My Guardian Angel (4 page)

VII

Then I left Muriel and her cousins, I rushed home, with the sound of my clogs echoing through the empty streets. I didn't stop to look right or left. I was in such a hurry that I didn't even try to avoid the half-frozen puddles, whose dirty ice-cold water splashed me from head to toe.

At Muriel's I had pretended to be brave, but now I was overpowered with fear, especially as I arrived at the corner of our street. What if I saw a whole troop of Crusaders right in front of our house? Would I be quick enough to run in the other direction before they saw me? And what if some of them were hiding in our courtyard? Would my Mazal trouble himself to rescue me? Had I gone out against his will? In that case, would he still watch over me and get me home safely?

I was also scared I would meet my father. How could I explain what I was doing in the deserted street? And I remembered what Bella had told me. What if those dreadful Crusaders came to our house? What if they hit my father and my grandfather as they had hit Bella's father? It was too horrible even to imagine.

But I met nobody, neither Crusaders nor my father. I only saw an old idiot beggar who drags himself along as best he can, because his legs won't carry him anymore. Still running, I shouted out to him, warning him to find shelter.

Once I was safely at home behind the barricaded door, I began to feel sad. I wondered if I really was too proud. What if Muriel was right? I
am
proud of belonging to a learned family, but her reproach had hurt me deeply. I had never heard anyone accuse my father or my grandfather of being proud, so who was I to act that way?

All this was going through my mind when I saw my grandfather crossing the courtyard. I rushed up to him and poured out my soul, telling him that I had gone to Muriel's and had been terrified on the way home and even that I had broken my eggs and that my father was angry with me. “Did God put me on earth just to hatch eggs?” I sobbed.

In spite of all his worries, he took the time to comfort me by making fun of my silliness. He knows how to do this better than anyone.

“So,” he said. “It seems my granddaughter cannot put aside the thought of those broken eggs. Believe me, your father has forgotten all about it. He has other things to worry about.”

My grandfather took my hand, and we went into his house together. My grandmother welcomed us. She looked preoccupied and none too pleased. Zipporah must have told her that I had been out. Only my grandfather's warning glance stopped her from scolding me. He asked her to serve us some spicy mulled wine and then sat down, or rather collapsed, onto a bench in the downstairs room. That was when I noticed how exhausted he was, but that didn't prevent him from talking to me. He pulled his coat around himself and rubbed his hands together to warm them up. He spoke to me with affection and also seriously, as if I were not a stupid, insignificant little girl who, on top of everything else, was disobedient.

“When I was young, as you know, I studied in Germany at the famous academies of Mainz and Worms. How I loved studying! But even while I sat at my masters' feet, I was often sad, because I realized that I would not be able to study forever. I had a family to feed back here in Troyes. I have never told anyone else, but I will tell you this: It was not without shedding tears that I left my masters and returned here to look after my house and my vineyard. I was brokenhearted. Right now, you see that I am old, and you think I'm wise, but I am still nagged by regret, because I never managed to go back to Germany to visit those learned men who taught me all I know.”

He smiled at me with his kindly, tired old grandfather smile. I don't know why, but this smile brought tears to my eyes, tears of warm and sweet emotion. My grandfather pinched my cheek. “You see, at the bottom of our hearts, each one of us feels sadness for the things we have left undone. But for now, come with me. I need your help.”

My grandfather needed my help! I would have jumped for joy, had the serious circumstances allowed such behavior. I followed him into his study. As he handed me a fairly large sheet of parchment, he explained, “A Jewish woman had her village scribe write me to ask if she could order her non-Jewish servant to work in the fields on the Sabbath. She would like the servant to pick turnips, leeks, and other fruits and vegetables in order to prepare the meal for the end of the Sabbath. Could you reply for me? I have other letters to write.”

I sat down on a stool with a board on my knees to lean on. Next to me, on another stool, I placed an inkhorn. I started writing in Hebrew:

This letter comes to you from a very young and humble member of Solomon ben Isaac's family. I have the honor of writing on his behalf and according to his instructions.

I wrote the characters in neat rows, thinking before each word, and I took so much pleasure in writing, that nothing else seemed to exist. I continued the letter:

The Law forbids you to ask your servant to work on the Sabbath, even if she is not Jewish. Your whole household has the right to rest on that day.

