Enchantment (41 page)

“Can I ask you one question?” she said as she followed him around the side of the house.

“Sure,” said Ivan.

“Did you marry her as Ivan Smetski or Itzak Shlomo?”

“What?”

“Was it a Christian wedding or a Jewish one?”

He didn’t answer. Which meant it was a Christian wedding. He betrayed everybody, from God to all the Jews who died in the Holocaust, and right on down to Ruth. And he didn’t care. Because he was in love.

Well, what happens if you fall back in love with me? Do you switch religions again? How many times does this make? What are you, God’s little tennis match, back and forth, back and forth? Double fault this time,
Itzak
.

“Why do you care?” asked Ivan.

For a moment she wondered what he was asking about. Then she realized he was finally answering her question from before. “Every time a Jew dies, all other Jews should mourn,” she said.

He stopped abruptly and turned around. Standing there holding the heavy picnic hamper, he looked her in the eye and said, “If this is a sample of what this picnic’s about, let’s get this stuff back in your trunk and you can go on home.”

“No, I’m—I’m sorry, Ivan, no, I’m not going to snipe at you. I was just remembering what my grandmother always said.”

“My parents don’t think I’m dead because I married her.”

“I’m sure they don’t,” said Ruth. “Nor do I. I’m here, aren’t I?”

“
Why
are you here?”

“For lunch,” said Ruth. “And to try to make sense of my own life. I suddenly find myself at loose ends. I not only lost a fiancé, I also lost a very close friend. I’d like to see if I can have the friend back.”

“Not like before,” said Ivan. “I’m part of something else now.”

“I know, Ivan. But what if
she
likes me, too? Then maybe I can be friends with the two of you.”

He regarded her for a moment.

What, you think you have polygraph eyes? You can tell if I’m lying just by looking at me?

“You’re a class act, Ruth,” said Ivan.

“Also, the lunch is good. But simple. I was going to get really fancy, but I didn’t dare serve caviar to a Russian.”

He laughed, turned around, and continued around the outside of the house.

Katerina had no idea what to make of Ivan’s exaggerated sense of courtesy. Yes, he had broken his betrothal to this woman, but that was all the more reason to avoid her. Ivan insisted that there was nothing to fear except, perhaps, an emotional scene, and they could avoid that just by being generous and natural and patient in their conversation.

Katerina had much more specific fears, mostly involving poisons in the food and drink. To her, it was an immediate danger sign that Ruthie had insisted on providing all the food herself. She found it incomprehensible that Ivan thought this was a laughable idea. Had they never heard of poison here?

Esther had reassured her. “All our food comes from outside the house,” Esther explained, “so I have many charms and spells against it here. And not just poisons, but against potions and powders and whatnot. Vigilance is always good, but I don’t think you’ll take any harm from what you can eat. Or at least you won’t be able to eat what would do you harm.”

She showed Katerina what charms she used, and at Katerina’s insistence provided Ivan and Katerina with additional charms that they wore around their necks—not that either of them told Ivan what his charm was for. “There’s a general spell to protect you by sensing if someone at the table knows that some of the food is poisoned,” Esther explained, “and there are charms that should make it impossible to eat anything that is not what it’s supposed to be. But I’m no match for the knowledge of the Wicked Widow, so keep your own watch.”

With those protections and warnings, Katerina felt barely reassured enough to go ahead with the picnic. And she had to admit to herself that part of the reason she dreaded the event was because, after all, this was the woman that Ivan had chosen for himself
without
an angry bear looming over him.

Ruthie was gracious enough—no sniping remarks, or at least nothing that made Ivan hesitate in his translation. But it was obvious that Ruthie loved the fact that the conversation was in English, and that much of it moved so rapidly that Ivan could only translate the gist of what was said, and then only after the fact. Katerina was being systematically excluded. But that was to be expected. As long as Katerina didn’t let it get her angry enough to leave, she was fine.

Ruthie set out the chicken on their plates and then handed several jars to Ivan to open. Katerina reached for one—her grip was as good as Ivan’s, or better, as they both knew—but Ruthie babbled something in English to Ivan, who turned to Katerina and, with only the faintest hint of a smile to let her know that he was aware of how Ruthie was manipulating them, he translated: “She forgot the salt. She wants you to go get it from the kitchen.”

