Another Me (15 page)

T
he moon was in the sky by the time we arrived at Rabbi Weltner's house. Too tired to eat, I stoked the hearth to life and we lay down beside it. Despite my fatigue I tossed and turned, and when I finally did sleep I had another dream:

I awoke to the sound of Elena's gentle breathing, but I couldn't fall back to sleep. The tortured face of Hans wouldn't leave my mind. I dressed in my tunic and stoked the fire again, and as I did, my mind wandered to a different fire. I thought of Mama and Papa and wise Rabbi Weltner, forever lost to me. I wept until I had no more tears left.

I forced myself to think about happier times. Then I thought of Elena telling me she loved me while Kaspar and his minions drove us to the cemetery. I gazed on her sleeping form. Her eyes were closed, and she was faintly snoring. She was the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen, inside and out.

I ran my fingers over my own pitted face and patted the softness of my paunch. Regret filled my heart. I wished I looked the way I used to—tall and straight and strong, without blemishes distorting my complexion. But that person belonged in the past. I remembered the thud of the shovelfuls of dirt hitting my casket. The vessel was broken yet its contents remained. Was Elena able to see that?

Just then, her eyes fluttered open. She sat up and stretched her arms wide.

“Sleep well?” I asked.

“Like a babe.” She wrapped her blanket around her shoulders. “You lit the fire? It's so nice and warm here.” She stood up and reached for the gown she had thrown
on the floor the night before. “I'll get dressed and get us something to eat. There is still a bit of bread left. We also have some ale.”

“Let us talk before you go.”

She sat back down, a look of concern on her face. “Are you worried about Shmuli? Nadya has a big heart. She'll take good care of him.”

“I don't doubt that. He'll be fine with her, but we can't leave him for long.” I leaned over and took her hand between mine. “I want to talk to you about something else right now, though. Do you remember what you said to me when I was on my way to the cemetery?”

Her cheeks turned pink. She nodded shyly.

“Did you mean it, or were you just being kind?”

“You mean, when I told you that I loved you?” she whispered.

My heart began to hammer. “Yes,” I managed to croak.

She took a deep breath. “I didn't want you to think me bold, but I had to tell you how I felt in case I didn't see you again.”

I looked deep into her eyes. It felt as if I were peering into her very soul. “Do you mean what you're saying?”

“I do. I love you. I love how brave you are. I love how kind you are. I love that I can always count on you.”

She put her head on my shoulder and I was filled with joy. But there was another question I had yet to ask.

“I love you too,” I said, kissing her palm.

I didn't miss the slight twitch of her fingers that signaled she wanted to disengage them from my grasp. My question was answered before I'd even asked it. I dropped her hand.

“What's the matter?” She stared at me anxiously.

“You love me, but I don't make your heart sing. Not like before,” I said bleakly.

She clutched my hands. “I love you, Hans. Please believe me!”

“You called me Hans.”

She clamped a hand over her lips, then whispered urgently, “I love you.”

“Elena, I must know the truth. Your feelings are different, aren't they?”

“My heart is filled with love for you,” she pleaded.

“But not like before?” I pressed.

She turned her head and gazed away. I wished I knew what she was seeing.

“No,” she said finally. “Not like before. I'm sorry.”

T
he rest of the day, both of us behaved as if nothing unusual had happened. We ate our bread, drank our ale and spoke of everything except what we most wanted to speak about. Time passed slowly. After three days, I was pacing like a caged animal, desperate to go outside into the white world beyond the house.

“You're restless,” Elena observed.

“I feel like a prisoner.”

“Me too.” She stared through the window at the gray sky outside. “We have to find some food or we'll starve. A crust of the bread is all that's left.”

“Let's go to the town square. There might be some hawkers there.”

She shook her head. “There won't be. They have nothing to sell. Food is scarce nowadays.”

“Even if we don't find anything, we'll see Shmuli. I already miss him, and Nadya will have him in the square. It's Thursday today.”

Her face brightened. “It'll be good to see him.”

“We'll have to be careful, though. Kaspar will be looking for us.”

We dressed in our warmest clothing, careful to pull our hoods low over our heads. The wind was blowing icy snow into our faces as we trudged along the empty streets. Most of the shops were still shuttered. We passed more houses with red crosses painted on their doors. Bodies were still stacked up like firewood along the side of the road. The snow coated everything, making the world seem white and pure—until I noticed a woman's naked body surrounded by two wild pigs. I dared not look at what they were doing to her and hastened my steps, pulling Elena alongside me.

Finally, we arrived in the town square. It was almost empty except for a few stragglers and the Gypsies. They seemed to be everywhere. Roman was selling roasted chestnuts from a cart, and young Gypsy women were peddling colorful blankets and scarves to the few people in the square. Their children were playing in the snow. Nadya was standing in front of the cathedral, shaking a tambourine. A young boy dressed in rags was beside her, a cup in his hand to catch any
coins thrown to the old woman. It took me a moment to recognize him beneath the grime over his face. Only a lock of bright hair peeking from beneath his cap gave him away. It was Shmuli. He saw me just as I saw him, and before I could warn him not to acknowledge me, he flew into my arms.

