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were especially violent in the Ukraine, where the Jews were held as scapegoats for the nation’s misfortunes.
    Half of Abe’s village was sacked before the mobs grew weary and wandered off. Abe and Haim escaped without hurt, but the cobbler’s shop was torn to pieces. Fortunately the rioters did not find the money Abe had cached beneath a floorboard.
    For some time Abe had been thinking of emigrating to America. It was the czar’s military recruiter who first put the idea in his head. This self-serving person came around with his hand out for a bribe on Haim’s twenty-first birthday. He suggested that for a reasonable price he could get both Abe and Haim across the border into Austria and Germany. From there the danger would be past; all that would be needed was money to pay for steamship passage.
    That was twenty-four months ago. Since then Abe had occasionally discussed the idea with Haim. Always Abe phrased it simply as “leaving Russia,” naturally assuming that Haim understood where they’d be going. Haim was enthusiastic on the few occasions when the idea came up, but he respectfully made it clear that he would defer to Abe on the matter.
    So Abe talked about it and then let the matter slide for months at a time. To begin a new life was difficult for a man of Abe Herodetzky’s temperament. To go to America? To risk so many dangers? At least they knew what life had to offer them here in the village. There was the shop, the worn, familiar handles of their tools, the smell of leathers and polishes; there was food on the table each day, and tea from the samovar in the corner; and each evening beforethey went to sleep, a drink of schnapps. No, life wasn’t so terrible after all, not when two who were at once father and son, brothers and friends, could make a living in a place where they had the respect and affection of their neighbors.
    In Abe’s mind just having the option of going to America was enough for the time being. Whenever life seemed unbearable, he would consider emigrating, and suddenly things didn’t seem so bad. Maybe next month, next year. There was always time.
    Now there was nothing left to hold them back. Abe stared at the wreckage of his shop, at his tools scattered and broken, while Haim quietly stood by. The ground beneath their feet was soggy with the blood of the injured and dead; the sky above was grey with smoke. All around them was ruination; the air was filled with the weeping of the adult and the wail of the children. So hellish was the scene that the only way to keep one’s sanity was to shut it all out. A man had to numb himself if he was to keep control. There were things to be done: help the injured, the dead.
    â€œThey’ll come again, won’t they?” Haim whispered. “They’ll rest and forget about this and drink some courage and be fired up by their priests, and they’ll come back to wipe us off the earth.”
    â€œThey won’t come back,” Abe said, but he believed it even less than Haim.
    â€œWe’ve got to escape while we can.” Haim’s red-rimmed blue eyes squeezed shut as the tears came.
    Those who still had homes in the village opened their doors to those who did not, but Abe and Haim chose to sleep where they always had, wrecked or not. The night was mild and there was no threat of rain. They built a fire in their stove, spread their blankets and stared up at the starry sky through the wide chinks in the sagging roof ofstraw. They were too excited to sleep. Surrounded by the ruins of their old life, they began to make plans.
    â€œWe must get in touch with the recruiter,” Abe began.
    â€œWhat do we need the recruiter for?” Haim asked. “What can that corrupt bastard do for us?”
    â€œI never told you this,” Abe chuckled, “but he once offered to get us across the border. Once we are in Austria or Germany, we can—”
    â€œWhy do we need to go