Short Stories | Essays | Other
Tsipora sat on the steps of the Old Church, shivering, with her eyes fixed on the horizon. The Old Church was built on the highest cliff on Faraway Island, and from her position Tsipora’s line of sight was unmatched. Before her stretched the East Siberian Sea, whose dim roar was soothing by day and sinister by night. Unfortunately, on Faraway the day lasted only a few hours, in the summer. In the winter it was total darkness. Lucky for Tsipora, though, the fog hadn’t set in, so she could see for miles and miles. In her peripheral, she could just make out the town below her.
She was getting impatient. Her gangly, awkward legs were too long to rest on the first step below her but not long enough for two steps. She was almost fourteen. A woman, Yesh would call her, with eyes that lingered a little too long. Tsipora grew more anxious and uncomfortable thinking about it. She scanned the horizon again. Nothing. No ship. Yesh had promised the people that the ship would be coming on August 25th, like it did every year, and with it the people could eat again. They couldn’t grow anything on Faraway Island, with its freezing temperatures and barren ground, so they relied entirely on annual shipments of food. In God’s good time, went the familiar refrain, our souls will leave Faraway and float on to a world of abundance and we will eat until we can eat no longer!
Tsipora had spent her entire life on Faraway, and she remembered every time the ship came with supplies. It was the event of the year; everyone in town would rush up to where she was now and gaze out onto the sea as the Archangelsk carved a path through the water. Then, everyone on the island would be gathered into the Old Church to pray for a good bounty. It was strictly forbidden to talk to the crew of the Archangelsk. Yesh would then walk down to Stone Beach while the crew unloaded the food. The next day, they would be gone, and Yesh distributed the food to the people. And the people were always so grateful.
But on this August 25th the Archangelsk did not come.
“Hey, Bird!”
Tsipora tilted her head to look over her shoulder, as much as her two shirts, two sweaters, and parka would allow. But she didn’t need to look to know it was Moshi. He was the only one who still called her that. Her sulky expression told him everything he needed to know.
“No ship, huh?”
“Nope,” she replied curtly, scooching over to let Moshi sit down. He could never stay seated for long, though. He was plagued by a nervous energy and preferred to dance back and forth between his feet in one spot- standing still was too herculean a task for him, much to his parents’ chagrin. Impressively, this time he managed to sit down.
“But Yesh said-”
“I know what Yesh said! He always says the same thing,” Tsipora snapped, a bit too harshly. Moshi looked distressed. He was a year older than her, but you couldn’t tell from looking at him. She was thin and angular, which made her face look older than fourteen, and he had a baby face and the ridiculous wisps of a budding mustache. Girls grow up faster, Yesh reminded her in her head.
“Sorry,” Tsipora said. She shivered at the arrival of a sharp wind. “I’m just hungry.”
“Me too.” Moshi stood up and paced back and forth. “It’s weird that the ship hasn’t come, right? It always comes today.”
Tsipora detected in Moshi’s voice only nervousness; he had never had the capacity for anger she had. People liked him better.
“It better be here tomorrow. Otherwise, you’re the first person I’m eating,” she said, smirking at him from her spot on the Old Church steps.
Moshi laughed his high-pitched squeal of a laugh. “Nah, you would totally be the first to go if we had to eat someone. You and your attitude,” he said with surprising force that made Tsipora raise an eyebrow. “People would turn on you so fast. You wouldn’t stand a chance.”
Tsipora and Moshi walked back into town along the edge of the island. The path was marked by nothing other than the feet of those who walked it before them. But really, there was no need for a path. Faraway Island had no forests, which made the wind all the more unbearable. Moshi tugged at the zipper of his jacket and stuffed his hands inside his sleeves.
“What do you think he’ll say?” Moshi asked.
“I dunno. That God is testing us. Maybe that the Archangelsk will come if all the girls give him a big kiss.” Her voice dripped with bitter sarcasm. Moshi squinted at her; the wind forbade a more expressive reaction.
“He wouldn’t do that. He doesn’t think like that. God tells him what to do.”
“Let’s just drop it, OK?”
“I guess I just don’t see why you have such a problem with him. Things are good here. People are good. Uncorrupted, not like the outside world. That’s what he says, anyway.”
“Yeah, fine, but why do we always have to do what he says?”
“It’s really God telling us what to do.”
Tsipora looked down at the ground. Brown. She looked at the cliffs to her right. Gray. She squinted ahead at the houses in the town. Beige. Faraway was a muted place with muted people. She then turned her head to the sea, which glittered bright and blue, and then to the sky, which was radiant with pink and orange and red. Tsipora felt an intense desire to grow wings and fly away.
“Do you ever feel like your parents love him more than they love you?” She suddenly asked. Moshi stopped walking, and stood uncharacteristically still, looking at her funny.
“Are you OK? You’re acting weird.”
Tsipora stopped too, and looked at Moshi. “Answer the question.”
“I… I mean I guess they do,” he started, and then his face lit up when he found the answer. “But of course they do, because Yesh is a vessel for God. And we love God more than even our own families.”
“I don’t love him.”
Moshi looked at her. He didn’t know how to feel. Tsipora had always had… opinions, but not like this.
