A Bend in the Stars Page 6

  “Vanya, is that you?” Baba called from the pantry, where she was measuring flour.

  “Yes. Good morning, Babushka.”

  “You were up working on equations?” Miri asked.

  Vanya shook his head. “Did you talk to Yuri?”

  “About what?”

  Just then someone knocked on their rear door; sharp, hard staccatos shook the wood. Miri stilled the spoon in her glass. The tea continued to swirl but the fruit sank. No one came to the house at this hour except the baker’s boy, and he never knocked like that.

  “Who’s there?” Babushka asked.

  “Ilya Dragunovitch.” The police officer they secretly bribed to keep them safe, who warned them when tax collectors were trolling, when the Okhrana took an interest in them or their friends. Baba hurried him inside and then leaned into the alley to see if he’d been followed. There was no one. She shut the door quickly behind him. Ilya was short with pitted skin and downcast eyes as large as prunes. His jacket was damp. Even though it was early, Vanya poured him vodka.

  “Say what you must,” Babushka ordered. “You shouldn’t be here near daylight when someone could see you.” Her green eyes were narrow, and her gnarled fingers twisted together. Miri moved to stand at her grandmother’s side.

  “I had to come,” Ilya said. “Terrible news. You’ve heard about the archduke. Assassinated in Sarajevo.”

  “That was more than two weeks ago. What’s happened?”

  “Conscription. For the Jews. War is coming quickly.” He kept his eyes down and drank the vodka in one swallow. “The Jews leave soon for the south. They’ll be first in the line of fire. Ivan Davydovich…Vanya, professors won’t be spared. You’re not useful in war.” Useful. The word was like a slap. Miri reached out to squeeze her brother’s shoulder. Ilya continued, “No Jewish man or boy will be spared. Not doctors. Not anyone.”

  “Surgeons?” Vanya asked. “Surgeons will be sent to the front?”

  “Jewish surgeons will go to the front,” Ilya said. His visor slipped from his hands. It thudded against the floor. The medallions on his chest clinked as he bent to retrieve it. He looked toward the door before he continued. “Stragglers will be executed. I’m sorry. I am.”

  “Don’t be, child. You’ve done well to warn us,” Babushka said.

  He looked again at the door, more anxious this time. “I must go. I can’t be late.”

  “Of course,” Baba said. Miri was taken by how calm Baba sounded, how she could remain in control even now. Baba slipped money into Ilya’s pocket. “Thank you. Truly.”

  When he was gone, Baba turned to face her grandchildren. Vanya was crumpled in his chair as if he’d been injured. “What is it?” she asked him.

  “He said Jewish surgeons will be sent to the front.”

  “You’re worried for Yuri?” Miri asked.

  “It’s not what you think,” Vanya said.

  “We’ll pay whatever bribes are necessary to keep you both out of the war,” Miri said.

  “What do you mean, Vanya?” Baba asked over Miri. “Not what we think? How?”

  “It’s too late,” Vanya said.

  “Nonsense,” Baba said. “We have time to flee before we witness another Odessa.”

  “There won’t be another Odessa,” Miri said. “Russia has changed since then.”

  “Oh, Mirele,” Baba sighed. “Death will come again. They’ll blame us Jews. For war. For starvation. Cold. Haven’t I taught you? Hasn’t the past been loud enough?”

  “Even if you’re right,” Miri said, “we’ve been through this. I have patients who need me. I can’t leave them. And we don’t even know if it’s true, about the conscription.”

  “It’s true. Ilya’s never failed us,” Baba said. She was right. If the odd little Russian officer said Jews were being conscripted, they were being conscripted. Both Yuri and Vanya would be taken. Baba continued, “Do you want your brother or fiancé to die serving the czar?”

  “Neither of you heard me,” Vanya said, his voice rising. “It’s already too late to run.”

  The kettle on the stove hissed. Miri’s stomach tightened. “Why?” she asked, her voice quiet.

  “Yuri,” Vanya breathed.

  Baba came closer, slid her curled fingers over Vanya’s. “What has Yuri done?”

