Dasvidaniya

Chapter 1

Chapter 1KRASNOWIECZ - 1925

One fine day in May, my eight year-old brother, Simmy, staggered home crying, a knife blade sticking out of his left shoulder blade. Simmy collapsed, crumbling to the ground, his pitiful wail piercing my heart.

I burst through the screen door like a maniac. Then I saw the knife and froze, feeling sick and suddenly weak-kneed.

“Oh my God…Shit…shit,” I lifted his limp body and half-carried, half-dragged him inside the house.

“Katya! Katya! Come quickly!”

I heard the thump on the ceiling as Katya dropped the book she was reading and flew down the stairs to the kitchen.

I struggled with his weight. My hands slipped on his blood. Katya ran forward and looped Simmy's good arm around her shoulders. “I've got him,” she said, then barked, “Table.”

I looked at the oak table and in one motion swept the heavy ceramic dishes and silver cutlery to the floor.

Between us, we lay Simmy face down on the polished surface.

“We need hot water, alcohol, a scissors and bandages,” Katya ordered firmly. “The blade is stuck in the bone.”

I ran toward the medicine closet.

I returned and watched Katya fill a pot and set it on the stove. Simmy moaned. Katya pushed back her sleeves, took some soap and scrubbed her hands. “Get me a sponge,” she said. I reached. “No, not that one. The new one.” I found it and handed it to her. She turned to me. “You must pull the knife out quickly,” she said and the meaning of her words sunk in. I rolled a dishtowel up tightly and forced it between Simmy's teeth.

“Bite on it,” I said. He took it, whimpering like a wounded puppy.

Katya scissored away the bits of shredded fabric around the wound. I was terrified of hurting Simmy even more but took a deep breath to steady myself. I didn't want to think about slipping or making a mistake. I placed both hands around the wooden hasp of the knife. I could feel the tip of it embedded deep in the bone, speared in the pulpy mass. My fingers trembled. No mistakes, I told myself. I placed my right knee against the edge of the table, braced my body and yanked.

“Yyyeeeaaaahhhh…”

Simmy flopped and twisted and groaned.

The blade pulled free and I tumbled over backwards, arms and legs flung wide. Katya sponged the wound. “Here,” she beckoned as I got to my feet. “Hold this and apply pressure.”

“Mama,” Simmy cried, writhing in pain. “Mama…mama…”

“Don't worry, Simmy,” I said. “Katya knows what she is doing.” I hoped with all my heart that I was right. After a moment, Katya touched my hand and I lifted the sponge. A slug of blood oozed out.

“I need to disinfect,” she said looking distracted for a moment. “There's some sulfa powder in Mama's room, by the sink, and the thick tape. Go fetch them.” I ran off again, scrabbled around in the lavatory adjacent to my parents' room, then brought them to her.

“This will sting, Simmy, but not for long.” She doused the wound. Simmy yelped, arching his back, flailing his spindly legs.

“Mama,” he cried again, his skinny body shivering with pain.

“Hush, hush, dear Simmy. We're almost done.”

Quickly, she rolled out the bandages, cutting a section cleanly. She covered the wound, then held it fast with two bands of tape against his pale skin.

“There,” she said. “It's finished now.”

Katya brushed dank hair off his forehead and murmured to him, stroking his cheek. “Help me get him up to his room.”

We managed to hoist Simmy up the stairs and lay him on his bed. I eased him out of his clothes, then covered him up. He'd passed out.

Katya looked frazzled, her eyes glinting with fear.

“The danger will be infection from the knife blade. I think we got it in time, but I can't be totally sure. The next few hours will tell.”

“I hope you're right,” I said.

“I am right,” she replied.

“When Simmy wakes up I'm going to ask him for their names,” I told her.

“What will you do?” she said, worriedly.

“Little sister. You leave that to me.”

“What about Mama and Papa?”

I shook my head. “We won't tell them. Don't worry, I'll take care of it.”

I glanced at Beulah. She listened, eyes half-lidded but awake. I couldn't escape, not yet. “Keep talking, Mr. Goldman. Sounds good so far. A real family soap opera.” She gave me a faint smile.

Simmy awoke later that evening, his shoulder throbbing. He slurped some soup that Katya insisted on feeding him.

I sat and watched them. “You scared me, Simmy. Seeing you like that. I didn't know what to think.”

Simmy looked ashen, his face sweaty.

“I was scared too,” he said, “I've lost my spectacles.”

He began to cry. Katya stroked his face, shushing him.

