He stared at her for a minute more before chuckling to himself, though not unkindly. He took a step back. “All right.”
They locked eyes for a few long seconds; then she turned away and, with her back to him, quickly removed her boots, rolled her trouser legs a few times, and stripped off her shirt, leaving only a thin undershirt beneath. She could hear the intake of his breath as she turned back around and stepped into the stream. The water was cold, bracing, as it burbled around her ankles. She lowered her shirt into the water, making an opaque net of it. She waded deeper, not minding that she was getting her clothes wet. The sun was hot and would easily dry them, and they were in need of a wash anyhow. She stood still, hardly breathing, until the fish forgot she was there, wiggling all around her, their silver scales glimmering in the sun, catching the light. And then, so quickly that if the man had blinked, he would have missed it, she scooped her shirt up in one quick motion, curving it into a half-sphere so that nothing could escape over the sides as the water drained. Within the fabric, seven small fish gasped and flailed. She held them up to him and smiled. “See?”
His mouth hung slightly open as he looked from Yona to the bundle of fish and back. “How did you…？”
“You have to become a part of the water.”
He blinked a few times and then waded into the water beside her. He pulled off his shirt, revealing taut skin browned by the sun, stretched over sinewy muscles. She was suddenly very conscious of him as the ripples from his movement lapped against her legs. He stayed still for a few seconds, trailing his shirt in the water, but it wasn’t long enough, and when he yanked the makeshift net out, the fish scattered, and he came up empty. “You made it look easy,” he said, looking up at Yona with chagrin.
“I have been doing this nearly all my life.” She realized only as the words left her mouth that she had just confided something to him, told him something about herself. She hadn’t intended to. “You will learn.” She felt exposed under his gaze, but she was surprised to realize that it didn’t bother her, not like she’d thought it would. He was looking right at her, and there was something about being seen that reminded her that she wasn’t just a ghost, a spirit in the woods. “How many do you need to feed?” she asked him.
He hesitated, and she could see him weighing his options, deciding whether he should be honest. That was good; he was cautious. He was right not to immediately trust a stranger, and she respected him for it. “Thirteen, including myself,” he said after a long pause. “Fourteen if you count the baby.”
Thirteen people and a baby, hidden somewhere nearby. It was almost incomprehensible. “You are many.”
He nodded, watching her closely.
“You have come from the ghetto in Volozhin?”
“Volozhin?” He was still trying to puzzle her out, but after a second, he shook his head. “No. We are from the ghetto in Mir, to the south of the forest.”
She closed her eyes for a few seconds. “And you escaped?”
“Yes, but to what?” he asked softly. “It is summer now, with enough plants to eat, but what happens when the winter comes? How will I feed them all? I convinced them to leave with me. I promised that I could take care of them. But what if I cannot? What if we were better off where we were?”
“You were not.” The immediacy of her response startled both of them. “The forest will care for you better than the ghetto would. And you will learn.”
Again he seemed to be trying to read her eyes. “You know the ghetto, then? In Volozhin? That’s where you’ve come from?”
“No.” She knew he was fishing for more, but she wasn’t ready to be caught. “We will catch enough dace to feed your people tonight. Tomorrow, you will come back, and I will show you how to make a kryha.”
“A kryha?”
“I don’t know another word for it. It’s—it’s a net. You will catch a lot of fish that way. More than enough, and some pike, too, the larger ones.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
Neither did Yona, so she slid the seven fish from her shirt and held them out to the man, who hesitated for a few seconds before holding his dripping shirt up like a basket. Yona slipped the fish into the fabric. She tried not to notice how his muscled chest and shoulders gleamed with perspiration. His body was different from that of Chana’s father, and it elicited in her a reaction that she didn’t quite understand.
In short measure, she collected another six fish and handed them over silently, her eyes sliding away as he watched with his mouth agape. Twice more, she gathered a half dozen, until she had handed him a total of twenty-five. They were small, but they would be enough until tomorrow. “You can pick some sulfur-shelf mushrooms, too,” she said as he bundled the fish into his shirt, making a sack of it. She emerged from the water and strode to a nearby tree trunk, where dozens of flat, deep-yellow mushrooms grew right out of the bark, one on top of the other. “You will see these all over the forest this time of year. They are safe if you cook them and will taste good in a stew with the fish. Just take care if any in your group are feeling ill; mushrooms are hearty and will help you to survive, but they are sometimes difficult to digest.” She promptly closed her mouth. Had she said too much? She busied herself with tearing two handfuls of mushrooms from the tree and crossing over to him, hands outstretched.