A Bend in the Stars Read online

  Where was he? She craned her neck, stared through windows. There. Miri was certain this time. “Yuri,” she said. Before she could manage another word, he pulled her inside.

  “What’s happened?” he asked.

  “Please. Stop the horses,” she said between gasps. She didn’t realize how fast she’d been running. The wheels came to a halt.

  “Tell me. What is it? Your grandmother?”

  “Vanya heard you,” Miri said. “With Rubenstein, I assume. Vanya heard you. The deal you made. For my promotion.” Yuri still held her, but he turned away. “You traded yourself. How could you?” She was crying now.

  “Should I continue, sir?” the driver called.

  “No. Not yet,” Yuri said in a rasp Miri had only ever heard from patients in pain.

  “How could you?” Miri asked again. “How could you do it?”

  “I did it for you.”

  “The others will hate you for it. And me. Even if it saves them, they’ll hate that you’ve forced their hand. You could lose your position, your standing.”

  “What do I care?” Yuri said. “You and your grandmother talk about real friendships, about people who can be trusted. Are any of them true friends?”

  “They’re Jews.”

  “So what? You’re all I care about.” He held her tighter. “You have your brother and grandmother. You can’t understand.” He stopped, and she could feel him willing himself to stay in control. “I have no one else left.”

  “What do you mean?” He’d never said anything like that.

  “Now’s not the time.”

  He was right. She took a deep breath and tried to stop her tears. “You’ve volunteered. It means you have a say in your posting? Not like conscripts. For the right price?”

  “Why?”

  “I need you to go to Riga. With Vanya. There’s a new expedition meeting there.”

  “For the eclipse? He’s still talking about that?”

  “Of course. And I want you to take him.” Yuri grimaced and Miri realized her voice had stopped shaking. “Hear me out. You tell me that in some situations there’s never a good choice, or a right choice.” She explained about Ilya’s visit, the conscription order, and the expedition to Riga. If Vanya succeeded, he could take them all to America.

  Yuri didn’t respond, not at first. Instead he stared through the window. The streets were swelling with men and women, bicycles, carriages, and cars. “You want me to secure a post in Riga and take Vanya with me?” She nodded. “I’d have to make him my medic.”

  “Use my baba’s rubies.” Gems from a necklace they’d started taking apart a year earlier. They still had a dozen left. “Whatever you need for bribes. Just do it.”

  “No.”

  “No? After what you did, after you volunteered without even discussing it with me, you won’t consider it?”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I’ll say that a million times, but I don’t regret it. And I can’t take your brother to Riga. Even if I agreed, he wouldn’t. He’s never approved of me.”

  “He’s my brother. He’ll never think any man is worthy. You know that.”

  “What if he dies under my watch?”

  “It won’t be your fault.”

  “In your heart, you’ll blame me.”

  “That’s not true. I’ll know together you were stronger. No one survives without help. Please. You owe me this.”

  “Owe you?” He stopped and looked at her. “I’ve never heard you speak like that.”

  “Only thirty-eight days. We can escape afterward. Professor Eliot will bring us to America.”

  “All of us? Including me? You’re certain?”

  “Yes.”

  “We will be deserters. If we leave for the eclipse, and to meet you afterward, they will try to hunt us down.”

  “Yes, that can’t be avoided. For Vanya there’s no other way.” She spoke quickly and her arguments sounded only half formed because they were. But since that was all she had, she kept pushing. “Vanya won’t leave Russia without witnessing this eclipse, can’t secure our way to America without it. This is his life’s work. And there aren’t as many troops in Riga. Perhaps by then they won’t even be able to spare soldiers to track you down. Besides, even if you stayed, neither of you would survive a war. Vanya, he’d rather calculate trajectories than return fire. And you, you wouldn’t fare much better. You’re too gentle. And being cloistered in a hospital won’t keep you safe.” They looked at one another. “Please, Yuri. We’ll meet in Peter. From there, to Finland. To Sweden. And now we have a way to America.” She took his hand. “You and Vanya. If you must serve, if Vanya must see his eclipse, can’t you do both, together?”

