Other children were rushing to Beryl's with their soup pots, too. Some had a potato or carrot to leave in exchange for a loaf of Sabbath bread. I wished I did even though I knew it didn't matter to Beryl. He gave all of us Sabbath bread whether or not we had anything to give him in return. Like Ma always said, "Beryl the baker is a real mensch." A real fine person. Even so, I wished I had something to give him.
I pushed open the bakery door and gulped in the smell of fresh bread. What a smell. Even if that man were the richest in Poland, he would be jealous of my nose right now. So there.
"Fivel!" Beryl's whole face filled with light. That's what I'd been looking forward to after heder today, that look and the story I'd been itching to tell him. The afternoon seemed so long ago by now with such big thoughts weighing on me. But I must try to believe Kvola, that everything would be all right. I set our soup pot on the counter and climbed onto the tall wooden stool next to Beryl's big brick oven—my favorite place in the world, especially now with winter coming.
"Fivel, how was heder? You didn't come by today. Nu?" So?
I surely wouldn't mention Lila or that man. I'd stay safely away from all that. I settled into my seat welcoming the chance to think about something else—something that would hopefully make Beryl laugh.
"You know how mean our heder teacher is," I eased into my story. "He whacks us with a big stick when we lose our place." Beryl nodded. "But," I went on, getting into the mood. "Did you know that sometimes he falls asleep?" I swung my legs, delighting in Beryl's look of surprise.
"What an exciting class!" A smile twitched around the edges of his mouth.
"Today it was, especially when he fell asleep. His head went down like this." I drooped my head for a moment. "Then, very quietly, I tiptoed over and lifted his beard like this." I showed, pretending to carefully lift the beard of my snoring teacher. "And then ..." I gave Beryl a gleeful look. "Lahzer and Shmuel glued it to the desk with some thick black wagon-wheel grease."
Beryl chuckled. "You maziks." You little mischief makers.
I grinned. "Don't tell Ma. But you should have seen! We waited until it was all set. Then I gave the table a loud klop. And he woke up like this—" I jerked my head up and bulged out my eyes, "Owwee!" I grabbed my chin as if in pain.
Just as I'd hoped, Beryl burst out laughing. "Your poor teacher!" He laughed so hard he had to wipe the tears away. Oh, it felt good to make him laugh like that. There was no place in the world I would have rather been right then—maybe not even with Pa in America. "You little maziks!" he said again and shook a finger at me. "Wait 'til your ma hears about this." But his smile gave him away. He handed me two Sabbath candles and a loaf of bread. "Now do me a favor and take these to her." I slid the candles into my pocket and held the bread against my chest, letting its warmth soak in.
Already, my mouth was watering. "A dank." Thank you.
"Ach! Don't thank me." He brushed my words away. "What's mine is yours. I only wish I had more to give." He placed my pot into his big oven with all the other soup pots.
Everyone knew if it weren't for Beryl, we'd all have cold soup tomorrow. He was the only Jew in our shtetl rich enough to keep a fire going all night long. And of course, none of us would light a fire on Saturday, the Jewish day of rest. So thank goodness for Beryl and his big oven.
The bread warmed me all the way home. As soon as I opened the door, I noticed that the paper on the table was gone. What had Ma done with it? Tossed it into the fire? Or tucked it away somewhere? Part of me badly wanted to know, but an even bigger part of me didn't. I handed her the candles and the Sabbath bread.
"What would we do without Beryl?" Ma often said this, and it always made me feel lucky and safe. But tonight, maybe because of that rich man, it sent claws into my stomach. What would we do without Beryl? No more Sabbath bread or warm Sabbath soup. Is that what Ma meant?
And now it came back to me what that man had been saying to Ma. All of us will benefit. You, most of all, with one less mouth to feed. I must try to eat less. But just thinking about it made me even hungrier.