I had written this quite small and I still had some space left, so I added:

It is also forbidden to make your donkey, your ox, or your horse work, and you have to make sure they are well fed on their day of rest. In winter you must see that they have good, fresh hay; in the summer you should let them graze so that they can enjoy chewing the grass. Animals, too, are entitled to participate in the joy of the Sabbath.

I had wandered off the subject and lengthened the answer, so I was a little anxious when I showed my grandfather my letter. He read it slowly from beginning to end.

“I couldn't have done better, Elvina. But it does look as if you are more interested in the animals than in the servant!”

I answered that animals could not express how they felt or what they wanted and that they had no Mazal to protect them. Then I remembered Peter the Hermit's donkey.

“Is it not true,” I asked, “that only man has the gift of speech?”

My grandfather's eyes sparkled. “Don't forget women and little girls!”

“For example, can a donkey talk?” I insisted. “I mean a donkey down here on earth?”

My grandfather knew immediately what I was referring to. “So you, too, have heard what they say about Peter the Hermit and his donkey? Why on earth must our own community spread such nonsense? I hope you gave your friends a sensible reply!”

“I told them that Peter the Hermit's donkey wasn't Balaam's she-ass.”

“An excellent answer! I am proud of you.”

Before leaving, I told my grandfather how much I enjoyed writing. How I loved to look at the words I had set down on the page, all beautifully written and arranged in neat rows. I would so have loved to be a scribe! What more wonderful occupation could there be than copying out holy texts? If only it weren't forbidden for women! How I envy those who can devote their lives to copying sacred texts on beautiful parchment! I envy Rabbi Shemaiah, who spends most of his time copying my grandfather's commentaries to make books.

Solomon ben Isaac promised me that he would give me the opportunity to satisfy my passion for writing as often as he could! For a start, he gave me three pieces of decent-sized parchment, recommending that I use them only for matters of importance.

VIII

Mazal, O Mazal, keep watch over your poor Elvina, who has become mistress of the house overnight, and mistress of a household of men and boys at that! My mother's heavy keys are fastened to my belt. There are five in all: two for the linen chests, another for the cupboard where we keep pots and jars of remedies. (That one must never fall into the wrong hands!) There is the key to the chest where we keep all our precious things like jewelry and silver, and, finally, there is the key to the cellar. This is the largest and most important of all, because that's where we keep the wine.

All day long, these keys jangle against one another every time I move. I hear myself coming and going as if I were my mother! But no, I am only Elvina, and I must show myself to be worthy of her confidence. That's why I'm talking to you, Mazal, as it makes me feel less alone. This house is so empty! My dear Aunt Rachel left the day before yesterday with a group of merchants on their way to Châlons. And yesterday my Uncle Meir took my mother and grandmother to his house in Ramerupt. There they will care for my Aunt Yochebed, for she is just about to give birth and she is terrified of the Crusaders.

Jews who must travel take all kinds of provisions with them to offer the Crusaders in exchange for permission to come and go. We heard that the chief Crusaders gave orders not to steal oxen or horses. For the rest, we can only hope and pray.

Before leaving, Aunt Rachel gave me a sleeveless rabbit skin tunic to wear under my dress when it gets really cold. She also gave me a pretty silver clasp to fasten my coat.

In return, I gave her my favorite amulet. It's a finely rolled piece of parchment on which, when I was small, my grandfather wrote: “The Lord is thy shepherd. The sun shall not harm thee by day, nor the moon by night.”

At the last minute, just as she was about to leave the house, Rachel gave me her songbirds. “But you love them so!” I protested. “There's bound to be a corner of the cart where you can fit the cage! Those birds are your pride and joy.”

“Quite so! That's why my husband says they stop me from thinking of the children I should be bearing for him. He accuses me of caring more for the birds than I do for him.”

She smiled, but her eyes remained sad.

“He doesn't deserve my sweet Aunt Rachel to care for him!” I replied.

Immediately I regretted my words. Rachel burst into sobs, and so did I. We cried on each other's shoulders; then I dried her eyes with my sleeve and she dried mine with her great woolen scarf.

“How am I going to sleep all alone in the bed?” I moaned.

“Poor Gazelle! Take some more eggs; they'll keep you company!”

I pinched her and nipped her cheek. “Don't be mean!”