I felt in my pants pocket. “It's okay…I found them. No need to cry.” I blew on the lenses, then rubbed them with the bed sheet. “Here. They're clean now.”

Simmy took them from me, unfolded the wire frames carefully and slipped them on.

“Now Katya, you need to leave us alone for a minute.”

She glared at me. “This is a mistake, Mordecai. No good can come of it.”

She stalked out, slamming the door.

When we were alone, Simmy looked at me with a sheepish expression.

“Who was it?” I asked. “Who attacked you?”

“Let it go. It was nothing.”

I spoke quietly and insistently.

“Tell me, Simmy. I won't leave until you do. You know I won't.”

I knew Simmy would give in. We stared at each other for a good long while until he broke away.

He sighed. “Vladimir. Kolya. Ivan,” he muttered.

“I'll make them pay for what they've done to you,” I said. “That's a promise.”

Simmy stared back at me through the grimy spectacles.

“I thought we were friends. Why did they hurt me when I did nothing to them? I don't understand.” More tears rolled down his cheeks.

I leaned in and touched my little brother on his good shoulder, then cupped his chin. “Jews and Polacks don't mix. It's as simple as that. They went after you instead of me, those bastards. I'll get them back, don't you worry.”

“It isn't right, Mordecai. Mama and Papa don't like it when you do these things.”

I stood up and smiled. “That's why they mustn't know, little brother. Revenge is mine saith the Lord.”

“You twist the Torah for your own purposes.” Simmy took his Torah studies seriously. He'd taken to it, enjoyed the stories he read, loved the philosophical discussions. For me, religious school was boring. All the talk made me edgy and restless. I'd rather be doing something, preferably with my hands. Religion was the first ideology Simmy encountered and it influenced him because he was young and didn't know anything else. In many ways, he was an idealist. When he grew older, he became enamoured of Zionism and longed to move to Palestine to build a Jewish homeland.

“Get some sleep now. I have things to do,” I said and looked at him fondly. “You need to rest.” He nodded and slunk down under the covers, pulling them up to his chin.

I went downstairs to the kitchen and wolfed some lentil soup, dipping in hunks of black bread. I stared ahead, seeing my fists at work and smiled grimly. It was happening again. Rage bit at me.

I removed my coat and cap from the closet and went out, closing the door after me. I heard a noise and turned. Katya pressed herself against the upstairs window. She banged her palms on the pane, yelling something that I couldn't hear. I turned my back on her, hunched my shoulders and strode away into the darkness.

I marched along, passing no one.

I approached the trestle bridge, walking in the shadows. At Simmy's age, a g**g of young Polacks grabbed me and hoisted me over the side by the seat of my pants. They threatened to drop me into the swirling waters of the Volga. The water looked dark and cold and so far down below my dangling feet. Once again, I felt the sting of humiliation. I'd wet my pants and they laughed at me. I heard their jeers echoing in my mind as they hauled me back and dumped me face first in the dirty road. I should have protected Simmy. I should have prevented this from happening.

The storefronts sat silent in Polish town. Gas lamps lit the streets. The deep shadows embraced me. Out of sight, I peered around the corner at Ivan's house. After his dinner, he'd meet up with his friends and they'd wander the town getting into mischief. I waited. After a moment, Ivan emerged. I heard the soft patter of his shoes on the cobblestones and counted the steps under my breath. Five…six…seven…eight… As the unsuspecting boy drew abreast, I stuck out my foot. He fell forward. Before Ivan could make a sound, I hauled the young Polack up, clapped a hand over his mouth and dragged him into the laneway. I pressed him against the filthy wall.

“You know who I am?”

The boy nodded, his blue eyes wide and fearful. He was my age and size but gangly. He struggled, trying to free his arms, but I had him pinned tightly. I kneed him in the stomach repeatedly, getting in good shots, and he bent over and gagged.

“You tell your friends that I know who they are and what they've done and I'll come looking for them. And now, you rotten bastard, it's your turn,” I hissed.

I hit the boy with my fists, measuring each blow carefully until the blood ran from his nose and mouth and each eye went puffy. I loosened my grip and Ivan slumped to the ground. I gave him a kick and he toppled on to his side.

“You will never touch a Jew again, Polack, do you hear? Or I will come back for you. Tell your friends.” I looked at the huddled form and spat, then turned on my heel and walked away. As I walked, I felt the heat drain out of me and I began to shiver. Dirty, rotten, Polack bastard had it coming, I told myself. I had to do it. I walked briskly home, but felt the cold seep into my bones.

