Mrs. Kaputnik's Pool Hall and Matzo Ball Emporium Read online

  For Alise, Debbie, and Daniel,

  who grew up listening to stories about Snigger

  Acknowledgments

  I want to thank my publisher, Kathy Lowinger, for her faith in Mrs. Kaputnik and her wonderful comments and insights, and my editor, Lauren Bailey, for her fabulous suggestions, encouragement, and hard work. And to my children, Alise, Debbie, and Daniel, and my husband, Paul, thanks for pushing me to write down the stories that you so patiently listened to over and over and can now share with our new generation.

  None of the animals is so wise as the dragon….

  — LU DIAN, Chinese scholar (AD 1042-1102)

  CHAPTER 1

  A Mysterious Egg

  Shoshi Kapustin clapped her hands over her ears to shut out the pitying voices.

  “Those poor darlings. Abandoned by such a selfish father. Mark my words: He has a new family in America. My cousin went to New York and never sent for his wife and children either.”

  The village women were gossiping while waiting to draw water from the well, and, as usual, her family was their favorite subject. “You think you know everything, you miserable yentas,” Shoshi said. When it was her turn, she lowered her bucket so hard it slammed the surface of the water.

  “Such manners,” sniffed the baker’s wife. “But then, look at her with that blazing hair and a temper to match. And a mother who lets her children run wild like animals.”

  Shoshi felt a sharp finger poke her back. “Hurry child,” the rabbi’s wife barked. “Passover starts in six hours, and we all need water.”

  Shoshi whirled around, and her braids slapped her face like fiery whips. “My father will send for us. And when he does, we will join him in America and pick gold from the streets.” She grasped the rope-handled bucket with both hands and marched down the village street, searching the crowd for her mother.

  Mama would reassure her that Papa still loved them. Holding the bucket carefully, Shoshi walked past the ramshackle wooden buildings lining the muddy street. She peered into the butcher shop, with its thick carpet of chicken feathers, but her mother wasn’t there. She scanned the crowd of women buying Passover matzos in the bakery, but her mother wasn’t one of them. Shoshi found her standing at a table in front of the synagogue, selling the last of her meager supply of fresh eggs.

  Her mother’s head was covered in a black scarf, which hid all but a few strands of dark hair threaded with silver. Her eyes crinkled as she smiled at Shoshi, and she opened her arms. Shoshi plunked down the bucket and rushed in for a soothing hug.

  “Mama, the baker’s wife says that Papa will never send for us.”

  “That woman has razor for a tongue. May it cut her words to pieces so they can’t do any harm.” Ruth Kapustin stroked her daughter’s head. “I’ve told you over and over. Papa went to America because his brother, Mendel – may he grow like an onion with his head in the ground – borrowed our passage money and used it to open a restaurant. Papa works in the restaurant to make back the money for our steam ship tickets.”

  “Why hasn’t he written for five years? The baker’s wife says …”

  “Shoshile, gossip is a disease. Do not catch it. Listen to me. Your father would never abandon us.” She stood and pointed to the synagogue. “Papa carved the Star of David over the synagogue door.”

  Shoshi looked at the star that her father, Vrod’s best carpenter, had carved on the day she was born. As always, she searched for the rose carved at the base. She recalled her mother telling her that Papa had put the rose there because that was what her real name, Shoshanna, meant in Hebrew. The same rose was in the amber charms that he had carved for her and for her younger brother, Moshe.

  “Would such a man forget his family?” said Mama. “Besides, if I didn’t believe that we are going to America, would I pay good money to Feivel for us to learn English?” She pointed to a tall man in a floppy black coat and wide-brimmed hat, who had just joined them.

  “You call that pittance you pay me good money?” Feivel laughed. “Fortunately, my wonderful students make the endeavor worthwhile.”

  “Thank you.” Shoshi blushed.

  “In English, Shoshi, talk to me in English, not in Yiddish,” said Feivel.

  “Yes, Shoshi, speak English. It will take me longer to learn, but if you and your brother speak it, that will help me. Now, Shoshi, please, take the water home.”

  “Yes, Mama.” Shoshi started for home, and Feivel fell into step beside her.

  “So, Shoshi,” he said, taking the bucket, “do you and Moshe speak English when I’m not with you?”

  “Yes. We are getting better every day,” Shoshi replied. “I can read almost every word of the American newspapers you give us and so can Moshe.”

  “Ah, but do you understand what you read?”

  “Not everything. But I’m trying. Please thank your American relatives for sending them to us,” said Shoshi. “Feivel, when you studied at the university in Kiev, what books did you read?”

  Feivel smiled wistfully. “I read many books by great writers like William Shakespeare and Charles Dickens. And, I read Tom Sawyer by the American author Mark Twain. It is difficult to understand, but I like it because it is about children, like you and your brother.”

  “Why did you leave Kiev?”