Esther felt it as a chill creeping up her back. She shuddered. Something had just come into her protected realm. But not a person. She wasn’t sure what it could be.

She looked out the window into the back yard, where Vanya was having his incomprehensible picnic with Ruthie and Katerina. It reminded her of those old pictures of Roosevelt, Churchill, and Stalin. Except none of them was wearing such an obvious wig as Ruthie. What kind of fashion statement was she trying to make? Or was it just a terrible haircut or dye job that she had to cover up for a few weeks?

Esther watched them setting up the picnic—laying out a couple of blankets on the grass, setting out plates and glasses, pulling food out of the hamper Ruthie had brought.

Things Ruthie brought. There were charms to protect from the food, but was it possible she carried some living thing with her? What if Baba Yaga found out about Ruthie? If she did, she would try to use her.

What Esther sensed was an intruder. Smaller than a human being, but with some fragment of human spirit within it. An observer. An agent.

A familiar.

How? She had charms and spells enough to keep any familiar from gaining entry by itself. It would have to be carried in, close to the body of a human being who had trusted access. But it would also have to be a creature of high enough function to be useful to the witch who controlled it. A flea or louse would hardly be useful, however appropriate such a creature would be as Baba Yaga’s familiar.

She could not ignore this. She had to find the familiar and eliminate the threat. She rinsed her hands at the sink.

The back door opened. Katerina came inside.

Esther looked at her in shock. “You left them alone together?”

“She ‘forgot’ the salt,” said Katerina. “Which suggests that she has a love potion.”

Esther rolled her eyes. “She couldn’t get him into bed with her before he married you, so now she wants to do it with a potion.”

“They . . . never?” asked Katerina.

“He’s a strange boy,” said Esther. “I thought you knew.”

By now Katerina had the salt. “Well, time for a little seasoning.”

“Watch for a familiar,” said Esther.

Katerina turned, looking much more serious now. “What kind?”

“Small,” said Esther. “Brought in by someone who is not an enemy.”

Ivan raised his eyebrows at Ruthie. “Well, she’s gone now. What did you want to say?”

Ruthie looked flustered. “Ivan, I could have said whatever secrets I might have over the phone. I’m sorry you’re so suspicious. I simply forgot the salt.”

“Sorry,” said Ivan. “Here are the jars, all duly opened.”

Father came over from the shed, where he had been putting away the lawn mower and hedge trimmer. “How are you doing? Where’s Katerina?”

“She’s inside getting the salt,” said Ivan. “And we’re having fun. I’m glad Ruthie invited us to do this.”

Piotr smiled cheerfully at them and headed for the house.

“Ivan, would you taste the chicken and tell me if it’s all right?” asked Ruthie. “I made them myself from my mother’s recipe, and they don’t look exactly the same as hers.”

“They look the same to me,” said Ivan. “Which means it should be great.” Ruthie’s mother was locally famous for her chicken, and not just among the Jews. Ivan reached down and picked up the large piece of chicken breast that she had put on his plate.

It slipped out of his fingers before he could get it to his mouth.

“I’m glad that didn’t happen with the pickle jar,” said Ivan, picking the chicken up from the blanket. “Maybe tiny blanket fibers will be just the thing to make it taste Kentucky-fried.”

Piotr came in from the back yard just as Katerina and Esther reached the door. Katerina ducked outside with the salt in hand. Piotr and Esther paused a moment at the threshold.

“Nobody’s killed anybody yet,” said Piotr, joking.

“That’s what I’m going outside to change,” said Esther, only partly joking.

“Don’t do any killing that the police will ask about later,” said Piotr, not joking at all now.

“Nothing that talks.”

As Esther came through the door onto the patio in back, Katerina was standing a few yards away from Vanya and Ruthie, watching. It was a sight to see: Ivan picking up a chicken breast and then fumbling it, dropping it on his lap, on the blanket, on the grass. He got up, his face red with embarrassment, to pick it up off the lawn, apologizing to Ruthie as he did.

To Esther it was obvious, as it would be to Katerina, that there was something wrong with the chicken and the charms were working. So much for Ruthie’s benign intent.

Then Esther heard a dog barking. No, yipping. It was coming around the side of the house. Could this be the familiar she was looking for?

