The Devil's Arithmetic (8 page)

“She has been this way ever since she arrived, Fayge,” Shmuel said, shaking his head. “Sometimes she is lucid, other times she talks of Rochelles and needles and snakes.” He tapped his finger to his forehead. “It is the sickness, I think. And the loss of her parents. Now she talks of the future.”

Reb Boruch cleared his throat. “I think the child means
loytn kristlichen luach
, according to the Christian calendar.”

“They do not know from the Jewish calendar in Lublin?” Fayge asked.

“1942. It is several days before Passover,” the
badchan
said.

“
Before
Passover?” Hannah drew in a deep breath. And then, all of a sudden, she knew. She knew beyond any doubt where she was. She was not Hannah Stern of New Rochelle, at least not anymore, though she still had Hannah's memories. Those memories, at least, might serve as a warning.

“The men down there,” she cried out desperately, “they're not wedding guests. They're Nazis. Nazis! Do you understand? They kill people. They killed—kill—will kill Jews. Hundreds of them. Thousands of them. Six million of them! I know. Don't ask me how I know, I just do. We have to turn the wagons around. We have to run!”

Reb Boruch shook his head. “There are not six million Jews in all of Poland, my child.”

“No, Rabbi, six million in Poland and Germany and Holland and France and . . .”

“My child,
such
a number.” He shook his head and smiled, but the corners of his mouth turned down instead of up. “And as for running—where would we run to? God is everywhere. There will always be Nazis among us. No, my child, do not tremble before mere men. It is God before whom we must tremble. Only God. We will go ahead, just as we have planned. After all, this is our shtetl, not theirs, and there is still a wedding to be made.” He lifted his hand. On his signal, the wagons started up again across the last few yards to the market. As they moved closer, more men in dark uniforms got out of the cars and truck cabs. They made a perfect half circle in front of the synagogue doors, like a steel trap with gaping jaws ready to be sprung.

THE VILLAGERS GATHERED UNEASILY WITHIN THE HALF-CIRCLE
of soldiers and waited to be let into the
shul
. There was hardly any talking, but Yitzchak's young son, Reuven, began to whimper. To quiet him, Yitzchak lifted the boy onto his shoulders.

Rabbi Boruch, Shmuel, and another man Hannah did not know conferred hastily with the Nazi chief, the one with all the medals. They spoke in swift, hurried bursts of words that Hannah could not distinguish, but she could see Shmuel's fists clenching and unclenching behind his back. They were a violent punctuation to all those undistinguishable sentences, as if Shmuel wanted to shake his fist in the Nazi's face but didn't dare. At last the argument was done and Shmuel came over to them.

He spoke gently. “They insist that we go with them in those trucks.”

“No!” Hannah protested in a whisper.

“Their argument is persuasive,” Shmuel answered, his thumb and forefinger pointed at her like a gun. “They say all Jews are being resettled. It is government policy.”

“I heard that too,” Yitzchak added. “Government policy. They have been settling villages closer to the big cities. I thought out here they would leave us alone.”

Another man argued, “What does a goyish government have to do with us?”

“A kick in the face and a hand in the pocket,” said another.

“Wait, wait,” Shmuel said. His voice was soft but his face was grim. “Remember those guns.”

Fayge moved silently into the protection of his arms. “What about our wedding?” She meant it for his ears alone but Hannah was close enough to him to hear every plaintive syllable.

“We
will
be married, Fayge. Your father will marry us. Maybe not here, in your
shul
. Maybe not even under a wedding canopy.”

“Not under a canopy?” Fayge was shocked.

“We
will
be married, in God's sight,” Shmuel said adamantly. “I promise you that nothing will keep us apart.”

“The Nazis will,” Hannah said suddenly. She could feel the rapid thudding of her heart as she spoke. “They'll take you from here and put you in a concentration camp. Then they'll put you in gas ovens and kill you.” She could hear her voice rise in pitch; its intensity frightened her.

“Chaya!” Gitl said sharply, putting her fingers up to
Hannah's lips and whispering hoarsely at her. “Hush! The soldiers will hear.”

Turning in Shmuel's arms, Fayge stared at Hannah, her beautiful face sharp, her eyes nearly all pupil. “How can you talk like that? Your words will fly up to heaven and call down the Angel of Death, Lilith's bridegroom, with his poisoned sword.”

Gitl shook her finger at Fayge. “Nonsense! You talk like one of the old women in the village—angels and poisoned swords. Why not flying chariots and the finger of the Lord? Chaya does no such thing. How could she? She is only a child, as you are no longer. She is a child with too much imagination and stories filling her head. She has just been recalled by a miracle from the doors of death. Shame, shame, Fayge, to make her into some kind of monster.”

Rachel interrupted. “Tante Gitl, I think I know what Chaya is talking about. She told us a story this morning. About two children named . . .” She thought a moment. “Yes, Hansel and Gitl.”

“Gretel,” Hannah corrected automatically.

“Yes, Gretel,” Rachel said. “And there is a witch who shoves little boys into ovens and eats them.” She shuddered and drew a deep breath. “A fairy tale.”

“The gas ovens I mean are no fairy tale,” Hannah said.

Gitl raised her chin, squinted her eyes and, ignoring Hannah, addressed Fayge directly. “See, my almost-sister-in-law, the child was just reciting a story. And surely we have more important things to worry about than
bobbe meinses
, tall tales.” Her hands went up and
then back down to her skirt, where she wiped them twice.

“And what could be more important than such a curse,” Fayge asked, adding slowly, “my sister Gitl?”

Gitl smiled. “Are your mother and grandmother not important? Where are they? Why have they not come out to greet us?”

