Rocking Free

The year is 1562. The faded, corroding rocking horse sits there, motionless. Lifeless. A frail hand reaches out, touches it. Willing it to move. It doesn’t. She bends, feels around the base, wondering if it can still be there after all these years. Her shaking hands find it. The doll. Slow tears begin to form behind her closed eyelids as her fingers trace it’s face. It’s hair, once golden brown, is now full of cobwebs. The dress she had made for it, in a time and place long forgotten, is now dull and dusty. Her eyes open and settle on the familiar fabric. Her vision blurs, flooded by tears. There is a sudden pain in her, coming from a place she has ignored for many years. Her heart. It all rushes back now, and she can’t stop it. The beautiful doll slips from her grasp to land on the dirty floor. She carefully lowers herself onto the ground and cries for several long and painful minutes, remembering. No. She shoves away the thoughts filling her mind, reaches forward. Gingerly, as though scared of what will happen, she seats the doll on the rocking horse. It looks suddenly sad, forlorn, as though feeling her anguish. Perhaps it does. The tears have gone now. She gives the horse a light push, but it moves only slightly. A sudden anger fills her. A strength she had lost years before flows through her now, and the horse shakes, rocks. Back and forth, back and forth. Back and forth. She stares, mesmerized, and the tears come again. She wills them away, but they keep coming. The horse keeps rocking. The doll sits atop it, dust flowing off of the dress with every motion. She gives in to her thoughts, the pain. The memories. Her mind wanders, drifts away, moving to a time and place she’d thought was buried forever. The rocking horse continues its rhythm. 

The year is 1490. The first rays of dawn are peeking through the windows. She awakens, excited. Mama had told her yesterday about what this day would bring. Already, in the next room, she can her her mother, along with an unfamiliar voice. Her papa isn’t home, she knows, but he had promised her a surprise when he comes back. She knows he will come soon. She walks quietly, stealthily, toward the partition between the children’s sleeping quarters and her Mama’s and Papa’s, which also has the kitchen. She pulls the curtain aside slightly, just enough to see through. Yes! It was true! The new baby is there, just as Mama said it would be. It is wrapped, cradled to Mama’s chest, and a lady sits besides the big bed, on a chair. Both of them are smiling, looking tired but happy. Mama looks happier than she has ever seen in her five years of life. Her Papa, accompanied by her older brother, Jacob, walks into the room. Papa hands her a doll. Stunning green eyes look up at her. She fingers the brown braids and smiles. It is a playmate until the baby is ready.  Jacob is too old to play with her, his green eyes, flecked with blue, are not as bright as they were when he was younger. She hugs her new doll, says thank you. Her family is complete. They are all smiling happily, glowing. The baby wails, and Mama and Papa smile at each other. She falls asleep that night to the sounds of laughter and baby Isabella’s cries, in the glow of the twin candlesticks burning low on the Sabbath table. Her heart is full. Free.

The year is 1495. She and Isabella are playing on the rocking horse. The one that was once their Mama’s. Isabella’s green eyes sparkle and her golden brown braids bob as she rocks back and forth. She often wonders how her Papa had known to buy a doll that had those same green eyes and brown  hair. She’d asked him once, but he’d just smiled at her. Not the old smile, but the new smile. The one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes no matter how hard he seems to try. She knows that it is because of their new way of life. The way they must outwardly display their Christianity, while keeping their true Judaism a secret. It wasn’t always like that, she remembers. They used to light candles on Friday night without fear. Now her Mama lights them in the cellar, and each week only one other family member can go and see, can feel the delicious warmth of traditions, the glow infusing the room.  If they were to all go down, someone would no doubt become suspicious. She knows that they are different, that they are Jewish, but doesn’t understand why her parents and Jacob are so fearful and secretive. Isabella is too young to understand anything though, and can be carefree. She feels bad, though, that her younger sister has never known the feeling of contentment she had that Friday night five years before, when their family was made complete. When Isabella was born. When Papa gave her the doll. When her family was genuinely happy. When Papa and Mama used to smile. Isabella is smiling now though, untroubled, as she rocks back and forth on the rocking horse. She rocks until she is lulled to sleep, and her face is peaceful. The girl goes to her own bed and tries to sleep, but Jacob’s face, beside her, looks pained as he rests. She wonders what he’s dreaming about as she finally drifts off. She dreams. Tears are stinging the back of her eyes. She longs for the life they had before. Its quickly becoming a distant memory. 

The year is 1497. The girl is 12 years old now, old enough to take care of Isabella. Watching her sister clutch the doll, rocking on the horse, she wishes she could be as serene as she once was. Even wishes she could go back to that time. The time when she sewed the doll’s dress, out of the beautiful fabric of the Sabbath tablecloth. She had cried then. Cried for the end of her innocence, the end of their freedom. The end of their Sabbath dinners, the end of her parents’ smiles and laughter. The end of hers too. She wishes she could go back to that time, wishes she could cry again. But she has no tears left. She remembers her friend Bella, remembers what had happened to her family. She shudders. Thank God, her family is safe. She can’t help but worry though, it’s been so long, and more and more Marranos are being discovered and punished, tortured, killed. She feels its only a matter of time before they are discovered too. Papa tells her not to worry, but she is old enough to realize that Papa isn’t in control. She envies her younger sister. Envies her innocence, her freedom. She feels a sudden urge to weep, but her body disobeys, and so she lies awake that night with dry eyes. There is panic in her heart, and it is unexplainably worse than it ever was before. It overtakes her. She suddenly has a horrible feeling. She wants to wake Papa and Mama, tell them that they must leave, right now. They need to flee. Something bad is going to happen. But she is warm in her bed, despite her fearful thoughts, and so she doesn’t. She blows out the candle beside her and tries to sleep. Finally, it comes. Her sleep is disturbed. The feeling is still there, deep inside her, invading her conscience. She doesn’t know, then, that it will haunt her for the rest of her life. When she wakes up again, she has only enough time to grab the rocking horse and the doll. She wants to get the candlesticks too, but she can’t. It’s already too late. It’s gone. Everything. Everyone. 

The year is 1462. A knock on the door brings her out of her stupor, drags her out of her thoughts. Her memories. She slowly gets up, moves towards the door. Opens it. There is an older man there. She looks up into his face, and her eyes fill once again. They gaze at each other for a few seconds, remembering. They are both weeping, hugging each other, holding on for dear life. Because his eyes are green, dotted with blue. In his hands are two old candlesticks. Brother and sister sit together, next to the rocking horse and the doll with the faded dress.  They watch the flames flicker, lighting the dark night, and finally, finally, she feels free.