No Time for Tears (3 page)

Chavala knew what had to be done. Without further thought she got up and went to the kitchen.

The children were studying. Moishe looked up from his book as he saw Chavala putting on her shawl. “Where are you going?”

“I have to attend to something,” she answered quietly and left without another word. Slowly she made her way across the road to Dovid’s house. Shivering in the cold, she stood until he opened the door. For a moment he could not speak, then recovered enough to say, “Come
in
, sit down, I’ll get you a hot cup of tea.”

“No, thank you,” she answered between chattering teeth. “I didn’t come to visit.”

“What then?”

Taking a deep breath, she said, “This Saturday after
Shabbes
we’re getting married.” That having been said, she turned and started toward the door. With her hand poised on the knob she turned again and faced Dovid, who stood, not surprisingly, in a state of shock.

“Be ready. I’ll make all the arrangements.”

He merely shook his head as he watched the door close behind her.

As she made her way through the snow she cursed the Russian winter. It wasn’t enough, the way they suffered. God even subjected them to this kind of white hell. Out of breath, she knocked at Manya’s door. She needed so badly to see the baby.

“Come in, come in. You’ll freeze to death out there,” Manya said.

Chavala blew her warm breath on her freezing-cold hands, then rubbed them together.

“Sit down, Chavala, I’ll get some tea.”

As she did so Chavala’s stomach turned over. The house was so silent. Since her mother had died everything seemed to take on a sense of foreboding. “Where are your children, Manya?”

“I sent them to my sister’s. Mendel is sick with a very bad cold and the children get on his nerves with all the shouting and fighting.”

“If the Russians don’t kill us, the winter will.”

Manya sighed. “What can we do? They say we were born to suffer.”

Again, the acceptance, the stoicism, the capitulation. We were born to suffer.
Why?
Chavala asked herself. By what divine rule? “Could I see the baby?”

“Yes, I’ll go.” Manya walked into the disheveled bedroom. In one corner were two makeshift cribs made from wooden crates, in the other corner Manya’s husband lay on a mattress of straw. Going to her husband’s side she bent down and felt his forehead. It was like fire to the touch. She wiped his forehead with a damp cloth and then lay another coat over him. “Rest,” she told him, “rest. I’ll bring you some chicken soup in a while. You’ll see, the nourishment will make you strong in no time at all.”

The man’s eyes were glassy, he scarcely heard. Shaking her head, she got up from her knees and walked to where the cribs stood. First she looked down at her own sleeping child, then picked up little Chia. Soon she was back handing the infant to Chavala, and as Chavala looked down at the tiny creature, she again questioned—why, in God’s name, did they bring children into the world? In God’s name, indeed. Poor Manya could barely make the food go around, yet she could still speak about her eight blessings, her jewels, her life.

Chavala admired her, but she also felt a renewed determination … she would never allow herself to have more children than she could provide for … How this would be accomplished she had no idea, but she was going to
direct
, she was going to
plan
her life. Somehow she would do the impossible…

Manya looked across the table, knowing she had read the longings for motherhood in Chavala’s eyes. “I know how you feel holding a baby in your arms. How good it is. If we never have anything else, He has provided us with the joys of a family. How barren our lives would be without it. It is what a woman was put on this earth for…”

But Manya had misread the look in Chavala’s eyes. To explain would be futile … “Manya, I’m going to marry Dovid,” she said flatly as she took the hard sugar cube and placed it between her teeth, then sipped from the glass of tea.

Excitedly Manya said, “
Mazel tov
, when did your father speak to him?”

“He didn’t. I asked him.”

For a moment Manya thought she’d heard wrongly. “You asked him?”

“Yes.”

“How could you be so brazen? I’m almost afraid to ask, but does your father know?”

“No.”

Manya shook her head. “You mean to say you actually went to Dovid
without
your father’s consent?”

“I don’t need anyone’s consent… after all, I don’t have a dowry.”

“What has that got to do with it? You’ve offended your father. It’s his place to arrange the marriage, his right as the head of the family. You know that, Chavala.”

