The History of Soul 2065 Read online

  She took the path at a run, eager to get as much reading time in as she could. She flew into the clearing—and stopped short. There was already somebody there.

  For one mad moment, Chana thought that her mother had told her the truth all those years ago and that she had interrupted a wandering ghost. The girl was about the same age as Chana, but where Chana was of medium height and a little stout, the girl was tall and rather aristocratic. She wore a white lacy dress with a wide blue sash and matching stockings, pretty white shoes, and a straw hat with a blue ribbon. If she wasn’t a ghost, Chana thought, maybe she was a character come alive from a storybook.

  It wasn’t the kind of clothing that you usually saw in Lviv.

  The girl had been intently watching a butterfly that was hovering around a small bush; when Chana stepped on a twig, she turned around and stared.

  “Who are you?” the girl asked. If she was a ghost, she was a very substantial one; at her movement, the butterfly darted away.

  “I’m Chana,” she said, acutely aware of the contrast between the girl’s elegance and of her own dark green one-piece school uniform, torn black stockings and scuffed black shoes. “I live near here, and I go to the National Girl’s School. I’ve never seen you before. Are you visiting?”

  The girl’s eyebrows came down, as though what Chana said didn’t make any sense. “You can’t live near here,” she said. “I’d know it if you did. And anyway, you have a funny accent. My name is Sophia, and this is my birthday dress. My papa made it all himself; he sews dresses for rich ladies and said that I look just as pretty as any of them. Do you think it’s pretty?”

  Chana thought it was the most beautiful dress she had ever seen, but she didn’t want to say so. Also, she thought it a bit rude to comment on her accent, especially when the girl’s was so strange. But before she could make any reply, the girl—Sophia—chattered on happily.

  “This forest belongs to a very rich lady, it’s part of what they call an estate, and my papa said I could wear my new dress to meet her. The lady said I could explore a little, while papa measures her for a dress to wear at her daughter’s wedding, and then we’ll come back for the try-on and cook said that if I were a good girl and kept very quiet in a corner I could watch them make the wedding cake and might even be able to see the bride try on her dress, which would be wonderful, don’t you think? Oh, don’t!”

  Chana, fascinated by the girl’s chatter, had sat down on a nearby log. At Sophia’s dismayed cry, she looked around. “Don’t what?”

  “Sit on that log. There are all sorts of bugs and things on that log, and you’ll get your dress dirty.”

  Chana shrugged. “I’m always getting my dress dirty. My mama says that I’m worse than any boy, but I don’t care.”

  “Well.” The girl frowned and then her face brightened. “Well, maybe because your dress is green, and so dirt won’t show so much. I couldn’t sit down in this dress though, because it’s white, and my papa would be angry, and I couldn’t see the wedding cake. What are you going to be when you grow up?”

  It took a moment for Chana to realize that she had been asked a question, and in fact, Sophia had paused expectantly. Chana thought for a moment, and said, “It’s a secret. Can you keep a secret?”

  “Of course!” Sophia came a couple of steps closer. “What is it?”

  Chana hugged her knees and stared at Sophia. “When I’m old enough, I’m going to run away to St. Petersburg and become a doctor.”

  Sophia looked a little surprised, as though she hadn’t expected quite so grandiose a scheme. “Girls can’t become doctors.”

  “Oh, yes, they can now.” Chana took a branch and pushed it through the leaves on the ground. “They’ve got a university there now that teaches girls to become doctors—my big brother read about it in the newspaper—and my science teacher says I’m one of the smartest girls in her class. I’ll become a great doctor, and will come back in my own carriage and horses, and all the girls will want me to treat them, and will have to pay me lots of money before I’ll do it.”

  She looked up triumphantly. “So there!”

  She waited for the laughter or the jeering, but Sophia just nodded and said, “And do you know what I’m going to be?” She backed off a little and spread her arms theatrically.

  Chana thought she could guess. “An actress?”