“You shouldn’t say that.”
Tsipora realized that Moshi was probably right. She shouldn’t say that. Certainly not in front of anyone else.
“Sorry,” she said, trying to look bashful. “Hey, Moshi, don’t tell anyone I said that, OK?”
Moshi was happy to oblige. He didn’t want the trouble, and anyway, he could never say no to Tsipora.
In the town, there was lots of commotion. People were talking in voices that were hushed but urgent. Never had the Archangelsk failed to materialize. The people were scandalized, and more importantly, hungry. They were out of food, and people were acutely aware of the panic that would set in after even another few days without new supplies. Moshi said goodbye to Tsipora and ran off to find his parents. Tsipora had no desire to do the same. She was cold, but on Faraway it was never warm anyway.
The bell rang three times. Suddenly, as though they lost the ability to speak, the people stopped talking, and a veil of silence descended over the town. Like marionettes, everybody turned in unison toward the town square. Eyes darted furtively from face to face, as if to ask what will he say?
Five minutes passed. Everyone stood stone faced, waiting like their lives depended on what Yesh would tell them. Tsipora glanced over and saw Moshi across the square. His mother’s arms were clutching his shoulders and his father stood stoically beside them. Tsipora looked for her parents. She didn’t see them.
“There he is!” someone whispered excitedly. Tsipora’s eyes darted across the square, past the Holy Lectern and down the path to the shore. His silvery beard blew wildly with the wind, and his meager white robes shone brilliantly amidst all the brown and beige. He looked artificially plain, like a God trying to disguise Himself as a human. He did not shiver once. He walked with purpose, as though he never doubted himself, not even for a moment. They hadn’t seen him for weeks. He lived down by Stone Beach, and nobody was to see him when he didn’t want to be seen.
The seventy-three Children of God gathered closer to the lectern, awaiting his word with an anxiety that burdened their hearts. On the lectern was the inscription To Suffer is to be Strong. Yesh climbed the stone steps silently and placed his hands on each end of the Holy Lectern. He gazed at his people for what felt like an eternity, looking at each and every yearning face. Tsipora shuddered when his eyes reached hers. He had eyes like sapphires, eyes which cut through the fog and the snow and the rain. Eyes that could see everything. I know what you did, those sapphires said. He smiled at her. Finally facing the crowd, he spoke.
“I have wonderful news,” he said, almost whispering. His people crowded closer. Tsipora watched his haggard, weathered face. The face of their God. And then that face turned to her once again. His voice rose in a thundering crescendo.
“Faraway will be having its first wedding in three years!”
Gasps emerged from the crowd. All eyes immediately turned to Tsipora. It had to be her. She was almost fourteen. Her heart sank to her stomach, and she looked down at her boots. She hated the way everyone was looking at her. She wanted desperately to hide in her room. Why had they told him?
“Yes,” he continued. “Her parents came to me today with the joyous news. She has begun to bleed!” Tsipora turned bright red. She wanted to disappear. “A woman entire,” Yesh intoned triumphantly. “Tsipora!” He beamed at her with a manic grin. The townsfolk began to cheer, but cautiously. This wasn’t the news they were expecting. But what of the Archangelsk? The question dominated their thoughts, to the point that the nuptial announcement felt almost like an afterthought. Tsipora looked around at the people she had known all her life. Their lips were contorted upwards at the edges, but none of them were smiling. Their voices rang hollow, and their intentions blew in the wind. Except Moshi. She looked over at him and read the sympathy on his face. Only he seemed to know how awful this was for her. His mother’s claws still dug into his shoulders.
Yesh seemed to sense the unease. He decided to reveal who he had selected. “She will be married on the 30th to Simon.” The people cheered once again. Tsipora felt distant. She could see herself standing there, listless, as people congratulated her. She saw her future. She would be married, and she would move to a new home with Simon, and she would have his children. Many children, if Yesh had his way. Asha and Joseph had been married three years earlier, and they still had not produced a child. They had been barred from church service and excommunicated from social life. Asha was Tsipora’s friend, and she used to be vibrant and enthusiastic, despite her environment. These days, her head hung low with shame as she walked in the town, and her voice was pained and deferential. Such was life for girls who came of age on Faraway.
Tsipora got through the celebration in a daze. She scanned the crowd for Simon. He couldn’t be happy about this arrangement either. They locked eyes. He looked at her with vague disappointment. He was eighteen years old, with dark hair and a hard face. Tsipora then spotted her parents. They were standing away from the crowd with their eyes locked on Yesh. Her mother had a big smile and her father looked proud. She stared at her parents. They never returned her gaze.
Eventually, the conversations petered out, and slowly the people went silent and looked once again to Yesh to direct their thoughts. The unspoken question still hung in the freezing air: what about the Archangelsk?
Yesh gave them no answer. He smiled wanly, and then turned and retreated down the stone steps. His white robes billowed out behind him as he faced the wind. The townsfolk watched as he strode down the hill toward Stone Beach and disappeared out of sight. Nobody ate that night.
