Charlie Huston - Half the Blood of Brooklyn

The Rebbe comes and sits next to me again and sighs.

– It won’t be long. His place he calls it. A room above our garage and he calls it his place.

He looks up at the ceiling, talks to whatever lives up there.

– No hurry, but he could move out soon, God? Anytime you see fit, but soon perhaps?

He drops his face, looks at me, smiles.

– The prayers of a father.

I’ve seen worse, but Lydia looks bad.

Someone’s removed the arrows from her abdomen and legs and done a shit job of it. They left the one in her throat, afraid they’d take her esophagus out with it, I suppose. Or maybe they like the way it looks there.

The Rebbe watches as they lay her on the pew behind Harm and Vendetta, a scarf tied round her head. He gets up and walks over and bends and inspects the raggedly bandaged wounds and the arrow in her neck.

– This was poorly done.

Axler rubs the back of his neck.

– She’s dangerous, Papa. She shot Matthew and David and Hesch.

Three of the boys touch holes in their black garments.

Axler takes his hand from the back of his neck.

– And she killed Selig.

He points at me.

– This one killed Chaim. And she killed Selig.

The Rebbe puts his index finger on the notched end of the arrow.

– Chaim and Selig. Selig was with you?

– Yes.

– Selig. His brother, I am not surprised, but Selig is a scholar.

He looks at me.

– A smart and a gentle boy. Promising. More than promising. A Rebbe born.

I glance at Axler.

– Not my problem, I killed the other one.

The Rebbe walks to a cabinet on the far wall.

– Always you are like this when you have killed? Lighthearted? Making jokes?

I ignore him, not having made a joke.

He comes back to Lydia with a small black doctor’s bag, sets it on the bench next to her head and opens it.

– I’ll need a cutter.

He opens and closes his hand as if squeezing something.

– In the garage, with the garden tools, there should be something.

One of the boys hurries out.

Axler puts a hand on his father’s shoulder.

– Papa, you shouldn’t. Let me do it. I’ve already broken the Sabbath.

The Rebbe pats his son’s hand.

– Yes, you have. Good of you to say so. And you think it will make it better now if you spare me the same? I have never broken Sabbath? Talked on the phone? Turned on a light? God will understand this. Will he understand what you have done, my son? Without studying the Moed, I cannot say. But this, helping a girl, he will understand.

The boy comes back with the bolt cutters.

Rebbe Moishe takes them, looks again at the arrow, holds it steady where it sticks from Lydia’s skin, fits the cutter around the shaft and firmly snips off the tip.

He takes two large paper-wrapped pads of gauze from his bag and rips them open.

– Some blood?

Axler shakes his head, points at Vendetta.

– We gave it to Hannah.

Harm turns in her seat and looks at him.

– Her name is Vendetta, dickface.

– Fuck off, slut.

– Better a slut than a mama’s boy.

– Whore, if it wasn’t for you, none of this would have happened!

– Sure, fucking blame us for wanting to have our own lives instead of being little baby factories for you small-dicked godmonkeys.

– The temple!

They look at the Rebbe.

– A little peace in the temple? Yes? Please? And if not peace, the imitation of it? And less of this language? A little respect.

Harm turns away.

– Fuck you too, Uncle Moishe.

Axler points at her.

– See, see, that’s how she is. I don’t even want her, Papa, I don’t even want to marry her, let alone have a child with her.

Harm gives a bark.

– Not to worry, cousin, you won’t be marrying me. And you sure as fuck won’t be doing anything with me to make a baby.

– Enough! Yes? Enough? Now. Enough. Axler, you said Leah and Rachel are here, yes?

– Yes, Papa.

– Can either give blood?

– Leah is on her period. Rachel gave some to David and to Matthew.

– How much?

– A pint.

– She is a healthy girl. She can give more. Bring her here.

One of the boys leaves and Axler goes to the altar for a small wood box with a bit of cloth wrapped around it.

Moishe presses one gauze pad around the shaft of the arrow where it emerges from Lydia’s neck, takes the other end of the arrow in his right hand, and draws it out in a long, smooth motion and drops it and claps another pad at the opposite end of the wound. Both pads are quickly stained red.

He cranes his neck and looks at me.

– She is something to you?

– Not much.

– Too bad for you. A beautiful girl. And strong. As much as she has bled out, she should be dead. But a little fresh blood, she will be heartened. She’ll be weak, but well enough.

He looks back at Lydia.

– That you should care so little for this woman. A shame. They are everything to us, our women. Everything comes from them. Our blood. Our faith. The Tribe of Benjamin would have died long ago. The women in our tribe, they can trace back to Benjamin, one of the sons of Jacob. Grandfather of the twelve tribes. Without the women, none of this is passed on.

Axler comes down the aisle with the box.

The Rebbe peels the gauze from the wounds on Lydia’s neck.

– See how strong she is? Wounds closed. So little blood, still strong enough to heal that much.

He takes the box from his son, unwraps the piece of cloth, drapes it over his shoulders, kisses the top of the box, says a prayer, opens it and takes out a small single-edged knife with a silver handle.

– This is why Hannah and Sarah are so important to us, yes?

Harm looks at the ceiling.

– Our names are Vendetta and Harm.

Moishe shakes the knife.

– Call yourself what you like, young lady, your names are Hannah and Sarah.

– What ever.

He sets the little box aside.

– My sister’s girls. Is it a surprise they are as willful as she was? No.

He presses the knife to his forehead, mumbles another prayer, takes it away.

– My sister, running off to join the circus, of all things.

– It ain’t a circus, Moishe, it’s a freak show.

He faces Stretch.

– What did I say, Abe? About being quiet and listening, what did I say? Did I say to try doing that? I did. I’m certain I did.

Stretch lets out a long sigh and leans his head against the back of the pew and closes his eyes.

– Fine, I’m listening. Tell me when you want to stop fucking around and let me and my girls out of here.

The kid comes back with one of the Lucys that drove them around. A big girl, dark complexion, dark hair mostly hidden by a scarf, a plain long skirt and a blouse that matches the ones they put on Harm and Vendetta. She smells fresh, alive, the only thing I’ve smelled here that doesn’t carry the Vyrus. All the blood I’ve lost, my mouth starts to water.

She goes to Moishe.

– Rebbe.

He cradles her cheek in his palm.

– Rachel.

He looks at me.

– This girl, a treasure. Pure faith in God.

– And in you, Rebbe.

– Shht, nonsense. A sin to even say it.

– I’m sorry, Rebbe.

He smiles.

– Don’t be sorry. I tease, I’m teasing. See, a good girl. She understands. Rachel. A wife of Jacob. And Leah, another wife, yes? Mothers of the twelve tribes.

He bares the girl’s forearm, revealing a long series of scars, white slash marks down the length of her arm.

– The word my son used, Lucy, a disrespectful word. These girls are of our tribe. A sacrifice, a great sacrifice they make to keep their blood sanguine. And kosher?