“Where did you hear that name?”

Yehuda Leib swallowed hard. “From Yankl the schlepper. He said Avimelekh was in Zubinsk and then everyone—”

“In Zubinsk?”

“Yes,” said Yehuda Leib. “And then Moshe Dovid Frumkin said—”

“Moshe Dovid?” said Shulamis. “Does he know?”

“Yes,” said Yehuda Leib. “I overheard him saying that Avimelekh was coming here to Tupik because—”

“This isn’t funny, Yehuda Leib,” said Shulamis. “Who put you up to this?” She had begun to crack her knuckles, which was never a good sign.

“What?” said Yehuda Leib. “No one. Moshe Dovid said that this Avimelekh was going to be here today or tomorrow, because—”

“Today or tomorrow?”

“Mama,” said Yehuda Leib with a lurch in his chest. “You’re scaring me.”

Shulamis stepped forward as if to take hold of her son, but whether to comfort or to warn never became clear.

At just this moment, there was a knocking at the door.

Shulamis froze.

After a long, still moment, the knocking came again.

“Yehuda Leib,” whispered Shulamis. “Get under your bed, and no matter what happens, you don’t make a sound, understand?”

Yehuda Leib’s keen eyes were wide. “Yes, Mama,” he said, and in a flash he was hidden.

Slowly, Shulamis smoothed herself. She took a deep breath, and, just as the knocking began again, she opened the door.

“Oh,” said Shulamis, letting her breath go. “Oh, Rabbi.”

“I apologize,” said the rabbi’s round voice, “for disturbing you.”

“No, no,” said Shulamis. “Not at all. Would you like to come in?”

“No,” said the rabbi. “No, thank you. I just thought you ought to be told: Avimelekh is in Zubinsk, and he could be here as soon as this evening.”

“Yes,” said Shulamis. “I heard.”

“He’s in debt again, Shulamis. And he thinks he can get himself clear by selling boys into the Tsar’s army.”

Shulamis sighed deeply. “Ah.”

“Yes.”

Now there was a silence—long, empty, immovable.

“Shulamis, I’m so sorry,” said the rabbi softly.

“Thank you,” said Yehuda Leib’s mother, and then, again, softly, “Thank you.”

“Of course,” said the rabbi. “Keep safe.”

“I’ll try,” said Shulamis. “Good night.”

“Good night.”

Gently, the door closed.

—

Yehuda Leib crawled out from under the bed.

His mother’s face was as still as a death mask.

“Yehuda Leib,” she said.

“Mama?” said Yehuda Leib.

“You have to go away.”

“What?” Yehuda Leib felt his throat catch. His jaw was impossibly tight; his chin began to quiver. “Why?”

Shulamis shook her head so softly it was almost impossible to see. “Because he’s coming.”

“I can fight?”

Shulamis laughed like nothing was funny. “Not against him, you can’t.”

“Yes I can!” All of a sudden, Yehuda Leib found himself yelling. His eyes were filled with tears. He felt helpless and frightened, as if he were little again. “Won’t you even try to stop him?”