The End of Days by Helen Sendyk Read Free Book Online

outing in the forest, where Blimcia sang to Jacob and played her mandolin. He lay back, staring dreamily into her eyes, thinking, Is this wonderful girl going to be mine one day?
At night he would dream about her. She would be lying in the grass beside him, her head resting in his lap. He was caressing the soft brown hair that fell over her cheek. Her lips were so close to his. He could almost bend down and drink in her sweet breath. He woke up and pounded the bed. "Tomorrow," he pledged decisively, "I will announce my intentions."
"I cannot wait any longer," he said to Blimcia when they were next alone. "I am going to talk to your father about a wedding."
"My father is expecting it sooner or later," she said with a twinkle in her eye. "Better sooner," she added mischievously.
That night when he brought her home, he said, "I want to seal our agreement with a kiss." She let him kiss her on the lips for the first time. Gently, his soft lips touched hers for a sweet moment.
The church bells loudly rang for another Sunday mass. Blimcia awoke just as the sun peeked out from the rooftops. The air was fresh and brisk as she looked up into a sky that was blue with promise. It was about five o'clock when she woke me up.
"Wake up, Helcia, let me dress you. Remember you made me promise to take you along on our May trip. We must hurry."
I sprang out of bed, thrilled with my sister for keeping her promise. "I will dress myself," I said excitedly.
Jacob arrived before we were ready to go. Blimcia quickly finished packing her basket of fruits and goodies. In the street our carriage was waiting, its hood folded back to let the sunshine in. The horse was chewing feed from a sack hung around its neck. Blimcia slipped into the carriage, which was crowded full of her friends, and held me in her lap.
The driver shook the reins and the horse started his lazy trot. The driver flicked his whip several times, and the carriage

 

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clanked a bit faster down the cobblestones, the horse picking up more speed on the open road, among the golden wheat fields beyond the city. The young men and women in the carriage sang songs of wheat fields and orange groves in the promised land of Palestine. The songs promised a time of harvesting wheat in our own land, far from the alien corn of Eastern Europe.
The carriage stopped in a small village at the home of relatives of a young man in the group. This fellow, Manek, had arranged for the trip and for his uncle to provide lunch. We were all treated to a country feast on a large table in front of the house. Manek's uncle and aunt brought out baskets full of homemade bread. The cow that provided our fresh butter, cream, cheese, and milk was in the pasture, and I ventured out to see her. Everyone laughed and sang, enjoying the fresh-picked berries for dessert.
Manek took the opportunity to talk with his uncle. ''How are things going, Uncle Baruch?"
"Not what it used to be, my boy," his uncle complained. "The crop was good, but more and more you hear them say, 'Don't buy from a Jew. Jews to Palestine!' Some of the older Gentile folks are embarrassed and make excuses for the Jewhatred of their children. 'Ah, they are young,' they say. But we know the truth: the parents think the same way, but they do a better job of keeping it to themselves. We are not so worried about ourselves, but our children have no future here."
"Don't worry so much, Uncle Baruch," Manek said optimistically, "they can always come to Chrzanow. It's an industrious town, and there is plenty of work for everybody. Why would my cousins want to remain farmers anyway?"
"Farming, my boy, is the only thing they learned here, the only thing they know. It would break our hearts if we had to abandon all this that we worked so hard for. I know my children are welcome in Chrzanow, but by whom? By you, of course; not by the Poles. It's the same all over."
"Not true, Uncle Baruch," Manek argued. "Chrzanow is a big town. The Jews do business there and pay