Shelly Sanders - Rachel's Secret

The soup tasted like hot water. There were tiny bits of cabbage that had floated to the bottom, but the broth was tasteless. And the tiny piece of bread she’d been given was hard to swallow because it was so dry.

When she placed her empty bowl in a wooden bucket piled high with other dirty bowls, she saw Sacha and his father hovering nearby. Both of them looked like skeletons of their former selves, their faces drawn so that their bones stuck out. Mr. Talansky’s hand shook when he placed his bowl in the bucket.

“We were among the first in line,” said Sacha to Rachel. “But it wasn’t enough to fill a bird.”

“I know. And I couldn’t taste any cabbage in my soup.” Rachel noticed Sacha’s eyes darting back and forth from her face to the bucket filled with discarded bowls. Turning her head, she saw Mr. Talansky grabbing bowls and holding them up to his mouth, licking the remains of other people’s soup.

“We’re both so hungry. What they give us isn’t enough.” Sacha fidgeted with his hands and looked down in shame. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“Don’t be. I’m still hungry, and I’m not nearly as big as you or your father. It’s all right,” she said, disconcerted by Mr. Talansky’s desperate condition. “As soon as I finished my bowl, I started counting the hours until the next meal.”

Sacha kicked at the ground. “We’re leaving tomorrow.”

“Where are you going?”

“Petersburg. My father has a sister there. We’re going to stay with her family until my father gets a job.”

Rachel twisted her braid and forced a smile. Sacha and his father had been like family to her, and now they were leaving. She might never see them again.

“Maybe your family could come too,” Sacha continued, his voice becoming earnest. “Maybe your mother could get a position…” His voice tapered off as he spoke, as if he knew what she was going to say.

“Doing what? All my mother knows how to do is cook and clean.”

“Well… she could get a job at a restaurant… or doing needlework.”

Rachel glanced at her mother who stood waiting for Mrs. Berlatsky to finish her soup. She was stooped over, as if she were sixty, not thirty-three. Her hair was streaked with gray and her face was pale, almost translucent.

“I don’t think so,” Rachel said. “My mother’s hardly spoken in days. All she does is sleep. I can’t see her making food or even doing needlework. Not for a long time; maybe never.”

“Then… maybe you could come with us,” said Sacha.

Rachel felt his eyes on her. “I can’t leave my mother or sister. It wouldn’t be right.” She looked up at him sadly. “But I will miss you and your father.” She glanced at Mr. Talansky, now sitting on the wet ground. “Will you promise to write me?”

Sacha nodded and gave her a rueful smile. She watched as he helped his father to his feet and headed back to the hospital. The Talanskys were another link to her former life that was now being broken. Little by little, her life was disintegrating, leaving her feeling helpless and despondent about the future.

Rachel and Nucia stood in the doorway to their hospital room staring at their mother. She lay motionless on her cot.

“I’m so worried about her,” said Nucia. “She’s lost so much weight and has no energy at all.”

“She hardly ate anything yesterday,” said Rachel. “And at night she’s restless, rolling around and groaning.”

“I wish we could take her away from here. Sacha and his father are lucky they have family in Petersburg.”

Rachel pushed her braids behind her shoulders. “We do have family… Father’s parents. Bubbe and Zeyde.”

“We’ve never even met his parents,” sighed Nucia.

A smile extended across Rachel’s face. “Let’s write them a letter. We’ll tell them what happened and ask if we can come.”

Nucia looked at Rachel as if she was crazy. “They might ignore a letter. They don’t know us at all…we don’t even know where they live.”

Rachel fixed her gaze on Nucia. “I know the town. We can address it to the synagogue there. We have to try. That’s what Father would say. When they hear about Father…” her voice broke, and she paused to gain her composure. “They may want to help us.”

Nucia shrugged her shoulders. “I think you’re wasting your time.”

Rachel’s eyes flashed with hope and determination. “All we have right now is time. There is nothing to lose.” She turned and strode purposefully down the hall to Rena’s office.

Rena sat at her tidy desk filling out some forms. “Rena? Is there an inkwell and pen I can use to write a letter?” asked Rachel.

“Yes, of course. Use mine.” Rena gestured to her pewter inkwell. “And here’s a piece of paper.”

Rachel sat down on the chair facing Rena, laid the paper flat on the desk, and dipped the quill into the ink.

Zeyde and Bubbe, Sholom aleichem , she wrote neatly at the top of the page. We hope you are well. We are sorry to bring you bad news. Rachel paused to take a deep breath. When she continued, her hand shook, causing drops of ink to pool on the paper. Father was killed during a big fight that took place in Kishinev at the end of Passover. Our house was destroyed. Now we’re staying in the hospital but have to find a new place to live .

Rachel read over what she had written but was unsure of how to continue. “Rena… do you think it’s a good idea to write my grandparents and ask if we can live with them, when we’ve never even met them?”

Rena set her pen in its stand and sat back with a thoughtful look on her face. “I think it’s an excellent idea. I’m sure your grandparents have wanted to meet you for a long time…”

“You don’t understand,” said Rachel. “My father had a quarrel with his parents years ago, and they never saw each other again.”

Rena leaned forward and rested her elbows on the desk. “I don’t know your grandparents, but I am quite sure they deeply regret the argument that came between them and your father. Because of it, they don’t know you and your sister, and worse, their son has died before they could resolve their differences.” She looked intently at Rachel. “They won’t want the same thing to happen again.”

Rachel nodded, encouraged by Rena’s sensible words. With renewed determination, she continued writing. Mother has hardly spoken since the massacre. She won’t be able to work for some time. We would be very grateful if we could come and stay with you until Mother feels better. We promise we won’t cause any trouble, and we have always wanted to meet you both very much. Please send your reply to the Kishinev Jewish Hospital. Your loving granddaughter, Rachel .

She finished writing and set the pen in the inkwell. “I don’t have a stamp. How am I going to get it to them?”

“Don’t worry,” said Rena. “Since the riot, the hospital has been receiving donations to help pay for food, clothing, and medical care. I’ll get the money from this fund.”

Rachel stared at the envelope addressed to her grandparents, then handed it carefully to Rena. “This is our only hope. The only family we have.”

“What the devil! This is rubbish… absolute rubbish.” Sergei’s father stared at the document in his hands. “I did what I could with the men I had.”

Sergei looked up from the game of backgammon he was playing with Natalya. His father had just received a telegraph from his office and had been shouting at it for the last five minutes.

“It’s your turn, Sergei.” Natalya prodded him to pay attention.

“Oh no! You put me on the bar. Now I have to start all over again.” Sergei pretended to be upset that his sister was making him start from the beginning.