(Bernard Levinson, Vol. 67, No. 2, Rosh Hashanah 2012)
The snow is falling. Heavy indolent snowflakes. Rivers of snow slowly form between the dark wooden houses. The village of Soligalich is covered in a blanket of snow. Berel Chaitovich is a tailor. He is a small man. He has a tight crisp beard. An elaborate skull cap. Wired rimmed glasses cling to the tip of his nose. His wife Brocha is a large woman. An imposing monobosom. Solid oak thighs. Her long hair crushed into an enormous bun. They have ten children.
Rifka is the sixth child. She lives in her own world. Each day she wanders between the houses in the village. In response to a command in her secret world, Rifka takes off her clothes. The market square is her stage. Neighbours bring Rifka home smiling. Vacant. Everyone in the village knows Rifka.
The silent snow is falling. The few trees surrounding the village have become white grotesque ghosts.
On the other side of the world the city of Leeds exerts a magnetic tug on men and their families from all over Eastern Europe. The English looms are busy. England is the home of the new booming textile world. Leeds is the seething centre drawing tailors from the old world. Lithuanian tailors. Polish tailors. Russian tailors. It is snowing the night Berel Chaitovich and his wife Brocha vanish from the village of Soligalich with their ten children. He is able to pay for their passage and they arrive in the city of Leeds.
Count Boris Ignatievich Mironov is the landlord of the large Vlodavky province.
Soligalich is one of the villages in his serfdom. As he passes in his elaborate sled accompanied by his soldiers it is imperative for everyone to look down. Eye contact is an aggressive act and could provoke a highly aggressive response. Count Mironov owns everything. He has all the power. He is feared by everyone.
It is snowing when his sled overturns. Turning sharply the horses stumble. The sled lurches and falls over. The sled is filled with men. Fur coats.
Fur hats. Enormous fur blankets. They are drunk and roar with joy as they spill into the snow. The moon dances on the bells and glass beaded harness of the horses freed from the sled. In minutes the sled is lifted. The horses re harnessed and contained. The men climb into the sled singing. The falling snow muffles the singing and shouting as the sled dissolves into the cold darkness.
The snow is falling. A frozen sun tumbles over the snow covered roofs. And then the cold moon. A single candle burns in the small cottage. Berel Chaitovich, his wife Brocha and all the children are asleep. There is a banging on the door. Berel wakes and goes to the door. Four soldiers enter the dark room. Berel is a small man. He is minute next to the soldiers. They carry long rifles. The family are all awake. They are hidden in the shadows. Berel Chaitovich stands at the door surrounded by soldiers. The spokesman steps forward.
“Last night,” he shouts, “the Count lost his wallet! Someone in this village must have this wallet! The Count had an accident in his sled.”
Berel Chaitovich nods. He is totally accepting. If the soldier had said that the Count was at this moment standing on the roof of their home, Berel Chaitovich would have nodded his head. Yes, everything is possible. And so….
“The count has lost his wallet. There was a lot of money in the wallet. It is most important to find the wallet. Has anyone here found the wallet?”
The soldiers look menacing. They stare into the shadows. Silence. It is so still they can hear the candle splintering light on the dark walls.
Rifka steps out of the darkness.
“I found the wallet.”
All eyes are on Rifka. No one is breathing. The soldiers grip their rifles. Rifka begins to undress. She has layer upon layer of clothing. Finally she is naked from the waist up. Large pendulous breasts. There is a roar of approval from the soldiers. They nudge each other. They slap their sides. They know Rifka. They have witnessed this undressing many times. They throw up their hands laughing. They slowly leave. They are laughing in the street.
Rifka continues to undress. The wallet is in her voluminous underpants.
The snow is falling over Soligalich.
Bernard Levinson is a distinguished South African poet whose work has appeared in numerous scholarly publications and anthologies. Professionally, he is a psychiatrist, based in Johannesburg.
