came in. "Mistress," she said, "I've got the stove burn-ning."

"Let everything burn! Fill the tub with water. Have you got some green soap?"

"Yes, mistress."

"Get an empty sack. Put all her clothes in it. Throw them into the garbage."

Dacha went back to Hadassah's room. The girl had taken off her coat, revealing the soiled dress she was wearing underneath. Her throat was thin and gaunt, flecked with brown and blue marks.

She was standing by the dresser; when her mother came in she took a startled step backwards. Dacha snatched up the lump of bread from the table and weighed it in the palm of her hand.

"Heavy as stone."

Hadassah did not move.

"What are you standing there like a dummy for? What are you staring for? Where were you? Tell me. What miserable holes have you been in? Who ripped your dress?"

"Nobody."

"Where is he? Where has he gone? What's he done to you? I'll shout it from the rooftops."

"Mamma!"

"I'm not your mother! I blot you out, do you hear? What's he done to you? Tell me the truth!"

"Mamma!"

"We'll have to know what to tell the doctor. Maybe it won't be too late. Ah, dear God."

"I don't need a doctor."

"What do you need, then? A midwife?"

Shifra came to the door. "Mistress," she said, "the water's ready."

"Come on! At least we can get the lice off you."

"I can do it myself."

"Ashamed, are you? Creatures like you haven't got anything left to be ashamed for."

Dacha's face turned a greenish hue. Her eyes flamed, her lips -186-quivered. Her

curved nose looked menacing. She grabbed Hadassah's shoulders with both hands and pushed her along.

"Come on, I'm telling you!" she shrieked. "Come on, you shameless animal!"

Hadassah let herself be pushed along. "I'm not living. I'm dead,"

she thought. "They're going to wash the corpse." She let her mother pull her clothes off her, the dress, the petticoat, the shirt and drawers and stockings. Shifra stuffed them into the sack and turned on the water taps. While the tub was filling, Hadassah stood motionless on the stone floor, her teeth chattering. She bent her head and closed her eyes. Over and over she kept telling herself that she was dead, nothing could harm her any more; she need no longer feel any shame.

3

Dr. Mintz, who had come in answer to Dacha's telephone call, looked at Hadassah for a long time. He listened to her heart and lungs, and held her wrist with his stubby fingers, gazing at his watch. After much hemming and hawing he announced that Hadassah would have to go back to the sanatorium. But she was not to be moved for another week or two. In the meanwhile no visitors were to be permitted; she was to have complete rest.

The short, big-boned doctor, with his enormous head and thick mustaches, snatched up his bag, put on his overcoat with the heavy fur collar and lapels and his plush hat with the professorial broad brim.

"The principal thing," he said, "is to ask no questions and make no accusations."

"Doctor, promise me that she'll be all right."

"I'm not God almighty and I'm not one of your miracle rabbis.

We'll do what we can."

He went down a half flight of steps and stopped to rest. He had a bad heart himself.

Near his carriage stood a group of women with shawls over their heads. They clustered around him, complaining about their aches and pains and their various female ills. Dr. Mintz waved his umbrella at them.

"Leave me alone! Idiots! I'm sicker than you are," he shouted, stamping his foot. "You're not dying yet, none of you!"

He heaved himself into the carriage, sat down, leaned against -187-the back rest,

and took a pencil and a small notebook out of his pocket. He made a note in the queer handwriting that only he himself could decipher, a reminder to speak to someone in the government about Asa Heshel, who must be rotting away in some stinking jail. He had been a poor devil of a Chassidic student himself once, and he had also had a love affair with the daughter of a wealthy house. Who would ever have dreamed in those days that she would grow up to be the shrew she now was! Hadassah wouldn't last long. Too bad.

Hadassah was left alone in her room. How strange, yet how familiar, this warmth and comfort, this clean body, this white silk nightgown she was wearing; the spotless bed sheets, the glowing stove warming the room; the landscapes and portraits looking down at her from the walls! On the small night-table were slices of orange, a bowl of cereal, a cup of cocoa. There were no bedbugs here; there were no prison matrons to paw her. Could it be true? Yes, she could die peacefully at last in her own bed.

She closed her eyes and then opened them again. How many days had gone by since she had returned home? She slept whole days through, but she was still tired. The time seemed to rush by so quickly. It was day and then night and then day again. She heard the clock strike three and then, a moment after, it seemed, she heard it ring nine. Her dreams had a nightmarish quality. She imagined herself flying like a bat, and then falling precipitately through space like a stone. Shadowy forms whispered to her, speaking in a coarse mixture of Russian, Polish, and Yiddish.

Abram and Asa Heshel seemed to be merged into a single dual-faced image. Her father and Dr. Mintz fused and separated. She seemed to be traveling abroad, but the borders kept receding ever farther away, then coming closer and changing form, appearing first like a mountain, then like a river. Her mother opened the door, looked in, and said: "Cover yourself, my child. You'll catch cold."

"When is Purim?"

"What a question! God willing, next week."

"How is my Uncle Abram?"

"The devil knows and the devil cares!"

"How is Grandfather?"

"May his enemies have it no better." Hadassah wanted to ask if anything had been heard of Asa -188-Heshel, but she

refrained. She turned to the wall and dozed off.

She had a queer feeling that her head was growing enormous, inflated with air, like a balloon, and that her fingers were growing huge and thick. She started up. It must have been dark outside, for the lamps were lit. Her mother, her shoulders bowed, and in a long black dress, was holding a thermometer.

"Just the same; no change," she said, as though to herself.

"Mamma, what time is it?"

"It's ten o'clock."

"Is it still today?"

"What, did you think it was yesterday? Here, take your medicine."

"She's awake?" She heard her father's voice and saw him come into the room. It seemed to Hadassah that he had got smaller. He looked at her and smiled. "A fine criminal," she heard him say.