  “We’ll marry in America?”

  “Yes. We’ll meet at Rosh Hashanah, marry in America.”

  “Mirele. I’ll take Vanya with me to Riga.”

  XII

  Once Vanya and Yuri both agreed to Miri’s plan, time ran too fast. In less than an hour, they’d packed their bags and marched together to headquarters, where Vanya volunteered before the conscription order was made public, and together he and Yuri requested a placement in Riga. That was the only way, Yuri said, because volunteers had some choice in their placement, with the right bribe. Conscripts had none. And once they were gone, as much as Miri wanted to grieve, she willed herself to believe it would work as planned, that they’d reunite in Saint Petersburg soon. There was nothing else she could do. At least Vanya had taken a few of Baba’s rubies to pay for the photographs, for bribes—or for both, if necessary.

  They had only barely moved swiftly enough. Before nightfall, the czar’s army swooped down. No Jewish house was spared. No Jewish child over the age of eight was safe. When Babushka heard the first glass shatter, a window next door, she grabbed Miri. “We must hide,” she said. “Looting will be the best of it.” Tzvi, the boy who lived across the street, yelled for his mother. Miri wanted to rush to him, to hide him with her and Baba, but before she could move, she saw him heaved into the back of a wagon. That poor child.

  Baba took Miri’s arm. “Hide,” she hissed. All the kindness in her voice was gone, replaced by an urgency Miri had never heard. “Survive.”

  But before they could move, a soldier burst through the kitchen door. An ogre caked in mud. His eyes were narrow and cold. Baba was the first to confront him. He brushed her aside as if she were an insect, and she hit the wall. The pots overhead rattled. One fell. It landed with a thud that left it lopsided. Miri screamed. “I’m fine, child,” Baba mumbled, but Miri saw her gaze was unfocused.

  Miri heard the soldier coming toward her. She didn’t have time to bend for the dagger in her boot, the one Babushka insisted she take everywhere, so she grabbed the misshapen pot, whipped around meaning to defend them with it, but in that same instant, he took hold of her wrist and the two were locked together. The pot in her fist hung suspended over them. The soldier looked surprised by her strength, by the fact that she didn’t let go or give in. But he was stronger and he seemed to like taunting her, not overpowering her as quickly as he could. She understood that once she stopped fighting, he’d be merciless.

  “Maratovich, enough,” Ilya Dragunovitch yelled. He shoved the soldier away. “Leave this Jewish whore. Go! Our orders are for men and boys only.” Ilya shook a piece of paper between them to show Maratovich the supposed orders, but Miri saw that Ilya held the paper upside down, and Maratovich didn’t object. They were both illiterate. The pot fell. The soldier skittered to the door, and Miri staggered back. Terrified and full of rage.

  “Dr. Abramov,” Ilya whispered once Maratovich was gone. “Are you okay?”

  “Fine.”

  “I almost didn’t recognize you. Did he hurt you?”

  Could she recognize herself? She’d never fought anyone in her life, not really. Her dress was torn. Her hair was loose. She didn’t see any cuts or blood, but still she felt injured.

  Babushka was talking, waving for Miri to come close. “Stop mut
tering,” Baba said.

  “I wasn’t.” Was she?

  “A ruby. Give Ilya a ruby.” Yes, Baba was right. Miri reached into the secret pocket sewn into her grandmother’s belt and took one. “Child, clear your head.”

  Miri caught Ilya at the door and slid the gem into his hand. He closed his fist around it. Then Miri went back to her grandmother. “We need to get into the cellar and hide,” Baba said.

  “Not yet. I’m going to the Yurkovs’.” Their neighbors. The bakers. “I’ll bring their boys. They can hide here. With us.”

  “Mirele, you’re not thinking. Ilya can’t protect you out there. You won’t make it to the Yurkovs’. If they’re smart, they’ll be hiding, too. All we can do is try to stay alive until the morning. By then, maybe…” She didn’t need to finish for Miri to understand. Baba was right.

