The River Midnight (52 page)

When Misha left the synagogue, she walked with her head high, alone, to her little house above the river.

Two weeks later Ruthie was arrested.

The day after Ruthie’s arrest, Misha sat at her table, grinding a mixture of roots and bark. She didn’t like the smell. Why didn’t she like the smell? Who knew? These days something she’d always liked could make her sick and something she’d never liked could be exactly what she had a craving for. But why should she complain? “Don’t I
have enough customers, Mama? Everything’s the same. So I’m a little bigger. It’s nothing.” All right, so she had to pee all the time. The veins in her legs were swollen. Her nipples were so tender she could hardly stand to cover herself. Her nose bled when she said hello. She was itchy between her legs. But thank God, the village never changed. Hanna-Leah came once a month for her potion. Leybush got a black alder wash for his lice. Boryna’s Agata came to her for advice about her female troubles. Ettie got her fennel tea for morning sickness. Haykel the blacksmith dropped a burning rod on his foot. Yosele was born with no trouble, and Gittel’s sister, Naomi, boasted that she had six sons now.

So why did Misha wake up at night and wish that her mother was with her? Why did she lie in bed with her eyes wide open, worrying that she wouldn’t have enough milk? Wondering if she would survive the delivery? If the baby would be born alive? If she carried a monster inside herself?

Everything was normal. Except that she was five months pregnant. Ruthie was sitting in prison and Faygela was coming home from Warsaw today. What was Misha going to say to Faygela—that she had pushed Ruthie to spend more time with Emma? And now she had to pee. Again. Though she’d just been to the outhouse. All right, she’d use the chamber pot this time. She’d just finished and was standing up, lowering her dress when she heard the knock at her door. “Who is it?” she called a little nervously.

“Berekh Eisenbaum,” he answered, as if there were a dozen Berekh’s in Blaszka.

“So what are you waiting for? An invitation from the Messiah? Come in already,” she snapped.

Misha was not pleased about her suddenly rapid breath, the quick flush of her throat, or the tingle in her lower regions, which had no business provoking her when she was fully occupied in producing a baby. Is it his? she thought, let it be his. You’re a woman alone, she scolded herself. You remember your pleasure with him? What for? It’s finished. There’s no reason to think of him. Not any more than in remembering the other one.

To steady herself, Misha picked up her chamber pot and opened the back door to empty it. There was nothing like the sharp smell of
pee to bring a person back to earth. What right did he have to come to her house after so long? She would throw him out so fast his head would spin, she reassured herself. But when she saw him, her resolve weakened. “
Sholom aleikhem
, Rabbi,” she said huskily. Maybe he would apologize, yes, and plea for her forgiveness.

“I need your advice, Misha,” he said. He spoke like a stranger. Politely, inquiringly, impersonally.

Not even, Misha, are you well? she thought. “So you need me? I should be so honored. You don’t talk to me for months, but when you need advice, then you remember Misha.”

“I wouldn’t bother you if I had another choice,” he said. “I didn’t know what else to do. I’ve gone over the problem again and again in my mind, but nothing moves. I’m completely stuck.”

“Well, Misha is not an enema. If your hole is closed, go to the
feldsher.
Now get out.”

The politeness peeled away like birch bark as his face twisted. “I thought you didn’t want me to come here anymore.”

“You thought. The great Rabbi thinks, of course. Asking? No. Why should he ask? He knows everything.”

“But you threw me out,” he said. “You told me a man is worse than a hyena that eats dead flesh.”

“So I was a little excited. Why shouldn’t I be?” she said, agitated. “You think an angel put this here?”

“I didn’t know, Misha. I swear it. Not until a week ago. Please believe me.” His voice choked. She felt a small glow of satisfaction.

“Maybe. I’ll think about it,” she said. If he begged her forgiveness, she would forget everything. She waited, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. And Misha’s irritation rose up, as bitter as bile. “Maybe it’s not even yours,” she said. “Are you surprised?”

