“Do you promise not to fill his head with dreams about the future?” She glanced at Sergei and began writing something. “His future is here. It’s unlikely he’ll leave the orphanage until he’s sixteen, so promises of any kind would be devastating.”
“What can I promise? Friendship. That’s all I have to give him.” Sergei finished writing down his name, address, phone number, and his fictional age.
“Wait here. I’ll go and get the boy.” She stood up and headed down a long, narrow hallway. The floorboards creaked with every step she took.
Sergei looked away from the stained walls as he waited. What if Menahem was mad at him for taking so long to visit? What if Menahem was upset that he couldn’t help him get out of the orphanage?
“Sergei!” Menahem ran up to him and gave him a big hug. “I knew you’d come. I knew you wouldn’t break your promise.”
Sergei held him tightly. “You look good. A bit skinny but good,” he told Menahem.
“The food tastes terrible here.” Menahem made a face.
“Well then, how about I take you out for something to eat?” Sergei smiled at Menahem and tousled his hair.
“Let’s go!” Menahem was already on his way to the heavy door.
“How are your pirozhki?” Sergei watched Menahem finish the last pastry filled with mashed potatoes. They were eating in a small, rundown restaurant in the Jewish quarter, one of the few restaurants that had re-opened after the riots. Sergei had paid for the meal with money he’d been saving for train fare out of Kishinev.
“Good!” Menahem grinned. He had a dab of potato in the corner of his mouth.
“I’m not that hungry. You can finish mine if you want.” Sergei pushed his plate over to Menahem.
“Really?”
“Listen, I’m sorry it’s been so long since I’ve seen you. I meant to come earlier, but I’ve been looking for a job.”
“That’s all right. I’m just glad you came. You’re my first visitor.” Menahem polished off the pirozhki from Sergei’s plate and looked up happily.
“I’ll try to come a couple of times a week, after school,” Sergei said.
“That will be good!”
“So… is it all right, living at the orphanage?” Sergei looked at Menahem and saw a flicker of pain cross the boy’s face.
“I guess. Mostly we have to stay on our beds when we’re not doing our chores. The lady in charge only yells if we get off our beds or if we don’t do our chores the right way.”
“What about school?”
“It was wrecked in the riots.”
“Do you have any books to read?”
“No.”
“Playing cards?”
“No.”
“I’ll try to bring some books with me the next time I come.” Sergei didn’t know what else to say.
“I don’t know if you can bring me anything. We’re not allowed to own things the other children don’t have. That way there won’t be any fights. This one boy had a wooden boat that his father had carved for him. But an older boy stole it and smashed it into pieces.”
Sergei frowned. Menahem was small for his age, and too trusting. There was no way he would survive until his sixteenth birthday in the orphanage.
Five
“I need a few women and girls to sew garments,” said Rena, walking into their room and opening the curtains. Rachel, who was curled up beside her mother, sat up and shaded her eyes to protect them from the sharp morning light. Some women and children were still sleeping; others were talking quietly. She was losing track of time with no school schedule to frame her day, and she was sleeping more and more to pass the long hours.
“What time is it?” she groaned.
“Ten thirty,” said Rena. “You’ve already slept half the morning.”
“Oh, I’m still tired.” Rachel dropped back down beside her mother, who hadn’t stirred.
Nucia’s head appeared as she rolled out from under the cot where she had been sleeping. “Where are Elena and Esther?”
“Visiting Chaia,” said Rena. She clapped her hands together and looked at Rachel’s mother who had just opened her eyes. “Mrs. Paskar…I understand you and your daughters are talented seamstresses. The Society in Aid of the Poor Jews of Kishinev has raised money to make clothes for victims of the massacre. Two thousand families have been left with nothing after the riots. You would be paid for your efforts.”
Rachel’s mother faced Rena and blinked.
“I don’t think my mother has the strength,” said Rachel. “She’s lost weight since we arrived at the hospital and hardly eats anything at the soup kitchen.”
Rena put her hands on her hips and stared at Rachel’s mother. “Nonsense. I think your mother needs to be busy. Idleness is never good for anyone.”
“She used to get mad at us for if we were dawdling or wasting time,” said Nucia. “But that was before…”
Rachel got up quickly when she saw her mother’s eyes flicker. Since the riots, her eyes had been vacant, as if they understood nothing, recognized nobody. Now her mother’s eyes roamed the room, as if seeing it for the first time. When she saw Rachel, she reached out and caressed her cheek.
“Mother,” said Rachel softly.
Her mother’s bony arms reached out for her. Rachel bent down into her embrace, feeling Nucia’s arms around her as well. Her mother’s eyes welled up with tears and a raw, guttural sound escaped from her throat. She began crying for the first time since they had arrived at the hospital, softly at first, then rising to an intense wail that reverberated off the walls. Her body shook as all of her anguish and despair emerged. Rachel and Nucia held onto their mother, their bodies moving with hers until the emotion within her subsided, and she was still.
“Are you all right?” asked Rachel.
“Girls, give your mother some room to breathe,” said Rena, pulling them gently away from their mother.
“Yes, I believe I am all right,” their mother replied weakly, propping herself up on her elbows. She gazed sadly at Rachel and Nucia. “I have not been a good mother…”
“Don’t worry. We are just grateful to hear you speaking again,” said Nucia. She and Rachel moved forward, away from Rena, and helped their mother sit up.
“I felt like I was in a dream, a nightmare really,” she said. “Words and faces would appear in my head and then vanish. I could breathe, walk, move my head, but it was as if I was watching everyone else and couldn’t join in.”
“Dr. Slutskii believes you were in shock,” said Rena, now standing at the foot of the cot. “There are many people here in the same condition.”
“Like Chaia?” asked Rachel.
“Yes.”
“Will she come out of shock, like Mother has?”
Rena shrugged her shoulders. “Hopefully, yes. But the doctor says some people take longer than others.” She returned her attention to Rachel’s mother. “Did you hear what I said about needing people to sew?”
“We can earn some money, Mother,” said Nucia. “And you like to sew. You always tell me how proud you are to wear something you’ve made.”
Rena moved around the cot and took hold of Rachel’s mother’s hand. “I know you are ready to help your daughters. They need you very much.”
“Then I must stop mourning and move forward. He helps those who help themselves,” she continued, her voice rough and dry. “We will be grateful for work as seamstresses. Thank you, Rena.”
Rena cleared her throat and walked toward the door. “That’s fine. I’ll gather the supplies and orders. Come to Room 12 tomorrow morning to begin.”
“Tomorrow is too soon,” said Rachel’s mother. “I don’t know if I will be ready.”