Threads and Flames (15 page)

Whether or not she makes us leave tonight, we'll have to leave sometime
, Raisa told herself.
Even if I give her some of my money, I'll only be delaying the inevitable. Henda came here with less than I've got, and she didn't know how to run a sewing machine, either! She was able to take care of herself. So can I.

But Henda didn't have someone else to take care of, too,
came the furtive afterthought.
Someone helpless and alone.

Not alone!
A flash of unexpected strength sparked in Raisa's spirit.
As long as she's got me, Brina will never be alone.

Sweat trickled down Raisa's spine. When she reached the last of the addresses the bakeshop woman had given her, she began going into other shops, asking if the people there knew of anyone in the neighborhood who was looking for boarders. The names she gathered in this way turned out to be more dead ends, but before she left each failed interview, she asked the women if
they
knew someone else who might be willing to give a jobless girl a chance.

At one point, it seemed she had success at her fingertips. She carried Brina into a shop whose walls were stacked with crates of heavy glass bottles topped with silvery triggers and spouts. Two brawny men pushed past her in the doorway, each shouldering a pair of loudly clinking boxes, but the grandfatherly type inside took one look at Brina's hot, tear-streaked face and insisted they sit down on a couple of empty crates.

“Ever had seltzer, sweethearts?” he asked, picking up one of the bulky green bottles and handing Raisa a ceramic mug still stained with old coffee. He pushed the trigger on the bottle and a hissing stream of carbonated water foamed over the top of the mug. Brina squealed with surprise and glee at the sight, her bellyache forgotten. She drank greedily, then let loose a thunderous burp.

“Good health!” the old man exclaimed, laughing and refilling the mug for Raisa. She drank it in a single gulp, gave him her heartfelt thanks, then asked the question that hadn't been far from her lips all day.

At first he said that he didn't know anyone who wanted boarders, but Raisa persisted. “No one? Not even one person you know? I haven't got a job yet, but I can pay a week—
two
weeks' rent. That is, I think so. I can show you my money—”

“No need for that,
mamaleh.
” The old man stroked his beard. “Last week one of the fellows who works here said his aunt might be looking. He went out with a delivery a while ago, so he should be back soon. We'll ask.”

Raisa closed her eyes and murmured a short prayer that this time—
this
time, please, God!—she and Brina would hear the answer they'd been seeking all day. As if by magic, shortly after she'd whispered “amen,” the delivery man returned and the old man asked him about his aunt. “See what a clean, respectable girl she is?” he said, gesturing at Raisa. “Honest, as well. She promises to pay in advance. She has no work yet, but if your aunt is willing to put faith in her—”

“Like you put faith in me when you hired me,” the delivery man said, grinning. “I'm sure Tante Bluma will be happy to—” Raisa's heart lifted, but then the man frowned and tapped his temple. “Ach! What am I saying? It wasn't three days ago that Mama told me Tante Bluma already found a boarder. Two, in fact! She has no room for more. I'm very sorry, miss.”

“Thank you anyway,” Raisa said, doing her best to hide her deep disappointment. “We'll keep looking.”

“May God watch over you,” the old man called after them as they left. “No one ever said life's easy.”

His words were prophetic. The two girls trudged on from store to store and person to person with no luck, until little Brina's cheeks looked like ripe apples. Raisa was overheated, as well, so she took off her head kerchief and used it to dab sweat from Brina's face, then her own. She saw how other people on the street stared at her close-cropped hair, but she was too worn-out to care what they thought.

“Come, Brina, let's go ask in this shop if they know someone who's got space to rent to—”

Brina's thin legs folded under her, and she sat down in the middle of the sidewalk. “No more,” she said, her eyes pleading. “I can't.”

“What are you saying, darling?” Raisa put on a heartening expression she didn't feel. “Didn't you tell me this morning that you could walk as far as I could?”

Brina bowed her head. “Yes.” It was the faintest of forlorn whispers. Raisa saw drops of moisture fall into the child's lap, making dark spots on her dusty blue skirt.

