Falling in Love with a Russian
Chava had always been a bookworm. While she was obsessed with reading the thoughts and stories of famous writers, I was trying to become one. I was much less interested in those stories than I was with creating my own. However, ink and paper were hard enough to find in our little village, and on top of that our family wasn't the best off. Instead of writing, I thought up stories in my head.
One day, Chava and I were in Motel and Tzeitle's shop when three Russians came in. I wasn't paying attention at first – my head was busy thinking up a story – but eventually I noticed that Sasha and Vovochka, two Russians who were controlled by the Constable, were teasing Chava. I sunk down in my chair and hid, listening to their intimidating voices.
But suddenly, another Russian named Fyedka stopped them. I was surprised that a Russian was sticking up for a Jew, so surprised that I actually sat up straight in my chair. That was when I caught his eye.
I noticed that Vovochka was staring at me. I've seen that man before with the Constable. He was a little shorter than the rest of the Russians, with a glint in his dark eyes. Currently, his mouth was curled into a half smile working like a clock in tandem with the kind way his features were placed on his face. I blushed and tried to hide by dipping my head, but I knew Vovochka was still looking at me. He and Sasha were headed toward the door, but when I dared to look up again, sure enough he was still looking at me.
"Shprintze," Chava called out, "please go home. I'm sure Mama can find a use for you."
I would have normally objected, but I stiffly stood from my seat and followed the Russians out the door. I did notice, however, that Fyedka and Chava were staying inside. "Don't you two touch her!" Fyedka called out to his men.
I immediately started for home, but Vovochka's presence possessed me to take my time.
"Shprintze," he spoke.
I spun around. "Yes, Vovochka?"
"That's a beautiful name."
"Thank you." I looked down at my feet, but I couldn't keep from smiling. I got a bubbly feeling in the core of my stomach.
"It means 'hope,' I believe," he mused.
I looked around for Sasha, expecting this to be a practical joke, but Vovochka's other half was gone. "Yes, in Yiddish…"
Vovochka took a step closer. I didn't know whether to be afraid or excited. He must have sensed my fear, because he immediately said, "I won't hurt you, I promise." I looked up, and saw the kindness in his face spill into his eyes.
We stood there silently for a few moments. "You're very pretty, Shprintze."
"I'm only fifteen," I answered.
"I am seventeen," Vovochka told me, as if it did not make a difference. It didn't, but as far as Papa was concerned, Russians were barely human.
"I don't know how it is in Russia, but here, the matchmaker picks our husbands." I had always longed for someone handsome, strong, and tall like Vovochka, but there is no way Papa could possibly approve. His nerves had already been tested when Tzeitel decided to marry Motel and when Hodel and Perchik fell in love. "Besides, if you are a Russian, how could you fall in love with me, a Jewish girl?"
"Is your God a prejudiced one?" Vovochka pleaded. Tears began welling to my eyes. I did want to be with Vovochka, but my family had already sacrificed so much for love…
Vovochka grabbed my hands. "Shprintze, I have seen you so many times. Each time I say, That beautiful girl. Her matchmaker will pair her with a man hardly worthy for a mud-bathed pig, just because of the occupation her father has selected. She will end up the domestic of a house of farm children, because God has chosen to trap her in a world where love does not exist. Why. Where does your God say that you must marry who an old woman chooses? It is your life, not hers."
"The Fourth Commandment: You shall honor your father and mother," I recited from the Bible.
Vovochka broke his gaze. "If you say so, Shprintze. I will bury my feelings if you wish. But please, love, consider running away with me?"
"Vovochka, this is so much all at once-"
He cut me off with a kiss. I was so taken aback, I gasped after he pulled away.
"I did not ask you to cut off your arm, Shprintze. I asked you to think about it. Will you, for me?"