What is better, bitterness or innocence? Emptiness or the wisdom that comes with facing the darkness?

H

annah swallows her anxiety as she faces the little wooden door, deep in the old Jewish ghetto. Even the snow is gray here, trodden on by muddy boots — and sometimes, dirty feet — and there’s the smell of frying onions, which should be a good smell, a Shabbos smell, but somehow it makes something acidic rise at the back of her throat.

She hesitates. This is it. The address Sarah has given her.

The wooden carton of food is heavy in her hand, and she hesitates, unsure of whether to put it down on the slushy cobblestones or to prop it against her leg in a most unladylike fashion to free a hand so she can knock on the door.

She is still deliberating when the door flies open. Hannah startles, gripping the carton.

“Loyf! Loyf fun du, moyz!”

A young woman, brandishing a broom.

A little boy, wailing.

And a brown flash over her black boots, running, disappearing, a tail whisking behind it. A mouse.

The woman looks at Hannah and blinks.

The little boy grabs his mother’s hand and pulls, hard. “You made it run. Bad mama, bad mama, you made it run.”

The woman swings the boy up onto her hips. She has a large, pregnant stomach and Hannah wants to chide her, Careful, careful of yourself and your unborn baby. Don’t just swing him up on you like that.

Instead, she turns and searches the alleyway. The mouse has disappeared.

“All gone now, Mama, all gone.” The boy wails.

The woman stares at her. “Do you want something?”

Hannah looks at the little boy. “Did you like the mouse?” she asks. “Did you like to play with it?”

The woman gives her a look, half curiosity, half ferocity. “Are you not a fine lady, then?”

A mouse. A boy. A young woman, rich Yiddish, pale complexion, brown headscarf, heart-shaped face, and a strength that she likes. She laughs, suddenly, and it feels good. “You could say that.”

“A lady would scream.”