The Devil's Arithmetic Read Free Page B

Aaron.
    Glancing over her shoulder, Hannah saw they were all watching her intently. Aaron bounced up and down on his chair.
    â€œOpen it, Hannah!” he called out loudly. “Open it for Elijah!”
    Baby stories!
she thought angrily, unlatching the double bolt. Flinging the door open wide, she whispered, “Ready or not, here I c . . .”
    Outside, where there should have been a long, windowless hall with dark green numbered doors leading into other apartments, there was a greening field and a lowering sky. The moon hung ripely between two heavy gray clouds. A bird pelted the air with a strange, lilting song. And across the field, stepping in the furrows, marched a shadowy figure. He had a shapeless cap on his head, a hoe over his shoulder, and he was singing:
    Who asked you to be buried alive?
    You know that no one forced you.
    You took this madness on yourself.

4
    â€œ HOW DID YOU DO THAT, GRANDPA ?” HANNAH ASKED , turning around.
    Behind her the elegant meal, with its many plates, goblets, glasses, and silverware, was gone. Instead there was a polished table on which a single wooden bowl sat between two ornate silver candlesticks. A black stove, pouring out heat, squatted against the far wall. There were shelves on either side of the stove, filled with crockery, pots, and linens. Several strings of onions hung from the ceiling. The room smelled of fresh-baked bread.
    It must be the wine
, Hannah thought.
It’s giving me daydreams
.
    â€œWell?” The question came from behind her in a woman’s voice, strongly accented. “Is he coming?”
    Confused, Hannah looked around for the speaker. “The prophet Elijah?” she asked.
    â€œAnd do you think the prophet Elijah walks in every time you open a door?
A goy zugt a vertl
, there’s a fool in every house.” The woman was dressed in a dark skirt covered with a smudged apron, an embroidered blouse with the sleeves rolled up, and a blue kerchief on her head. Her bare arms were dusted with flour. Standing at a low table near a sink, she was pounding bread dough.
    Hannah was stunned. It was as if she’d suddenly been transported to a movie set. The illusion was so complete, she couldn’t even find an answer. And then the words the woman had spoken came to her:
a goy zugt a vertl.
 . . . It was a Yiddish phrase her grandfather used all the time and which she’d never understood before. Yet now it was as clear as if she could speak the language herself.
A goy zugt a vertl
meant “As the peasant says . . .”
    â€œSo, Chaya, is Shmuel coming or not?” The woman did not look up from the dough as she spoke but continued to beat it with a steady, hypnotic rhythm.
    Hannah looked out the door again, as if it could offer her some clue. Since she’d opened one door and entered this daydream, perhaps going through another would bring her home again. It was worth a try. Taking a step forward, she saw that the man crossing the field was much closer now. She could make him out clearly. He had a thick black beard and a full head of black hair topped with a cap. His shirt was full-sleeved and the loose-fitting trousers were pushed into the tops of high leather boots.
What Rosemary would give for such boots
, she thought. The man was no longer singing but waswhistling a vaguely familiar song. When she realized it was “Dayenu,” she laughed.
    â€œOh, I get it,” she muttered, though she didn’t really. But she decided in that instant to play along. Whether it was a dream or an elaborate game, she’d show them all she was a good sport. It was certainly better than Grandpa Will’s deadly dull Seder lessons. “He’s coming,” she said, turning back to the woman.
    â€œGood. Set the table. And be sure to use the Sabbath cloth. This is a special occasion, after all. It’s not every day my baby brother is to be married the next morning.” She