“That was harsh, Mr. G,” she said in a quiet voice.

I shrugged. “Maybe, but he'd just stuck a knife into my little brother. I wasn't worried about how he felt.”

“So, I see. Playing the bad boy,” she said.

I snorted a little. “I was the bad boy.”

Arriving back at the villa, I slipped in the back door. My sister found me at the kitchen sink, rinsing blood from my knuckles.

“I took care of him but his front teeth were sharp.” I held up my damaged hand.

“Oh Mordecai, that won't undo what has been done to Simmy.”

I turned off the tap. “I know that, but they'll think twice before trying it again. Little Jewish kids won't have to be afraid. Simmy won't have to be afraid.”

“Let me look,” she said, taking my hand and examining the chafed, broken skin. “You can't always protect him. You can't always protect everyone,” she said.

“I have to try,” I replied.

“I'll get the iodine and bandages,” Katya said quietly.

“Yes, little doctor.”

“Mama and Papa will wonder what has been going on here in their absence. Everyone is wounded.”

“Except for you.”

“In my heart, Mordecai,” she said quietly. “Wait here. Don't move.”

I clenched and unclenched my fist as I waited for her, stretching the skin, rekindling the pain I'd inflicted.

In a moment, she was back, carrying the brown bottle and the bandages. I held out my hand to her. She cleaned it with iodine, then wrapped the bandage roughly over the knuckles and across the palm.

“You'll live,” she pronounced.

“I'm glad, because I need to take care of you and Simmy.”

“Who is taking care of who?” she retorted.

I shrugged. I didn't want to concede anything, not even to Katya.

“You can't win every battle, Mordecai, or win every war.”

“We'll see.”

I went to embrace her but she stiffened. She tried to turn away but I held her close.

“Let's see how he's doing,” I said.

She smiled sadly. “Yes…let's…”

I led the way to Simmy's room. He lay fast asleep, spectacles perched on his stubby nose.

I pointed. “Look…he snores.”

Katya crept up to the bed and carefully removed the glasses. She touched his forehead.

“No fever. That's a good sign.”

“Good work, little doctor.”

Early the next morning, I ate an egg and sipped tea in the kitchen as Amalija, the Polish house servant, refilled the samovar. The rising steam wet her cheeks and brow. Katya came in wearing her robe and slippers.

“Tea, Miss?” Amalija asked.

“Yes, please.” Amalija poured a cup from the samovar and placed some fresh black bread before Katya.

“How is Simmy?” I asked.

“Sleeping.”

“Mama and Papa will be home soon. Pyotr is picking them up from the station.”

“What are we going to tell them? What will we say?” she asked.

I looked at her. “We say nothing. Why worry them needlessly? Simmy is recovering thanks to you and the problem is solved. No one will bother him again.”

Katya frowned. “This can't go on Mordecai. You must stop this before you hurt yourself and Mama and Papa. Things can only get worse. I can't stand all of this anger…this hatred…”

I pushed my chair back, heavily. Katya flinched.

“You don't know what you're talking about, little sister. We didn't start the hatred, they did. Stick to your medical books and stay out of it.”

Later on, I took a cup of tea and two pieces of challah toast up to Simmy.

“How's the shoulder?”

“It hurts and is very stiff,” he replied putting the book down on the nightstand. “But I will live.”

I placed the tray on Simmy's lap. “Nourishment for the patient.”

“When are Mama and Papa coming?” Simmy took a bite of toast. Butter smeared his cheek.

“Soon. We'll tell them that you fell off the fence. You've done that before.” Simmy slurped his tea. It was sweet, just the way he liked it.

“They might believe you,” he said, not entirely convinced. “But what will you tell them about your hand?” he asked.

I grinned. “Smart guy, huh? Maybe I should punch you in the nose.”

“Then Katya would have to bandage your other hand too.”

I laughed, then shrugged. “I'll think of something. There are plenty of things around here for skinning knuckles.” I rose. “Eat. Drink up. Stay in bed today. I think we can miss school. The rabbi will understand.” As a young boy, Simmy believed what he was told about a higher power. The idea of God comforted him. I never liked the notion of something else being in control. Something above us, something that didn't have to answer to anyone. I wanted to control things myself but as I found out, that can never be no matter how much you want it. The world I knew slipped out of control and spiraled away from me.

“That's easy for you, you don't get smacked with a ruler for being late or not doing your work. And what about Papa? You know he doesn't like us to miss school.”