  Miri’s mouth was dry. The air felt like sand on her tongue. Vanya looked at her and didn’t blink. “He’s volunteered for the army.”

  “How do you know?” Baba asked.

  “I heard him talking to a senior surgeon. While Mirele was getting changed. Yesterday.”

  “He wouldn’t do that,” Miri said.

  “I’m sorry, Mirele. I should have told you right away.”

  “But it doesn’t even make sense,” Miri continued. “Volunteered? Why?”

  “Tell us exactly what you heard,” Baba said.

  “He traded himself. For Mirele. In exchange for her promotion. The hospital was asked to provide one surgeon. They were going to draw lots. But Yuri…”

  “He’d never do that,” Miri said, her voice so rough she didn’t recognize it. Baba reached for her, wrapped her hand through her granddaughter’s so her fingers entwined in both of her grandchildren’s. “He wouldn’t,” Miri said.

  “Perhaps he didn’t weigh the consequences,” Baba said. “Men can be rash.”

  Even as Miri opened her mouth to protest, she knew Baba was right. Of course, this explained everything. Many feelings came at once. Sadness. Fear. Anger. Guilt. Disappointment. More than anything, didn’t Yuri realize she wasn’t willing to risk losing him—ever? “I have to find him,” she said. “Talk to him.”

  “Not yet, Mirele,” Vanya said. “There’s something else.” He pulled an envelope out from his pocket. Miri recognized it. The letter that was delivered the day before. Vanya moved to open it but Baba stopped him.

  “Not here,” she said. “The neighbors will be up soon. We can’t risk them hearing all our secrets. Come to the cellar.”

  “No. I have to find Yuri,” Miri said.

  “Not yet,” Baba said.

  X

  Vanya opened the hatch hidden in the kitchen floor, and Babushka hurried down the secret stairs as if she were strengthened by the news of their danger. In contrast, Vanya slumped and Miri felt her own shoulders stoop as they trailed behind. How could Yuri do this? she asked herself as she looked for a match and began lighting candles. He would never survive a war.

  The cellar space around them was large, spanning the kitchen. Moisture made the room smell like mold. There was a fireplace stacked below the one in the kitchen so it shared a chimney and could burn without being detected, keep them warm even in the coldest winter. Shelves lined the walls with what should have been canned fruits and vegetables, but instead were piles of books—Miri’s medical texts.

  The cellar had started as a shelter when Miri was a child, but as she’d grown, it became her office. Babushka wouldn’t let her use any other space in the house, because if the Okhrana ever came and found so many books in Miri’s room, Baba said, they’d suspect they were harboring a spy, or worse. They’d never believe a woman—a Jewish woman—was a doctor. Especially when their own officers couldn’t even read. By the time anyone bothered to check on her story, it could be too late. And so the underground had become Miri’s retreat. She’d covered the dirt floor with rugs. She’d installed sconces that held dozens of candles. She’d brought down a desk and kept jars of specimens in formaldehyde. Like Vanya, she pinned her work in front of her, but instead of equations she displayed diagrams of the body and anatomy, attached them to the front of every shelf so they hung down as a curtain over the books. Just two nights before, she’d mounted specifics for the dissection of a spleen.

  Babushka allowed it all so long as the space under the stairs was clear, the space where they sat now, on cots facing one another. Vanya wound the phonograph, a gift from a politician on his daughter’s wedding night, which they used as an extra layer of sound prot
ection. Notes from a violin concerto rang in a high trill as Baba pulled Miri and Vanya so close their curls mingled. Without fresh air the room’s smell turned to must and heat, making Miri feel even heavier.

  “In the blink of an eye, life changes,” Babushka said. “Mirele, are you listening?”

  “I’m trying. It’s just—” She bunched her hands into fists. “Yuri.” She hit her thigh.

  “You must put your anger aside.”

  “But…”

  Baba cut her off by holding up her hand. “Our escape is all that matters.” Since surviving the pogroms, Baba had made an escape route for every house she’d occupied and journey she’d taken. She’d mapped out passages through the mountains and along rivers. She’d checked train and boat schedules and always knew when and where to find a way out. And she’d shared it all with her grandchildren, made sure they could do the same. And do it quietly, because the key to escape is secrecy. Even friends must know nothing. “Miriam?”

