Broken Song by Kathryn Lasky

Author:Kathryn Lasky [Lasky, Kathryn]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781101554913
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 2007-02-15T05:00:00+00:00

THIRTEEN

“THEY TOOK your violin?”

“He took it—one man, a Cossack.”

Reuven was sitting at the baron’s table. Despite the richness of the furnishings, Baron Radzinsky’s table was simply laid. There were not the piles of food that had been set out on the priest’s table, and nobody was trying to stuff Reuven and Rachel. In deference to the children’s coming from a kosher household, which forbade the serving of meat and dairy in the same meal, the baron had announced they would have a dairy meal.

“The baby needs milk, no doubt,” he had said.

They had eggs and cheese and milk and a thick vegetable soup. It tasted wonderful. There were some chocolate biscuits for dessert, no rich cream cakes with jewel-like decorations as in the priest’s house.

“So one man took away your dear Ceruti. How I looked for that for you. What the hell is a Cossack going to do with a violin like that?” The unspoken question hung in the air. How could someone who had just murdered a young girl play a beautiful instrument crafted by a family that had adored fine music for generations? Could a murderer play Brahms?

Suddenly a flood of images rushed into Reuven’s mind. He had tried so hard not to think about that day. He had tried to block the images of the blood from his sister’s throat, the crumpled bodies of his parents that lay outside their front door. But those horrible pictures were never far beneath the surface of his conscience. Another image now loomed up in his mind’s eye. It was the face of the Cossack. He had never realized until this moment that he had registered every feature, every small aspect of that face. The man had pale red hair. His face was pockmarked and there was a large pit in the side of his nose. His eyebrows were a much darker red than the color of his beard and the hair on his head. His brow protruded, and with the dark red eyebrows, it cast his eyes into a deep shadow. The eyes, a light icy blue, seemed to shine out from the shadow like two cold stars. Yes, Reuven remembered that face and would until the day he died.

“Reuven! Reuven!” The baron was speaking to him sharply and shaking his shoulder. “Are you all right, Reuven?”

Rachel was whimpering.

“Oh!” Reuven said softly. He felt as if he were being called back from a distant place. He suddenly realized that his cheeks were wet. He must have been crying.

“You are very tired, Reuven,” the baron said. “I’ll show you to your room.”

The room was a large one with a fireplace in which three logs crackled. A young servant girl helped undress and bathe Rachel in a dressing room with a large porcelain tub. Fresh hot water was brought for Reuven. When he was finished and had tucked himself into bed, and Rachel into the small one that had been brought in for her, he heard a soft knock on the door.

“Come in,” Reuven said.

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