  Miri opened the hatch in the kitchen floor and helped her grandmother down the stairs. The cellar seemed darker than it had been. And the smell of mold was replaced by something metallic, something closer to blood. Baba slumped onto the cot where they’d sat just that morning, a lifetime ago. Miri pulled a blanket over her grandmother and climbed into bed with her, tried not to imagine what was happening to their neighbors even though their screams were piped through the chimney. When the terror hit a crescendo, it made Miri shake so violently her teeth chattered. Even with her eyes open she couldn’t stop picturing little Tzvi being heaved into the wagon, hearing his mother’s screams. She hated herself, hated that dozens of neighbors all around them were suffering and she couldn’t, wouldn’t move. That she wasn’t helping.

  “There’s nothing we can do. This isn’t Zhytomyr,” Baba said as she stroked Miri’s hair. Baba had told Miri and Vanya stories about the famous Jews of Zhytomyr at least a hundred times, and with each repetition the story started larger, more like a fairy tale—but better because it was true. Led by youth groups, the Jews of Zhytomyr stood to fight when a pogrom broke out. They turned the attacks into a bitter battle, killed as many as were killed. The czar’s men won—but the Jews of Zhytomyr fought, and that was what mattered. They inspired others to do the same. But there in Kovno, there were no youth groups or trained Jewish fighters. If Miri tried to take a stand, she’d be slaughtered. “One day, Mirele, it will be different. Perhaps in America.”

  Miri nodded and realized they were alone. Truly alone. Everyone they loved was dead or far away. Had Mama and Papa felt this way when their boat sank? What if the Russians started burning houses the way they did in Odessa? Baba had been right. In the blink of an eye, Kovno had changed. But did they have to run as far as America to find safety? Life in the United States wouldn’t be perfect, only better. The Okhrana wouldn’t come in the middle of the night. Neighbors wouldn’t disappear. They had family in a city called Philadelphia. Baba’s cousins had written describing their lives there, saying their work left them bone weary but safe. Safe. Only now did Miri understand what that word meant, did she begin to understand what her grandmother must have seen as a girl.

  When the screams died down, Babushka fell asleep and Miri lost herself thinking about her mother. She remembered her smell, the creams she used on her dry, cracked hands, her promises that they’d meet in America. Of course, now that would never happen. What else would she lose? Miri was scared to get on a boat, scared to stay, but she understood she had no choice. Not anymore. She kept her eyes wide and waited for morning.

  XIII

  Only two of the Abramovs’ windows were smashed that night. Ilya had protected them, and so Miri rewarded him with another ruby in the morning when he sneaked into their house before dawn to tell them the conscription roundups, and looting, were over. The additional ruby was a rich payment, yes, but both Miri and Babushka were alive, and that was worth any jewel. And they needed him to continue protecting them. For now, he was their best hope.

  Miri watched Ilya tiptoe off over shattered glass. Would Vanya and Yuri find a man as good as Ilya to help them, too? Then she turned back to the house and went into the kitchen. She didn’t know what to do. She was used to Babushka taking charge, but she feared her grandmother was more shaken than she’d admit. She was up in her room, resting. Ilya had helped carry her up, and now Miri stood staring at the lopsided pot still on the kitchen floor while she heard women outside sweeping splintered wood and glass. The neighbors were scrubbing away the blood because once it was gone they would be free to imagine their children were safe. They could dream their sons were the lucky ones who’d make it back alive. Miri had seen too many women at the hospital who’d done the same in the past, and it broke her heart.

  Miri thought about going to help them, but she couldn’t bring herself to step outside. She was still shaking. Was still scared and ashamed of herself for it. And on top of it all was another layer. Anger. She was still enraged that Yuri had gone behind her back, enraged that Vanya put the eclipse above their safety. And, this was the heart of it, disappointed in herself for letting it happen, for pushing the two men she loved into the army, the very place she had hoped to protect them from at all costs. There hadn’t been time to think. Had she acted too quickly?

  Miri went to check on her grandmother. Baba’s eyes were closed, but Miri knew from her breathing she was awake. “What do we do?” Miri asked.