“Natan! Natan!” he cried. “When can I go home?”

“Hush! We don't want anybody to notice us.”

Nadya walked up to us, huffing and puffing in the snow.

“The boy is an imp. You can't turn your back on him for a second. Have you come to take him home?” She patted his face. “I'll miss him, for sure.”

“I'll take him instead!” a loud voice announced behind me.

I spun around to stare into Kaspar's grinning face. Several guardsmen were standing beside him. He plucked Shmuli out of my arms and dangled him in the air by the scruff of his neck.

Elena jumped forward. “Leave him alone!” she cried, tugging on my brother's arm.

“Ah! At last, my pretty little pigeon.” The ogre grabbed her wrist. “Shame on you! You should have listened when I told you that nobody outsmarts Kaspar.”

Elena turned as white as the snow glistening at the ends of her lashes.

I felt powerless and prayed to God to help me save the only people I had left to love in the entire world.

“Let them go!” I said.

Kaspar burst into laughter.

Such fury engulfed me that it made me tremble. “Let them go or you'll regret it!”

“Why? What'll you do to me?” Kaspar taunted.

Without warning, something large and dark knocked against him and he fell to the ground, letting go of Shmuli and Elena at the same time. His henchmen also fell. Everything had happened so quickly that it took me a moment to realize what had occurred. Roman was on the ground, his cart upended and the chestnuts rolling over the icy cobblestones. Both Kaspar and his men had slipped on them.

“I'm sorry, master,” Roman said in an obsequious tone, winking at me behind Kaspar's back. “The square is so slippery.”

“Run!” I yelled to Elena, pointing away from the rolling chestnuts. “Run that way!”

She picked up her skirts and was on her way. I followed her with Shmuli's hand clutched firmly in mine. I looked back only once. Kaspar had pulled himself off the ground and was in pursuit at the far end of the square.

“Hurry! Hurry!” I cried. We took every lane and street that would lead us back to Rabbi Weltner's house
by the most circuitous route possible. When we finally arrived, there were only two people in Judenstrasse. A woman was holding on to a man's arm as they made their way cautiously over the cobblestones. They were too far away for me to see their faces, but it didn't really matter. They weren't Kaspar.

“I don't want to leave you!” Shmuli cried when we settled him by the hearth.

I patted his shoulder. “You're a good boy—strong and brave. You'll do what's expected of you.”

“What do you mean, Natan?” Elena asked. “Surely, you'll keep—”

I interrupted her. “Let's talk about this another time. The boy must be hungry.”

Elena gave him the last of our bread and he wolfed it down. She and I went to bed hungry.

As before, I tossed and turned, worrying myself sick with thoughts of Kaspar and our lack of food. When I finally did fall asleep, I was once again running through a tunnel toward a light. And once again, Hans blocked my way and begged me to let him come home.

I
don't know how many hours had passed when I was woken by the noise of somebody knocking on the front door. I grabbed a knife and hurried to answer it, for I didn't want Elena and Shmuli disturbed. To my surprise, Meyer the moneylender was standing in the doorway, holding a large sack in his hand. I ushered him into the house.

“I'm sorry to disturb you in the middle of the night,” he said.

“Come in, come in!” I was so glad to see him that I hugged him. “How did you stay alive? Your house was quarantined, so I knew you must have had the plague.”

The old man brushed the snow off his shoulders.

“It's good to see you too, Hans,” he said. “We're alive because the good Lord spared us. By the time we had recovered, though, all our friends and relatives
were burned.” He wiped away the tears that had pooled in his eyes. “We just found out that you were hiding at the house of Rabbi Weltner of blessed memory,” he continued. “My wife and I were in the town square this afternoon, looking for food. We were helping ourselves to the meat of a fallen goat when we noticed you. It would have been hard not to with all the screaming and yelling Kaspar was doing. We saw everything that happened, and afterward—forgive me—we followed you. You didn't notice us because we were so far behind, but we saw you duck into the rabbi's house. May God bless you for saving Shmuli!” He held his bloody sack out toward me. “I brought you some of the goat meat. The boy has to eat. So do you, and the girl too. There is enough here for all of you.”

“Thank you. We were getting desperate for food.”

He sighed. “These are tough times, especially for Jews like us and little Shmuli. Did you hear what happened in the synagogue?”

“We saw it being looted. I felt so powerless at being unable to stop the thieves.”

“Don't blame yourself, Hans. There were so many of them.” He looked at me sadly. “Anyway, I came to say good-bye. We must leave our beloved Strasbourg. It doesn't matter that I was born here—as was my father and his father before him, as long back as anybody can remember. Now we must leave in the middle
of the night, like thieves, never to return.” He touched his heart. “It's hard.”

“Where will you go?”

“My cousin lives in a small hamlet on the other side of the mountains. It's a peaceful place, and we're too old for excitement.” He wiped his eyes. “It'll be a good life—a life we can live with our heads held high.”