Tsipora rose before the sun on August 26th. It was four days until her wedding. She threw off her covers and looked at herself in the cracked mirror on the shelf. Bird looked back. You look terrible, Tsipora thought, eying Bird’s disheveled, knotty nest of hair. Bird responded with an indifferent shrug.
Slowly, methodically, Tsipora put on her long underwear, sweatpants, fleece, sweater, and parka. Then, with her mobility now constrained by copious layers, she shuffled to the door.
Her parents were waiting for her in the kitchen. “Congratulations!” was the first thing out of her mother’s mouth. “The first wedding in years, Tsipora! And for you!” She was beaming. “Aren’t you excited?”
Tsipora looked at the woman before her. The woman who had given her life. “Why did you tell him?” she asked; her voice was small and mouselike.
Her mother seemed taken aback, as though this was a ludicrous question. “It’s a good thing, Tsipora,” she said. “You’re a grown woman now, you ought to be married. And Simon is a good fit,” she added, with a ridiculous giggle. “We suggested the match to Yesh!”
“I don’t like Simon. And he doesn’t like me, either!” she said, trying not to raise her voice. She felt the genesis of tears at the corners of her eyes.
“Watch your tone,” her father snapped from his spot leaning on the counter. “Your mother and I know what’s best for you, and so does Yesh. This marriage will be consecrated by Him and so by God.” He grunted as though to indicate that the conversation was over. Tsipora was not satisfied.
“Oh, so is it that I’m a grown woman, or is it that I’m still a baby and you know what’s best for me?”
Her father glared at her and straightened up. Her mother tried to interject, but he shushed her. “It’s both, actually,” he said, getting in her face. “I am the man of this house and I get to decide when it’s time for my daughter to marry. And you do as I say.”
Tsipora stood there fuming, looking up at her father. She had a million things she wanted to scream at them, things that had been burning inside her for years. But the words would not come. The consequences would be too severe. And if Yesh found out… disrespecting parents was a serious offense. So Tsipora just stood there, enraged and helpless. After a long enough silence her father was satisfied that order had been restored and went back to lean on the counter. Tsipora turned and walked out the door, ignoring her mother’s protests.
She walked away from the village square, up towards the Old Church. It was the only place where she could be alone. The wind howled and the frigid Siberian waters crashed violently against the cliffs of Faraway Island. Fortunately, once again there was no fog; the sky was clear. Eventually, she made it up the well-trodden path to the Old Church and sat on its steps. She watched the water once again. Her stomach grumbled impatiently. Where was the Archangelsk? If the ship didn’t come soon, the wedding would be the least of her concerns, she thought, with a sense of dark humor.
The people in town seemed to share her concern. Moshi was on his way to pick up firewood for his parents, which took him through the village square, when he bumped into Anania and Binyamin. They had a conspiratorial air about them.
“Hey, Moshi!” Binyamin called out. “Do you have any food left? I’m sure the ship will come today, but…” he rubbed his neck and looked pained. “We’re really hungry. We actually ran out of food last week. We’re starving.”
Moshi paused, and didn’t respond immediately, which told his friends everything they needed to know. He did have a couple crackers left, that he was saving.
“Please, we’d do the same for you,” Anania added on top, adding to the moral weight on Moshi’s shoulders. Moshi smiled at them.
“Yeah, I have a little left,” he said, giving them each a cracker out of the tin in his coat pocket. Unable to control themselves, they quickly gobbled up the food.
“You do think the Archangelsk will come today, right?” Binyamin asked, pleadingly. “I mean, Yesh said it would be here yesterday. He said that. It’ll be here today,” he said, gaining confidence. “It will be here today.”
“Yeah, totally,” Moshi said. “It better be, anyway. There’s no food left in the supply house.” He fidgeted, stepping back and forth nervously.
“God wouldn’t forsake us,” Anania ventured, her eyes looking to Moshi and Binyamin for confirmation. Both boys nodded unconvincingly. Anania and Binyamin wanted another cracker but couldn’t ask. Anania decided to break the silence.
“Hey, Moshi,” she said, touching his arm. “Sorry about Tsipora.”
“Yeah, man,” Binyamin added. “I know you were sweet on her.”
“God knows why,” Anania said, laughing. “She’s a pain in the ass.”
Moshi turned red. “Its… fine,” he said, suddenly wishing he hasn’t bumped into them. “It wasn’t meant to be, I guess. It’s not my choice. Or hers.” He laughed awkwardly. “I mean, I don’t think she even likes me like that anyway, even if it was her choice.” He looked down at his feet and shuffled back and forth. He wished he hadn’t said anything.
“But why announce the wedding now?” Binyamin said, lowering his voice. “People couldn’t care less right now. We want food.”
“Has anyone seen him today?” Moshi replied, his voice now barely louder than a whisper.
“Nope. And no Archangelsk either. Tsipora’s been up by the Church watching all day, apparently.”
That made Moshi sad, thinking about Bird up on the steps. She was probably swinging her legs and pouting and staring intently at the water, searching for the one thing she knew that wasn’t from Faraway. He looked around. In the town square, people were praying at the foot of the Holy Lectern, desperate for food. Yesh was nowhere to be seen.
