My Guardian Angel (7 page)

XIII

The day is still leaden and gray when Elvina leaves Muriel, but the sky has returned to its place high above the earth. Elvina pauses on the doorstep. Sniffing the air, she can make out the delicious smell of freshly baked cakes. She thinks that she may buy one. The men have stopped fasting now, for they do not want to become too weak. Her father loves these cakes and it might please him to eat one. This morning, after three days of silence, he has finally asked her if she has slept well . . . but he has also told her to go out as little as possible! The cake may not be such a good idea after all.

The street looks almost like its old self again, although there are fewer people about and less noise than usual. The women do their shopping as fast as they can and then rush home. The merchants no longer shout at the tops of their voices to attract customers. People hold their children's hands and forbid them to wander off. The latest news is carried in whispers from one person to another: “Only yesterday the Crusaders were running high and low through the streets of Troyes.” Some say there were twenty of them; others swear there were at least a hundred. The rumor goes that they were men
and
women and they hadn't thought twice about helping themselves from stalls and henhouses belonging to Christians as well as Jews.

On the wide trestle table made from two wooden shutters, Muriel's father, Joseph ben Simon, displays a magnificent bearskin complete with its head. Elvina strokes it. “This would make a wonderful coat for this freezing weather. Without the head of course,” she adds.

Muriel's father laughs. “It was a real bargain. The traveler who sold it to me was in a hurry to get rid of it and be on his way. He had killed the bear with his own hands. He was going through the forest, and the bear attacked him. Poor bear should have known better!”

Two familiar voices reach Elvina from beside the stall. “Touch the ears!” says one.

“The muzzle is even softer!” replies the other.

Rachel and Naomi are wrapped up from head to toe in blankets that are trailing along the ground. “Elvina, we followed you,” Rachel says. “We didn't want to stay shut up in Muriel's room all day,” Naomi adds. “We aren't the ones who are sick. We escaped. Hey, there is Uncle Nathan. He has brought out his skins as well!”

Muriel's uncle has spread several skins on the ground in front of his shop. There is a cow skin and several sheepskins whose wool has already been removed. The twins rush over and start jumping up and down on the skins. “You see, Uncle Nathan, we've come to help you.”

“That's good; keep it up. The more they are trodden down, the sooner they'll be ready for tanning. They could make you a lovely pair of shoes or a saddle for a fine lady's horse.”

Elvina puts down her basket and joins the twins. As she tramples on the skins, she looks upward to the heavy gray clouds scudding rapidly across the sky like battalions of soldiers. No, clouds are not like soldiers, for they carry no threat. Clouds move freely! Where are they going? Where will they be by evening? Above Paris, a city Elvina does not know, or even farther? Will they be flying over the sea, which she has never seen? How she would love to run away with them! If only she could wander freely, as they do, with the whole world unfolding below!

A slap on the back brings Elvina down to earth. She jumps in surprise. “Ouch! Naomi, Rachel! Why . . .” she begins. But when she turns around she sees neither Naomi nor Rachel.

“Marguerite!” she cries.

Under a gray hood two round rosy cheeks, blue eyes, and a smiling face can be seen. “Yes, it's me,” Marguerite says. “And you, Elvina, you wicked girl, where have you been hiding? We never see you anymore!”

Marguerite is the eldest daughter of a Christian farmer for whom Solomon ben Isaac has done more than one favor. Taking hold of Elvina's cape, Marguerite shakes her playfully. “I was just talking about you this very morning with my sister Jeanne. She misses you. You used to be such good friends! What has happened?”

Elvina doesn't know what to say. For these last few weeks she hasn't had time to think about Jeanne and Marguerite. But is it really true that she hasn't had time? Not exactly. Suddenly Elvina feels boiling hot in spite of the cold piercing through her clothes. She feels so hot that sweat is pouring down her back and she turns away in embarrassment. Facing Marguerite once again, she replies quietly, “You know, we Jews don't go out much these days.”

“What are you talking about? You've come out today, haven't you? And it seems the others have, too.” Marguerite has noticed the twins eyeing her. “Tell me, Elvina, who are those little furies sticking so close to you and giving me such threatening looks?”

“They are Naomi and Rachel, Muriel's cousins. They come from the country. They don't mean to look at you that way; they just don't know who you are.”

“I feel like I'm seeing double. Are they twins?” asks Marguerite with a note of fear in her voice.

When she hears Elvina's reply, she quickly crosses herself. “They say that twins bring bad luck.”

“No, they don't,” retorts Elvina. “It's quite the opposite, in fact!”

Marguerite gives a skeptical nod and changes the subject. “So, it seems you're afraid of the Crusaders? Why? They set up camp calmly in the fields and barns, and they don't harm anyone.”

“Oh yes, they do!” shout the twins in unison. They are red with anger.

Marguerite bursts out laughing. “Your young friends are so funny. They look all ruffled up like a couple of chickens who have been chased by a dog! But I didn't mean to upset them.”

Smiling, Marguerite takes Elvina by the arm. “Listen, Elvina, I see you have your basket with you. You wouldn't happen to have a remedy for Jeanne's stomachache, would you? It would save me a trip to the apothecary.”

