“Look, Sergei!” Natalya held out a branch covered with handmade leaves and flowers. “Papa brought home this big pussy willow branch and I’m adding my own pretty leaves. Do you like it?”
It was the Fast Fair. Sergei had forgotten all about it. On the Thursday before Palm Sunday—today—children celebrated by carrying branches around the streets. He had no intention of taking part this year, especially after seeing his friends attacking innocent Jews in the square.
“It’s very good,” he said, giving his sister a distracted smile.
“You’re going to come with me and carry a branch.” Natalya held out a long pussy willow branch. “See, Papa brought you one as well.”
“I think I’m too old for this now.”
“But you have to come,” cried Natalya, clutching Sergei’s branch.
His mother stopped stirring and wiped her hands on her apron. “Good heavens. You must come. You’ve always loved marching around with a branch.”
Sergei shook his head and looked from his mother to his father. “I’m not a little child anymore. I’m going to be fifteen soon. Nobody else my age will be walking around with branches tonight.”
His father set his glass on the table and sneered at Sergei. “Did you ask your friends?”
“Most of my friends were too busy attacking a Jewish mother and her children today,” he replied. “I doubt any of them are going.”
“Well, if nobody you know is there, then you don’t have to worry about being seen, hmm? You’re going to show that we are a happy, strong family. That’s what Kishinev needs right now. To see families together.” His father picked up his newspaper and turned away from Sergei.
“I’m not making leaves or anything,” Sergei said, biting his lower lip.
“That’s all right. I’ll make them for you.” Natalya resumed her leaf making with a broad smile across her little face.
Sergei’s branch was decorated with blue flowers and sparse green leaves, but he wished it was covered with real leaves so he could hide his face behind it. He dragged his feet as he joined hundreds of children marching noisily along streets. Hearing the excited, high-pitched voices around him, Sergei scowled. He looked behind to see if his father noticed how tall he was compared to the other children, but his father was busy waving and greeting people as he walked by. His mother, walking with Carlotta behind his father, looked happier than they’d been in ages, which slightly appeased his resentment at being forced to march along the streets of Kishinev with little children.
“Papa, can I have a gingerbread cross?” said Natalya, as they came upon a roadside booth that sold these.
Sergei’s mouth watered at the thought of gingerbread. He followed his father and Natalya to the booth, which was swarming with people. The vendor, a fleshy man with a booming voice, was selling the crosses to the loudest bidders. Sergei cringed when his father barked out a command for five, his voice overtaking others who’d certainly been waiting much longer.
Sergei picked the largest gingerbread icon from his father’s hand, and took a bite out of it. This was the only sweet thing he’d been allowed to eat since Lent began, yet it tasted dry and plain. He stared at the cross and became queasy. This icon was the most sacred symbol of their faith. It represented all that was good and noble. Yet the talk about blood and killing Jews went against everything the icon stood for. Just looking at his gingerbread cross, with a bit of the top missing, left a bitter taste in Sergei’s mouth. When he was sure nobody was looking, he dropped it on the ground and smashed it with his boot.
Four
“Father says we can start attending shul again,” Chaia reported to Rachel and Leah. The girls were walking home from school on late winter snow that was trampled and the color of strong tea. Rachel held up her long skirt to keep it from getting filthy, but the edges were already soggy.
“We’ll be coming back to shul also,” said Leah.
“Oh! That’s wonderful! I’ve really missed you both,” said Rachel. She let go of her skirt and watched as chunks of snow stuck to it. “But why now?”
“The newspaper,” Chaia said. The girls stopped at a corner and waited while a carriage drove past. “My father said there was a long article about Mikhail’s murder, and how there was never any proof that a Jewish person committed the crime.”
“Really?” said Rachel. “My father never thought they’d write anything but negative words about us.”
They continued across the street, dodging small piles of horse manure.
“I can’t understand why people actually believed such nonsense in the first place,” said Rachel. “Watch out!” She pulled Chaia out of the way of a man carrying a pyramid of cabbage on top of his head.
“Cabbage… cabbage… who will buy it?” he called out loudly.
“That would have been a disaster,” said Chaia. She turned to continue home.
Leah said good-bye a couple of minutes later. She lived in a house closer to town than Chaia and Rachel.
“I’m so glad I don’t have to spend another Shabbos stuck in my house with my brother and sisters,” Chaia said to Rachel. “Shul will be almost a holiday!”
“My sister can be nasty, but your sisters and brother are the loudest people I’ve ever heard.”
“Just think what it’s like to live with them,” said Chaia. “I’m never going to have children. And I’m going to marry a rich man who can buy me beautiful clothes and lots of food.” She paused. “I don’t think my mother has had a new dress in years, and I’m tired of wearing my sisters’ old clothes. Oh look, Rachel!” Chaia stopped and pointed to a shop window. “Look at that beautiful bonnet!”
Rachel peered in the shop window at the extravagant bonnet made of gold silk and velvet, embroidered with pearls. “It looks really expensive,” she said to Chaia.
“When I get married, I’m going to have a bonnet like that,” said Chaia, her face pasted to the window. “If I must cover my hair in front of strangers, I should have the prettiest bonnet in all of Kishinev. Don’t you agree, Rachel?”
“It is beautiful, yes. And you would look perfect in it with your golden hair.” Rachel looked wistfully at Chaia’s shiny blonde braids and wondered if Chaia and Yoram had spoken about marriage. Chaia spent a lot of time with Yoram but did not talk about him with Rachel anymore, not since Mikhail had died. Rachel liked to think Chaia didn’t really care for Yoram, that Chaia would eventually come back to her as a close friend, but in her heart, Rachel knew she was probably mistaken.
The girls walked past a candle shop and a group of jesters and musicians who were creating a large crowd with their dancing and singing. One jester, dressed in royal blue, purple and red, grabbed Chaia’s hand and tried to get her to dance with him. Chaia giggled and blushed, then pulled away. The jester gave her a sad face and moved on to another person. Chaia stayed close to Rachel until they were out of the area, and in front of a pastry shop.
“I wish I could buy as many cakes as I wanted,” said Chaia, peering through the window. “I hate having to worry about how much things cost, or how to divide a small piece of meat six ways. That’s why I’ll only marry a wealthy man.”
“I don’t know if I’ll get married,” said Rachel, twisting her braid.
Chaia stopped walking and stared at Rachel. “Are you crazy? Every girl marries. What would you do if you didn’t get married? How would you eat and buy nice things to wear?”
“Perhaps I would travel, see other countries, and then write about my experiences. Besides, who would want to marry me? I’m no good at needlework or sewing or cooking. The only thing I’m good at is reading, and that doesn’t take care of a household.”