We laughed, then cried some more until they called us, saying that the merchants were ready to leave.

The merchants were on horseback, while boys, who must have been their sons or servants, drove the carts that were loaded up to overflowing. The carts had two horses each to pull them, so they could cover the distance quite rapidly. The men were armed with sticks and knives to ward off the usual dangers: boars, wolves, or even bandits. There is no question of trying to put up any fight against the Crusaders, though, as there are too many of them.

We helped Rachel make herself comfortable in the cart. She was squeezed between bundles of material, barrels of wine, and chickens strung together by a rope tied around their feet. They struggled and clucked while Rachel put on a brave face. “At least I won't die of starvation,” she joked. “I'll try to pluck, cook, and eat one of these chickens before the Crusaders get hold of them!”

The idea that she might, in fact probably would, meet Crusaders made my heart sink. My grandmother was crying and wringing her hands. She only stopped wringing them to fasten some amulets around her daughter's neck. My mother bustled about, straightening Rachel's hood, tying her scarf, and calling to Zipporah to bring her some apples and a cake for the journey. . . . 

During this time, my father spoke to the merchants, telling them which roads they should take so as not to get lost in the forest.

We watched the cart drive into the distance, taking Rachel to Châlons and to her husband, Eliezer, who certainly does not deserve her. She is so gay and good-natured that there is no one on earth who doesn't love her . . . except mean old Eliezer.

I noticed the deepening lines on my grandfather's forehead. I took his hand and asked him why Rachel was leaving the people who loved her to go back to that horrible man, who, in any case, had threatened to send her away.

“A woman's place is at home with her husband,” he answered.

I replied that I would prefer not getting married at all to marrying an unkind husband. My grandfather pretended not to hear me.

Later I went with my mother to Tova's. She was no longer alone but with her cousin, who had come to join her from Ramerupt. The cousin had traveled in my Uncle Meir's wagon with all her children and two of my uncle's ewes.

As we entered Tova's house, we were overwhelmed by the stink of the asafetida. The leaves from this plant are always left burning near a newborn's cradle to keep the
mazzikim
away. I told my mother that only a demon with no sense of smell would dare come into this house, it smelled so terrible.

“Are there demons without noses?” I asked her. “I know that none of them have shadows, but do they all have noses, eyes, and ears?”

My mother put on her displeased look. “The less we mention such things, the better off we'll be,” she muttered in reply.

Tova's room was fairly covered with amulets; they were everywhere, including on the bedpost and around the baby's neck. I lifted little Bellassez up in my arms. Just a few days old and so sweet! But of course it doesn't do to say so. As I hugged her, I exclaimed, “How ugly she is! Poor Tova, I'll bet she'll give you nothing but trouble!”

I laughed as I said these words, but then I added in all sincerity, “Poor little thing! What will the future bring her? Will she end up married to a mean man?”

“What a black mood you're in!” chided Tova. “I would like to think that she'll be just like you, lively and kindhearted, impulsive but generous, and always ready to admit that she is wrong.”

I retorted that it wouldn't necessarily stop her from being sent back by her husband, to which my mother told me to keep quiet.

Yesterday morning it was my mother and grandmother's turn to leave home. They set off in a big wagon pulled by two oxen. Loaded around them were cooking utensils and everything needed to help Yochebed with her baby's birth. There was plenty of food and a dozen live chickens tied together with string. These poor birds were destined to soften the hearts of any Crusaders they might meet on the way. My Uncle Meir rode his horse alongside the wagon, and there were several other men returning to the country to take care of their sheep and prune their vines. The two ewes due to lamb are staying with us. My grandfather is convinced that the Crusaders will not come all the way inside the town to steal animals. Even if they take my uncle's sheep in Ramerupt, at least he will still have these two ewes and their lambs.

As my mother and grandmother were hoisting up their skirts to climb into the wagon, I felt my throat tighten. Never before had my mother left me! I hung on to the edge of the wagon and said that I wanted to go with them, that I wanted to see my cousins, Fleurdelis, who is soon going to be six, and Isaac, who must be three by now. “I could teach them to read,” I begged. “And anyway, I can help you. I promise, I'll make myself useful, indispensable even!”

