Ever since she was a young girl, Malka had been eaten up by guilt. Her father, Yankele Kriegsmann, never stopped reminding her that she was responsible for all his misfortunes. Times were hard, only the Blessed Holy One could remember better days, and Yankele Kriegsmann’s livelihood hung by a thread. In his youth he had inherited vast stocks of wheat, which gradually rotted because he could not make up his mind about what to do with them. At first, he wanted to export them to the west, but was stalled by government bureaucracy. Then he learned to make beer, by which time Jews were banned from manufacturing and serving alcohol. He blamed these failures on his spoiled children, who necessitated his staying in one place and were a constant drain on his time. Consequently, he did not spare them his rod and terrorised them with stories about the angels that strike the dead with white-hot irons.
Yet even with lazy children such as his, Yankele Kriegsmann discovered that he could earn a nice income by taking in large dowries for his sons and paying out small dowries for his daughters. After all, there’s nothing undignified about making a profit. He was not especially particular, therefore, when his daughters began to receive marriage proposals, and decided that Malka, the prettiest of them all, should marry the son of Isaac-Wolf Schechter, who came from a family of slaughterhouse owners – which, admittedly, was not a respectable profession, but they were the best in their trade in the entire district. Malka was twelve when she married.
For Malka, it was no wonder that her husband did not come to her bed immediately after their wedding. In her own eyes, she had been a liability before the wedding and was to remain a liability ever after, and if her father knew this, how could she expect anything different from anyone else? This is why she was not puzzled when Meir-Anschil kept himself to himself on their wedding night, and why it came as no surprise when they continued to sleep in separate beds for many months. Nevertheless, she invented a game of prophetic signs that gave her both hope and warnings: if the rooster calls fewer than three times, Meir-Anschil will smile at her; but if it calls more than thrice, her husband will keep his usual sour face. If she pours the tea without spilling any, her husband will notice her beauty; but if she spills even one drop, he will think her ugly. If their horse neighs, good fortune will come their way; but if her shoes become covered in mud, disaster will strike. Needless to say, this chain of cause and effect that she imposed on reality was refuted over and over again. Yet all it took was just one prediction to be fulfilled for Malka to feel in control and invent a new pact. And so, one stormy night, she promised herself that if the window blew open, she would enter her husband’s bed – and when the wind duly opened the window, she did just that.
After that night, Meir-Anschil continued to pursue her, but she was not surprised when, several months later, he gave up and started sleeping in another room. She lay alone at night, unable to determine whether she was asleep or awake, fantasising about the baby that would need her and depend on her for solace. When Mende was born, Malka could not let her out of her sight and would not let anyone else come near her for fear of the Evil Eye. Malka tied the baby to her apron with a rope, because she knew that if the neighbours were to hold Mende she would not be able to find a husband for her daughter, and that if she ever left the house without her mother, the toddler would surely be run over by the wheels of a cart. Even the touch of Meir-Anschil on the baby seemed to Malka like the kiss of death.
A year later, with Fanny’s birth, things grew even worse. Malka lost control altogether and could only predict imminent catastrophe. She had no doubt that one day the Neman would overflow and that both her daughters would be overcome by the water. She visualised the girls drowning as she tried in vain to rescue them. Her grief over their loss barely permitted her to get out of bed. She gave birth to them in hope, and watched them grow in sorrow, helpless against their sealed fate.