“Anya, I need you to hang this up for me,” she said, nodding toward a bun with a cross baked into it.
Anya washed and dried her hands. She took a knife, got up on a stool, and cut down last year’s Good Friday bun. Then she hung the new one from the ceiling to protect their home from fire for another year.
Her mother told her to open the shop and sweep it out.
Anya said, “I’m supposed to be at the Meisels’ place as early as possible.”
“Why do they need you? It’s Friday.”
“It’s Pesach. It’s their Easter.”
“Their Easter starts on Friday?”
“At sundown. They asked me to help out today.”
Her mother considered this. “They pay you the same?”
“Yes.”
Jirzhina shrugged. The Jews paid well. But still.
Anya said, “What?”
“Nothing. Janoshik said he might be coming by.”
Anya said nothing.
“You don’t like him?”
“He’s all right, Mama. But sometimes he can be such a balvan, like he’s got rocks in his head.”
“Better a boring man who stays with you than a thrilling horse man who leaves you with a baby.”
“Don’t worry, Mama.”
“I’m not worried about you. It’s them.”
Jirzhina aimed her rolling pin at the street, where drunken mercenaries were passing by, singing dirty songs.
Legions of foot soldiers, Reiters, and musketeers from the Turkish front had swarmed into Prague on Holy Thursday, and hadn’t wasted any time tearing the town up. Fortunately, the town was big enough to absorb the shock, Anya thought. She told her mother that she would be careful.
She went upstairs to finish braiding her hair, but there wasn’t time for that now. So she gathered her long black hair and tied it back with a lace ribbon. She had to look good for the rich folks. Back downstairs, she put on a clean apron and opened the shutters and the heavy wooden door to the shop.
The neighbors were already yelling at each other, Ivana Kromy’s shrill voice cutting through what ever protests her husband Josef barked at her.
Anya wondered how people could be so angry with each other before they even had their morning porridge. It took most people a good part of the day to build up to a fury like that.
She swept out the rear of the shop, keeping an eye out for the beggars who relied on true believers like Benesh Cervenka for a bit of Good Friday generosity. She also watched out for thieves and other lowlifes who thought that the best cure for warts was to steal a slice of beef, rub it on the afflicted area, then toss the beef down a privy hole, so that when it rotted, all their scabby warts would fall off.
Why couldn’t the recipe start out with buying a piece of beef? No, it had to be stolen for the magic to work properly.
She felt the floor shift under a man’s weight, and she turned around. Janoshik was leaning on the counter, a toothy smile on his round peasant face.
“Hey, cutie. Want to go see the pageant in the Old Town Square?”
Anya said, “Sorry, the Meisels need me today.”
He was disappointed. “You’re always working for those Zhids.”
“They’re not so bad. And it’s only one day a week.”
“Right. And that’s supposed to be Saturday. Today is Friday.”
She explained for the second time this morning that today was a special day for the Jews.
“Seems like everything’s special if it’s about them,” he said. “So what kind of spells do they use to clean their meat?”
He meant the koshering process.
“No spells. They just soak the meat in water, drain it, sprinkle it with coarse salt to remove the blood, then wash it a couple of times. That’s it.”
“There’s no way that that’s it. They’ve got secret magical words for everything.”
“They just praise God before they do anything.”
“So now you know Jewish prayers? Who’s teaching you?”
“Janoshik, please—”
“No, really. I want to know where you’re learning all this Jewish magic.”
“They say the same ten words about fifty times a day, that’s all. I’m used to hearing it.”
He glared at her.
She said, “They kill a cow, they praise God. They cover its blood with dirt, they praise God. They wash their hands, they praise God. They cut a slice of bread, they praise God. They take a wizz—they praise God. Get it?”
“I get it. You’re turning into a secret Jew.”
Her reply got sucked right down her throat. He might as well have accused her of killing cattle with sorcery. The Church moved swiftly against anyone accused of “Judaizing” beliefs, and the punishment was death by public burning. How could