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| Edgardo Cozarinsky |
"When she speaks at last, it is not to comment on the tale she has listened to so attentively.
'When do you embark?'
'Tomorrow. The ship leaves at six in the vening, but the third-class passengeres have to be on board by noon.'
She stares ar him, expecting words that do not come. After a moments pause, she insists.
'Are you intending to travel alone?'
He stares back at her, catching her meaning but scarcely daring to believe he has properly understood.
'Alone... Why, what other choice do I have...?'
She seizes him by the arms, blocking his path. Daniel can sense that these small hands can grip and perhaps even hit out, that they are not made simply to wield a needle.
'Take me with you! I could pass for blonde, I have light eyes even if they are not blue, I am only just under a metre sixty-five, and I am eighteen! is there a photograph in that safe-conduct of yours?'
'But...' he manages to stammer out, 'we're not married...'
Her peal of laughter rings out across the deserted square, seems to roll down the steps and echo out over the harbour.
'How could we be married if I'm an Orthodox Russian and you're a Jew! It would take months before a rabbi accepted my conversion... and anyway, didn't you say that in this new country of yours, nothing of what keeps us slaves here has any importance? Let's go together!'
As Daniel looks on dumbfounded, she starts spinning round, arms outstretched, like an Anatoliab dervish. Laughter all the while, she repeats like an incantation the names she has hear mentioned only a few moments before.
'Buenos Aires! Rosario! Entre Rios! Santa Fe! Argentina!'
She laughs louder and louder, and spins on and on.
I am Rifka Bronfman!'"
(Edgardo Cozarinsky, The Bride From Odessa)
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