Miryem and the Purim Goblins (Spinning Silver)

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Fandom: Spinning Silver – Naomi Novik

Summary: “Miryem,” my grandmother said, calling me to her. “I think you may be able to help this man.”

Characters: Miryem Mandelstam, Miryem's grandmother, other characters, other goblins

Notes: Purimgifts 2021, for chestnut_pod.

Read on AO3, or here below:

 

MIRYEM AND THE PURIM GOBLINS

I knew my grandfather’s reputation for business acumen; I knew my grandmother’s reputation for sensible advice in the face of the world’s troubles. What I wasn’t expecting was to be called upon for advice of my own.

Spring was a long way off, but the festive holiday of Purim was approaching. I planned to make one of my periodic visits to the village where my parents lived and where Wanda still managed their business with an increasingly sure hand.

I went to my grandparents’ house to ask my grandfather, as I always did, to keep an eye on my affairs while I was away from the city. Instead, I found my grandmother in the kitchen with a particularly worried-looking advice seeker.

The young man had the look of a villager, in sturdy, homespun clothes. His hands twisted together as he perched on a chair, a plate of apple cake nearly untouched in front of him.

“Miryem,” my grandmother said, calling me to her. “I think you may be able to help this man.”

I leaned in to kiss her cheek, then sat at the table across from the visitor. I looked at my grandmother, awaiting explanation, for I couldn’t fathom why she thought my insight might be more useful than her own.

My grandmother gave the man a kindly smile. “If you would like to tell your story to my granddaughter, she may be able to help. She has experience of those who are not of our world.”

Ah, so that was it. My grandmother thought my knowledge of the ways of the Staryk would be somehow of use.

The man looked at me fearfully. No one liked to think too much about the Staryk, or any of the other beings who inhabited the woods and waters of our corner of the world, the witches and goblins and rusalki alongside whom we humans lived in uneasy coexistence.

His voice hesitant, the man began, “As you know, it’s nearly Purim.”

I nodded; my grandmother had begun preparing the fillings for hamantaschen, and I’d seen my youngest cousins running in and out of the house, trying on colorful clothing to create costumes as Queen Esther, Queen Vashti, or even Mordecai with a long white scarf as a beard.

“In our village,” the man continued, “we can’t celebrate. A horde of goblins lives in a nearby cave and they hate to see us have any fun. Every Purim they steal our groggers and throw our festive foods to the floor and break our jugs of wine. Our children have given up making costumes. Our bakers no longer bake hamantaschen. Purim is our saddest time of year.”

“Perhaps you could go, Miryem,” my grandmother said in her gentle voice. “This village lies nearly on the way to your parents. And I’m sure they would appreciate your help.”

Goblins are not Staryk, I wanted to say. Staryk can be cruel, but they follow rules of their own, which are logical once you make sense of them. Goblins just like to destroy things for the fun of it.

But my grandmother was looking at me with her steady gaze, and the man was now staring at me too, with such hope and surprise, as if he’d never before met anyone who was willing to tangle with goblins. Perhaps he hadn’t.

“All right,” I said. “I’ll go.”

The next morning, I climbed into a cart pulled by a sturdy horse alongside the man, whose name was Moishe. The ground was hard with winter but free of snow, although threatening clouds hung in the distance, and we made good time.

As we rode into the village, small children caught sight of us and went running, bearing the news that Moishe had returned from the city with a stranger in his cart. By the time we arrived at the square that served as the village gathering place, in front of the little synagogue, it was full of onlookers. Moishe’s village, unlike the one where my parents lived, was populated entirely by our own people, and soon it seemed the entire community was there. The rabbi, too, stood pensively with his hands clasped behind his back.

I had a moment, though a brief one, of wondering if I was about to disappoint all of these people with their bright, eager eyes fixed on me. But I clapped my hands together and said, “Please tell me everything you know about the goblins.”

“They live in a cave just beyond that hill,” said one man, pointing.

“They love best to break the children’s toys,” said a stooped, elderly woman. “It’s not yet Purim and they’ve already stolen our groggers.”

“They smell terrible,” said a little girl, wrinkling her nose.

“And they have BIG TEETH!” said an even littler boy beside her, jumping up and down.