  Feivel rubbed his thumb and forefinger together. “Money. I earned my tuition by working as a tutor for the wife and children of an English professor. I lived in their house and taught them Russian. They helped me improve my English. When the family returned to England, I couldn’t find another position in Kiev. There was no work for me in my village, so when your rabbi invited me, I came to Vrod to teach the children Hebrew and mathematics. And English,” he added with a smile.

  They had reached the Kapustin house. Little more than a stack of boards, it tipped to one side, as if a strong wind could knock it over. Shoshi took the bucket from Feivel. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  “I am too. Happy Passover, Shoshi.”

  “Happy Passover to you, too.” Shoshi opened the door and stepped into the cramped room she shared with her mother and ten-year-old brother, Moshe. She found him hunched over the wooden table in front of the brick oven. Steam misted the air from a large pot of water bubbling on the stove. Mama was making the matzo balls that were her annual contribution to Aunt Rachel’s Passover seder.

  Her brother looked up at her with a sly look, which usually meant he was about to drop a frog down her dress.

  “Moshe, what have you been up to?” Shoshi asked.

  “I got Mama a present for Passover.” He showed her a dirt-encrusted egg on the table.

  “What is it?”

  “An egg.”

  “I can see that. But what kind of egg is it? Ychh.” Shoshi wrinkled her nose. “It stinks. Mama won’t use it.”

  “It’s only dirty on the outside. Mama said this morning that she only kept three eggs for us, so when the peddler offered to trade one of his….”

  “What peddler?”

  “A man I met in the woods.”

  “Moshe Kapustin, you went to the forest? You know we’re not supposed to go there. It’s too dangerous. There are wolves and bears … and dybbuks.”

  “I don’t believe in dybbuks. Mama says they’re old wives’ tales made up by stupid people who have nothing better to talk about. Besides, have you forgotten Papa’s stories? Our forest is enchanted. It’s called the Amber Forest because it has magic trees.”

  “You don’t believe in dybbuks, but you believe the forest is enchanted?” Shoshi rolled her eyes. “Papa didn’t say the forest was magic, he said the trees in the forest give magic. Amber c
omes from the sap of the trees.” She pulled out her necklace. “He made us these for good luck.”

  Moshe pulled his own amber charm from beneath his shirt. “I know. That’s why I’m not afraid to go into the forest. Besides, I was only there to gather wood for the stove.”

  Shoshi looked around. “So, where is the wood?”

  Her brother’s face turned red. “I sold it.”

  “Sold it? Who did you sell it to?”

  “I sold it to the peddler for that egg.”

  “You traded good firewood for that?” said Shoshi. “Oy, Mama is going to kill you. Besides, you shouldn’t ever be in the woods. Even if you don’t believe in dybbuks, there are still wolves and bears. And the czar’s soldiers.”

  Moshe looked out the narrow slit that was the house’s only window toward the Amber Forest. “But Shoshi, the woods are beautiful. The trees are tall, and you can hear the birds sing.”

  “Oh, Moshe, you’ll be the death of me,” Shoshi said. “Did you bring home any wood?”

  Moshe sighed. “No.”

  She clucked her tongue. “I can’t believe you gave the peddler our good wood for that egg.”

  “That egg is special.”

  “Says who?”

  “The peddler.”

  “Of course. He wanted to get rid of it, so what else would he say?”

  “He said that when it cracks open, there will be enough egg inside for the whole week of Passover.”

  Before her brother could reply, the door flew open and a man in a dark hooded cloak burst into the house.

  “Where is it? WHERE IS IT?” The man crossed the small room in three giant steps. Spying the egg, he moved toward it, but Moshe grabbed it quickly. “I should not have given it to you.”

  As the man lunged for the egg, his hood fell back, revealing a bony face with deep lines that ran from his prominent nose to his razor-thin mouth. His right eye was sky blue, while his left eye was black as mud. His smile was wavy as a snake.

  “You didn’t give it to me; I bought it,” said Moshe.

  The man dug into the pocket of his cloak and pulled out a gold coin. “Then I shall buy it back.”

  “Moshe, I think that coin is real gold. Give him the egg.”

  “Why did you sell it to me?” Moshe asked the stranger.

  “It was a mistake. I sold you the wrong egg. This one is not good.” The snaky smile was still on his face. “I am willing to buy it back.”

  “Moshe, give it to him,” Shoshi hissed.

  “That egg is no good to you,” the man said. “Only I know its secret and how to use it.”

  “Secret?” The children exchanged glances.

  The man glared at them. Or at least that’s what Shoshi supposed he was doing because his blue eye moved toward his nose, while his black eye shifted in the opposite direction. It made him look like the beggar, Mulke, when he was in one of his spells.

  “Eggs are the source of life,” the man said. “But this egg contains a destructive power. If you keep it, it will haunt your lives forever.”

  “Moshe, give it back!”

  “No,” Moshe said. “If this egg really is magic, we can use it to show everyone that the Kapustins are special.”