Only hours after the sun had risen, it had begun to set. Tsipora’s tired eyes were crusty with dried tears. She hated Faraway. She hated how gray everything was. She hated the cold. She hated people telling her what to do. She hated her parents. And she hated Yesh. I’m going to run away, she thought pitifully. The sea roared with laughter at her audacity. She felt helpless and weak. She was so hungry. And she didn’t want to get married, especially not to Simon.
Tsipora stood up from the steps and screamed. She kicked at the wooden base of the Old Church, denting the wood that rain had made soft. Unsatisfied, she stormed into the Church like a rabid animal and flung the Holy books onto the floor. She ripped out their pages and stomped on them. Her screams echoed off the rafters that Yesh had apparently built in a day (God had given him unrelenting vigor, apparently). Finally, exhausted, Tsipora collapsed to the ground, a crumpled and forsaken ragdoll. She lay on the floor of the Old Church that she had just desecrated, sobbing.
Suddenly, someone spoke. “Are you OK, Tsipora?”
Tsipora gasped. She had thought she was alone. She got up off the floor and looked around. At the far end of the church, she saw Asha. She had been praying at the foot of God’s Throne, but now she stood tall, apprehensively looking at the girl who had just wreaked havoc in the most sacred place on Faraway. Tsipora breathed a sigh of relief at the friendly face.
“No, I’m not OK,” she said, pointedly. “I don’t want to get married, I don’t want to do what Yesh says, and I’m fucking hungry,” she said, enunciating the profanity. In the Old Church, no less! It felt good to let loose, to say what everyone knew she felt. Asha was less thrilled.
“Your hunger is good, Tsipora,” she said zealously. “It brings you closer to God. To suffer is to be strong.”
Tsipora rolled her eyes. “You don’t believe that.”
Asha bit her lip. She was a few years older than Tsipora, but she looked much older. The lines in her face made her look sad, even when she smiled.
“I do believe it. I have to believe. Because otherwise,” she said, looking out the window toward the town, “what’s the point?”
“The point is to do what you want! Why should we waste away, doing what we’re told to do, eating what we’re told to eat, and marrying who we’re told to marry? I want to leave.”
Asha looked blankly at her upstart friend. Tsipora was far too fierce for her size; hearing such heresy from a girl dwarfed by her jacket verged on ridiculous. Still, Tsipora knew she had crossed a line. Like when she told Moshi she didn’t love Yesh.
“Try to see outside yourself,” Asha finally replied. “Be thankful for what you have. Be grateful you’re pure. Try to make your marriage work,” she said, her voice breaking. Then, quietly: “you can’t do much worse than me.”
Tsipora knew all about Asha’s marriage to Joseph. “You’re too hard on yourself,” she said. “He’s an asshole.”
Asha looked stunned. “He is not… that! He’s a good man. And I’ve failed him as a wife. We should have children by now. He’s right to be angry.”
Tsipora felt the rage bubbling at her fingertips. “And it’s right for Yesh to bar you from the church services? To shame you publicly? For what, not having kids? How does that bring you closer to God,” she said, the final words dripping with mockery. But when she saw the look on Asha’s face, she regretted being so blunt. “Sorry,” she quickly added.
Asha’s eyes were moist. Silently, she walked past Tsipora and bent over to start picking up the Holy Books that Tsipora had thrown to the floor. Inexplicably, this made Tsipora angry.
“Don’t clean up my mess,” Tsipora said. And then, ridiculously: “let Yesh do it.”
Asha looked at her with a stark sympathy on her face, as though Tsipora could never understand. She continued cleaning up. “You never belonged here,” she said finally, without malice in her voice. “You could never accept authority. Even God’s.”
Tsipora bitterly smiled. Frustratedly, she knelt down and helped Asha clean up her mess. Then, she turned and walked out the front door of the Old Church, hopped down the steps, and looked once again across the water at the horizon, as she had done so many times before. The sun had all but disappeared, leaving streaks of radiant pink and orange in the dark sky. The Archangelsk had not come.
No, Bird thought. I don’t belong here.
Another anxious day came and went, with no reprieve. It was the 28th. Tsipora could no longer be alone up at the Old Church, because others had begun to camp out to watch for the Archangelsk. The very last of the food was all gone. Anania and Binyamin had repeatedly pestered Moshi for food, but it was no use: he had none. Down in the village, the people’s anxiety had turned to conspiracy. Yesh had not appeared since the wedding announcement. Something must be gravely wrong, the general thinking went. But nothing was said out loud- that would be scandalous. Observations were made, in private, and implications were inferred. All the people knew was that the day the Archangelsk should have arrived, Tsipora had begun to bleed. And now there was a rumor that she had trashed the Old Church in a fit of devilish rage. Tsipora noticed the glares as she walked through the village square, but was too hungry to care. Everyone was tense. Neighbors who had often conversed regularly now regarded one another with suspicion- for they might be the reason the Archangelsk had not materialized. Someone must have sinned.
Tsipora had had enough. She had a plan, and she was on her way to share it with the only person she truly trusted.
