“Chosen by God?” asked Israel, incredulously.
“Why not?” said Jakob, turning his intense eyes on him. “What makes a man become a rabbi? An accident? Does not the Lord touch him in some manner to be a teacher of His laws?”
Israel made a face of concentration, his lips pursed as he considered Jakob’s remarks. What an unusual young man, he thought. He makes the most outrageous comments, bordering on anathema, then follows them up with an explanation so valid and clear that only an idiot would argue with him.
“Jakob,” said Hanna. He turned his attention to her. “You said that your rebbes guide you on your marriages. If you cared for a girl, but she did not care for you, what would the rebbe say?”
Jakob sat up straighter. “He would marry them, of course,” he replied in a manner that gave no indication that another option was possible.
Motlie leaned forward, her cheeks still touched with color from the dancing and from a discussion that she considered to be one of the most interesting in her life. “Suppose her parents did not want the marriage?” she asked.
“They wouldn’t even consider being opposed to it. The rebbe has decided for them.”
Motlie and Israel were aghast at Jakob’s answer. Said Israel, “I would never force any of my daughters to marry a man she was opposed to. What kind of a life would she have?”
“You are not a Hasid, Mr. Barlak,” said Jakob.
The words were scarcely out of his mouth when Gitel came running into the kitchen. “Papa,” she said breathlessly. “The cow. I think the calf is coming.”
Israel climbed quickly to his feet and hobbled to the stable, the rest hard on his heels. Gitel had already placed the lantern near the cow, and its beams showed her lying on the straw, giving out deep moans of pain as she strained to give birth. A small puddle of body fluid lay by her leg, from the casing which had ruptured. “Gitel,” said Israel. “go for Stanislas.” The eighty-five-year old Polish carpenter who lived next door had helped deliver the bull calf born three years before. In a flash, Gitel was out of the barn. Israel talked soothingly to the cow while he waited.
In a few minutes, she was back. “He’s sick, Papa. He’s in bed.”
Israel groaned inwardly. Stanislas was his only hope for help. Another look at the animal showed that she was indeed in trouble. Her belly muscles were working and she was straining, but her vulva was barely flexing. She will not be able to get it out by herself, he knew. He had assisted during calving in the past, but realized that he was physically incapable of kneeling to do what was necessary. He turned to Hershel.
Hershel raised his hands in helplessness. “I never saw a cow give birth before, let alone know what to do.” Israel could have told him, but he felt awkward about asking his guest to remove his coat and thrust his arm into what could soon be a gory mess. He looked over at Jakob.
The Hasid shook his head. “I am even less informed.”
“Hanna,” he said. “You will have to help her.”
Hanna nodded, her face tight with worry. “I will change my clothes first.”
“Hold on,” said Hershel, taking off his jacket. “Tell me what to do.”
“Reach inside her,” said Israel. Hershel knelt and cautiously placed a hand into the cow’s uterus. It was clammy, and his skin crawled at what he might find inside. He went in deeper and felt a solid object, wet and slippery.
“I’ve touched something,” he said. “I think it’s the head.”
“You’ve got to find its feet. Can you move around the head?”
Hershel kept probing. “I feel one of its legs, but it won’t budge.”
“Try harder,” said Israel, his heart pounding with concern.
Hershel did as he was told, but he could not pull it free. He put more force behind his effort, his hand often slipping, but nothing happened. “It still doesn’t budge,” he finally said.
“Oh, my God,” said Israel miserably. “If you don’t pull it out right, it may die.”
Hershel drew out his hand. “Shall I try again later on?”
Israel shook his head in despair. “I don’t know. I saw this happen once years ago. There was nothing they could do. They had to butcher the calf inside the cow.”
Hanna stepped forward to look at the stricken animal. “Isn’t there anyone else we could call, Papa?”
He shook his head and gave a cynical laugh. “We could call the veterinarian from Slabodka. He would charge the price of the calf, if he decided to come.”
“Good evening,” said a quiet voice. They all turned. Stephen was standing there. Hanna’s heart almost burst from her chest, and she felt a flush sweep over her face so strong that she nearly swooned. “I knocked at the door,” he explained.
“Good evening, Stephen,” said Israel. “This is Jakob Golub. He is staying with us.” The two young men eyed each other curiously and nodded.
Stephen looked down at the cow, then he took up the lantern and examined her more closely. “She can’t breech,” he said at once. “She hasn’t expanded enough.” He glanced at Israel. “May I help you?”
“If you think you can,” said Israel, renewed hope in his voice. “And thank you for whatever happens.”
Stephen slipped off his jacket, but before he could drape it over one of the rails of a stall, Hanna reached out and took it from him, folding it carefully and holding it to her breasts. He gave her a shy smile of greeting, then sank to his knees, crouching low to enter the cow as gently as possible.
In a few seconds, he began straining, then leaned his shoulder against the rump of the animal to obtain leverage. The muscles of his arm bulged as he applied pressure. After a minute or so, he drew out his arm and stood up. At once, Hanna handed over a basin for him to wash off the mucus.
“It’s front feet were turned under very tightly,” he explained to Israel. “I’ve gotten them past the head. But the cow will need more time. A half hour or so.”
“Will she last that long?” asked Israel.
“I think so. She’s had good care. Anyhow, we’ll help her.” He turned to Hanna. “Can I have a pail of cold water and some cloths, please.”
“Reba,” said Hanna. “Get a bucket of water from the pump, please. Zelek, find some old towels in the storage area.” Both of the children ran off at once.
Stephen squatted by the head of the cow and began rubbing her face and her neck, speaking gently to her. “Would you turn up the lantern, please?” he asked.
Hanna brought it to him. “We are not allowed to do so. But you can.”
He eyed her quizzically, as if she was teasing him.
She grinned down at him. “One of our Jewish customs.”
Stephen did not know whether to chuckle or not. Instead, he wheeled the wick up higher, then turned back to the cow. When the children returned from their errands, he dipped a cloth in the pail of water and began washing down the face and neck of the animal.
In short time, the moans of the cow appeared to ease. “She seems better,” said Israel with approval. “You have the right kind of hands.”
“It’s the cool water,” said Stephen in his direct manner. “It helps her forget that she is having pains.”
Hanna squatted down beside him. “Can I help you?”
He shook his head. “Thanks, but I’m all right.” He wiped the