“They hate the rain,” offered a quiet young woman with wide eyes. “I saw them run, shrieking, one time when they were out and it started to rain. The only peaceful holidays we’ve ever had were ones when it was raining.”

Perhaps I could work with that. I glanced up at the sky, where the clouds loomed closer. The air was cold but not bitter, which gave me hope that the clouds bore rain rather than snow.

The rabbi’s family, who lived beside the synagogue, invited me to a meal while I formulated my plan and waited for the weather to turn. The rabbi spoke to me as his wife ladled soup into bowls. “I must admit that don’t like this,” he said. “I believe we ought to be able to solve our own problems, without placing that burden on anyone else. Least of all a young woman such as yourself.”

The words were kindly meant, and his eyes as he spoke were warm, but it made me all the more determined to succeed.

“I’ll need a long robe,” I said. “And a large jar with a lid that can be fastened.”



 

The early dusk of winter was falling as I gathered my supplies and set out toward the hill. The villagers clustered in the square, watching with worried eyes. A few fat droplets of rain began to fall, which boded well for my plan.

The rain became a steady patter as I crested the hill. The cave was not difficult to spot, a black maw that gaped from the far slope. I found a little ledge of rock under which I could shelter, near the opening, and listened.

There were goblins in the cave, no doubt about that. I could hear them chattering and cackling to each other. What’s more, I heard the whirl of groggers and the goblins’ shrieks of delight at the noise.

I set down my jar, pried open the lid and pulled out the long white gown the rabbi’s wife had loaned me. I was careful to keep it under the ledge, out of the rain, as I put it on. Then I entered the cave.

“Who are you?” shrieked the first goblin to catch sight of me, a little one with a pointed nose and wings like a bat’s.

“I’m a witch,” I said. “And my magic is more powerful than all of yours combined.”

“I don’t believe you,” grumbled a big, squat goblin, hopping closer to me. “Prove it. Show us your magic.”

There were dozens of goblins in the cave, all of them drawing closer to where I stood.

I spun, flinging my arms wide, letting what little light penetrated the cave catch on my spotless white gown. “You see? I walked here through the rain, but not a drop of it touched me. It’s an ancient magic, taught to me by my grandmother. Even among witches, this skill is very rare.”

I could hear murmuring that began far back in the ranks of the goblins and rolled closer.

“Teach us,” demanded a tall, bony goblin with blood-red eyes.

“I couldn’t possibly. It’s an ancient magic belonging only to my family.”

The tall goblin’s eyes sparked brighter, as if actual flames burned in their depths. “Name what you want in exchange,” he growled.

Ah, now I had them. I pretended to think. “The people in the village on the other side of the hill are very dear to me. For years, you’ve been stealing from them. Give back everything you’ve taken, their menorahs and Kiddush cups and Seder plates. Promise never again to steal their food or break the children’s toys. Then I’ll teach you my magic.”

The massed goblins grumbled, but the tall goblin silenced them with a look. “Think!” he commanded. “Think how much havoc we can wreak, how much terror we can inspire, if we are able to roam abroad at all times, instead of cowering inside when it rains.”

Cowed, the goblins obeyed him. They slunk about the cave gathering their stolen treasures, and soon a heap of the villagers’ belongings was piled at the mouth of the cave.

“Now,” I said, “I’ll teach you my magic. I’ll teach you how to dance between the raindrops.”

The rain outside was falling harder now, but within the mouth of the cave I demonstrated my imagined dance—more or less the grapevining steps of the hora, but the goblins didn’t need to know that.

“Now, you try,” I said. And they did, dozens of goblins of all sizes galumphing around the cave, bumping into each other and making a racket. “Very good,” I said, although it wasn’t. “Now, try it again outside and you’ll see how you can dance right between the raindrops, just like I did as I came here.”

In their zeal for learning this trick, they nearly barreled over one another as they poured out of the cave, shrieking triumphantly. But their shrieks soon turned to shouts of fear.

“You tricked us! What did you do, foul witch? The dance isn’t working! We’re melting!” Indeed, they seemed to be shrinking before my eyes, their skin contracting wherever the rain touched them. “Make it stop!” they cried. “Evil sorceress, make it stop!”