“Yes, I know. But I also know my father’s no longer the head of the family. He doesn’t, I’m sorry to tell you, even understand when I speak to him. He stopped caring about anything when he lost my mother, seemed to give up on life. Tell me, how long has it been since he saw the baby? You know, I doubt if he even remembers her.”

Manya lowered her eyes and toyed with the crumbs on the table. “You shouldn’t say that. He’s a brokenhearted man, seeing the child hurts him—”

“I
know
, but I need a strong man, someone to be a real father to them.”

“Well… I can’t say you’re wrong. I know this is a terrible time for all of you. And besides, it’s wonderful to be able to marry someone for love. But Chavala, at least allow your father to have the honor of letting Dovid ask for your hand.”

“I don’t think he’d understand me if I asked. And besides, I’m
not
marrying Dovid because I love him. I wish I did but … well, I chose Dovid because it’s right, he’s like a member of the family. I know he’ll be good to the children and protect them. And that’s what I need, and what they need.”

“You make it sound like you’re buying a horse.”

“Perhaps. And is that so different from most marriages? How well, Manya, did you know Mendel before you two were married?”

“What? Oh, one month.”

“How many times had you seen him before?”

“Once. What else did I have to see him for?”

“I’m not criticizing, Manya. Mendel is a very nice man. But what if he had turned out not to be so nice, so kind, what then? At least I know Dovid. Better a man of my choice than to be traded off to some old man with nine children to take care of.”

“All right. Fine. What’s the use of talking? Nobody can reason with you, Chavala. But it’s against our tradition—”

“Tradition won’t protect us from the pogroms. It never has…”

Nothing she said seemed right, Manya decided. “I don’t know, maybe your father won’t be offended … Dovid is like a son, true enough. Anyway, we’ll all make you a nice wedding.” She smiled at her and hugged her.

Chavala was genuinely touched. “I would love that, Manya. And thank you, dear, but we’re getting married this Saturday, after
Shabbes
.”

Manya’s mouth was open but no words came out. When they did they were in anger. “You can’t
do
that. Your mother is only gone a month. You’re still in mourning for eleven months. Everyone will criticize. No one will even come.”

“I know. But I can’t afford to worry about what people think.
I have to do what I have to do
.”

“You know what you’re doing is a sin, a sin against your mother’s memory—”

“I think my mother will forgive me, she will know I’m doing what I must. I wouldn’t be getting married if things had been different. I wouldn’t have had to be disrespectful. Well, for once God will have to understand. They say He knows everything. I am going to count on that…”

Chavala’s hasty trip to the altar led her to the
shul
of Rabbi Gottlieb. His arguments were much the same as Manya’s, only with long, long passages read from the Bible to prove that Chavala’s breaking with the old ways was against everything that was holy in the Jewish tradition. After he had finished all of his arguments Chavala stood quietly, looking him directly in the eye, and with arms folded against her chest she told him that he should ask himself if tradition was not also opposed to her living in sin with Dovid, which he would be responsible for if he refused to marry them. At last the bearded rabbi threw up his hands and told her the marriage documents would be drawn up for all to sign. He turned and left her standing alone in the cold little
shul.

Avrum was deep in prayer when Chavala returned home. She stood at his closed door for a moment, then finally summoned up the courage to knock. The response was so soft it was almost inaudible. As she entered the room he looked at her vaguely, then as though a veil had lifted he said, “Chavala?”

“Yes, papa. Come sit down. I want to talk with you.”

He closed the holy book and sat next to her as docile as a child. Taking his hand in hers she said softly, “Papa, Dovid and I are getting married after
Shabbes
.”

He frowned, as though he had difficulty trying to understand. “You and Dovid?”

“Yes, papa.”

The old man spoke now as though testing his own memory. “I spoke to him?”

“No.”

“I don’t understand—”

“Papa, dear, you must listen to me. If things had been different I would have done all the things that are expected of me as a good daughter. You must know that I love you and respect you. But we need Dovid. He’s very important to us all, papa.”