  “Yes, or a great singer.” Sophia came closer again, her eyes shining. “My papa took me to see Hansel and Gretel at the National Theatre. We sat all the way high up, like birds, my papa said, and he gave me a pair of real opera glasses so I could see the singers close up. It was the most beautiful thing you ever saw, and they had children on stage, although my papa said that Hansel and Gretel were actually both played by grown-up ladies, and I asked him if I could grow up to be one of them, and he said, ‘Who knows?’ So that’s what I want to do.”

  “Which National Theatre?” asked Chana, as soon as Sophia stopped to take a breath.

  “The one in Munich, of course,” Sophia said. “We took a train. It’s only a short trip.”

  Chana stared. “Munich, Germany?” she asked. “Because over there,” she pointed, “is where my school is. We live in Lviv.”

  Sophia tossed her head scornfully; her hat flew off, revealing shining auburn hair cropped to her shoulders. “Where is that?” she asked, retrieving the hat and brushing dirt off it. “Because I never heard of it, and I got top scores in geography this year.”

  Chana, whose own brown hair was confined in a tight braid, admired the way the other girl’s carefully brushed hair bounced around her face. Still, she put her hands on her hips and said, with as much authority as she could muster, “Well, I’ve got top marks in all my classes, including history, and I should know in which city I live.”

  The two girls glared at each other fiercely. “I’d fight you, but I don’t want to ruin my dress,” Sophia said, almost tearfully.

  “I’d fight you,” said Chana, “but I’d win, and I’m too old to pick on somebody weaker than me.”

  “You wouldn’t,” said Sophia.

  “Would so!” said Chana.

  As if to join the argument, a small grey pigeon suddenly dropped down to the ground between them. It shook itself, looked around, and then took a tentative, limping step forward.

  “Look!” Sophia said, her anger forgotten. “It’s hurt!” One of the pigeon’s wings was slightly outstretched, and as it tried to walk, it made a small, unhappy sound.

  The two children knelt down and examined the bird. “Maybe we should put the wing in a splint,” said Sophia. “My cousin broke his arm, and the doctor put it in a splint until it healed. He cried, although he lied later and said he didn’t,” she added with some satisfaction.

  Chana looked doubtful. “I’m not sure we could do it properly,” she said. “We might hurt it more. We need to take it to a grownup who knows how to fix animals.”

  She carefully reached out and put her hands around the soft, feathered body. “Oh, be careful!” Sophia said, alarmed. “It might peck you!” But although the pigeon shivered at Chana’s touch, it didn’t otherwise react. She stood, her hands wrapped protectively around the bird.

  “Do you know a doctor?” asked Sophia, also standing. She reached over and stroked the pigeon carefully. “There’s the doctor who fixed my cousin’s arm, but he probably doesn’t do animals.”

  “I’ll take it to my grandmother,” Chana said decisively. “She cured the cat when its tail got run over by a cart; I’ll bet she can fix the bird. If I take it home right now, it might be all right.”

  The two stared at each other for a moment.

  “But can we both go home?” asked Sophia tentatively. “I mean—if I’m visiting the Rosenschloss and you’re in Lviv, then one of us is in the wrong place. Isn’t that right?”

  Chana thought a moment. “Maybe it’s this place. Maybe it’s magic, and when we leave, we’ll go back to where we belong.”

  Sophia brightened. “So maybe
we could both come back! Next week, this same time? That way, you could tell me what happened to the pigeon.” She paused and thought. “That is, if I can come. I can ask my father if I can visit.”

  Chana nodded. “I don’t know if I can come either. My brother told me that there was political trouble, and that meant that we had to be extra careful, and that maybe I’ll have to stay home from school a few days.” Her expression cleared. “But even if they keep me in, I can always sneak out.”

  “We have to swear, though, or it won’t be any good.” Sophia straightened and recited formally, “I swear that I will never reveal to anyone about our secret place or anything we say here. May the Evil Eye find me otherwise.”