Fayge looked around. “Gitl, you are right. Where are they? And where is Tante Sarah and Tante Devorah and . . .” Her voice trailed off and she turned back to look at Shmuel. “And all the rest, where are they?” Her hand twisted and twisted one gold earbob nervously.

Stony-faced, Shmuel wouldn't look down to meet her eyes. In a flat voice he said, “The colonel informed us that they have been sent for resettlement already. We will meet them there.”

“You can't believe that!” Hannah cried.

“What else can we believe?” Shmuel asked. “Gas ovens? Lilith's bridegroom? Poisoned swords? The Angel of Death?”

Just then Reb Boruch cleared his throat loudly and all the little knots of people who had been talking fell silent.

“My friends, my neighbors, my children,” he began, “it seems we have no choice in this matter. The government has decreed that we are to be relocated for the duration of this war. This war in which we Jews take no part. So it is with governments.”

There was a murmur of assent from the men.

“My wife, my mother, my sisters—and all of yours—
those who were waiting here in Viosk for our return from the forest, those who were getting ready for the wedding, they have been sent ahead. They have taken with them what clothing and household goods we shall need in the resettlement camp.”

“But what of
our
clothes and
our
goods,” called out Yitzchak, “those of us who are not from Viosk?”

“We will share what we have,” said the rabbi. “For are we not all neighbors and friends? Are we not all brothers and sisters in God's eye? Are we not . . .”

“All will be taken care of,” said the Nazi colonel, interrupting smoothly. “You will want for nothing.”

“We wanted for nothing except to be left alone here in Viosk,” said a voice.

“Nevertheless,” the colonel continued, smiling, “in this matter,
we
will make the ruling. When you get to your new homes, anyone who wants to work will be treated humanely. The tailor will sew, the shoemaker will have his last. And you will be happy among your own people, just as we will be happy you have followed the government's orders.”

“The snake smiles but it shows no teeth,” murmured the
badchan
. Hannah wondered if anyone else heard him.

Raising his hands, the rabbi began to speak. “The colonel has assured me that some of his soldiers will remain billeted here to guard our stores and houses and schools from harm while we are gone. At my request, the soldiers will pay special attention to the
shul
to make sure the peasants do not desecrate it.”

“Better the fox to guard the hens and the wolves to
guard the sheep,” the
badchan
said.

This time he was heard, and there were murmurs in the crowd. One man called out, “But Reb Boruch, why would they billet soldiers here if they are needed elsewhere for the war?”

“Am I a general to answer such questions?” the rabbi asked. “Am I the head of state? I only know that they have promised me this, so this I believe. They say the war is almost over, and we will not be gone from Viosk for long.”

“How long is eternity?” the
badchan
muttered.

Hannah tried to speak again, but this time Gitl's hand covered her entire mouth. “Be still, child,” Gitl whispered. “Whatever your objections, be still. This is not one of your stories that ends happy-ever-after. There are not imaginary bullets in those guns. Listen to the rabbi. He is right to calm us. If we go quietly, no harm will come.”

Suddenly remembering the pictures on television, the ones that made her grandfather so crazy, Hannah shook her head. But she shook it silently, as Gitl commanded. She wanted to cry. She knew she'd feel better if she could. But no tears came. Drawing a deep breath, she heard the rabbi begin to pray aloud.

“
Shema Yisrael, Adonai eloheynu, Adonai echod
. Hear, O Israel the Lord our God, the Lord is One.”

The others joined in. Even Hannah.

They climbed into the trucks in family groups, reluctant to be parted. Since Shmuel would not let go of Fayge's hand despite the rabbi's fierce stare, the rabbi was forced
to climb into the truck with them, standing next to Hannah.

Yitzchak handed his children up to Gitl one at a time, and she kept her arms tight around the little girl, Tzipporah. There were finally so many villagers packed into each truck, there was no room to sit down. So they stood, the children up on the men's shoulders. They looked like holidayers off on a trip. But they felt to Hannah, all crushed together, like cattle going to be slaughtered for the market.

The trucks barreled down the long, winding road, their passengers silenced by the dust deviling up and by the heat. After a bit, to keep the children in her truck from crying, Gitl began to sing. First she tried a lullaby called “Yankele” to quiet them, then several children's songs. But as the truck continued without a stop, carrying them farther and farther from Viosk, onto roads most of them had never seen, she broke into a song that, for all its wailing minor notes and the
lalala
chorus, sounded angry.

Hannah tried to make out the words above the noise of the truck. They were about someone called a
chaper
, a snatcher or kidnapper, who dragged men off to the army. One verse went:

It hardly seemed a song to calm the children. But first Shmuel, then Yitzchak, then several of the other men in their truck joined in, singing at the top of their voices. The children on their perches clapped in rhythm. At
last, even Fayge and her father began to sing.

Hannah listened to the growing chorus in wonder, as the song leaped from truck to truck down the long road. Didn't they know? Didn't they guess? Didn't they care? She kept remembering more and more, bits and pieces of her classroom discussions about the Holocaust. About the death camps and the crematoria. About the brutal Nazis and the six million dead Jews. Was knowing—or not knowing—more frightening? She couldn't decide. A strange awful taste rose in her mouth, more bitter even than the Seder's bitter herbs. And
they
were for remembering. She fought the taste down. She would not, she
could
not be sick. Not here. Not now. She opened her mouth to catch a breath of air, and found herself singing. The sound of her own voice drowned out the steady drone of the tires on the endless, twisting road.

“
LOOK
!”
SHMUEL CRIED OVER THE NOISE OF THE SINGING
.