Fedka’s Brother

Chapter 4: Bread

The following afternoon, I cut two slices of bread, tucked them into my pocket, and set out for the old bridge. On the way, I did some thinking.

Father Ivan had said that the Jews killed Christ. Fair enough. But Moishe was only eight, the same as me, and Christ had been killed almost two thousand years ago. Therefore, Moishe couldn’t have killed Christ.

Father Ivan had also said that Jews kidnap Christian children and use their blood to make their Passover matzah. But Fyedka had read the Bible, and he said that part of the Bible has a list of rules that Jews have to follow, and one of the rules is that they’re not supposed to eat or drink blood. I was more inclined to believe Fedka than Father Ivan, who couldn’t see very well and always smelled funny. Besides, it was the middle of October and Passover was in the spring.

Another thing Father Ivan had said was that Jews had their own language, that was based on filth and cursing. This I found easier to believe, since Moishe had a funny way of talking, as if he wasn’t quite used to speaking Russian. I was no stranger to bad language, having lived for the past eight years with Mama and Papa, plus I’d always been a victim of draznilkas—taunting rhymes—because of my light hair. I could live with bad language.

But when I got to the bridge, Moishe wasn’t alone.

Sasha and Volodya each had hold of one of his arms, and they were dangling him over the railing of the bridge. Moishe looked terrified. That, I think, more than anything else, was what cemented my view that he wasn’t dangerous.

The two older boys hadn’t noticed me yet. I was wary of both of them, having been on the receiving end of a lot of their bullying. But I wasn’t about to let them have their fun bullying someone who clearly couldn’t defend himself, and who I owed a favour to.

“Oi!” I called. “Put him down!”

Sasha turned to look at me. “You gonna make me? Or are you gonna call your darling Fedechka and have him do it?” he asked.

“Piss off, Lyonechka,” Volodya added. “It’s none of your business.”

Sasha had no right to be calling my brother “Fedechka”, since Fedka was older and didn’t like Sasha anyway. And while I could live with Mama calling me Lyonechka, Volodya using that particular form of my name was extremely rude.

“Is so, Volodechka,” I said, putting emphasis on the fact that I was purposely using the familiar diminutive, just as he had done to me. “He’s my friend, and you’re both rotten bullies.”

Both of them started laughing, loosening their grip on Moishe’s arms so they could grab their stomachs. Moishe gave a small, frightened cry and grabbed their sleeves so he wouldn’t fall.

“So you’re a Christ-killer too, eh Blondie?” Sasha laughed. “Wait’ll I tell my mother. She’ll have it all over the village by suppertime.” He motioned to Volodya, then the two pulled Moishe over the railing and dumped him on the wood of the bridge. Sasha nudged him towards where I stood with a booted toe. “Keep your silly friend, Lyonechka. Let’s see what the great Fedka thinks of you now.”

With that, the two of them went off to bully someone else.

I went over to where Moishe was sprawled on the wooden slats and gave him a hand up.

“Are you alright?” I asked.

“Did you mean it?” he asked.

“Mean what?”

“That we are friends.”

I thought about it. Moishe had saved me from the bear and had been friendly afterward, inviting me to see his secret hideout. And without thinking about it, I had brought the two slices of bread, the way someone would bring a gift to someone’s home. I pulled the bread out of my pocket. It was ordinary black bread, slightly stale, and some of the crust had fallen off in my pocket. I handed him the bigger piece.

“I meant it.”