Moshi was under a pavilion, trying to draw the village square on a starchy notepad. He wasn’t very good. Tsipora came up behind him and looked over his shoulder. She could make out the Holy Lectern in his drawing, but the buildings were all wrong, and he was trying in vain to draw people that were moving around. As a result, his picture had no focus, and he couldn’t decide what went where.
Moshi looked up at her. He looked happy to see her, but somehow sad also. She could see how hungry he was; even his baby face looked gaunt and strained.
“Hey, Bird.”
“Hey, Moshi,” she said, her eyes darting around. There was no one else under the pavilion. She could see Binyamin his father across the square, and a handful of other people walking around. One woman was praying at the foot of the Holy Lectern, presumably for the Archangelsk. She was praying loudly and dramatically. Tsipora found it a bit performative. She gestured over at her. “You think she’s hungry?”
Moshi looked at her disdainfully. “Don’t mock. She’s scared. We all are.”
“Can’t argue with that. But listen,” she said, dropping her voice and sitting down next to him. “You’ve been getting firewood from the supply house, right?” Moshi nodded. “Is there any wood left? Like bigger pieces?”
Moshi nodded again. “Probably. You need it for the wedding or something? Just run it by Yesh.” He had tried to say it neutrally, but his voice betrayed a little angst at the mention of her wedding. Tsipora didn’t notice. “I think there’s some left,” he quickly continued. “But I don’t know if Yesh will let you use it until the ship brings more.”
“Fuck Yesh. Don’t you get it?” She became animated, her bright green eyes steely with conviction. “The Archangelsk isn’t coming! He said it would come and it didn’t come! We are going to starve, Moshi! And all you people want to do about it is pray!” Moshi straightened and looked directly at her. She could see that on some level, he knew she was right. “I have watched,” she continued, growing more and more sure, “every year, and every year it comes on the same day! It’s been three days since it was supposed to come!”
It was true. The certainty of a new shipment of supplies on the 25th had, over the years, led the people to go through their food faster than they should. Faraway had been basically out of food since mid-July.
“Lower your voice,” Moshi said protectively. Tsipora had no filter, and on more than one occasion her heretical views had been punished. “Maybe we’re being tested. If we suffer more now, we prove our allegiance to God.” Tsipora rolled her eyes. “You know,” he continued, “more than one person has suggested that your lack of faith is responsible.”
Tsipora was outraged. “Of course they have. Me and my sins. But it couldn’t possibly be Amos, stealing more than his share of food? Or Anya, with the drinking? And what about Bin and Anania,” she said, glaring at Moshi. “They seem awfully close. Veeeery close. Not married, though, are they?”
Moshi looked embarrassed. “Lower your voice, Bird!”
“Why should I?” She glared at him, raising her voice in defiance. “What about you, Moshi? What about that time I accidentally walked in on you when you were…”
“Shut up!” He was red as a beet, and his voice was uncharacteristically forceful. Tsipora was taken aback. “Please. I fucking get it, Bird! You’re unhappy. You think you’re the only one?” He was almost screaming. “Get over yourself. The only thing we can do is hope that the Archangelsk comes. People are already scared. Stop making it worse!”
“Fuck you, and fuck Yesh! I’m sick of it here!”
They both went silent. Suddenly, they realized how quiet it was.
They turned around. A small crowd had formed; fifteen or so haggard and hungry faces had been watching the pair of heretics. Tsipora saw Binyamin and his parents, and the woman who had been praying. She also saw Asha. Then, her heart sank. Simon was in the crowd. He looked vicious, with his dark features carving shadows across his face. Her betrothed.
The silence was excruciating. Tsipora looked for a friendly face in the crowd, but they all looked at her with expressions ranging from blank to predatory. She had just confirmed all their suspicions. Asha didn’t even meet her gaze; she was staring at her shoes.
Moshi was horrified. He began to stammer, to try to explain. But Tsipora was hit with a wave of bemused indifference. How had this gone so wrong? It seemed absurd to her. She hadn’t even told him her plan.
Ignoring Moshi, Simon suddenly turned and walked away, past the pavilion and down toward Stone Beach. Understanding what this meant, Tsipora got up and started running toward the supply house. Time was running out.
Her heart was pounding as she tore across the island toward the supply house. Her plan suddenly seemed ridiculous; she had not until now been forced to assess it seriously. But she had no choice now. Simon would tell Yesh, and Yesh would emerge from his sanctuary to punish her. She had wanted to tell Moshi, to take him with her… why had she gotten so angry?
Finally, she arrived. The supply house was an unpretentious, squarish brown building. Behind it was a stony cliff and miles of ocean. She flung open the doors and frantically searched for logs, a large piece of plastic- anything that she could take out on the water. There was nothing but empty pallets that once contained food. In a frenzy, Tsipora grabbed a pallet and rushed out of the building. She started running toward Stone Beach, which was the only part of Faraway low enough to access the sea. As she ran, she began to realize how screwed she was. The pallet might float, but would it even be able to support her weight? And even if it could, all it would take is one harsh wave and she would be thrown off into the icy water. And that was a death sentence.
Despairing, Tsipora’s mood shifted from panic to a quixotic resilience. She would fail, but she had to try anyway. Staying was not an option.
