THE GAME WAS DURAK. Sorel had never played it, but watched her own hands take the cards with practiced movements. When Pavlikov looked into her eyes, he frowned, as if he saw something there that gave him pause.
It’s like a duel, Isser whispered in her ear.
Do you think a good Jewish girl fights duels? she shot back at him.
I think a good Jewish girl would have thought of that before she issued a challenge, he said. But you’re not a good Jewish girl anyway. So. It’s about timing and confidence. You’re not very good at timing, but you’ve got confidence, haven’t you?
He’d been cutting the deck while they talked, throwing aside the low numbered cards. The game needed four, so Yoshke took a hand to their right, and Pavlikov waved Sam to switch places with Adela to their left.
“So you don’t think we’re cheating you by collaborating,” he said, giving Sorel a poisonous grin. “Do you know the game, Moses?”
Sam blinked at him placidly and didn’t bother to correct him. “I know the game.”
The key is to keep your head. Be patient, Isser was explaining as he dealt them each their hand of six. You have to have stamina for the endgame. Can you do that?
Do I have a choice? Sorel asked, watching his hands. They didn’t move like hers—she almost didn’t recognize them. Aren’t you controlling this?
It’s just that you aren’t very cooperative, he said. You ignored me entirely last night. Don’t think I’ve forgotten. We aren’t to focus on Pavlikov. Let him think we can’t keep ahold of him. It’s Yoshke we’re after. Make him miserable.
Sorel glanced to her right and saw Yoshke looking uncomfortable, frowning at his cards. She didn’t think it would be too difficult to make him miserable. Pavlikov had implicitly claimed him for the goyish side of the table, but he was still Jewish, after all, and if she wanted to remind everyone of that she could. And he had the look of a man with a bad starting hand.
I meant in the game, said Isser, in a tone of irony, but if you want to be rude to him I wouldn’t mind that, either.
Sorel wished she could swat him, but he was inside her head. Is there a way to stop you from knowing what I’m thinking?
The pause before he responded made her think there was, but he didn’t want her to know about it. I’ve never been a dybbuk before, Alter. Maybe ask a rabbi.
Sorel flipped over the trump with a slap. Hearts. Sam had the first attack with Pavlikov to defend—they weren’t playing as teams, despite Pavlikov’s sneering suggestion of collaboration. First between Sorel and Pavlikov to discard their hand would be the winner. Sam took forever to choose his card and Isser hissed in Sorel’s ear to stop fidgeting. She forced her tapping foot to still.
Let him beat Sam, Isser said, shuffling the cards in their hand into some kind of order. Then he’ll attack Yoshke, and we pile on. It’s better playing a hand of four; Pavlikov isn’t a good sideways thinker.
Sure enough, Pavlikov gave them an odd look when they declined to join the attack. So did Yoshke, his eyes lingering on their face as Sam picked up the losing cards. Sorel could feel Isser counting, keeping track of what had been played. It gave her a headache.
“Not much good for a bet if neither of us wins,” Pavlikov said. “What’s the matter? Bad hand?”
Don’t answer that, said Isser. Sorel could feel his focus moving away, and her hands were her own again.
I’m not an idiot, she replied.
Yoshke’s got an eight, he said. But play the seven. Either Sam will play his ten or we can let Yoshke attack us.
How do you know that? Sorel glanced sideways at Yoshke. Aren’t you in my head?
Not really. He didn’t elaborate. She laid down the card. Yoshke played the eight with a look of relief. Sorel felt Adela at her shoulder, watching, as Sam declined to join the attack.
“What is it you need Isser for, anyway?” said Pavlikov.
“Owes me money,” Sorel heard her voice say as she slapped down the cards to ward off Yoshke’s attack. “Why? Remembered something after all?”
“If I were him, I’d have skipped town,” said Pavlikov, casually.
Adela grabbed Sorel’s shoulder for support, leaning forward. “Why?”
Pavlikov shrugged and waved the cards in his hand, as if to remind them that they were playing for the answers. “I don’t want to disappoint you, princess, but your brother’s got enemies. Not just the authorities, either. If you do find him, I’d tell him to watch his back.”
Sorel was trying to remember which cards were in play, but the warmth of Adela’s grip on her shoulder was strangely distracting. Pull yourself together! Isser hissed.
“Who else?” said Adela. “You?”
“Me?” Pavlikov looked around at his friends, theatrically. “Lads, would I waste my time making an enemy of some petty bookselling Jew?”
There was a murmur of dissent.
“I have bigger fish to fry,” said Pavlikov. “What do I care if your people are reading satanic books? The world can go to the devil for all I care.”
“But you’d care if you thought someone was muscling in on your turf,” said Isser. Their hand couldn’t defend; Sorel picked up the cards. “Say, if you thought someone else had counterfeit stamps. You’d care about that, no?”
Pavlikov frowned. “I’d care, but Isser wasn’t in that business, and Yoshke here gives me a fair cut—he likes his nose the shape it is, don’t you, Yoshke.”
“Right,” said Yoshke. “Isser wasn’t in that business.”
“I’d ask your fellow Jews,” said Pavlikov, joining the attack on Sam’s card. “Remember that bad business when we were all children? That was over books, wasn’t it?”
“What bad business?” said Sorel, before Isser could respond—she felt his irritation. “Between the Hasidim and the merchants?”
“All I remember is when they fished the man out of the river,” said Pavlikov. “All us kids went down to watch them do it, didn’t we, Yoshke.”
Sam said something under his breath, Sorel thought she heard Hebrew. Probably a blessing for the long-dead man.
“I didn’t actually see him,” said Yoshke, glancing up at Adela as if to ward off disapproval.
“No one ever proved it was Jews that did that,” said Sam.
“Did what, for God’s sake?” said Sorel. “I don’t remember this at all.”
“Not from Esrog, are you,” said Pavlikov, as if Esrog were the center of the world.
“As it happens, I’m not. Not that it’s any business of yours.”
“There was a miracle worker here before the rebbe they have now,” explained Sam, gently. Sorel was almost as irritated by the helpful tone as she had been by everyone talking around her. “They found him in the river drowned, may he rest in peace.”
“Everyone knows it was the Jews that did it,” said Pavlikov. He was grinning, and the grin made Sorel play a trump from her hand to take the grin away. She felt Isser’s irritation at her impulsiveness.
He’s trying to make you angry, Alter. Ignore it. Wait.
“Why would the Jews have done it?” she demanded, ignoring him instead.
“God knows,” said Pavlikov.
“It can’t have anything to do with Isser anyway,” said Adela, though her voice was tense. “That was between the Hasidim and the kahal. Isser doesn’t have anything to do with either.”
“He has something to do with one hasid,” said Yoshke, doubtfully. He was holding his cards loosely, almost as if he’d forgotten he was playing. He looked a bit sick.
“It was that rich bastard from the estate over to the south,” said Pavlikov, speaking over Yoshke. “That’s who everyone said was behind it. What’s his name, the lumber merchant.”
“Kalman,” said Yoshke.