  “You foolish boy,” the man snarled. He grabbed Moshe and reached for the egg, but it flew out of the boy’s hand, bounced off the table, and rolled onto the floor. “Get out of my way,” the man roared. “That egg is of no use to you!”

  Shoshi stepped in front of him. “If you want it so badly, give us back our wood.”

  “Wood? That pile of sticks that I took from the boy? Pfah! It was rotten, so I threw it away.”

  “Go get it, and we’ll give you the egg,” said Shoshi.

  “No, we won’t,” said Moshe. “He can’t have the egg. If you want it so much, it must be really special.”

  “It is, but only to me.” The peddler reached down to grab the egg, but it rolled across the floor and disappeared behind the oven.

  The man started after it, then skidded to a stop. He pulled himself to his full height, straightened his cloak, and cupped a hand to his ear. “I hear thunder. They’re coming.”

  “What do you hear?” Shoshi asked.

  “Trouble. Beware.” With a swirl of his cloak, the peddler stepped through the door and disappeared into the street.

  “We have to get rid of that egg before Mama comes home.” As Shoshi spoke, a loud crrrraaaack echoed through out the house. The children jumped. The egg rolled out from behind the oven and bounced toward them. It stopped at Shoshi’s feet and, with a sound like river ice breaking during spring thaw, cracked open.

  “Aaah!” screamed Shoshi. “Moshe, what is it? The peddler was right, it is a dybbuk!”

  CHAPTER 2

  The Dybbuk

  Shoshi and Moshe stared in horror at the animal emerging from its shell. It was dark-green with yellow eyes, wings, and a long spiky tail. It curled into a ball at Shoshi’s feet and licked bits of eggshell from its skin with a forked red tongue.

  “What is it?” said Shoshi.

  “I don’t know.” Moshe bent down to get a closer look. “It’s not a chicken, that’s for sure.”

  Shoshi squatted beside her brother. “Look.” She touched a wing. They were like flaps on both sides of its body. “Maybe it’s a bird.”

  The animal lifted its head and flicked its tongue. Sparks flew out of its mouth.

  “It’s on fire!” Moshe studied the animal. “That’s how it breathes.” His fear turned to fascination. “It isn’t a chicken, and it’s certainly not a bird.”

  Shoshi knelt down and stroked the animal. It licked her hand. “It tickles,” she laughed. “Look, Moshe. Its skin is as dimpled as the outside of Mama’s matzo balls.”

  “Matzo balls! Uh, oh! I forgot about the matzo balls!” Moshe dashed across the room, grabbed the pot from the stove, and plunked it onto the dirt floor. “We’re in trouble. All the water boiled out and they’re like rocks.”

  “Mama really is going to kill you. She won’t have anything to take to Aunt Rachel’s for the seder. It’s all because of you and this thing.”

  Everyone in Vrod knew Mrs. Kapustin was a terrible cook. While other women produced golden loaves of challah bread and sponge cakes so light, they would float on water, their mother’s bread was like bricks and her cake could break a plate. But the matzo balls she made every Passover were soft as clouds.

  The animal uncurled a whip like tail, lifted its head, and breathed out a stream of sparks.

  “Look, you scared it,” Moshe said.

  “I scared it?”

  Moshe scooped the animal into his palm and lifted it in the air. “There, there, don’t be afraid of Shoshi. She just likes to act mean, but I’m used to her. Soon, you will be too.”

  Shoshi giggled. “I guess it’s cute. For a dybbuk.”

  “Snig, snig, snig, sniggerer, snigger.”

  “That’s what we’ll call you: Snigger,” said Shoshi.

  “Snig, snig, snigger.”

  The animal jumped from Moshe’s hands to the top of the oven. Stretching to its full length, it draped its claws over the edge. “Snig, snig, snigger,” it said, and, lowering its head, it promptly fell asleep.

  “What will we tell Mama?” Shoshi asked. She grabbed a broom and began sweeping up the broken eggshell. “We can tell her it’s our new pet … which you got by giving our firewood to a mysterious peddler.”

  “Leave out the mysterious part,” Moshe said. “Mama trades with peddlers all the time.” Snigger woke up, lifted his head, and snorted. His yellow eyes glowed like lamps. “See, he likes us. We’ll tell Mama he’s a firestarter and that he’ll keep wolves and foxes away from the chickens. Trust me. She’ll beg us to keep him.”

  “Meshugana, crazy children, that’s what I have. Such a creature you bring into my house? And before Passover?”

  “Beg us to keep him, huh?” Shoshi muttered.

  “Leave it to me.” Moshe tucked his thumbs under
his suspenders. “Mama, Snigger is special. No one else in Vrod has a pet like him.”

  “And why would they? He’s a … snake!” She screamed as Snigger wriggled across the floor. “I’m going to Aunt Rachel’s to tell her we won’t have matzo balls for the seder. About the monster, I won’t say a word. But get rid of it before I get back!”

  CHAPTER 3

  Attack!

  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.