She flew across fields of stone as fast as her spindly legs would take her. But suddenly, in the distance, she heard a man’s voice- “there she is!”
She looked over her shoulder and saw Binyamin rush down the side of the hill. Behind him were the other townsfolk.
Tsipora tripped, and threw the pallet in order to stop her fall with her hands. She saw a flash of red as blood trickled out of the gashes the rocks had made on her wrists. She moved to get up, but saw that it was no use. The vultures descended on her, threw her to her feet, and marched her back into town. Tsipora looked down at her blood-soaked hands. She felt small and alone. The wind howled, and nature laughed, as the hungry and cold bodies marched forth with grim determination.
Yesh was waiting for her back at the town square. He stood near the pavilion with a serious look on his face. Moshi was sitting down where not twenty minutes ago Tsipora had gone to tell him her plan. It seemed laughably hopeless, in retrospect. He was expressionless, with his eyes downcast. He looked like he was shivering, or maybe he was just afraid.
Binyamin pushed Tsipora forward, putting her face to face with Yesh. He looked less Godlike up close. His teeth were showing signs of decay and his skin was patchy and riddled with rashes. By now, everybody on Faraway was there, in the town square, watching. Yesh finally spoke.
“There shall not be a wedding after all,” he declared. “For Tsipora is impure. She is a sinner! She dares to defy the word of God.” The crowd murmured assent. Tsipora saw her parents in the back. Her mother was crying. Her father remained stoic. Yesh continued.
“When we sin, God punishes us! And we all fall short. And we all take our punishment gladly. For to suffer is to be strong!” To suffer is to be strong, the crowd chanted lifelessly.
Yesh’s voice rose and fell with the sound of the sea. The sky was cloudy, and it looked like it might rain. His oration marched on. “But when we sin against our people, our blood, God becomes very angry. And he punishes us all.” He paused for dramatic effect. “Tsipora refuses to accept her duty. She refuses to bow to God. She has desecrated the Old Church.” Tsipora looked at Asha, who averted her gaze. “She has tried to turn a man against God!” He gestured to Moshi. “And she has tried to leave us!” He thundered. “And for Tsipora’s sins, God has denied us the Archangelsk!” Yesh grinned triumphantly. The crowd gasped. Their worst suspicions had been confirmed.
“Please,” someone in the crowd pleaded. “We’re hungry. What do we do?”
“God must be appeased,” Yesh said gravely. “Take her up to the Old Church.”
The march up from the town was a somber, determined one. The women and men walked in their own lines, per Yesh’s command. Tsipora trudged along listlessly. Nobody would look at her, not even her parents. Except for Moshi. He looked ashamed and terribly unhappy. And fidgety as always. Tsipora tried to smile at him apologetically, but she couldn’t muster the strength. She was terrified.
Finally, the procession arrived at the Old Church. The people stood by anxiously. Yesh grabbed Tsipora’s arm and marched her to the edge of the cliff. The townsfolk watched, hardly able to believe their eyes. But above all else, they believed their stomachs.
“Tsipora has betrayed our people and betrayed God,” Yesh said. And for her we have suffered. For to suffer is to be strong!” To suffer is to be strong, the crowd replied. “But God has made it clear to me,” Yesh continued. “We cannot thrive any longer in her presence. The devil is in her!” He looked at her with an expression that was almost sad. “And so we must do what must be done.”
The crowd murmured apprehensively. Were they really going to go this far? Moshi began to cry, but nobody dared to challenge Yesh. They didn’t want to be where Tsipora was now. She looked down at the black, sinister water. What had gone so wrong?
Yesh touched her shoulders delicately, which sent shivers down her spine. She could smell him. He brought his face down to her neck, so that she could feel his breath on her. It felt like an eternity. Then, suddenly, his voice became jarringly normal, lacking the religious cadence it usually had, and he whispered to her: “Sorry, kid. Wrong place, wrong time.”
Tsipora knew it. She knew he was a fraud, that she was a scapegoat. She found some solace in this vindication, at least. Yesh pulled away, and placed his hands on her shoulders, preparing to shove her off the cliff. He began to speak, but it all sounded like a blur. Tsipora looked up at the sky. The sun was beginning to set, and it was beautiful. An arctic tern flew above her in the sky, circling against the backdrop of the sunset. She started to cry. Yesh’s hands began to tense up.
“Wait!” Moshi screamed. “Look!”
Tsipora opened her eyes. Out at the horizon, a black mass moved toward them. The people huddled by the edge of the cliff to look. The mass sliced through the water and moved with a graceful elegance, suddenly illuminated by a patch of orange light. It was the Archangelsk.
For a moment people remained quiet, filled with awe. But then the tension exploded. People cheered, screamed, thanked God and Yesh, and hugged each other. Yesh’s hands loosened off Tsipora’s shoulders, and she looked up at him. There was shock in his eyes, as well. Tsipora backed up several steps, fell to the ground, and threw up. Then, she keeled over and started to sob on the steps of the Old Church. Moshi ran up and threw his arms around her. He was crying, too.
