Page 43 - Devil's Arithmetic by Jane Yolen

mixed you up. Anyway, she was starving, even if it was
a dream. She reached for the milk pitcher and poured
herself a glass of milk, took a swallow, and choked. It
tasted awful. She looked into her glass. "It's got things
floating in it," she said.
"What things?" Gitl looked.
"There."
"That is not things. That is the cream. You have no
cream in the milk in Lublin?"
"Rochelle," said Shmuel.
"New Rochelle," Hannah insisted.
"Old, new—what does it matter?" asked Gitl.
"But if there is no Old Rochelle, how can there be
a New?" Shmuel mused out loud. "Perhaps there is a
Rochelle all alone, though the child does not know it."
"Pilpul!" Gitl said. "Men love to pursue questions
without answers merely for the sake of arguing. It is
what they do best. Ignore him, Chaya, a rabbi he is not."
Hannah nodded and, noticing Shmuel wasn't eating,
tried to pass him the pitcher of milk, but he waved it
away;
"We do not follow all the old customs, Gitl and I,
alone here and so far from the village. But I think it is
not bad to hold to some of the traditions, like the groom's
wedding fast."
Gitl snorted. "Especially if your stomach is nervous."
"Me? Nervous? And what do I have to be nervous
about?" Shmuel winked at Hannah as if binding her to
silence.
"I heard you tossing and turning all night, Mr. I'm-
not-nervous. And I heard how early you got up this

36