He took her hand, stroking it slowly and tenderly. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll make things right. Don’t worry, Misha, please. The child will have a name. We can get married right after
Shavuos.
”

This was unexpected. Certainly he had asked her to marry him many times, but now, when everyone knew that she was carrying, and she couldn’t even promise that it was his? Misha pretended to busy herself among her herbs. Maybe she should. Why not? Is it so good for a woman to be alone? She was tired. She had even found herself crying
on occasion. But to belong to a man? To have no rights apart from his say so? To be his irrevocably unless he was willing to grant her a divorce? And there would be more children. Each one a possibility of killing her. No, she wouldn’t do it. She wouldn’t give herself over to anyone. “You’re a singer with one song,” she said harshly. “And the song has one verse. You want some advice? Find an old graybeard and ask him when the Messiah is coming.”

She held the door open, but Berekh didn’t move. “Would you like a cup of tea?” he asked.

She was very thirsty for a cup of tea. “Maybe,” she said, “but it’s not so easy to bend down already. I don’t want to light the stove.”

“Never mind,” Berekh said. “I’ll do it.”

She sat down heavily. It was too much. That he would light a fire for her, this man who flinched when she struck a match to light a candle. She had no more strength.

“Well, well. Maybe the Messiah is on his way already.” She smiled slightly. “A cup of tea would be nice.” While he fussed around the
pripichek
she polished a stone she had picked up from the river bed. It was three-cornered like Haman’s hat, flat, banded red and cream. As the stone smoothed under her hands, she watched Berekh kindle the fire and then make the tea. When he brought it to her, the tea sloshing over the side of the cup in his shaking hands, she said, “Maybe there’s still something to you, Berekh Eisenbaum.” It was a good cup of tea. “So tell me.”

“It’s about Ruthie. You know how it is with these things.”

She nodded, though she wasn’t certain.

“What does the Governor of Plotsk care about one young Jewish girl? She can’t send him back to St. Petersburg, and she can’t harm his career, either. She’s nothing to him. If he receives a bribe, of course, it’s a different story. It makes his life more pleasant. But this new Governor is very unhappy about his posting. He was expecting a promotion, and instead he was sent to the far provinces. They say that his price is unreachable. No one in Blaszka has that kind of wealth. We need to persuade him to lower his price. I know, it’s a small chance,” he took her hand again, “but people come to you. They talk to you. From Blaszka, from Plotsk, even farther. I thought you might have heard something that would be important to the Governor.”

“The Governor?” Misha put a piece of sugar in her mouth and sipped the tea. “Yes, I heard something.” So there was still something she could do for Ruthie. The sugar melted in the good, strong tea. Her spirits lifted. “You just go to Plotsk and tell the Governor that we’ll send him a gift with the good wishes of his friend from Minsk.”

“That’s all? Nothing more?” He looked at her with the eager curiosity that had so often made her laugh but say nothing. He always wanted her to give away her secrets. She wasn’t going to. Why should she, now, when she never had before? She was still angry that she had even considered a wedding canopy, and this was women’s business anyway. Hers and Faygela’s. Still, the tea was good, and she noticed a red mark on the back of his hand where he’d burned himself. “You just go to the Governor with the message about his friend from Minsk,” she said. “Find out his price. You do that for me and I’ll tell you the whole story.”

“Yes, yes,” he said, like a little boy with a handful of chocolates.

“But I’m not going to say anything more about it yet,” she said. His face fell. Drawing closer to him, she added, “One day, I’ll tell you everything. I promise.”

They sat quietly, without speaking, looking at their own reflection in each other’s eyes, Misha’s eyes of night and Berekh’s blue as the day.

A
S
M
AY
gave way to June and Misha was in her sixth month, Ruthie was still in prison. Berekh had tried to see the Governor, with no luck. Faygela hadn’t spoken to Misha since Ruthie’s arrest.

Of course, Faygela won’t have anything to do with Misha now, people said. You see, a mother should be more careful about who she lets her daughter associate with. Especially these days when there are all kinds of people spouting dangerous nonsense. Someone says you have to be a Russian, someone else a loyal Pole, a third says you should join the workers, a fourth that you should go to the Holy Land, and they’re all ready to beat you up for being a plain Jew. From one day to the next, you don’t know where you stand. A young girl is vulnerable, she can be caught up in any kind of enthusiasm. This is what comes from Ruthie being friends with a girl like Emma and assisting the midwife. Look there, you can see Misha’s morals growing right in front of her.

