New Fiction by Sarah Lerner

She takes the cup of wine and gulps, swallowing more than her share before passing it on to her children. It’s sour, with an edge of sweetness.

Avi tears at the bread, breaking it into pieces and dipping them in sugar. He throws the portions down the table. She waits while he says the blessing, then eats. The sugar is rough like shards of glass, but so sweet. She could eat more, but the portions are passed on. Her children pass them down to the end, the very end where the workers sit. She watches them eat. Their faces are pale and drawn from all those hours in the stinking workshop but tonight they smile. Their faces unfurl.

Now it’s time for the apple. She has found rosy cheeked ones, green skinned, and cut them into segments. Avi passes them along with a bowl of honey and she dips. The honey is thick and glutinous, wrapping around her tongue. She takes more apple and dips again before the plate disappears to the end of the table.

She gets up with her daughters to bring the meal. Thick meat and potatoes, a soft rich smell and more wine. Her stomach is heavy but she takes extra potatoes. She has taken more than her fair share, but what does it matter ? Nobody’s counting and she prepared the meal anyway.

Someone is telling a joke, laughter spirals in the air. Even the poor workers at the end of the table are laughing.

She gets up again with her daughters, though she’s so full moving is getting harder, and brings desert. Grapes and two round honey cakes, enough to feed this table of twenty people.

Two perfect circles decorated with almonds. She cuts one, her oldest girl Sophie another. Sophie’s chestnut hair is brown like the honey cake.

She takes for herself a larger slice than usual . The heaviness of the food fills her emptiness. She is too full to eat, but she bites into the cake, rich with honey and very moist. It’s soggy in her mouth, crumbs tickle her lips.

Around her table everyone is eating honey cake and laughing. If she hadn’t come from Russia life wouldn’t have been like this. She remembers the raw dread of winter, her lips and fingers stiff with cold as she broke the ice in the frozen well.