  “Yes. I’m listening.”

  “Good. We follow the first path we planned. North by land, west by sea. We leave for America. Today.”

  “Baba, we don’t have papers. And Yuri…,” Miri said.

  “That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” Vanya interrupted. He held out the letter from Eliot. It was dusted in chalk and wrinkled as if it had been read a thousand times. “We don’t need another word from Yuri. He did what he did. Now we focus on this.” He shook the letter. “Our way to America runs through Riga. I’m heading to Riga.”

  “Riga?” Miri asked.

  “Yes. For the eclipse.”

  Miri shook her head. “How can you even think about the eclipse when Yuri’s about to be sent to the front? When you’ll likely be forced there as well?”

  “That’s just it. I need to leave for Riga before my orders come in. While I still have room to go,” Vanya said. “There’s a new expedition. Eliot told me about it. An American scientist named Russell Clay is planning to photograph the eclipse from Riga. In thirty-eight days. He’s due to arrive any moment. If I can get there and show him the math, he’ll share the photos. Then Eliot and Harvard will have us.”

  “This Russell Clay, he’s already agreed?” Baba asked.

  “No. But I can convince him.”

  “You can’t be serious,” Miri said. She let go of Baba and walked across the room, started ripping down her diagrams of the spleen. The sound of paper tearing made Vanya flinch, but she didn’t stop. “You don’t have equations yet. And why Riga?” Vanya had talked enough about the eclipse that she knew all the other expeditions, before they were canceled, were headed inland where the ground was flat and open. Riga was a bustling port. It would be hard to find a vista wide enough for a clear view.

  “I’ll have the math in time. I know it. And Riga, it’s still in the path of totality, still along the centerline.” Vanya took a deep breath. The violin unfurled into staccatos off the phonograph. “Clay based his decision on something called the cloudiness factor. He’s taken the historical average of weather patterns, decided his best chance for clear skies lies in Riga.”

  “You trust a man who uses the past to predict the future?” Baba asked.

  “I don’t trust him. I don’t even know him, but he’s all I’ve got. There’s nothing I can do but accept it and find him. Convince him to take me. And he will. Once I have the equations. I know it. I can’t miss this chance. For science. For us. There’s no other way.”

  “That’s absurd,” Miri said. She threw the destroyed diagrams into the hearth and turned to face him. “Riga’s outside the Pale.” Surely Vanya knew. Even useful Jews needed papers to travel outside the Pale, and those took time to obtain. “The eclipse can’t be your priority. Not now. Besides, you could be wrong about relativity.”

  “I’m not. This idea, this theory.” He stopped. “Gravity bends space and light. The eclipse will prove it. And that proof, it will change everything.” Vanya lit a cigarette and handed it to his sister, then lit another for himself. The tobacco worked its way into Miri’s bloodstream. She felt the prickle in her chest, the rush in her head. Yuri and her brother, neither of them were thinking straight. How could these men be so brilliant and so naive at the same time?

  “You can’t go,” Miri said. “Neither can Yuri. Baba’s right. We need to get you both out of Russia before the czar’s army devours you. We’ll leave today.”

  “You know we’ll never make it anywhere without papers,” Vanya said.

  “Nonsense. I have a plan,” Baba said.

  “Yes, but the czar’s army has swelled in Kovno. If we run, we’ll be caught,” Vanya said. “Professor Eliot. Did you hear me? His offer stands. A legal way to America. Besides, proving relativity is about more than war. It’s about progress,” Vanya continued. “War will come. I have no doubt. It will end, too. And then, in time, another war will erupt. Isn’t it possible that if we know our place in this universe, we’ll have less to fight over? More to work toward?”

  “Wait for a better time,” Miri said.

  “There won’t be a better time,” Vanya said. “I’ll go to Riga. You and Baba will meet me at Aunt Klara’s in Saint Petersburg. For Rosh Hashanah. That should be enough time for us all to travel. And there will be fewer soldiers there. Then we’ll go north, then west to America. Together.”

