Everything Is Illuminated Read Free Page B

won't be possible to get to the wagon until all of its contents have risen.
    WE MUST MAKE A SHTETL PROCLAMATION,
proclaimed the Well-Regarded Rabbi, mustering a more authoritative holler.
    Now what was his name, exactly?
Menasha asked, touching quill to tongue.
    Can we say for sure that he had a wife?
grieving Shanda asked, touching hand to heart.
    Did the girls see anything?
asked Avrum R, the lapidary, who wore no rings himself (although the Well-Regarded Rabbi had promised he knew of a young woman in Lodz who could make him happy [forever]).
    The girls saw nothing,
Sofiowka said.
I saw that they saw nothing.
    And the twins, this time both of them, began to cry.
    But we can't leave the matter entirely to his word,
Shloim said, gesturing at Sofiowka, who returned the favor with a gesture of his own.
    Do not ask the girls,
Yankel said.
Leave them alone. They've been through enough.
    By now, almost all of the shtetl's three hundred–odd citizens had gathered to debate that about which they knew nothing. The less a citizen knew, the more adamantly he or she argued. There was nothing new in this. A month before there had been the question of whether it might send a better message to the children to plug, finally, the bagel's hole. Two months before there had been the cruel and comic debate over the question of typesetting, and before that the question of Polish identity, which moved many to tears, and many to laughter, and all to more questions. And still to come would be other questions to debate, and others after that. Questions from the beginning of time—whenever that was—to whenever would be the end. From
ashes?
to
ashes?
    PERHAPS,
the Well-Regarded Rabbi said, raising his hands even higher, his voice even louder,
WE DO NOT HAVE TO SETTLE THE MATTER AT ALL. WHAT IF WE NEVER FILL OUT A DEATH CERTIFICATE? WHAT IF WE GIVE THE BODY A PROPER BURIAL, BURN ANYTHING THAT WASHES ASHORE, AND ALLOW LIFE TO GO ON IN THE FACE OF THIS DEATH?
    But we need a proclamation,
said Froida Y, the candy maker.
    Not if the shtetlproclaims otherwise,
corrected Isaac.
    Perhaps we should try to contact his wife,
said grieving Shanda.
    Perhaps we should begin to gather the remains,
said Eliezar Z, the dentist.
    And in the braid of argument, young Hannah's voice almost went unnoticed as she peeked her head from beneath the fringed wing of her father's prayer shawl.
    I see something.
    WHAT?
her father asked, quieting the others.
WHAT DO YOU SEE?
    Over there,
pointing to the frothing water.
    In the middle of the string and feathers, surrounded by candles and soaked matches, prawns, pawns, and silk tassels that curtsied like jellyfish, was a baby girl, still mucus-glazed, still pink as the inside of a plum.
    The twins hid their bodies under their father's tallis, like ghosts. The horse at the bottom of the river, shrouded by the sunken night sky, closed its heavy eyes. The prehistoric ant in Yankel's ring, which had lain motionless in the honey-colored amber since long before Noah hammered the first plank, hid its head between its many legs, in shame.

THE LOTTERY, 1791
    B ITZL B ITZL R was able to recover the wagon a few days later with the help of a group of strong men from Kolki, and his traps saw more action than ever. But sifting through the remains, they didn't find a body. For the next one hundred fifty years, the shtetl would host an annual contest to "find" Trachim, although a shtetl proclamation withdrew the reward in 1793 —on Menasha's counsel that any ordinary corpse would begin to break apart after two years in water, so searching not only would be pointless but could result in rather offensive findings, or even worse, multiple rewards—and the contest became more of a festival, for which the line of short-tempered bakers P would create particular pastry treats, and the girls of the shtetl would dress as the twins dressed on that fateful day: in wool britches with yarn ties, and canvas blouses with blue-fringed butterfly