  “And I swear,” proclaimed Chana.

  “And that we will meet again no matter what evil angels try to drive us apart.” Sophia held up two fingers and spit through them three times.

  “And I swear,” Chana repeated. She shifted the pigeon awkwardly to her right arm, brought her left hand to her mouth and copied Sophia’s actions.

  The two girls stared at each other solemnly, and then broke out into giggles. The pigeon squawked and they immediately sobered again. “I’m sorry, pigeon,” Sophia said guiltily. Chana carefully took the bird back into both her hands.

  Around them, the clearing was starting to darken as the sun dipped below the tops of the trees. The breeze died down for a moment, and in the stillness, there was a low rumble of thunder.

  “Well, I guess we’d better go,” Sophia said, brushing some leaves off her dress. “I’ll see you this time next week, or the week after, if we’re punished. If you come and I’m not there, leave me a note under that rock,” she pointed at a medium-sized rock that sat under a downed branch, “and let me know what happened to the pigeon.”

  “All right,” said Chana. She watched as her new best friend turned and ran into the woods, the white dress quickly lost amid the darkening trees. In her arms, the pigeon shivered again.

  1920

  “We’re leaving,” Chana said to the trees. “We’re going to America.”

  Summer was almost over. Autumn was just a golden edge to the leaves and a hint of chill in the air. It was just the kind of crisp, clear day that Chana loved when she was a little girl. But she wasn’t a little girl anymore.

  The clearing looked almost the same as it had the day she and Sophia met for the first—and only—time. Chana sat crossed legged on the ground and picked up a sturdy twig. “Did you ever get back here after we met, Sophia?” she asked, scratching a small stick figure of a girl in the dirt. “Did you come, and I wasn’t here? I’m sorry if you did. I tried to come back, I really did, but was never able to. When I got home, my parents told me that there was going to be a war, and that I was no longer allowed to leave the house alone. Even when I got work at the hospital, I had to promise to be escorted either way. And then later, we had to hide.”

  She took a breath.

  “I don’t know what it was like where you are,” Chana continued, using the twig to push through a few dead leaves that scattered the ground, “but the war was bad here. And then there was the pogrom last November. Papa was smart; at the beginning of the war, he made arrangements with Mrs. Solakov, a nice old woman who lived nearby and who my mother was good friends with. So when we heard that the Jewish militia had been disbanded we all ran and hid in her barn.”

  She had cleared a small spot and now used the twig to dig into the loosely-packed dirt. “After three days, Mrs. Solakov said she’d heard it was safe for us to go home. My brother Jakob went to check and came back and said it was true, but that there wasn’t much to go home to.”

  Her lower lip trembled, but she mastered it and dug harder. “People had broken the doors and windows of our house, and took all our things, except for some of the furniture, which was all broken. All my mama’s clothes were torn up, and my books…,” she paused. “Although we were lucky. Jakob’s wife Gitl—he got married last year—her family didn’t hide in time and her father was hurt and her sister…Well, I’m not supposed to say about her sister.”

  The tears started to flow despite her best efforts. “So now we’re going to go to America. I begged papa to let me stay, and go to St. Petersburg to the women’s doctor’s university, because now that there’s been a revolution and everybody is going to be equal, there’s no reason I shouldn’t go. I met a young man last year, a musician, who had left the army to join the revolution, and he said that there were a lot of young people there and that there would be housing for women students. He even gave me a red kerchief to remember him by, and said I should look for him when I came to St. Petersburg. But papa says that it’s not safe, especially for a girl of 16, and that the family needs to stay together. It’s not fair!”

  She took a breath and wiped her eyes and nose on her sleeve. “I guess you’re not here,” she said.

  She then stood and turned around slowly, trying to impress the scene in her mind for the rest of her life: the small grassy clearing, the tall, strong trees just beyond and the clouds streaming overhead. Although there were a few leaves on the ground, enough remained on the trees so that the branches that stretched out over the clearing blocked out the late afternoon sun. There was a chill in the air.