My mother let go of her skirt and took both my hands in hers. And suddenly I realized that I had grown as tall as she. Our eyes were at the same level. Her eyes were red, her nose was red, too, and for a moment I had the feeling that I was the mother and she the daughter.

“Who will look after your father and grandfather, not to mention the boys? Tomorrow evening is the Sabbath. Who will prepare the table and the three meals? Who will light the Sabbath candles? Who will give the servants their orders?”

As far as giving orders was concerned, I decided to begin then and there. My grandfather's two servants and our old Zipporah were sobbing and sniffling away. Anyone would think someone had died. I sent them to get several bundles of hay, so our two travelers would be more comfortable and feel less cold.

My mother had taken the household keys off her belt and put them on mine. Then, right in front of my father, who was silently staring into the distance as if he was thinking of something else, she put on a solemn tone and began to give me instructions.

“Make sure that for the Sabbath the house is in good order. Everything in the kitchen should be in its place. The oven should be cleared of ash and filled with glowing embers hot enough to last until the next day. And see that the water compartment is filled with freshly drawn water.

“For the meal, remember, one plate per person. On the Sabbath we don't share as we do on the other days. Use wooden plates for the boys and silver for your father and your grandfather. Put the silver cup and the wine for the blessing in front of Solomon ben Isaac. Don't forget, it's your job to go to the cellar and draw the wine.”

She wasn't telling me anything new. I've been preparing the Sabbath with her ever since I could walk. But yesterday, as we both stood there hand in hand, shivering, our freezing breath mingling in the cold air, I drank in my mother's words as though my life depended on it.

It was all because the little voice that I sometimes hear inside me took advantage of the fact that my mother was blowing her nose to whisper, “Soon she won't be here, Elvina. You'll have to manage by yourself. What if something happened to her, Elvina? You are a little girl no longer.”

Miriam and Precious climbed up on the wagon, and they set off for Ramerupt. The oxen plodded along slowly as usual. My grandfather, my father, the servants, and I all walked along beside it. I held my mother's hand, but it was as if she had already left me. It was at that moment that my grandmother decided to give me a thousand and one instructions of her own. I knew exactly what she was going to say before she said it; I knew it all by heart. It was hard to hear her because her voice was drowned out by the chickens squawking and flapping their wings as they struggled to break free. She, too, sounded solemn. “Make sure the servants sweep the floor every evening and that they leave no crumbs,” she was saying. “Crumbs bring poverty. See that there is not the slightest trace of dust on the lips of the jugs and pitchers. That also brings misery.”

“Yes, Grandmother, I know.”

“Don't interrupt me! In the evening, make sure you are the last to go to bed and see that the servants have left no water uncovered, because evil spirits will land on it. If one morning you find that the water has been left uncovered all night, you can use it for washing, but never let anyone drink it.”

My mother patted my hand. She was smiling, and her smile meant, “You know what your grandmother's like. She'll never change!”

“Yes, I know all that, Grandmother,” I said. “I'll be careful; I promise.”

“I know, but I want to remind you. And see to it that not a scrap of bread is left lying around. If mice nibble it and then Samuel and Yom Tov happen to eat it, they will forget everything they have ever learned! And don't let them use their folded clothes as pillows when they fall asleep in the room after the Sabbath meal; that will also make them lose their memories!”

“Don't make such a fuss, Precious. Don't weigh Elvina down with all your instructions! Do you want her to worry herself sick the way you do?”

Solomon, my grandfather, was walking behind me. Normally, he would have interrupted Precious or just given her a look that meant “keep quiet.” But this time we all knew that he was sorry to see her leave, and that he was worried, too.

We walked along beside the wagon as far as the outskirts of town. My mother was frowning in silence. She must have been going over in her mind everything she might have forgotten. Just as the wagon took the road leading to the forest, she shouted back at me. “Give Samuel and Yom Tov that old torn blanket to sit on when they go to school. It's still cold; I don't want them to catch a chill!”

When we got home, my father told me that he needed some pens. I ran to fetch two from my chest. They were both finely shaped pens that I kept for my own use. I gave them to him. He inspected them and then said, “It seems that you have more of a gift for shaping and sharpening pens than for hatching eggs. What a strange daughter the Lord has sent me!”

He spoke gruffly, as he always does. However, I thought I heard a note of something almost friendly in his voice. Impossible! I must be mistaken!

Mazal, what do you think?