Suddenly, I realized what I had to do. “Take Shmuli with you!” I blurted. “Please take my brother with you.”

“Your
brother
? What are you saying, Hans?”

I had no choice but to tell him everything. I told him that I was an
ibbur
, and that I had taken possession of Hans's body. I told him that with his dying breath, my father had pleaded with me to help my brother. Tears ran freely down my cheeks. “Please,” I begged, “you must believe me!”

Amazement, disbelief and wonder were at war on his face until finally he nodded. “I
do
believe you. You have told me things that only Natan could know.” He grabbed my arm and pulled me closer, peering into my eyes as if he could see into my very soul. “Yes,” he said after a moment. “You
are
Natan. I can see it with my own tired eyes. During my studies with Rabbi Weltner, I read about such things, but to come face to face with an
ibbur
…” He gave me a frightened look.

“Please don't be afraid of me. I'm a failure. The Almighty gave me the opportunity to save my people,
but I couldn't do it. I couldn't fulfill the mission God set for me.” I hung my head, for I was too ashamed meet his eyes. “Our people were burned.”

“But you did fulfill your mission,” Meyer whispered vehemently.

I hid my face in my hands. “Don't mock me, please. I can't bear it.”

“Natan, have you forgotten what our sages said?”

“What do you mean?”

“The Talmud says, ‘Whoever saves a life, it is considered as if he saved the world.' You saved your brother.”

As I stared at him, trying to take it all in, joy and sadness flooded my being. I looked at Elena, unaware in her sleep. I knew that I had to break her heart. But first, there was something else I had to do.

I turned back to old Meyer. “Please take my brother with you,” I repeated.

“Why do you want Shmuli to go with us?”

“Because you are of our people and you are a kind man. Because with you, he'll be able to live the life he was meant to live.” I looked again at Elena, still peacefully asleep. “Because I must leave soon.”

He grasped my hands. “All right, my friend. I promise that we will take good care of your brother. He will be the son we prayed for and never had—until now.”

After Meyer had gone, I sat down by the hearth, trying to decide how to tell Shmuli that he would soon be leaving me. As I watched him sleeping by the hearth, so pure and innocent, he suddenly began to cry out, “Mama, Papa, where are you? Where are you?”

I touched him lightly on the shoulder.

He sat up, rubbing his eyes. “I had such a bad dream,” he said. “Mama and Papa were in the fire.” He began to weep. “I want Mama!”

“Shh! Elena is sleeping.” I drew him close. “Do you remember when I told you that we would always carry Mama and Papa in our hearts?”

He nodded and cuddled closer to me.

“They want you to be a good boy. I know that for sure.”

He began to sob again. “I miss them so much!”

Elena opened her eyes and sat up, wrapping her blanket around her shoulders. “What's the matter?”

“I have to tell Shmuli a secret.”

My brother stopped crying and his thumb found its way into his mouth. “What secret?”

I took a deep breath. “Our parents of blessed memory want Meyer and Miriam, his wife, to take care of you.”

“But I don't want—”

I wouldn't let him finish. “Mama and Papa still love you. They will always love you. That's why they want
you to go away with Meyer and Miriam and be their little boy. A little boy like you needs parents.”

“I don't want to go away with them. I want to stay here with you!” he said fiercely.

“Meyer and Miriam are good people. They'll give you a good home—a Jewish home, like Mama and Papa wanted for you.”

“I don't care!” Shmuli sobbed. “I want to be with you.”

“May I speak to you, Natan?” Elena asked, drawing me to the far side of the room. She was pale, with her lips pinched together. “Shmuli is right,” she said under her breath. “You're his brother. You should be together. Why are you sending him away?”

I couldn't tell her the truth—not yet.

“My parents would want this for him,” I said simply.

She turned her head away. “I'd make a good mother,” she whispered.

“And someday you will. But you must trust me. I'm doing the right thing sending Shmuli away with Meyer and his wife.”

She gave me an injured look. “Is it because I'm not of your faith?”

I couldn't help laughing. “Oh, Elena, I wish that were our only problem.”

Just then, we heard banging outside.

“They're here,” Elena said, and she went to open the door.

Shmuli hid his head in my chest and wrapped his arms around my waist. He wouldn't look at Meyer and Miriam.

“Natan will come and see you all the time, won't you, Natan?” Miriam said reassuringly as she patted his back.

I noticed that she gave me a curious look when she called me by my name.

“I'll come when I can.” I didn't want to lie.

Meyer crouched down beside Shmuli. “Miriam and I prayed for a long time for a little boy just like you,” he said quietly. “Your mama and papa would want us to care for you, just as your brother says.”

The old man held out his hand, and after a tense moment, Shmuli took it. By the time they left, he was listening with rapt attention to Miriam's tale about a mule at her cousin's house.

“Nobody feeds him, washes him or exercises him,” she exclaimed. “He is waiting for you to come and take care of him. Will you do it?”

Shmuli nodded solemnly. When they left, he didn't even look back.