  “Your American at Harvard will support us? You’re certain?” Baba asked.

  “If I have the equations and photographs, I’m certain.”

  “A tall order.”

  “All of us. Including Yuri?” Miri asked.

  “You still want him? Yuri?”

  “His intentions were pure even if his actions were misguided,” Baba said. And Miri couldn’t object. Even as angry as she was.

  “Baba’s right,” Miri agreed. Her voice sounded furious. Still, there was no question in her mind. “I love him. He did it for me.”

  Babushka continued, “Vanya, I don’t like that your plan requires us to be apart. Nor do I like that it keeps us in Russia longer, but if Eliot supports us, you make a good argument that our passage would be safer. I can’t dispute that.”

  “Then it’s decided,” Vanya said.

  “No. It’s not,” Miri said. “It’s a terrible plan. If Vanya goes to Riga, he’ll be dodging the conscription order. Riga is west, not south where the Jews are headed. Which means he’ll be called a deserter. Vanya, they won’t show mercy if you’re caught deserting.”

  “They won’t catch me.”

  “Your sister has a point,” Baba said. “Imagine the torture they’ll inflict on you for running to Riga. If they call it desertion and kill you, that’ll be the best of it. You know what they do to families. A death sentence is never singular.”

  “Please. The Okhrana are after the Bolsheviks. Not scientists.”

  “You’re wrong. Think of the Sokolovs.” Jewish Kovno would never forget the Sokolovs. The child was twelve when his mother refused to send him to the army, and they couldn’t afford the exemption tax. A day later the Okhrana hung the entire family on the same post, left the bodies to rot for a week. “Perhaps there is another way. The czar won’t want a cripple. Miri, you can take a few fingers.” Baba used her hand to snip the air. Vanya flinched back on the cot.

  “No, no,” he said.

  “You won’t be able to shoot. But this way, you can go to Riga without worry.”

  “Baba, please,” Vanya said, paler now. “I’ll leave for Riga before the orders come through so I can say in good conscience I’m not deserting. If the Okhrana come for me, I’ll hide. Just as you’ve taught. Trust I can do that.”

  The music from the phonograph caught a crescendo that bit through the cellar, climbing, climbing. And then the needle slid from the record. Babushka took a deep breath.

  “No,” Miri said.

  “What do you mean, no?” Vanya asked.

  “I mean no. You can’t do it. You can’t run to Riga alone. It’s too dangerous.”

  “Mirele, do y
ou think you can stop him?” Baba asked.

  “I have to.”

  “I’ll find you. After the eclipse,” he said.

  “That’s what Mama and Papa said, too. We’d be together again.”

  “This is different.”

  “Yes. This is war.” Miri began to shake. She crossed her arms over her chest to hide her trembling. It wasn’t just that she was terrified of losing Vanya and Yuri. It was that she felt like a spectator in her own life, watching it crash, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. Vanya would go. She saw that. But she had an idea, or the beginning of one. Maybe Miri could help keep him safe—at least a little longer. “Do you have a way to Riga?” Miri asked.

  “Not yet.”

  “Delay. Please. Give me an hour,” Miri said. Before he could respond, she ran up the steps.

  XI

  Miri stood in the street just outside the house, still trembling, flooded with anger and fear. Horses clopped past, covering the stink of rot with manure and overpowering birdsong as their shoes ground against stone. Miri took a deep breath to get a hold of herself, then balanced on tiptoe, searching for Yuri’s usual black taxi driven by the hunched man with a great white beard. She didn’t see him yet, but she expected he was on his way to pick her up so they could go to the hospital together, going through the motions as if this were a normal day because he didn’t know about the conscription order. Nor did he know she knew what he’d done.

  Furious as she was, she had to focus on a plan because what mattered was the future—keeping her brother and fiancé safe. Baba was right; Yuri’s intentions had been pure.

  When she didn’t see him coming, she ran down the street, searching. If only Yuri would listen, perhaps she could keep them both safe. She grabbed the handle of a carriage she was sure held her fiancé. The man inside was too surprised to say anything before she slammed the door, sputtered back.