Read Online If a Tree Falls by Jennifer Rosner - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jennifer Rosner
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button Pearl hides in a hide and seek game. But so stubborn, and she refuses to obey! “Look at her,” Pearl scoffs, as Nellie scooches her way across the threshold and out toward the chicken coop, even as Pearl and now Moshe call to her to stop.
Pearl can feel Nellie’s eyes searching her face when she picks her up roughly from among the chickens and pulls bits of straw from her hair. “You must come when we call out to you. Who can run a house this way?” Pearl plops Nellie down on her bed, the room dim and shadowy grey, then walks out.
A minute later, she comes back. Nellie is fingering the damask bedspread and she startles at Pearl’s appearance, every muscle tensed like a spooked animal. Pearl turns to look over
her shoulder. What on earth is the matter? She grabs up Nellie and holds her to her cheek.
At night beneath that same damask spread, Pearl lies awake, staring at the ceiling. She knows — has known for months — that something is wrong with her child. Nearly two years old, and Nellie doesn’t speak yet. Well, she might be a late bloomer with that. But the expression on Nellie’s face earlier today, so surprised and confused when Pearl reappeared in the bedroom . . . as if she hadn’t heard Pearl coming, hadn’t heard her calls, hadn’t heard her chidings, or later, her consoling words.
All the next day Pearl wanders about in a fog, consumed with her worries about Nellie. How could she have failed to notice? Nellie spends her days scanning the house for clues of activity, laying her palms and occasionally even her broad cheek flat on the floor with the approach of footsteps. Now Pearl calls out for Nellie from behind. No head turn. Now she clangs two pans together. Nothing. No.
When Moshe walks in at sundown with four unexpected guests for Shabbat dinner, Pearl is beside herself. Must the mitzvah of hospitality be theirs to make, tonight of all nights? Pearl wants to excuse herself from the packed living room and somehow prepare Nellie for the crowd. But Moshe is already
calling for Nellie in a voice louder than usual. He is walking room to room, pounding on the walls as he walks. Pearl wonders who these guests are, why Moshe is making such a show. He smells of the rabbi’s chamber.
Pearl backs out of the room and rushes down the hall past Moshe. She finds Nellie at her bedroom window, a dollop of lantern light shining on the rag doll in her hand. Pearl hoists Nellie up and gestures that it is time to eat. Moshe stands in her path, as she scurries toward the kitchen.
“What is the matter with that child?”
“We’ll talk later, after dinner.”
“No. I want to talk now.”
“Moshe, we have guests standing around the table.”
Later, when Moshe runs his finger along the base of Pearl’s neck as she tidies up after dinner, she jerks away. She turns to look into his face, and for a moment she flashes with what power she has, to withhold herself, to withhold her news. Moshe pales, suddenly. “What is it, Pearl? You glow and you glower at the same time.”
“Nellie is a good girl. She is not disobedient. Not on purpose.”
“She is disobedient. She doesn’t listen.”
“She doesn’t hear, Moshe. She can’t hear.”
“What are you talking about? Of course she hears.”
“No, Moshe.”
“She meets me at the door almost every afternoon when I come home. How does she know I am coming if she can’t hear?”
“She feels it in the ground. I’m telling you, she doesn’t hear.”
In the rabbi’s study, lines of thought are pushed and pulled, twisted and turned. Voices rise and fall. Eyes are rubbed; beards are tugged. Questions are always answered with other questions.
If it can be said that any of the men in the rabbi’s study are practical, the practical one among them — Chaim — stands up and looks at the others.
“Can she be married?” he asks, his eyebrows arched high.
“She’s two years old,” says Yaacov the candlemaker, with a dismissive wave of his
Pearl can feel Nellie’s eyes searching her face when she picks her up roughly from among the chickens and pulls bits of straw from her hair. “You must come when we call out to you. Who can run a house this way?” Pearl plops Nellie down on her bed, the room dim and shadowy grey, then walks out.
A minute later, she comes back. Nellie is fingering the damask bedspread and she startles at Pearl’s appearance, every muscle tensed like a spooked animal. Pearl turns to look over
her shoulder. What on earth is the matter? She grabs up Nellie and holds her to her cheek.
At night beneath that same damask spread, Pearl lies awake, staring at the ceiling. She knows — has known for months — that something is wrong with her child. Nearly two years old, and Nellie doesn’t speak yet. Well, she might be a late bloomer with that. But the expression on Nellie’s face earlier today, so surprised and confused when Pearl reappeared in the bedroom . . . as if she hadn’t heard Pearl coming, hadn’t heard her calls, hadn’t heard her chidings, or later, her consoling words.
All the next day Pearl wanders about in a fog, consumed with her worries about Nellie. How could she have failed to notice? Nellie spends her days scanning the house for clues of activity, laying her palms and occasionally even her broad cheek flat on the floor with the approach of footsteps. Now Pearl calls out for Nellie from behind. No head turn. Now she clangs two pans together. Nothing. No.
When Moshe walks in at sundown with four unexpected guests for Shabbat dinner, Pearl is beside herself. Must the mitzvah of hospitality be theirs to make, tonight of all nights? Pearl wants to excuse herself from the packed living room and somehow prepare Nellie for the crowd. But Moshe is already
calling for Nellie in a voice louder than usual. He is walking room to room, pounding on the walls as he walks. Pearl wonders who these guests are, why Moshe is making such a show. He smells of the rabbi’s chamber.
Pearl backs out of the room and rushes down the hall past Moshe. She finds Nellie at her bedroom window, a dollop of lantern light shining on the rag doll in her hand. Pearl hoists Nellie up and gestures that it is time to eat. Moshe stands in her path, as she scurries toward the kitchen.
“What is the matter with that child?”
“We’ll talk later, after dinner.”
“No. I want to talk now.”
“Moshe, we have guests standing around the table.”
Later, when Moshe runs his finger along the base of Pearl’s neck as she tidies up after dinner, she jerks away. She turns to look into his face, and for a moment she flashes with what power she has, to withhold herself, to withhold her news. Moshe pales, suddenly. “What is it, Pearl? You glow and you glower at the same time.”
“Nellie is a good girl. She is not disobedient. Not on purpose.”
“She is disobedient. She doesn’t listen.”
“She doesn’t hear, Moshe. She can’t hear.”
“What are you talking about? Of course she hears.”
“No, Moshe.”
“She meets me at the door almost every afternoon when I come home. How does she know I am coming if she can’t hear?”
“She feels it in the ground. I’m telling you, she doesn’t hear.”
In the rabbi’s study, lines of thought are pushed and pulled, twisted and turned. Voices rise and fall. Eyes are rubbed; beards are tugged. Questions are always answered with other questions.
If it can be said that any of the men in the rabbi’s study are practical, the practical one among them — Chaim — stands up and looks at the others.
“Can she be married?” he asks, his eyebrows arched high.
“She’s two years old,” says Yaacov the candlemaker, with a dismissive wave of his
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