My Guardian Angel Read Online Free Page B

doors. Close the shutters. And don’t go out, not even into the courtyard!”
    â€œThere’s plenty for you to do,” my mother added. “Polish the Sabbath wine cup and tray, fold the laundry, and put it away in the chests. And there’s a basket full of wool that needs spinning.”
    My mother was shivering in spite of her heavy cloak and hood, and I knew in my heart that it wasn’t because of the cold. No, it isn’t the cold, but fear that makes us shiver this winter, for we Jews do not know what is in store for us.
    I started off by polishing the Sabbath cup and the silver tray until they shone like mirrors. And I must say, I was pleased by the reflection I saw: an oval face, pink cheeks, and a fine nose that isn’t red like some of my friends’ noses. My hair is curly, with long, thick braids divided by a straight part. I don’t have the blond braids of the ladies in the ballads, and my eyes are neither green nor periwinkle blue but more of a hazel brown. How I wish the silver tray were bigger! I have heard that rich ladies in castles have mirrors where they can admire themselves from head to toe!
    Next came the laundry. What a bore! But I love the fresh scent of soap. My grandfather told me that in Germany, when he was a student, he saw women whiten their laundry by soaking it in dog dung for a day or two before washing it with soap. Every time I think of that, it makes me laugh. Maybe girls in Germany don’t only have to hatch eggs but must pick up dogs’ dung, too! So they are even worse off than I am!
    I decided to sit and spin near the window, and despite my mother’s orders, I left the shutter open. Mazal, you do understand, don’t you? How could I spend the whole day in the dark with only a little lamp for company?
    The courtyard is deserted. There is not a soul to be seen unless you count the cock and the two hens that the cat chases aimlessly from time to time. They make pathetic attempts to fly off, flapping their wings in a ridiculous fashion.
    The wool runs between my fingers. It runs from my left hand to my right. The staff, wedged under my left arm, gets lighter as my spindle gets heavier. I will soon have finished all my work. Ten times, I have wondered what Muriel is doing today. Ten times, I have imagined I was rushing down the street, turning the corner, and running to Muriel’s without even stopping in front of the cake stall with its delicious baking smells of hot cakes and buns wafting in the air . . . without stopping at the old basket weaver’s. I don’t even pause at the apothecary’s to glance at the flasks filled with scorpions, vipers, and toads, or the tiny scales, perfect for weighing frogs’ hearts and grasshoppers’ eggs! My mother and I mostly use herbs and berries that we gather ourselves. We sometimes use bark from trees and fat from cows or chickens, but once or twice I have bought leeches from the apothecary. As I sit daydreaming, I imagine the hustle and bustle of the street. I hear the merchants hawking their wares, women laughing, and children playing. I hear the spice merchant enticing me with his, “Elvina, come in here a minute; smell this cinnamon. It comes all the way from the Holy Land. It’s the best remedy for tired eyes. It would be good for your grandfather, Solomon ben Isaac, who is not getting any younger, may the Lord protect him. Here, taste this ginger. Go on, do me a favor, take a few dried figs. A pretty girl like you, you’ll bring me good luck.”
    I imagine the little donkey waiting patiently in front of the spice stall, and I see myself rubbing his ears as I eat the figs.
    Mazal, who is sending me these daydreams? You, by any chance?
    All I know is that I can’t resist the temptation any longer. Out I go! I barely hear old Zipporah shouting out, “Elvina, where are you going? What will I tell your mother?”
    â€œTell her I went to