They Went Left - Monica Hesse Page 0,75

my eyes and run, salty, down my face. Mrs. Yost, normally exasperated and impatient, pulls a handkerchief from her sleeve. Esther’s glasses have slipped almost entirely off her nose because she’s been too distracted by the ceremony to periodically push them up.

I see Josef where the men are standing, angular in the candlelight, his hair still unruly but his face smooth, recently shaved in a way that makes it look naked. As I watch, his eyes move away from the couple and, under the cover of the shadows, he meets my eyes instead. He must have felt me staring.

I should feel embarrassed, but I don’t look away. I don’t know if it’s the joy of the moment, or my new dress, or the happiness of the past few days that emboldens me, but I want to be seen by him. On this day, when my lips are plumped with lipstick and my hair is freshly washed, I want to be looked at like I’m pretty.

I decide I’ll hold his gaze until he’s the one to look away. But then he doesn’t. We’re staring at each other between the poles of the makeshift chuppah, while wax runs down my fingertips and the ceremony carries on in the background. Our locked eyes are only broken by the sound of smashing glass, followed by a cheer.

Startled, I break away from Josef’s gaze. Under Chaim’s foot is a loose bundle of cloth, which now must contain broken shards. The breaking of the glass is the final part of the ceremony. It’s supposed to symbolize a lot of things; my father once said it reminded him of the fragility of life. Now we know firsthand that life is fragile, and we don’t need that reminder. But Breine wanted a real wedding, so I clap with everyone else until my palms hurt.

AFTER THE CEREMONY, WE MOVE BACK TO THE DINING HALL, where a few men have gathered instruments, playing lively music to accompany the dinner. Tables have been pushed to the periphery and piled with plates—dishes from Breine’s and Chaim’s home countries and all the other countries represented in the camp.

I make Abek go ahead of me in the food line, telling him to take double the portions of his favorites, and then lead him to our usual table, where Esther already sits with friends. It’s everyone from our regular dinner group, except the spot where Miriam usually sits has been taken by Breine’s uncle. I’m grateful, at least, that the infirmary is far away from the dining hall, out of earshot. Miriam always seemed to enjoy hearing Breine plan her wedding, but making her listen to boisterous wedding festivities just the day after she learned about her sister seems unbelievably cruel.

I feel a stab of guilt, watching Abek settle in with his plate: This wedding celebration came at the most horrible time for her and the most wonderful time for me.

“Did you have a good time?” I ask Abek, once I’ve introduced him to the people he hasn’t met.

“Yes,” he says. But as he responds, his cheeks tint with a salmon shade of pink.

“Did you?” I pry. “Are you sure?”

“It was nice,” he insists. “It’s just—”

“What? What are you blushing about?”

“Uncle ?wi?tope?k,” he finally murmurs, barely above a whisper, eyes darting to where Breine’s fastidious uncle is cutting his food into tidy parcels, dabbing his mouth with a napkin in between each bite.

“Uncle ?wi?tope?k?” I repeat, confused. “What about him?”

“I was standing behind him during the ceremony,” Abek whispers. “And he was…” He bursts into giggles before he can finish the sentence.

“Was what? What was he doing?”

“He was farting.” Abek barely gets the word out before he starts to fall apart in laughter. “The whole ceremony. It smelled so bad. The whole time.”

“No.”

“A-a-nd sometimes they were quiet, but…”

“No.”

“But there was one part where it was like, like…”

“Like a bugle?” I suggest.

“Like a piccolo! It was like, teet, teet, teet! Teetle-teetle.”

Abek buries his face in his napkin, trying to disguise his laughter from everyone else at the table, and I sneak a glance at Uncle ?wi?tope?k, lifting another morsel of food to his mouth.

“Abek. Abek.” I jab my brother in the side, and he lowers the napkin just enough to reveal one teary eye. “Look at his plate. He’s only eating cabbage. His whole plate is just piles and piles of cabbage.”

I’m building this joke because it’s funny, because the mood is so light that everything seems a little funnier tonight. But also because it seems