The old man shook his head, knowing more of his inadequacies than she suspected. At this moment he did not think of tradition as the past came rushing back to him … how often he and Rivka had dreamed of the day they would stand under the
chuppah
, the bridal canopy, with Chavala dressed as a bride should be. They had prayed that Chavala would take Dovid as a husband. The whole village would have rejoiced and sung, but now all the sounds of joy were gone from their lives, and in their place were the sounds of mourning. His sounds. The world of Avrum Rabinsky lay buried in the snows that covered the earth where his beloved Rivka lay. Poor Chavala would be deprived of her supreme moment. There would be no merriment and no memories to look back on, no mother to fuss over her as she prepared to join her betrothed in glorious union. Tears filled his eyes. “I give you my blessings, dear child. I hope you will have as your greatest gift the joys I knew with your mama.”

Chavala put her arms around her father and held him close. “Thank you, papa. That is the greatest gift you could have given me. Will you stand under the
chuppah
beside me?”

“No, Chavala. I cannot. Not even for you. For me it would be wrong to go against my beliefs. My pain will not be over, even after mourning.”

God help him, Chavala thought. And it was as much a request as a prayer. If anyone deserved it, her papa did.

On Friday Chavala and the children scrubbed the house until it sparkled with cleanliness. Then she and Moishe stretched a rope from one corner to the other, hung a side blanket over it separating the sleeping area. She put down the floor mat that she and Dovid would share in their nuptial space, then prepared the
Shabbes
food for two days. That night she would light her candles. Placing the silver candlesticks on the table she realized that tomorrow she would truly become the matriarch, the head of her family, and Dovid would sit at the head of the table.

At three o’clock she went to the ritual baths to prepare for marriage. She would go to her husband in cleanliness and purity.

After a near-sleepless night Saturday had finally come, but the day seemed to drag on endlessly. Finally, thank God, the sabbath was over and Dovid was knocking on her door. Without a word she placed the heavy shawl around her head and shoulders, and the two of them walked to
shul.

Shivering in the freezing cold of the sanctuary they stood together as the rabbi intoned his blessings on them. Indeed, Chavala’s hand shook as Dovid placed his mother’s wide gold band on her finger. They did not embrace, only looked at each other. Dovid’s eyes unmistakably expressed love, Chavala’s determination. Dovid had not expected it to be otherwise, but he was convinced that with patience and understanding, in time she would be able to show the affection he knew she felt for him. As they were leaving the sanctuary the
minyan
of men reciting their evening prayers offered their greeting of “
mazel tov.
” A beginning.

That night, after the others were asleep, they undressed in the dark and lay down side-by-side. Dovid moved close to Chavala. Reaching out to embrace her he whispered, “You’ve made me very happy, my darling.”

She looked up at the dark ceiling. What could she say to him? That she’d married him out of necessity? He was her husband, with all the rights she had pledged herself to … still, she couldn’t submit to his desires. Not tonight. Not yet. She was simply unprepared to do that, never mind her determination. Her answer was, “Thank you,” and it embarrassed her as much as it disappointed him.

Dovid’s uneven breathing frightened her. “Come to me,” he said, pulling her closer.

She moved away. “No, Dovid. I’m sorry, not tonight … the children will hear …” A fine excuse. Tradition should have had her hoping to make a child …

He took his arms away and with understandable anger said, “Then they’ll hear tomorrow night too. I’m your husband, Chavala. I won’t ask you again. This is wrong …”

Abruptly he turned over onto his side, moving as far away as he could.

And in that moment Dovid greatly endeared himself to Chavala. He was not the submissive boy she had always thought he would be. As children he had given in to her every whim, but how little she knew of the man. How little one knew of anyone until she shared an intimacy with him … She would have bet that he would have been passive, she had counted on it, but Dovid, it seemed, was a
husband
, and she found herself liking him … no, more than that. In her fashion, she felt that she loved him. Now she
wanted
to be held close in the long winter night. But to ask would be an admission that she had wronged him, and her pride wouldn’t quite allow her to do that Not yet. Well, in the morning she suspected Dovid’s anger would be nearly gone. She would please him by preparing a very special breakfast as a sign of her apology, and tomorrow night she would be his wife….