  It was time to leave. Chana took a breath and began to walk toward the path when, amid the green and brown and gold of the foliage around her, she spied a flash of blue. She walked slowly toward it, afraid that it was an illusion; a reflection from a drop of water, or a shadow.

  But no—it was a limp piece of ribbon, faded to a pale blue-gray by the elements, tied with a series of knots to a tree root that pushed out of the ground. Chana knelt and felt the smooth piece of material as though it could tell her something.

  Next to the root was a large gray stone. Chana wrapped her hands around it and pushed at it; it took a bit of effort, but she was able to move it aside.

  Underneath the stone was what looked like the top of a tightly stoppered jam jar, buried in the soil. Chana reached for a nearby branch and dug at the dirt around the jar until she could pull it from the ground.

  It contained a single piece of paper, folded several times. Chana opened the jar with some difficulty (moisture and dirt made the lid resistant to her grip), pulled the paper out, and carefully unfolded it. In precisely lettered but badly spelled Yiddish, it read:

  Dear Chana—

  I hope you are well and not dead. My uncle Kurt died in the war and my mother is very ill, so we’re going to Berlin to stay with my grandmama and find a doctor who can make my mother well. So I may not be able to come back to the forest in the estate for a while, and I left you this so you’ll know I didn’t forget. Did the pigeon get better?

  Most sincerely yours,

  Sophia Stein

  Chana sat on the ground and read the letter twice. Then she reached into her backpack, pulled out her pen, turned the letter over and put it on her backpack so that she could use it as a writing surface. And paused.

  She thought about all the other things that she had wanted to tell Sophia: About her second cousin who had run away to America in order to stay out of the army and who promised to find them someplace to live. About the musician, who had bright blue eyes and the most beautiful smile she’d ever seen, and who’d gently kissed her on the lips before he left for the city. About what it was like to hide beneath a pile of hay, the smell of horse manure and fresh grass around her, her mouth dry with fear, listening to the shouts of drunken men outside and praying that they wouldn’t decide to investigate the barn.

  But what little light there was in the clearing was starting to fade, and there wasn’t time to write it all down.

  Chana wet the tip of her pen with her tongue, thought for a moment, and wrote.

  Dear Sophia—

  The pigeon recovered and flew away. We’re going to New York City in America. If you can, come to America as well and find me.

  Very sincerely,

  Chana Rivka Krasulka


  She folded the paper, put it back in the jar and placed the jar in its hole. After burying it, she stopped, sat back on her heels and stared at the small mound for a moment. She untied the faded blue ribbon and put it into her pocket. Then she reached into her backpack, took out the red kerchief, and tied it firmly to the root.

  “We will meet again,” she told the kerchief. “I swear.” She stood, and left the clearing.

  Sabbath Wine

  A story of Abe Hirsch, Chana’s husband-to-be

  1920

  “My name’s Malka Hirsch,” the girl said. “I’m nine.”

  “I’m David Richards,” the boy said. “I’m almost thirteen.”

  The two kids were sitting on the bottom step of a run-down brownstone at the edge of the Brooklyn neighborhood of Brownsville. It was late on a hot summer afternoon, and people were just starting to drift home from work, lingering on stoops and fire escapes to catch any hint of a breeze before going up to their stifling flats.

  Malka and David had been sitting there companionably for a while, listening to a chorus of gospel singers practicing in the first floor front apartment at the top of the stairs. Occasionally, the music paused as a male voice offered instructions and encouragement; it was during one of those pauses that the kids introduced themselves to each other.

  Malka looked up at her new friend doubtfully. “You don’t mind talking to me?” she asked. “Most big boys don’t like talking to girls my age. My cousin Shlomo, he only wanted to talk to the older girl who lived down the street and who wore short skirts and a scarf around her neck.”

  “I don’t mind,” said David. “I like kids. And anyway, I’m dead, so I guess that makes a difference.”