And the Rat Laughed - By Nava Semel Page 0,58

your life. If only I knew how to figure out the dates of the Jewish holidays. My memory is too sparse, and I have nobody to ask. There are rumors ... unthinkable. The mind cannot grasp such horror.

Let Easter be Passover, Little Girl.

Let Pentecost be the Jewish Feast of Harvest.

Let the Sunday be the Sabbath.

1 May 1944

The farmer’s wife came to church this morning. People in the village gossip about the couple’s new wealth. They’ve bought another plot, and now their land extends all the way to the forest.

With a proud stride she marched right up to the altar, and announced that she had found a worthy mate for her son. Having searched in vain in our own village, she had turned to another nearby, and discovered a bride who was in a class befitting their own newly acquired status. She had sent her son to lay soft birch branches on the threshold of the girl’s house, a symbol of his intentions. The farmer’s wife asked me to schedule the ceremony.

How can I pronounce the wedding vows for this man, whose very name is too profane for me to utter.

What he did to the little girl in the dark.

The farmer and his wife had been childless for many years. For the sake of procreation, they had fasted and had given generous offerings and other gifts. Eventually they made a pilgrimage to the Black Madonna of Czestochowa, who answered their prayers. There isn’t a soul in the village who does not remember the baptism of this son.

If only I could add to the Scriptures “a seed for a seed”. How can you ask me to bless him and his wife-to-be? May his children be damned, and cursed be his name.

The farmers are celebrating outside. They have tied scented reeds and ash branches to their hair, and have launched a procession, carrying an effigy of the Princess of May, in green clothing.

Come out to us, Father Stanislaw. The fragrance of spring is in the air. Everything has been created anew. Their spring is my eternal winter. Do not forgive me, Father. I am beyond hope.

I hide between the branches and relieve myself.

3 May 1944

Feast of the Virgin Mary

The first day of sowing. The farmers are out in their Sunday best. They waited for me to bless their seeds before setting out towards the fields, mimicking the movements of my hand as it sprinkles the Holy Water.

Today I baptized the youngest son of Zbyszek the blacksmith. He was actually born on Sunday, but he couldn’t be baptized on a Sunday, or else he would spend his whole life seeing death coming to snatch its victims.

On their way out, the congregants chanted: “My dear kinsmen, we are back from Church. We took a little Jew. We bring back an angel.”

What is the matter with you, Father Stanislaw? Come celebrate with us. We have not had such joyous tidings since the angel Gabriel delivered the Annunciation to the Virgin Mary. With my very own eyes I saw the Jews being taken in freight cars to their deaths. A great celebration in the heavens above.

Zosha the innkeeper calls Zbyszek the blacksmith a rumormonger, and says he drank too much.

I return to the empty church, and fall on my knees.

What do you see, Stash? What do people see if they’ve been blind since birth?

Christ and the Mother Mary divested of their clothing, huddling with the rest of the group, waiting in silence for their turn. First on death row.

On the ground I inscribe the words: King and Queen of the Jews. In the morning, the little girl will erase it all as she hops about.

4 June 1944

Pentecost is over, and the Feast of the Holy Trinity has arrived. The shorter the nights, the more apprehensive she becomes. It seems that only in the dark does she feel safe. I tell her that the light-giving heavenly bodies were created on the fourth day. Here is the light of the stars, Little Girl. It has come a long way, and now it is reaching us...

She covers her eyes.

If I were in Your place, Father, I would turn off all the stars for her sake.

8 June 1944

Corpus Christi

We roll on the ground, spreading dirt around us. She pulls at my tail.

Stash, you’re the best rat in the world.

It’s my body that is being jostled. My guts are in a knot. My mouth opens wide.

Alarmed, she quickly retreats into the niche.

What was that sound you made, Stash?

I am laughing, Child.

What does