Quickly regaining composure, Yesh took credit for the arrival, insisted that God never really intended for Tsipora to die (he made reference to some Biblical figure named Isaac), and then ordered the townsfolk into the Church while he went down to Stone Beach to greet the Archangelsk. The prospect of food was so enticing that all was forgiven. The people crowded into the Church to pray.
Tsipora sat in the back of the pews while the townsfolk celebrated. Much discussion ensued of all the different dishes they would eat, and how this year they would save the food more responsibly. Their faces were no longer the faces of the vultures who chased her down and condemned her to be smashed to pieces on the rocks below; now, once again, these were the faces of her friends, her family. And all were one under God. Even Binyamin had the audacity to come up and talk to her. It was like nothing had happened.
She was seething. She kept playing it over in her head. Nobody spoke up for me. Not her family, not Asha, and not even Moshi. They had all sold her out- her family had told Yesh about her period, Asha had told him about the her incident in the Church, and Moshi- she felt furious- Moshi wouldn’t even listen to her. It was always “don’t say that!” or “lower your voice!” She knew that he knew that she was right about Yesh. But he was a coward. And she couldn’t forgive him. Her parents made her the most mad, though. They hadn’t even talked to her yet, and were avoiding eye contact.
Moshi sat down next to her. Speak of the devil. She inched away from him, not dramatically, but enough to let him know how she felt. Tsipora could feel herself shaking, and she wanted to cry more, but was too proud to let anyone see it.
“I’m sorry.”
“Fuck you.” Her lip was trembling.
“I just want you to know, you were right. He’s insane. This place is insane. And I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you.” He said it loud, as though he didn’t care who heard it. Tsipora was still fuming, but decided that it mostly wasn’t his fault.
“My plan wouldn’t have worked anyway,” she said, still refusing to look at him. “We would have drowned.”
“Listen,” he said, getting quieter. “I was thinking about this: why aren’t we allowed to talk to the people on the ship?”
“Yesh says they’re a ‘corrupting influence,’” Tsipora said sarcastically.
“Yeah. Well apparently, that ship has sailed with you anyway,” he chuckled grimly. “No pun intended. All I’m saying is, what do you have to lose?”
Tsipora looked at him furiously. “My life, for one! Or did you not just see Yesh try to kill me?”
Moshi looked pained. “Bird, I’m sorry. I’m just trying to help.”
“I don’t need your help. I don’t need anyone.”
Moshi nodded sadly, and finally left her alone. She knew he was right, though. It was her only shot. She saw her parents across the pews, talking to some other parents. As though nothing had happened. She never wanted to see them again.
Tsipora slept better than she ever had that night. She had walked home with her parents in complete silence, went to her room, and slammed her door. Even her father didn’t dare confront her that night. He was overwhelmed with shame and couldn’t even admit to himself that that was what it was. It was torture.
She disrobed, and once again looked at herself in the mirror. Bird looked terrible. But she looked alive. Her green eyes shone angrily and her messy hair curled and tangled. She radiated energy and conviction, and she was going to take control.
She woke up an hour before dawn and put on her shirt, fleece, sweater, and parka; then, she tiptoed to the door and snuck out. It was dark out, but Faraway was a small island. She knew every inch of the island by heart. She started making her way through town, passing the Holy Lectern and the town square, and pausing to look up at the Old Church one last time. Its austere stature and large cross had once loomed large in her imagination, but now it looked small and silly. Tsipora kept moving. She crossed the edge of town and walked down the hills on the lightly treaded path to Stone Beach. Her throat was dry. She saw Yesh’s house. There was a light in his window. Past his house, sleeping in the sea, she saw the Archangelsk, for the first time up close. It was a massive, powerful ship. On its side its name was etched in gold lettering. There were men rowing back and forth from the ship, bringing pallets of food and supplies. Her ticket out. She started running towards them. She would say anything, it didn’t matter, but she had to get off Faraway. They were a way ahead of her, but she was so close.
“If only I had pushed you a few seconds before,” a voice spoke, cutting through the silence of the night. Tsipora was startled, and looked around. Yesh was behind her. “It would have been perfect,” he said, laughing. The people could never doubt my Godliness then.”
Tsipora was filled with rage. “You asshole! Why did you do that? Why do you lie to people like this? Why wont you just let me leave?”
“You don’t really get a say,” he said blithely. “I’m God, remember? And am I really lying to people? Or am I giving them hope?” He chuckled. “Can you imagine a place like this without religion? What would people do all day?”
“They would leave,” that’s what! “And you would be all alone. You,” she said, turning red, “and your stupid fucking beard!”
“You’re probably right.” He winked at her. “I guess I just like the attention. And I like that people can’t say no to me.”
Tsipora wondered if she could outrun him. She decided that she probably couldn’t, and even if she could she wouldn’t have time to talk to the people on the Archangelsk without him interfering.
“And the ship?” she asked. “Did you know it would be late?”
Yesh laughed. “No, I thought it would come the 25th. I just talked to the captain, apparently there was just some weather delay. When the ship didn’t come I announced your wedding to make people suspicious of you.”
This was absurd. Tsipora wanted to stab him over and over again. She imagined herself doing it. It felt good. What would it feel like in real life? He was the only thing standing between her and freedom. It was her or him.