“We have to keep going,” she said. “We can't quit until we've got a place to stay. I know you're tired and hungry. Listen, would you feel better if I took you back to Bayleh's and I kept hunting on my own?”

“Noooooooo!” Brina leaped like a trout, launching herself at Raisa with staggering force. “Don't leave me, Raisa! Please don't leave me! I'll walk! I'll be good! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!” She was too panic-stricken to cry anymore.

Raisa prattled all sorts of calming, comforting words to chase the terror of abandonment out of Brina's eyes. The little girl gulped air and fell silent, sucking on her fist like an infant. Someone watching the scene from a nearby storefront laughed and made a mocking comment. A pushcart man gave his unasked-for opinion about ill-behaved children. Two women carrying marketing baskets loudly remarked that
some
people thought they owned the sidewalk. Raisa scowled at them all, then gave Brina her hand and led the child away.

They walked in silence.
I need to rest,
she thought.
Both of us do. Brina looks ready to collapse, except she's scared that if she says anything, I'll leave her. All I want is someplace peaceful to sit for a little while, someplace I can catch my breath, start over. I need to think up a good answer for when they ask me about having a job and who's going to watch Brina while I'm working. I don't want to lie again, God help me, but . . . I don't know what else to do!

She reached the street corner and tried to decide whether to turn and stay on the same block or cross and see what she could find on the other side. Such a simple choice, yet it made her head spin. In the end, she turned the corner. She was so weary and disoriented that she didn't trust herself to take Brina across the busy thoroughfare in safety.

Halfway down the block, Raisa saw a building that stood out from the rest. Flanked by redbrick tenements, its golden stone face was an island of simple beauty. Where the tenement windows were partly blocked by iron fire escapes, this building's windows were framed with sculpted grapevines, their panes a pattern of colored glass picked out by slender strips of lead. Raisa gazed up to the roof, where a six-pointed star gleamed in the summer sunlight. She tried to read the letters carved above the dark brown double doors, but the words they formed were Hebrew, not Yiddish. She could only sound them out; she didn't know their meaning.

She didn't need to read in order to guess what sort of place she'd happened to find; the glittering Star of David was enough of a sign. “A synagogue, Brina,” she said. “I don't think it's the hour for prayers. If it's open, we can go in and rest, but we'll have to be very quiet.” She picked up the little girl and climbed the granite steps.

The doors were unlocked and swung back gracefully. Raisa set Brina down, and together they stepped into the cool shadows of an anteroom that smelled of old books and fresh beeswax candles. Another set of doors stood before them, leading into the sanctuary. Raisa pushed one open by less than an inch and peeked into the dark room. She'd never before seen the inside of such a large house of prayer. The shtetl synagogue could have fit inside this building at least four times, perhaps five. A few gas lamps were burning low along the sanctuary walls. The softer glow from the
Ne'er Tamid,
the Eternal Light, shone steadily above the curtained ark holding the congregation's Torah scrolls. Their combined light revealed the rows of rich black walnut pews leading up to the bimah, the raised platform where the Torah would be read. Towering candlesticks and a burnished brass menorah reflected the flames.

“What are you doing in here?” A hoarse voice at her back made Raisa jump and Brina squeak. A middle-aged man who looked very much like a shriveled monkey shook a broom at them with as much belligerence as if it were a bloodstained battle spear. “If you're looking to steal, you'd better start running or I'll thrash you within an inch of your life!”

“Sir, we're not trying to steal anything,” Raisa said, pressing Brina close to her side. She was sure he must be the shammes, the one responsible for taking care of the synagogue building, though the one she'd known back home had never spoken to her so fiercely. “We're good Jewish girls, and all we want is—”

“Greenhorns, from the look of you,” the man interrupted.

“Yes. We've been looking for a place to stay. We came in here because—”

“You can't stay here!” he cut in a second time. “Are you crazy? This isn't a poorhouse or an orphanage.”