“I have some barley water to purge her and chamomile, which will stop the pain.”

“Please come over to our house,” says Marguerite. “It's not far, and it would make Jeanne so happy.”

Elvina hesitates. What if there are Crusaders at Marguerite's farm? She wants to refuse and say she has to go back home, but she doesn't want to offend Marguerite by looking as though she doesn't trust her. She is frightened.

While she is hesitating, she feels someone pinching her leg. Down by her feet, the old idiot beggar is grinning and laughing, dribbling into his beard. His rags hardly cover him. He drags himself over the skins toward Elvina. “You're in less of a hurry than you were the other day, little lady. Give me something from your basket. A magic potion to give my legs the strength to carry me again, so that I, too, will be able to escape when the Crusaders chase after me.”

Elvina kneels down next to him. Never before has she taken the trouble to look into this man's eyes. True enough, they are crazy eyes, but, above all, they are filled with terror, even when he laughs.

For the twelve and a half years that she has been alive, Elvina has never given much thought to fear. Of course, she is familiar with the dread she feels of Judah ben Nathan's disapproval and the terror that everyone knows at the dead of night or the fear inspired by a rabid dog or the sight of a serpent slithering away underfoot in the summer fields.

But right now, Elvina is getting used to an entirely different kind of fear, which she has never felt before. She can sense this new fear all around her, and she is beginning to recognize it. The beggar, still clinging to her skirt, whines, “Please give me a remedy; the Lord will repay you. I may not look it, but I assure you, I am a worthy son of Israel.”

“Are you in pain?” asks Elvina.

“My head aches as if someone was hitting me,” he replies.

Elvina rummages around in her basket and pulls out a vial. “I can do nothing for your legs, but rub this ointment into your temples. It's made of ashes mixed with vinegar; it will do you good.”

Marguerite is starting to get impatient. She tugs at Elvina's sleeve, pulling her to her feet. “Come on. If you have time to care for this poor wretch, you certainly have time to visit your friend Jeanne.”

Elvina kisses Naomi and Rachel and tells them to go home.

Now Marguerite and Elvina are walking quickly, their clogs clip-clopping over the ground. They have soon gone beyond the Jewish quarter, and Elvina feels uneasy. How life has changed! Only two weeks ago she would walk around in any part of this town without a second thought; after all, she was born and brought up in Troyes. This morning, however, she feels as if she is venturing into foreign territory.
Enemy territory,
she thinks to herself. Just this morning Judah ben Nathan has begun to speak to her again! If he finds out about this latest adventure, he will be displeased once more! But does she have a choice?

Marguerite, still holding on to Elvina's arm, throws her a mischievous glance. “I heard that the other day you took care of a young Crusader called Gauthier. He's good-looking, don't you think?”

“I have no idea,” replies Elvina, trying to sound calm.

“Am I supposed to think that you looked at nothing but his leg?” hints Marguerite.

“I was terrified! They had captured Samuel and Yom Tov.”

“They only did it for a laugh,” replies Marguerite. “You take these things too seriously.”

Elvina does not reply. Her heart is beating so hard that she feels certain Marguerite must hear it. She tells herself to calm down. After all, Marguerite is sweet-natured and kind, even if she does like a joke. The voice inside Elvina continues, trying to reassure her.
You can stay at their house just a few minutes — long enough to say hello to Jeanne. There's nothing to be afraid of.

XIV

Marguerite's house stands on a large farm- yard. Clucking hens run hither and thither, and grunting pigs root around in a pile of rubbish. Marguerite's mother and the ser- vant are stacking logs and kindling, their skirts gath- ered up in their belts. Two geese cackle threateningly toward Elvina, their open beaks ready to bite. Elvina has a hard time pushing them away. She swings her basket at them, but they duck their long necks to avoid it, then stretch up again and come rushing back at her. Marguerite's mother and the servant have stopped their work to observe the scene. They are screaming with laughter. “Do our geese scare you, Elvina?”

“Your geese are worse than dogs!” Elvina retorts.

The two women stand with their hands on their hips and laugh harder. “They don't recognize you anymore,” jokes Marguerite's mother. “It isn't nice to neglect us so, especially since you have always been at home on our farm. Jeanne will give you some fresh curd cheese; we have two big pots full. And if you fancy it, you can drink some of the whey. I remember how much you liked that when you were little. Tell me, is your grandfather, Solomon ben Isaac, in good health?”

“He's fine, thank God.”

“I'm glad to hear it. We haven't seen him for a long time, and we miss him.” Marguerite's mother has a pleasant voice. Some of her front teeth are missing, and this gives her a slight lisp, which adds to the softness of her speech.

Elvina's anxiety melts away. She no longer sees any reason to hurry. The faces around her are familiar and reassuring, and there is no trace of Crusaders. The farmer's family is making her feel welcome; they have asked about her grandfather and are offering her the whey she loves to drink so much. It is as if nothing has ever happened, as if Peter the Hermit, the Crusaders, and all the fear has been just a bad dream. Here life goes on as usual, with its background of peaceful grunting pigs, hissing geese, and clucking hens.

