Shelly Sanders: Rachel's Secret

He looked at her thoughtfully before answering. “That depends. Would anyone be hurt if this secret was revealed?”

Rachel imagined the police beating down her family’s door to stop her from telling people what she had seen. She pictured the big policeman in the sheepskin coat chasing her through the forest, waving a bloody knife in the air as he grew closer.

“Yes,” she said. “I… people could get hurt.”

You know that Jewish law forbids gossip and slander— lashon ha-ra.”

“But when you know for sure that someone did a terrible thing…”

“Stop,” her father said sternly. “Disparaging words are prohibited. Especially if your words could bring about violence.”

“But Father—”

“Listen to me.” He placed his hands on her shoulders. “Words that question another’s character are like feathers thrown into the wind. They can never be returned.”

She nodded.

“Is this secret the reason you’ve been acting so strangely? You haven’t been eating, and every morning you have dark circles under your eyes.”

Rachel wasn’t sure how to answer her father. She knew he would insist on telling the police what she’d seen, but he didn’t know how that policeman had stabbed Mikhail, with a vengeance and anger that truly horrified her. “Perhaps,” she said slowly.

“You are a wise girl. You will know in your heart if you should reveal your secret.”

They resumed walking in silence. Rachel wondered how she would know, if there would be a sign or if she would have to figure it out herself. She didn’t have a chance to think about this further, for when they entered their courtyard, a young police officer was waiting at their door.

“Good day,” said the policeman.

“The same to you,” said Rachel’s father. He glanced up at the clear blue sky and cleared his throat. “I think spring will be early this year.”

The officer nodded. “I, um, don’t mean to bother you and take up much of your time. It seems that your daughter Rachel was one of the last people to see Mikhail Rybachenko alive at the river. I just have a couple of questions for her.”

Her father nodded. “I knew you would be here sooner or later. This is Rachel. Come in.”

Rachel followed her father and the policeman inside.

“Allow me to introduce my wife, Ita,” said Rachel’s father, “and my older daughter, Nucia.” The two of them were seated quietly near the stove, on a bench that doubled as a bed for Rachel’s parents in the evening. The officer bowed his head toward them, then leaned against the wall. “Nucia was with Rachel the last time she saw Mikhail,” Rachel’s father added.

The officer fixed his eyes on Rachel, who had joined her mother and sister on the bench.“Can you tell me, umm, about the last few minutes you spent with Mikhail?” asked the policeman.

Rachel glanced at her father, who nodded, and began to speak. “There was nobody except Mikhail on the ice when we, Nucia and I, left the river.” Rachel looked down to hide her tears. “I wish he had gone home.”

“It’s true,” said Nucia. “When we left, Mikhail was alone.”

“Do you know of anyone who wanted to hurt Mikhail? Somebody who might have been mad at him?”

Rachel shook her head and looked at the officer, her eyes brimming with tears. “Everyone liked Mikhail. He… he… always knew the right thing to say and never had a harsh word for anyone.”

Rachel’s father cleared his throat. “Are… are you finished?”

The policeman examined his notes. “I’m sorry to have upset you like this, but, umm, we need all the information we can get in order to find the person responsible.”

Mikhail’s eyes stared at her, bright blue saucers in a pool of blood.

“No!” screamed Rachel. She sat up, looked around the dark sleeping area and began crying softly into her pillow.

“What’s wrong, Rachel?” Nucia called out sleepily.

“Nothing.” Rachel answered in a teary voice.

Nucia got up and shuffled over to her. “This is the third night in a row that you’ve had a nightmare. Is it about Mikhail?” She yawned as she spoke.

“I can’t tell you.” Rachel reached for Snegurochka and clutched the doll to her chest for comfort.

“Why not?”

Rachel looked up at her sister, a shadow against the wall. “Because I could get our whole family in trouble,” she whispered.

“What are you talking about?”

Rachel sat up and pulled her blanket up to her neck. “I told you. I can’t say.”

“What if I promise not to tell anybody?”

“How can I trust you ?”

“You know that amber necklace Mother gave me last year? The one she’s had since she was a girl?”

Rachel nodded.

“I’ll give it to you for safekeeping. If I break my promise, it’s yours.”

Rachel closed her eyes for a moment and considered her sister’s offer. Entrusting her secret would be like sharing a burden, sharing the fear. “I saw something, something horrible that nobody was supposed to see.”

“What?” asked Nucia, now wide awake.

Rachel took a deep breath. “I know who killed Mikhail. A policeman stabbed him over and over.” Rachel hung her head and wept. “Mikhail called him ‘Uncle’ and cried out for help. But the man kept stabbing him. And another man, who was fat and silent, just stood beside Mikhail and did nothing.”

Nucia gasped. “Oh… tell me you’re lying. Please, tell me it’s not true.”

“I wish I was lying. I wish I had never seen it,” cried Rachel. “I can’t tell the police because a policeman was the killer.”

Nucia sat on the bench, moaning into her hands. “What you’ve seen is… is horrible.” She reached out and hugged Rachel to her. “You must never tell anyone what you saw, Rachel.” Nucia pulled back and grasped Rachel’s shoulders. “Our whole family could be in danger if you tell anybody, especially Father… he will insist on going to the police. Promise?”

Rachel choked back her tears. “I promise.” Though she’d worried about confiding in her sister, Rachel felt lighter somehow, relieved of her heavy load.

Sergei frowned at the clock hanging on the wall at the front of the classroom. Another hour of lessons. He knew he should be working on his arithmetic problems, but he couldn’t focus. Sergei turned his paper over and began drawing a picture of his teacher, Mr. Bogdanov, sitting at the front of the class, his eyes partially concealed beneath bushy red eyebrows.

Sergei peered at Mr. Bogdanov and drew his face with cross-hatching to denote his ruddy complexion. As he drew, Sergei couldn’t stop thinking about Mikhail. He used to love Sergei’s drawings and had encouraged him to become an artist. Mikhail had dreamed of studying at the university in Petersburg. Together they’d talked excitedly about their future, away from Kishinev and their families’ expectations that hindered their dreams.

He examined his caricature of Bogdanov and was pleased with what he saw. He’d captured the teacher’s swarthy eyes, and the gigantic nose was an excellent parody of the real thing. He looked up and saw Mr. Bogdanov glaring at him.

“Sergei, do you have a question?” asked Mr. Bogdanov.

“No, sir.”

Bring your work up to me so I can see it for myself.”

Sergei walked slowly to the front of the room. He lay the paper down in front of Mr. Bogdanov and stared at his feet.

“Umm. I see that arithmetic is not on your agenda today. Have you become an expert at mathematics overnight?”

“No, sir.”

“Do you feel that rubbish such as this is a better use of your time than the arithmetic I teach?”

“No, sir.”

“Then why are you wasting my time and the class’s time?” Mr. Bogdanov crushed Sergei’s drawing in his hands and threw it in the bin.