  “You go to the hospital.” Baba’s voice was weak. “Appearances are important.”

  “But we’re leaving.”

  “Not until Rosh Hashanah. If we leave earlier, people will be suspicious. We don’t want questions. The women will be here soon. We’ll mourn together. Dream of our boys coming home.”

  “I don’t know if I can go to the hospital.”

  “You must. Our neighbors look to us for strength, and we will provide it.”

  Miri knew Baba was right. Theirs was an odd position in Kovno. While on the surface the generosity of Baba’s clients made it appear that Miri’s family, the Abramov family, was integrated into the Jewish community, they weren’t. Kovno’s poorer Jews thought the Abramovs were above them, and the richer Jews believed they were below them, but both agreed Baba’s position went beyond matchmaker—she was the anchor that held the community together. And they needed her and her sitting room where they could gather because, above it all, Kovno’s Jews were united by ideas, by the belief they could assimilate and become Russian Jews, not just Jews. Nearly one quarter of Kovno’s population was composed of Jews who shunned their ancestors’ black hats and insular enclaves, who chose to dress and work in the mold of their cosmopolitan neighbors. Kovno was one of the few cities in Russia that permitted its Jews to make this choice, to join guilds, become politicians, and even live in the center of the city as long as they were useful. All for a price, of course. A double tax and an outrageous tariff on “Jewish meat,” on butcher shops, grocers, and professions. This group believed their updated way of life was worth it, even worth the lingering violence against them. Or they had. Now what did they think? Baba was right; many would arrive soon to discuss and debate.

  Miri helped her grandmother out of bed. She brushed her hair and braided it, her hands becoming steadier as she worked. By the time her grandmother was ready to receive clients, Miri was, too. Downstairs they found a dozen women collected outside their front door. Miri and Baba hurried them in, and then Miri excused herself and started toward the hospital—alone, painfully aware of Yuri’s absence.

  She walked over blood in the cracks between cobblestones and found a woman cowering at a wall. Her eye was injured. The woman had her hand over it, and blood had dried down the back of her arm even while it trickled through her knuckles. “I’ll help you to the hospital,” Miri said as she pulled the woman to her feet. In another block, an old man with a wagon saw them. Miri had set his son’s broken leg a year earlier. The man offered to take them. “Thank you,” Miri said, and helped the woman into the wagon. Along the way they stopped to pick up a girl with a broken arm, a woman left for dead but who rasped loud enough for Miri to hear, her skirts gone, and others.
None beaten as badly as Sukovich. At least on the surface.

  Dr. Kozlov, Yuri’s replacement, met Miri at the door just as she was leading the injured inside. He told Miri she was permitted only in the women’s ward, that she was prohibited from operating. Already, it seemed, with Yuri gone, the power of her promotion diminished. But didn’t she deserve that, after she’d failed? Either way, she was too tired, too scared to object. And there was too much work to be done to worry about her own position now.

  After twelve hours on her feet, stitching wounds, setting bones, and wiping tears, Miri was near collapse. She staggered to her office and sat down in the chair across from the sink. From that angle she stared into a mirror. She had her grandmother’s green eyes and dark curls, the same ones Vanya inherited. Yuri called her beautiful, but that night she recognized the beginnings of the same circles she saw under Babushka’s eyes, along with the same lines around her mouth. She felt far older than she should.

  XIV

  When Miri came home she expected to find her grandmother in their sitting room, surrounded by a crowd of mothers and grandmothers still consoling one another or debating how to move forward, how to save their sons, but from three blocks away, Miri saw the house was empty. The lights were on, but there were no women standing near the windows, no carriages parked in front. And it wasn’t just their house. The neighborhood was deserted. Even the street cleaners who made rounds at this hour were missing. The conscription order had hit hard, yes, but it felt too quiet even for that. Something else had happened. Miri broke into a run. Her footfalls ricocheted off the gray stones, sounding louder than they should. “Babushka?” She must have yelled. A neighbor opened a window.

  “Miriam Davydovna, do you need help?” Elena Levovna, the baker’s wife, called.