and as he began driving off, Jakob raised his hand languidly in farewell with a motion more like a benediction than a goodbye.
He turned towards the house, then he suddenly looked up, as if he sensed a person was there. Hanna’s breath caught in wonder. His eyes were the sharpest light brown she had ever seen, with flecks of gold here and there, and an intensity that was startling. They locked on to her, and seemed to bore straight into her brain. She was unable to look away. His face was pale, as if he had recently been ill, and he wore a small, reddish brown beard that accentuated the paleness. His peiyes, his check curls, hung down below his chin instead of being brushed behind the ears like most of the Jews she knew, and his hair fell almost to his neck. It was odd to see a man taller than Stephen, but weighing no more than she herself.
Then, without a sign of recognition or greeting, he lifted his case and walked inside.
She remained at the window for a few long seconds, wondering about the strange sensation she was feeling inside. His peiyes and clothing were not really that unusual, for many of the orthodox students at the yeshiva in Slabodka had ‘Jew curls’, as the goyim named them, and several of the older, pious men of the congregation wore the long black overcoat and black hat with a fold in the top. Also, just about everyone had a beard. Not only because it was the custom, but because the Lord ordered it to be so.
No, it was more than that. Something seemed to radiate from him, and it was difficult to determine if he realized it or not. Like the way he looked at her. He seemed to know at once the texture of her skin, her bone structure, the slight flare of her nose, and…she felt a flush coming on…the shape and warmth of her breasts. It seemed so incomprehensible, so absurd, that he could strip her down to essentials in the stab of a look.
Shaking her head in puzzlement, she descended to the kitchen. He was already seated at the table with a welcoming glass of tea, and a slice of Motlie’s challah in front of him. He nodded at her when Motlie introduced the two, and Hanna felt a touch of annoyance when his eyes turned away to look at Zelek coming through the door. The boy was carrying a small earthen bowl filled with dirt in which were several worms he had dug up for Hanna’s next fishing trip. Zelek came to an abrupt stop and eyed the stranger with his wide, fixed stare.
“This is my son, Zelek,” said Motlie.
Jakob looked closely at Zelek, then a slow smile crossed his lips. It changed his face completely, thought Hanna. Suddenly, he was a boy himself, each feature warm and friendly. She felt again that same sensation in her chest. Zelek evidently felt it, too, for, without his usual shyness, he came up to the table and held out his bowl of worms for inspection.
“Are you going to fish with them?” asked Jakob in Yiddish. His voice was clear, vibrant. His long, angular face with high cheek bones softened.
Zelek shook his head. “For Hanna. I don’t know how.”
Jakob leaned forward and peered into the bowl. A long forefinger stirred the earth until he saw the worms underneath. “They are fine worms, and will catch good fish.”
“I’m going to be a soldier when I grow up,” said Zelek determinedly.
Jakob did not laugh. Instead, he continued exploring the bowl as he thought over the boy’s remark. “Why do you want to become a soldier?”
“So I can kill the Cossacks.”
Motlie let out a snort of amusement. “Where did you get that notion?” she asked.
Zelek ignored her, his eyes remaining fixed on Jakob’s face. He moved forward and leaned against the man’s leg. Hanna had never before seen him make contact with anyone, except for herself when he was sleepy or his mother when he sensed she was not feeling well. Come to think of it, she had never seen him show fright, or even pain, when he had gotten one of his innumerable bruises or bumps. He rested his arm on Jakob’s leg and looked into the bowl with him.
“There’s a big fellow,” said Jakob, pushing one to the side of the cluster of worms. Zelek nodded his head happily. “Why do you want to kill Cossacks?” he went on casually.
“They kill Jews.”
Jakob handed back the bowl and stroked the boy’s hair. “Then become a soldier, Zelek, and kill all the Cossacks who harm Jews.” The boy looked up at him with affection.
Hanna was putting away the cleaning materials she had used upstairs. “I thought the orthodox did not believe in killing.” she said.
His eyes rested on her with that same probing look. “I am a Hasid,” he finally said.
“You are orthodox, are you not?”
“Yes. But we see the laws a little differently.”
Hanna was not sure whether he was speaking down to her. It was not in his voice, for he was polite, nor was it in his manner, for he had given her all his attention. It was not definable. Maybe it was his air of total confidence.
“My father says that the law is the law,” she went on.
“He is absolutely correct,” said Jakob. “There is only Torah. But while the orthodox walk the line, we Hasidim stay within the line.”
“What do you mean by that?”
Jakob drew Zelek upon his knee, and the boy leaned his head against the man’s chest. “Torah says thou shalt not kill. It also demands an eye for an eye. Your people accept each of those pronouncements exactly as it is written, even though it may conflict when measured against another judgment. We place all of them in a circle, knowing that there is a time for killing and a time for martyrdom, a time for vengeance or for mercy, and even a time for a new eye to be given to some who have lost the first.” He placed an arm around Zelek. “I feel that this boy will one day be a soldier and that he will kill his Cossacks, and that the Lord will find favor with him.” He drained the remainder of his tea, lowered the boy to the floor, and stood up. “Do you have a hook?” he asked Zelek.
“I have one,” said Hanna. She took a hook from the storage area and held it out to him.
“Get it, Zelek,” he said. Once the hook was passed over, Jakob took his hand. “Come. Let us look over the river. I will show you how to fish.” With a nod at those in the room, he began leading the boy out of the house.
Hanna and Motlie stared at him stepping through the doorway, then at each other.
“What a queer one he is,” said Hanna.
Motlie shook her head. “I don’t know what to make of him. But did you see how Zelek took to him? I didn’t believe my eyes.”
I took to him, too, said Hanna to herself. She searched hard for an explanation, then it came to her. It was a kinship. She was strangely linked to him. As if her life had been programmed to occur with him in mind. It was not love, for she could never love another more than Stephen. It was also not passion, since the thought of making love with him as she did with Stephen was completely out of the question. There was something beyond all this.
She shook herself hard to stop the train of thought. Whatever it was, she really did not want any part of it. He was here to rest, to put a few needed kilos on his frame, then he was to go back to the world he belonged to, while she would remain in hers. And she was having enough problems with her world without having to worry about someone else’s.
Her main concern was that Stephen had left for a few days, and she missed him terribly. He and his family were off to the funeral of his mother’s brother halfway to St. Petersburg, and the world seemed empty without him. The nights were the worst. In the darkness of the room, lying flat on her back, with the stillness that releases the mind to dwell fully on her lover, the pang of being without him became almost unbearable. She could feel his weight upon her, his lips pressed tightly to hers, and him deep inside, thrusting at her heart. She could scarcely breathe. She tried to recapture the ecstasy of him flooding within her, and her like response, but all she could feel was intense happiness at loving him and being loved in return. Thank heavens he should be home soon, perhaps even today.
Israel