It was the annoying hairball that Mrs. Sprewel doted on. Normally it didn’t wander around loose, and Esther’s suspicions were fully aroused. She moved to intervene, but she wasn’t quick enough. The dog took a flying leap at Vanya. Esther screamed—but the sound was barely out of her mouth when the dog, instead of going for Vanya’s jugular, snatched the chicken breast out of his hands and took off with it around the corner of the house.

It wasn’t Baba Yaga that had brought the dog, it was the charm. Vanya was so insistent on eating the damn chicken that the charm had been forced to draw someone or something else to take the chicken away from him. So much for Ruthie’s love potion, if that’s what it was.

And from Ruthie’s face, it was indeed a cataclysmic failure. But she controlled herself, and managed a smile. “I guess that means the chicken
is
good enough to eat,” said Ruthie.

“I’ll bet that piece was particularly fine,” said Esther.

Ruthie smiled at her, but there was rage barely concealed behind the grin. “I suppose I did save the best for Ivan,” she said. “But it turned out to be the dog’s piece.”

Vanya was, of course, oblivious to this barely disguised jab, but Esther heard it, and she knew that Ruthie had a great deal of malice in her. She
has
been influenced by Baba Yaga, thought Esther. Ruthie had faults, but malice wasn’t one of them. Still, people surprise you.

Katerina murmured to Esther in proto-Slavonic, “That dog is going to be mounting every cat and squirrel in the neighborhood.”

The dog had not come alone. Terrel Sprewel was standing there holding a kite in his hands. “Sorry about the dog,” he said. “I guess he followed me over here and smelled the chicken.”

“No problem,” said Vanya. “Dogs are dogs. Next time you step on him, though, make it count.”

Terrel laughed—it must be some in-joke, Esther thought, since she had no idea what Vanya was talking about.

Ruthie’s hands were stroking the lid of a Tupperware tray. Whatever was in there, Esther was reasonably sure, was Ruthie’s backup plan. Cookies or brownies laced with laxative?

Terrel was battling on, embarrassed. “I just wondered if, you know, after the picnic or whatever, you wanted to take a turn with the kite.”

“Good idea,” said Vanya. “My wife, Katerina, I don’t know if she’s ever flown a kite.” He turned to her and asked in proto-Slavonic.

But Katerina wasn’t looking at the kite at all. “The dog,” she said.

Ruthie opened the Tupperware container. Brownies.

Vanya looked where Katerina was looking. So did Terrel. Vanya was halfway there before Esther saw. The dog was lying by the fence, its legs trembling, its back as tightly bent as a bow.

Vanya picked up the dog. In his arms it shuddered and died.

Terrel approached Vanya in awe. “What was in that chicken?” he asked.

Everyone turned to look at Ruthie. She was standing now, looking in horror at the dog. “It can’t be the chicken,” she said.

And Esther believed her. Ruthie had been acting as if the chicken had a love potion in it. If she had known it was lethal, Esther doubted she would have sent Katerina away.

“Oh, Ivan,” said Ruthie. “You were that close to eating it. You have to believe me, I didn’t know.”

“I believe you,” said Vanya. But he turned away from her, and toward Katerina, taking her hand. It had the effect of closing a door in Ruthie’s face.

In proto-Slavonic, Katerina said to Vanya, “I can’t wait to eat the rest of the meal.”

But Esther was watching Ruthie, who had dumped the Tupper-ware tray of brownies onto the lawn and was grinding them into the grass with her feet. She saw Esther looking at her. Tears were streaming down her face. “If I were any damn good as a cook maybe he would have married
me
,” said Ruthie. “But I never thought this shit would really hurt anybody.”

“It’s all those additives,” said Esther dryly.

Ruthie gathered up the rest of the food and put it back in the hamper. “I’m going home,” said Ruthie. “I’m sorry about the dog. I—I’m sorry about everything.”

“Bye, Ruthie,” said Vanya. “Thanks for lunch.”

In halting English, Katerina echoed him. “Bye, Rut’ie.”

Clutching her hamper to her, Ruthie staggered around the side of the house. Somehow her wig had become askew on her head. It suited the moment.

Esther walked over to where Ruthie had ground the brownies into the lawn. The brownies themselves might be biodegradable, but Esther wondered what the poison would do to the grass. Not to mention the insects that lived in the lawn.