She shook her head, her face still buried in the pillow. He took her by the arm and tried to turn her. She let out a strangled cry. Before he could roll out of bed for help, Hanna was by their side.
“It’s Mama,” he said desperately.
Hanna sped to the kitchen, quickly lit the lamp, then took out a bottle of clear liquid that Doctor Lepke of Slabodka had given her. Back in the bedroom, she poured out a spoonful.
“Here, Mama, take this. It will help.”
After sucking it in, Motlie lay back, gasping for breath, unable to find a second of ease. Hanna thought how the cool water had comforted the cow, so back to the kitchen she went for a bowl of water and a cloth. When she returned, Israel was sitting on the edge of the bed holding Motlie’s hand, his eyes flooded by tears. He looked up at Hanna beseechingly, as if his daughter had a magical power to relieve her mother.
“Here, Papa,” she said, handing over the bowl. “Wipe Mama’s face. Maybe it will help.”
It was coming, she knew deep inside, what Doctor Lepke had predicted would happen. She was overwhelmed by a terrible hopelessness and frustration. She loved her mother so, yet could not intervene to stop this horrible malady. Now she had to face the fact that her mother would not be with them much longer. Mama was the center of her world, and she could not conceive of a life without her.
But Hanna realized that she had to be prepared to take over the management of the house and the family. Although she had been the only wage earner for years, there was always Mama to suggest what should be done, to set the values and actions of the family, and to inspire all of them when conditions were at their worst. However, she would not give up Mama without a fight. Doctor Lepke was a good physician, but he was still just a family practitioner who knew only about the usual illnesses of his country patients. What Mama needed was a specialist, someone who knew everything about her specific ailment. Her Uncle Samuel, Israel’s brother from Slabodka, had mentioned a Doctor Skiptonas in Kaunas, a cancer specialist. There was no longer time to hope. Now she must act.
Quickly she dressed, climbed the stairs to Hershel’s room, and tapped on his door. He opened it, hair mussed, eyes still foggy.
“Hershel,” she said. “Mama is sick. I must go to Kaunas. I hate to ask, but may I use your horse?”
There was a small sound, and she turned to see Jakob standing at his doorway. The whispers must have attracted him. He had on his head and arm phylacteries to say his morning prayers, for as Torah had commanded, “And it shall be for a sign unto thee upon thine hand, and for a memorial between thine eyes, that the Lord’s law may be in thy mouth.”
“Mama’s sick,” she said to him. “I am going to Kaunas for a doctor.”
“Would you like me to sit with her?”
For a moment Hanna was surprised at his offer, and then suddenly she understood that in spite of the long, skinny frame, the jaw-length curls, his dancing and singing, Jakob was first and last a man of God.
“Thank you. Please help,” she said simply.
Jakob immediately went back into his room to begin the ritual for removing his tefillin.
“Hanna,” said Hershel. She turned back to him. “Of course, take the horse. Would you rather I go?”
She shook her head. “No, thank you. I must speak to him.”
In minutes, she had the animal saddled and was trotting down the dirt road towards Slabodka. For a while it seemed that the village would never come into view. She considered for a moment stopping to see Doctor Lepke first, then accepted the fact that he had done all he could, so she started over the bridge to the capital of Russian Lithuania. She became lost a number of times before locating Doctor Skiptonas’ office in a large, Victorian style house. She tied the horse to a hitching rail, went up the stone steps, and pulled the door-bell. A white garbed nurse with a large, heavily starched hat, answered after a number of rings, and, seeing the peasant attire that Hanna was wearing, curtly asked what she wanted.
“My mother is dying of cancer. I would like Doctor Skiptonas to see her. We live in Gremai, about ten versts from Slabodka.”
The nurse stood more stiffly. “You are a Jew?”
“Yes.”
The nurse was only moderately concerned about the faith of the young woman standing so desperately in front of her, for many of the Jews in the city were rich and, therefore, clients, in a left-handed fashion, but the combination of being Jewish and poor was another matter.
“The doctor’s fee is forty rubles a visit,” she said.
She was accustomed to some form of reaction at the mention of his fee, but the sight of Hanna’s face going white with shock startled her.
Hanna leaned against the doorpost until she could get her breath. Her mind whirled with the thought of how she could raise the money.
“Very well,” she managed to say in a small voice. “I will get it for you.”
“It must be paid in advance,” said the nurse, a bit more gently.
“All right.” Hanna descended the steps in a daze, untied the horse, and stiffly mounted it. Once over the bridge, she kicked the animal into a trot. Forty rubles! It kept pounding in her head. It was more than three months of work. Not that she cared how long it took to earn the money, but forty rubles were her earnings, not her savings. If she found someone to lend her the money, the most she could pay back was one ruble a month, and that only at the sacrifice of food or clothing.
Mrs. Merkys was her first stop. Before leaving for Kaunas, she had told Gitel to inform her employer that she would be late. She knew that Mrs. Merkys would be upset, for a wedding dress that Hanna had been working on was just on schedule, and any delay could cause complications.
Face still white, even from the exertion of having ridden over twenty versts in just the morning hours, Hanna explained to the dressmaker how desperately she needed the money. Mrs. Merkys was under no illusions as to what the specialist from Kaunas could do for Motlie. He certainly would not operate, since the family could not afford it, and the only thing left was the usual comments that a doctor mumbles when he knows he is wasting his time. The sole hope was the God of the Jews. Only He could help now. Better that Hanna and her family, and everyone else in the village who loved Motlie, and that would include all who knew her, should pray for her. But who could refuse Hanna’s urgent request.
“I have only twenty rubles,” she said sadly. She had more, but she was convinced that whatever she gave Hanna would never be seen again. Had either of her other two girls asked for a loan, except perhaps for a ruble or so, she would have been discharged on the spot.
Holding tight to the money in a pocket, Hanna led the horse back to the stable and tied it in a stall. She went inside to find Israel still sitting by the side of the bed. He motioned her to silence, then signaled that Motlie had fallen asleep. Painfully, he rose and followed her into the kitchen.
“The drug helped,” he explained. “She dozed off half an hour ago.” He eyed her hopefully. “When will the doctor come?”
She decided not to tell him what the visit would cost, for this doctor represented their last chance to save Motlie’s life. Israel had a great respect for doctors. He had mentioned more than once that the physician in Prussia who had worked on his crushed body after his boat accident there had saved his life, and had he been in Lithuania at another hospital, his fate might have been different.
“He will come as soon as he can.”
Israel nodded. “Jakob was very helpful. He sat by Mama for over an hour, praying. It seemed to help her as much as the drug.”
“Where is he?”
“He went to shul.”
Hanna called in Gitel and Reba from working in the garden, pulling weeds and watering the plants, and the three of them prepared