I didn't know how to answer him. “Finish up little brother.”

I left the room and descended the stairs heavily. Simmy was right. I didn't have an answer for my father.

Shortly after eleven o'clock, I watched from the upstairs window as Pyotr pulled the Skoda saloon up to the front door. My parents, Chaim and Sadie Goldman emerged. Pyotr stepped out and opened the boot, lifting the luggage. I crept to the top of the stairs to listen. Amalija came out from the kitchen where she had been preparing lunch, a weak smile plastered on her face.

“You are home,” she said.

“And the children?” Papa asked.

“At home,” Amalija replied, nervously. “They wanted to be here…The little one…he…he…hurt his shoulder and is in bed. But…but… he is all right. Miss Katya has been taking care of him.”

Mama's face clouded. Papa's brows shot up but he tried to contain his concern. He went to Mama and patted her plump hand. “Don't worry. If Katya is looking after him, then he is in the very best hands. You know how clever she is.”

“I must go up to him,” she said and moved briskly to the stairwell. Halfway up, she turned to Papa.

“Chaim, what are you waiting for?”

“Yes,” he said. “I want to speak with Mordecai…get an explanation for this…” I heard the anger in my father's voice and skedaddled back to Simmy's room.

Simmy sat up in bed reading his science book. Katya stood nervously by the window looking out at the courtyard. I slouched in a chair with my feet up, glancing at the newspaper, bracing myself for what was to come.

“And what is this?” Mama cried. Katya turned quickly. Simmy smiled shyly over his book and I simply folded down the top half of the paper. “Why are all my children home from school? What has happened?”

Katya went to her obediently and gave her a kiss, then embraced Papa.

“Hello my little darling,” he said to her. “You are tending the flock?” But he glowered at me.

“Yes, Papa.”

“Simmy fell off the fence and hurt his shoulder a little, that's all, nothing serious,” I said.

“I feel fine,” Simmy piped in. “Just a little sore.”

“And this?” asked Sadie, holding up my bandaged hand.

Simmy laughed. “I told you she would notice right away.”

“Have you been in a fight? Again?” she asked.

“Yes,” said Papa. “Explain please. And it better be good.”

I didn't look at my father but pulled my mother to me. “Of course not, Mama. A stupid accident. The gate swung shut on my hand, that's all. We've given Katya the opportunity to play doctor for real.”

“I did my best,” Katya said.

“What will the rabbi say?” asked Chaim Goldman sternly. I knew he didn't believe a word of this.

“Only three days left, Papa. Then I'll be working in the mill,” I said. “I don't think the rabbi will be too upset once he knows the circumstances, do you?”

“Perhaps,” conceded Papa, his brow furrowed. “I am glad to see you are all in one piece, for now… especially you Simmy. As for you, Mordecai…” He waggled his forefinger, “We'll talk later. Amalija should be ready for us. I need a cup of tea. The road was very dry.” That put an end to the matter.

School ended that week. I'd be finished with yeshiva finally. Religion didn't interest me. The scholars droned on and on endlessly. Simmy liked engaging in the dialectic, in the arguing back and forth but I found it boring.

I also hated working alongside the men in my father's mill. I received seven zloty a week, less than half of what the Polish workers made. I complained but it did no good. Seven zloty it was and no discussion permitted. I hauled sacks of grain from the farmers' carts and unloaded the trucks.

Simmy worked in Papa's bottling plant, counting cases of soda pop as they were shipped to the distributors' warehouses in Warsaw, Cracow, Gdansk and Lodz.

Katya spent her time dissecting animals, concocting a makeshift laboratory in the garden shed. Katya coerced us, bribing us with lemonade and cookies to help her. We'd find her the specimens and hand her the tools she needed. Simmy and I watched her work with wide-eyed, gut wrenching revulsion.

“Yech,” Simmy exclaimed as Katya slit open the abdomen of a squirrel we found in the forest. No species was spared.

“Katya,” I said as I watched the small animal's body shudder and gasp. “Are you sure you want to be a doctor and not a taxidermist?”

“You're an i***t. How else will I understand how the body works?”

“It's disgusting,” Simmy spat.

“I think Simmy is right. There's something creepy about all of this.”

“Be quiet, the two of you. I need to concentrate. Go work on an engine,” she said. “I don't need you here, after all.”

“Suits me fine,” I replied.

I preferred engines and motors anyway. I liked spending time with the mechanics who worked on my father's trucks. If I had a choice, that's how I'd spend the summer, not schlepping grain back and forth like a pack mule.