Sundown and Passover were an hour away. Shoshi swept the last bits of dust from the house into the street and shook out her apron. Moshe had gone to the well, and her mother was still at Aunt Rachel’s. Snigger was hidden under the bed.
The thunder of horse’s hoofs shattered the silence. COSSACKS! Moshe dashed into the house, his eyes wide with terror. “Sssssoldiers.”
Shoshi ran outside and saw a dust cloud rolling up the street.
“Get back in the house.” Mrs. Kapustin, back from Aunt Rachel’s, grabbed her daughter, shoved her inside, and slammed the door shut. “It’s a pogrom! Quick, hide behind the stove.”
Before they could move, two bearded men burst into the room. They wore tall fur hats, dark-green tunics that were belted at the waist, and high black leather boots. Each carried a sword.
Moshe ran behind his mother and clutched her skirt.
“Shoshi, over here!” Mrs. Kapustin reached for her daughter, but one of the Cossacks grabbed Shoshi’s braids, pulling her toward the door.
Shoshi struggled, but the man’s grip was like iron. “Help me!” she called out. She tried to kick him, but her feet just scratched the surface of his boots.
“LET HER GO!” Mrs. Kapustin stretched her arms toward her daughter, while, at the same time, shielding her son.
“ROAR!” Shoshi ducked as a green body hurtled at her abductor’s head. Sparks filled the air.
“Aaaagh!” The man dropped Shoshi and slapped at his burning beard. He ran to the water bucket and dunked his head. Snigger set fire to the seat of his pants. Then Snigger jumped on the other soldier, wrapping his tail around the man’s neck.
“KILL THAT MONSTER,” shouted the first Cossack, as he rolled on the floor. He leapt to his feet, lifted his sword, and brought it down with a whoosh. Instead of striking Snigger, however, he sliced his partner’s ear. The man roared with pain. Enraged, the first Cossack aimed his sword at Shoshi and lunged, when something hard struck his temple, and he tripped and fell flat on his face. He got to his feet only to fall again as another matzo ball knocked him on the side of his head. His partner went after Moshe, but Shoshi tripped him.
Now Moshe, Shoshi, and Snigger worked together. Moshe tossed matzo balls in the air, and Snigger blasted them with his red-hot breath. Shoshi used her mother’s rolling pin to bat the matzo balls at the man’s head. The two men struggled to their feet and raced for the door.
“This place is cursed,” cried the first Cossack.
“Let’s get out of here,” said the other.
With Snigger breathing fire at their heels, they ran into the street, jumped on their horses, and galloped out of town.
The commotion had attracted the other villagers, who poked their noses through the Kapustins’ open door. The rabbi entered the house, and the villagers crammed in behind him.
“You have saved us,” said the rabbi, peering over his glasses.
“Mama’s matzo balls saved us,” said Shoshi.
“Snigger saved us,” said Moshe. He lifted the trembling animal and stroked its head. Snigger blew out a puff of sparks.
The crowd parted, and their aunt rushed through. “Ruth, Shoshanna, Moshe! Are you hurt?”
Shoshi was squashed against her aunt’s chest. “No, Aunt Rachel.”
“Blug, glug, blah,” said Moshe, as he, too, wriggled out of his aunt’s grasp.
“How can you stand there, when your children were attacked?” Aunt Rachel said to Mrs. Kapustin.
“You want me to sit on the floor?” Mrs. Kapustin said.
“What is that thing?” Aunt Rachel demanded, as Snigger slithered across her feet.
“I’ll tell you what it is. It’s a dybbuk,” the rabbi’s wife announced. “May it leave our village in peace and haunt our enemies.”
“Dybbuks are an old wives’ tale. Educated people do not believe in such things,” said Feivel.
“I did not go to university,” said the rabbi’s wife, “but I know a dybbuk when I see one.”
“Well, whatever that thing is, it almost got us all killed,” said the butcher. “I will take care of it.” He waved his meat cleaver in the air.
“No!” said Shoshi. “Snigger is not evil. He saved us from a pogrom.”
“That dybbuk brought the soldiers to our town in the first place. I say kill it!” said the butcher.
The rabbi raised a hand for silence and focused on the children. “Tell me, where did this thing come from?”
“Moshe bought him from a peddler,” said Shoshi.
The rabbi’s wife turned to the crowd and said, “I saw him. A man with burning eyes, like coals. Mark my words – he came from the other world, and this dybbuk he left behind is cursed.”
The baker’s wife wagged a finger in Moshe’s face. “You have brought a plague upon us all.”
“Stop it. Stop it.” Mrs. Kapustin moved between the angry women and her children. “Feivel is right. There is no such thing as a dybbuk. This animal is not cursed.”
“And how would you know,” said the baker’s wife. “You, a woman without a husband? A woman whose husband goes to America and disappears, rather than send for her?”
A babble of voices drowned out her words. The rabbi signaled for silence. “Enough!” he said. The air inside the tiny house was thick with the scent of singed hair, burnt food, and sweat. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his brow. He glowered at the villagers, who had all settled into silence. “Is this how we start the Passover, our holiday of freedom? By tearing each other apart?”
“Mama, Moshe, look!” Shoshi’s voice quivered with excitement. She picked up a small pouch that was lying on the floor by the oven. “The Cossacks dropped this.”
Mrs. Kapustin took the pouch, opened it, and peered inside. “Gold coins. There’s enough for our passage to America.”
The rabbi’s wife leaned forward; her sharp nose sniffed like a dog searching out a bone. “They do not belong to you. They should go to the synagogue.” She snatched the bag of coins from Mrs. Kapustin’s hand.
The baker’s wife shook her head, her chin wobbling like a mound of her husband’s dough. “Those coins belong to all of us,” she said.
“Give them back,” said Shoshi. “They’re ours.”
“They belong to the people of Vrod,” shouted the candlemaker.
“Yes,” the other villagers echoed.
“They belong to the Kapustins,” said Feivel. “So much money….”
“Yes, so much money,” echoed the rabbi’s wife, who held the sack in the air. Her husband took the coins from her. Everyone stopped talking and listened to him.
“Mrs. Kapustin,” he said, stroking his beard. “You and your children wish to go to America?”
“Of course. We want to go to America to be with my husband in New York.” She shot a venomous look at the baker’s wife.
“Your bravery has defeated the Cossacks and saved us from a pogrom. So, by rights, this money should be yours.”
A babble of protest erupted from the crowd.
“That’s not fair!” whined the baker’s wife.
The rabbi’s wife started to speak, but her husband silenced her with a look.
“They may have saved us, Rabbi, but who knows what they have unleashed on our town,” said the butcher.
As if on cue, Snigger breathed out a cloud of fiery sparks.
Everyone began shouting. The rabbi handed Mrs. Kapustin the pouch. “Use this money to take your family to America.” Then to the villagers he said, “The sun is leaving the sky. Go home to your tables. It is time to begin our Passover seders. Mrs. Kapustin, you and your family should go to America in peace. And,” he added, casting a doleful eye at Snigger, “take that monster with you.”