As they finally made their way back to a more familiar part of the forest in early August, Yona summoned the courage to ask a question that had been weighing on her for a long while. “What do you believe, Jerusza?” she asked as they walked, the old woman several strides ahead of her, leading the way. “You call yourself Jewish, and we mark the Jewish holidays, but you scoff at them, too.”
Jerusza didn’t turn to look at her, nor did she slow her pace. “I believe everything and nothing. I am a seeker of truth, a seeker of God.” It wasn’t an answer. Finally, Jerusza sighed. “As you know, my mother was Jewish, and so according to Jewish law, that means I am, too. You know these things, child. Why are you forcing me to waste my breath?”
“I—I suppose I’m wondering about myself.”
“What about yourself?”
“Well… what am I? You are not my mother, but you raised me. Does that make me Jewish, too?”
The silence hung between them as they walked. “You are what you were born to be,” Jerusza said at last.
Yona clenched her fists in frustration. It should have been a simple question, but somehow, even after all these years, it wasn’t. “But what was that?” she persisted. “Why do you never give me a clear answer? What was I born to be?”
“I wish I knew,” Jerusza shot back. “I wish I understood why the forest called me to you. I wish I could understand why I’ve had to spend the final years of my life with an ungrateful child. I suppose you’re fated for something great, but at the rate you’re going, I’ll be long dead before you fulfill whatever destiny that may be.”
Yona’s head throbbed with confusion and hurt. “But if you could tell me something about where I came from…”
“For goodness’ sake, stop!” Jerusza finally turned to glare at Yona. She chewed her sagging lip for a long moment before adding, “You’re asking the wrong questions, child. Never forget that the truth always lies within you. And if you can’t find it, maybe the forest was wrong about you. Perhaps you’re nothing more than an ordinary girl, after all.”
CHAPTER FOUR
By the time 1942 dawned, frigid and empty, Yona had grown used to her own company, for Jerusza, now 102 years old, hardly spoke at all anymore. Yona was nearly twenty-two, and she knew everything there was to know about the earth beneath her feet, and the things that sprang from it, but nearly nothing about the ways of mankind. She hadn’t seen another human in nearly three years other than occasional glimpses of the bad men from deep within the trees. She held conversations with red squirrels and mountain hares. She cooked, she cleaned, she spoke to a God she couldn’t understand. But venturing outside the forest had grown too dangerous, even for Jerusza. The deeper into the Nalibocka they went, the more the world outside disappeared.
Before she knew it, it was March, and the cold was seeping back into the ground, the snow melting, the frost releasing its hold. On a day when the sun rose above the treetops in a cold, cloudless sky, Jerusza, who hadn’t moved from her reed bed, summoned Yona.
“Today,” Jerusza said, her voice raspy, breathless, “is the day I will die.”
Yona’s eyes filled with tears. She had known the time was coming, for Jerusza’s body was slowing, growing colder. The birds, reemerging to look for signs of spring, had kept their distance like never before, and Yona had felt a shadow looming over their home dug into the earth. They’d been living there since November, the longest they’d stayed in a single place.
“What can I do?” Yona asked, coming to kneel beside her.
“Prepare me some linden tea.” The old woman drew a trembling breath.
Blinking back her tears, Yona scrambled to do as Jerusza had asked, brewing a strong concoction made from the dried flowers of linden trees, which she and Jerusza had gathered last summer. It would bring Jerusza’s fever down and help with the pain, but it wouldn’t slow her transition to the other side. As she waited for the flowers to steep, Yona tried to focus on how to keep Jerusza comfortable, but dark thoughts kept creeping in at the edges; what would become of her when Jerusza was gone?
When she knelt again beside Jerusza a few minutes later, a steaming cup in her hands, the old woman’s breathing had grown noticeably shallower, but still she recited the vidui, the prayer of confession, before taking the cup in her trembling hands.
“Jerusza, what will I—” Yona began to ask, but Jerusza cut her off.
“There are things I must tell you.” Jerusza took a long sip of the tea. She blinked a few times, and when she turned her cloudy eyes again to Yona, she looked stronger and more alert than Yona had seen her in months.