Marguerite has already rushed into the house. “Jeanne, Jeanne, guess who I've brought home? Your friend Elvina!”

“Elvina! I'm so happy!” Jeanne cries.

Inside, the room is as hot and dark as an oven. Jeanne runs over to Elvina and hugs her. She is holding a long willow stem. “Come and see the pretty baskets Marie and I are weaving.”

In the darkness, Elvina can hardly make out Marie, the youngest of the three sisters, who is kneeling next to the stove. Marie nods at Elvina without putting down her work. Near her on a stool stands a terra-cotta lamp, its flame flickering and spluttering as if it might go out at any minute. Jeanne leads Elvina close to the stove, where there is a roaring fire.

“You have come to visit us on a day that is hardly better than the night. We lit the lamp, but the wick won't burn as it should; it only gives out a tiny bit of light and we have to weave our baskets by feel, as if we were blind!”

“Do you have any salt?” Elvina asks her friend.

“Of course we do!” answers Marguerite.

“Bring me a pinch.”

The three sisters watch Elvina as she cautiously lifts the cover of the lamp and throws the salt into the hollow that contains the oil. Immediately the wick catches and a bright flame appears. “There you are!” cries Elvina triumphantly.

She turns around to face her friends, delighted at her success. Their silence and the expression on their now clearly visible faces turn her blood to ice. She forces herself to keep smiling. “Aren't you pleased? You are looking at me as if you've never set eyes upon me before! What's the matter?”

“The matter is that we find witchcraft scary,” replies Marguerite.

“What witchcraft?” asks Elvina in disbelief. “That's not witchcraft! The salt clears the oil, so the wick catches more easily and burns with a stronger flame. My grandfather taught me that when I was small. It's in our books.”

Jeanne stands directly in front of Elvina and takes her by the shoulders. “That's just it,” she begins accusingly. “Those books of yours. You said it yourself. My cousin, the priest, told us all about them. You Jews always have your heads bent over those big books of yours because they give you special powers. And of course you don't want to give them up, and that's why you're so frightened of the Crusaders. If you would only get baptized and give up your books, you could be just like everyone else.”

“But we
are
like everyone else!” cries Elvina, scarcely able to believe her ears. “Don't you remember when we were little, how we liked the same games and played with the same dolls? We used to gather flowers to make crowns; we ate hazelnuts together. . . .”

“Even so, you are different. What about your wine that Christians aren't allowed to touch? That, by the way, is very upsetting for us. And your synagogue where you go every Saturday instead of going to church on Sundays? What do you do in your synagogue anyway? Everyone wonders. And even you yourself are different. You know how to read and write . . . and there are your ointments and potions. . . .”

Hardly able to speak, Elvina murmurs, “But your sister just asked me to give her some medicine for you!”

“I like your infusions and they do me good, but I'm not telling you anything new when I say that people around here whisper about your family. They say that all of you know a little too much about witchcraft.”

Elvina is speechless. She wants to run away but has no idea how to go about it. She tries to extricate herself from Jeanne's grasp, but Jeanne is stronger than she is. Jeanne keeps her grip on Elvina, and now that she has started nothing stops her. “How can you explain that your mother and grandmother managed to save Thibault's wife last year, when she was practically given up for dead?”

“They know the herbs,” counters Elvina. “They know when to pick them and how to use them; that's all. Anyone can learn that.”

“What about your grandfather, who cured our cows of that sickness that was killing them off? I was only a little girl, but I remember it. People talked about it.”

“You're lying,” replied Elvina furiously. “Everyone respects my grandfather.”

“I'm only repeating what I've heard.”

Elvina cannot think what to say. The fear rushes back and now it is worse than before because she wasn't expecting it, not here, not now. It has caught her off guard, and, verging on tears, she only manages to stammer, “I thought we were friends.”

“We are friends, but there are things you can't deny.”

Jeanne seems about to continue when Marguerite, deciding to play her role as elder sister, interrupts.

“That's enough!” She puts her arms around Elvina and wipes her eyes with a rough sleeve smelling of flour and milk. She kisses her and says soothingly, “Don't quarrel anymore. Look, Jeanne, you've made Elvina cry, when I am the one who invited her to come and visit us!”

Jeanne kisses her, too, and Marie, still sucking on a willow stem, comes shyly over from the corner where she has been watching. She takes Elvina by the hand and smiles.

“Don't cry,” says Jeanne. “You know I didn't mean to upset you. Come and have some of my curd cheese; it will make you feel better.”

Her friends give Elvina more hugs and kisses and persuade her to eat a big ladleful of curd cheese. Outside the sky is clearing. A faint ray of pale sunshine peeps into the room through the open door. It might have been a signal for happiness, but Elvina remains walled up by her fear. She hardly hears Marguerite's and Jeanne's voices with their kind words.

As Elvina is leaving, Jeanne says comfortingly, “In the springtime let's go gather strawberries, just as we used to. Would you like that?”

“Yes,” Elvina replies. But her heart is no longer in it, for nothing is as it used to be.