“They broke me,” Gavriil said, staring sightless at his memories. “Go on home, Yefim. I stay here”
My knuckles bulged as I clenched the rag.
“Rivka, where should I put this chometz?” I asked, just to ask something, say something, that wasn’t soaked in poison.
Rivka gave a startled glance. “That’s kasha?” she said, as if she was asking a question.
“Yes, I know,” I said, and then — I hadn’t planned on telling it. I had always thought it would stay between me and the Eibeshter, the moment I had earned my medal from Him. But the shame of being small before Papa clouded my mind and I said it, I admit, to regain my stature. “I know it is kasha. One year, I was about fourteen, it was all they gave us all Pesach — most of the boys ate it, but Gavriil and I — I almost starved. My fingertips turned black. But I thought of you, Papa, and I wouldn’t eat it, all Pesach.”
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