“We know, but we've been walking all morning and—”

“Don't waste your breath.” The man held up one hand. He was one of those people who seemed to thrive on not letting others finish their sentences. “I know what you're going to say. I've heard the same sad story from dozens—no,
hundreds
of girls like you since I became the shammes here. You're just off the boat, you don't have anywhere to stay, you haven't got a job, you're poor, you're alone, blah, blah, blah, and you expect to get everything you want by coming into my synagogue just because you were born a Jew. Well, forget it! The Lower East Side is crawling with poor Jewish girls like maggots on a dead ox. Do you think the people here are made of money? Some of us can hardly take care of our own families, and yet you expect us to do something for every one of you who comes scratching at the synagogue door. We'd have a better chance of emptying the sea with a thimble!”

Raisa made one last try to tell the fuming man that all she wanted was a seat and a few moments of peace. “Sir, will you
please
listen? Brina and I didn't come in here looking for your charity. We only need—”

“Out!” the man shouted, pounding his broom on the floor. “Out, out, out
now
!” He spun the broom around like a drum major's baton and shooed them from the sanctuary toward the front doors as if they were wayward chickens. Brina backed away, hypnotized by the sight of his wrathful face. She made a misstep and fell hard on the black-and-white tiles in the anteroom. Her mouth opened in a woeful yowl that flooded the entire building.

“
Shame
on you!” Raisa shouted at the shammes. She dropped to her knees next to Brina. “Frightening a child like that! What kind of a man are you?”

“Don't lecture me, you little beggar. I'm doing my job, taking care of this synagogue, keeping it clean and making sure that the trash goes out and
stays
out.” He stared at the two girls meaningfully. Brina took one look at his livid, wrinkled face and howled even louder.

“Mr. Fischel, Mr. Fischel, what's going on here?” A door at one of the narrow ends of the anteroom opened, and a young man wrapped in a prayer shawl burst in on the three of them. “I've been trying to do my studies, but for the last fifteen minutes, all I hear is this. It's like trying to read Talmud in the middle of an alley-cat fight!”

The shammes gave him a dirty look. “And
I'm
trying to do my job! Go back to your books, Gavrel. I'm taking care of things here.”

“Yes, and I see how.” The young man hunkered down in front of Brina. “Hello, little one. Why are you crying so loud? Did you break the floor when you fell on it? If you did, then I'm afraid you're going to have to pay to have it replaced.” His grin made the corners of his green eyes crinkle.

Brina was taking a deep breath, getting ready to let out a fresh barrage of sobbing, when the joking question took her off guard. “I didn't break anything.” She sniffled mightily and patted the tiles with both hands. “See? And I can't pay. I don't have money.”

“My mistake. I didn't intend to insult you. Allow me to make amends for my false accusation with a modest offer of compensation. How about a piece of cake?”

Brina wiped her nose on the back of one hand and cocked her head, looking at him sideways. “You talk funny.”

“So I've been told. Many people say it, but they can't seem to agree on why I'm such a funny talker. Is it what I say or how I say it? What's your considered scholarly opinion, princess?”

Brina thought this over while Raisa looked on, fascinated, and the shammes grumbled under his breath about time-wasting fools. At last the child declared, “Both. You use pretend words you made up, and when you use real words you don't say them the same way we do.”

“Well said, princess! Yes, my Yiddish does sound different from yours. You and your friend here sound like you're Galitzianers, living among Polish people. My parents are Litvaks, from Russia. And on top of that, I was born here, so I grew up hearing a lot of English, especially after I started school.” He grinned again. “And once you start going to school, you'll find out that I'm not making up any words. They're all real, as real as
this.
” He grabbed a tress of her hair between thumb and forefinger and gave it a playful, painless tug. Brina giggled, snatched the curl from his grip, and stuck the end in her mouth.

“Brina, what are you doing?” Raisa exclaimed. “Don't chew on your pretty hair.” She knelt beside the young man and gently pulled the strand out of Brina's mouth.