I stood in the mouth of the cave and shouted with all my might, “Only your greed is harming you! The dance of the raindrops won’t work for you as long as you intend to use it for ill. You must swear that you will never seek to harm your neighbors.”

“We promise,” they sobbed, stumbling back into the cave, sunken and sodden.

I pressed back against the edge of the cave’s mouth as the goblins streamed past me. “You swear you will never again steal from the villagers?”

“We swear!”

“You vow not to ruin their celebrations ever again?”

“Yes, yes, we will be good neighbors!”

“You must practice giving instead of taking. Learn to give your neighbors gifts at the holidays instead of stealing from them. You’ll know you’ve succeeded in overcoming your greed when you step outside and find the rain no longer harms you.”

“Yes, we understand,” sobbed the goblins, huddling together. “Now go away and leave us alone.”

“Gladly,” I said.

Outside the cave, I tucked the rebbetzin’s gown back into its jar, then I danced my way back to the village in the pouring rain, getting thoroughly wet and thoroughly enjoying the pleasant shock of cold rain against my skin.

The next morning dawned cold but clear. I showed the villagers where they could collect their belongings from outside the goblins’ cave. Then, as promised, the young man Moishe drove me to my own village, where I arrived in time to celebrate Purim with my family.

End notes:

Miryem’s tale here is a mash-up of Hershel and the Hanukkah Goblins by Eric Kimmel, in which clever Hershel of Ostropol outwits a group of goblins that has been terrorizing a town and preventing them from celebrating Chanukah, blended with The Rabbi and the Twenty-nine Witches by Marilyn Hirsh, in which a clever rabbi outwits a group of witches that has been terrorizing a town and preventing them from seeing the full moon. (Hm, I sense a theme!) And in general I did a bunch of (re)reading for context and ideas, including other stories of Hershel and Chelm from Eric Kimmel and, of course, stories by Isaac Bashevis Singer.

I also want to give a shout-out to the delightful picture book The Castle on Hester Street by Linda Heller, in which a grandfather tells his granddaughter tall tales about his arrival in New York from the old country; after each fanciful recollection, the grandmother sets the record straight. (“No, we didn’t come to America in a flying cart pulled by a singing goat…”) In the end I didn’t manage to incorporate that book into these stories, but I like to think that the grandfather, in his youth, once met the legendary Miryem Mandelstam and had some tall tales to tell about her as well. :-)

 

A YIDDISH GLOSSARY, for any readers who may not already be familiar with the terms:

grogger – a noisemaker used on Purim, to drown out the name of the evil vizier(!) Haman during the reading of the Megillah, i.e. the Book of Esther, i.e. the story of Purim.
hamantaschen – triangular, filled cookies eaten at Purim, nominally in the shape of Haman’s three-cornered hat.
hora – a traditional circle dance.
rebbetzin – the term of address/title of the wife of a rabbi. However, I was casting about for how younger members of the community might address Miryem’s grandmother, and found that apparently this term could be used more broadly, as a sort of equivalent to “Mrs.” (Though of course now that I’m looking, I can’t seem to re-find where I first found that!)
rusalki – Russian/Polish rather than Yiddish, but these are water spirits in Slavic folklore and seemed fitting when I was looking for region-appropriate beings with whom to populate this story.
Shabbos – I went back and forth on whether to use the spelling “Shabbat” (what I use, and thus what feels natural to me to write) or “Shabbos” (how it was pronounced by my older Ashkenazi Jewish relatives, who were closer in time and geography to Yiddish traditions, even if no longer native speakers themselves). In the end, of course, Yiddish won out. :-)
tsimmes – a stew or compote of dried fruits and root vegetables. 

(my Yiddish is of a fourth-generation passed-down sort, so please chime in if I’ve made any mistakes!)

 

Also, here are the photo “credits” (if you can call it that, given that they’re all my own photos!)

1. A photo from the only time I’ve been to Vilnius; this is in the real-life Jewish Quarter, so, directly analogous to the quarter where Miryem’s grandparents live in the city of Vysnia in Spinning Silver.
2. This is from Poland rather than Lithuania, but it’s a lovely bit of bucolic countryside that served me well as the location for the shtetl plagued by goblins.
3. The goblins’ cave! …The photo is actually from England, not Eastern Europe, but what can you do? It’s the cave I had on hand. :-)