She was furious. Thirteen years of her life had been spent under the thumb of this phony. Everybody she knew did what he said and worshipped at his feet. Once he had looked godlike to her with his white robes and blue eyes, but now he looked ridiculous, like a caricature of a holy man. His pious whispers were gone, replaced by a way of talking that was jarringly pedestrian. She had been denied freedom because of this man.
Tsipora lunged at him. From her coat pocket she pulled a knife she had swiped from her kitchen. But Yesh was lithe and nimble for his age, and she was just a thirteen year old girl. He dodged her awkward shanking thrusts and wrested the knife from her hands. Then he grabbed her from behind, but she bit down on his arm, causing him to yelp in pain. They wrestled on the dusty, rocky ground. He pinned her down. He was grinning, and had a look on his face that implied more than just violence. Tsipora recognized that look on Yesh. It took over his face whenever the young girls would give him hugs after mass. She squirmed harder, but he had her completely in his control. His face turned even more lustful.
Suddenly, he groaned, and Tsipora heard a loud thunk. Yesh keeled over. Blood was dripping from the side of his head. She saw Moshi, standing there, terrified, with a rock in his hands. Tsipora wriggled free and stood up, panting, nearly in tears. Yesh was on the cold, hard ground convulsing. Moshi had dented the side of his head pretty bad. He was groaning and thrashing around like a fish out of water. Moshi’s lip was quivering, and he dropped the rock.
“I killed him,” he said, in a daze.
“Not yet, you haven’t,” Tsipora replied. She picked up the rock and knelt down next to Yesh’s battered head.
“Stop! You can’t! He’s harmless now… you can’t kill him. It isn’t right.”
“He tried to kill me!”
“I… I don’t know. Maybe Anya can help him? She’s a healer.”
“She’s a drunk. And he doesn’t deserve to be saved,” she replied angrily. “He lied about everything. He turned everyone we know into a slave! He deserves to die.”
“Don’t kill him, Bird,” Moshi pleaded. It isn’t right. Maybe everything else is a lie, but that can’t be, right? It can’t be right to kill him.”
Tsipora looked down at Yesh. He had stopped convulsing, and was now just worming around in pain. She doubted he would recover.
“Let’s go,” she said. “He’s not worth it.”
Moshi was relieved. The pair headed toward the Archangelsk. They passed by Yesh’s house and walked another quarter mile to where the ship was anchored. An older man with a beard was unloading some food with the help of a few crewmen. They ran up to him.
“Please, take us with you!” Tsipora yelled frantically.
The old man looked at them quizzically. “You Yesh’s people? We’ve never seen any of you before.”
“Yes...” Tsipora paused for breath. Moshi picked up the slack: “Yes, but we need to leave! Something happened… please. Just take us anywhere else. Wherever you’re going. Please.”
The old man could see that something was gravely wrong. The girl’s clothes were ripped, and the boy had cuts and blood on his hand. “Listen,” he said. “I don’t want to get involved with whatever this is. Yesh just pays us to come out here once a year, and he insists that we don’t interact with you.”
“Yesh is dead!” Moshi blurted out. “Please. He attacked us. And if you don’t take us, we will die. They’ll kill us. You don’t understand. They’re crazy.”
The old man seemed less surprised than Tsipora would have expected. He sighed. “He always did seem a little creepy. I mean why not let us talk to anyone else?” He looked to his crewmen. They shrugged. He looked once again and the two children before him. The boy was wild-eyed, fidgety, and nervous. He looked like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. But the girl stared at him intensely, almost calmly, with an audaciousness that took him aback.
“Please,” Moshi said again, issuing one final plea. “Help us.”
The old man had heard enough. He ordered his men to unload the last of the pallets of food. Then, with a sudden seriousness, told the boy and girl to get in the rowboat. He rowed them back to the Archangelsk. Some sailors helped lift them up onto the deck.
The sun was rising, and the old man had no interest in staying. He ordered the crew to weigh the anchor and set sail. Moshi and Tsipora watched as the ship turned toward the sun and drift away from their home. They watched Faraway shrink until it was nothing but a tiny dot on the horizon. And then it was gone.
The old man introduced himself as Captain Asher. He bombarded them with questions about their upbringing and what had happened that morning. Eventually, he sent Moshi to sick bay to get his hand cleaned up. Then, he sat down with Tsipora. He told her that they were stopping in a port called Chersky in a couple of days. Tsipora had never heard of cities. She had always assumed that the ship came from somewhere, but she was excited to see the whole new world that awaited her. She wanted to set her own terms. Be her own boss. Chart her own course. She wanted to be free.
Asher asked her some more questions, and, eventually satisfied with her answers, got up to attend to other things. “I’ll send your friend back up when they’re done with him down below,” he said, and patted her on the shoulder. She liked Captain Asher.
She kept watching the water. Suddenly, she looked up at the old man. “How many other islands are there?” she asked. Asher laughed. “a million, kiddo. And wait till you see continents.” He started walking away, but stopped, and came back.
“By the way, what’s your name? I don’t think I ever got it.”
She paused for a moment. She gazed out at the water and up at the sky.
“Bird.”