In the synagogue on
Shabbas
, Faygela didn’t say a word to Misha, but brushed past her, leading her four remaining daughters and holding her little son by the hand as if he might disappear.

After the May rains, June was unusually warm and dry. In the second week of June, Misha went down to the river to cool off, tying the hem of her dress above her belly as she waded into the water. The cold rush against her legs was pleasant in the furious sun, the river broad and open, though she couldn’t be seen unless someone stood right on the embankment and looked down. She was feeling better these days. She didn’t itch, she didn’t bleed. Plantain seeds, slippery elm, you just had to know what to do. An hour in the dark, cool cellar with its good smells of leaves and roots, and she was a new person. Inside her, the baby was frolicking like a litter of puppies. She thought about names, but never said them aloud. Instead, she called the baby
Alter
, Old One, to fool the Evil Eye. “Can you smell the locust blossoms,
Alter
?” she asked, taking a deep breath of air. “Listen. That’s the train from Warsaw whistling.” The baby hit the side of her stomach. “You heard it, I know you did, you little
pisher.
” At the edge of the water, blue dragonflies hovered above the reeds.

Sometimes she could see a foot or a knee push out her skin. It looked to her like a terrible growth. A shame on you, Misha, she said to herself. What kind of mother has these ideas? Patting the baby, she sang,
“You make the girl a bride, And lead her to the sacrifice You bind her eyes, And then her courage dies, da-da-dum.”
As she sang the old song, the baby danced, and Misha swayed from side to side, buoyed by the river.

Coming toward her from the direction of the wood was the large figure of a woman. As Misha squinted against the sun, shading her eyes, she saw a wild halo of pale hair. For a moment she thought it was her great-grandmother Manya coming up the water toward her. Is it a sign? Misha wondered. The rains had been unusually heavy, and now the sun was very hot. Strange things were happening in the world. Could it be a message from the other side? Heat swelled from the river’s surface. The woods wavered. A raven cawed. The still air parted for a sudden slice of wind, bringing the scent of wild roses. The figure neared. Her vague outline came into focus, and Misha nearly lost her footing. It was not Manya, coming from the other world, but even
more strangely, it was Hanna-Leah, swinging her kerchief in her hand, her wet dress clinging to her, her face turned up to the sun, her hair windblown and shining like thick twists of barley. The two women came face to face, the noise of the village square far away.

Hanna-Leah smiled, then frowned, then smiled again, unable to contain herself. “Everybody knows,” she began conversationally, as if they were standing in the village square, “that Faygela isn’t talking to you.”

“Is it your business?” Misha asked, ready to do battle even in the middle of the river.

“It’s a shame, the four
vilda hayas
, one is gone from us, the other three don’t speak.”

This wasn’t the Hanna-Leah that she knew, her voice mild, smiling as if she didn’t have a care in the world. When did this happen?

“And I don’t want any more remedies,” Hanna-Leah added. “I just wanted to tell you. If I don’t come next month, it’s not that I’m aggravated with you.” Hanna-Leah hesitated as if there was something more. “I think you should know that Hayim has been cutting wood for you.”

“Hayim? Impossible.”

“It’s true. Of course you might not notice, you have something else to think about,” Hanna-Leah said.

Ah, here it comes, Misha thought. Wait until she hears what I have to say to her.

“I just thought you should know,” Hanna-Leah said. So that was it. No digs, no sarcasm, nothing that Misha could answer to. Hanna-Leah just turned around and walked down the river away from Misha, the water swishing around her dress bulging and bubbling behind her.

So how could I not know? Misha asked herself as she watched Hanna-Leah go. Where did you think the woodpile came from? She hadn’t paid attention, that was all there was to it. The woodpile lowered and filled, and if she had noticed at all, it was a passing thought that one of the peasants from the cottages downriver must have left some wood for her. She’d always known everything that happened in the village. What was wrong with her that she didn’t know things that other people knew? she asked herself as she went home.

She was tired. She got tired easily these days. She needed to lie
down, but first she had to rub her sore back a little. Kneading her back, she looked around the room at the infusions and tinctures she’d prepared to replace the jars that had broken on the short Friday, at the piece of red amber she’d found on her doorstep, at the bridal trunk that had once belonged to Great-grandmother Manya.