"What about the tenth time?" Mottel asked.

  "That's when they're talking about the real place, the one in Poland."

  "That Chelm is why I call this one blessed," the rabbi maintained. "There, we Jews were half the population until the war and those filthy fascists, those runny droppings from a rabid dog's syphilitic behind, came and—"

  "You want I should write all that into the record, rebbe?(6)" Yona Esseppis, the council secretary, was a speed demon at shorthand but a snail at making judgment calls. "Or you want me to say nothing of the dog?"

  6 Okay, this one means rabbi.

  Rabbi Elfundtvelf took a deep breath and subdued his righteous wrath. "No, Yona, let it go." He turned a contrite gaze to his colleagues. "Sorry. I didn't mean to talk politics. I only wished to remind you that there are worse things our people have had to deal with than dragons."

  "True, true," the doctor opined. "I admit that there are advantages to our situation." A murmur of agreement went up from his fellow council members. There was a general atmosphere of having accomplished enough for one morning. Someone suggested adjourning for lunch, but when they tried to leave the council chamber they found the doorway blocked and then some by Tanteh Ruchel.

  "Where do you think you're going?" she demanded. "Didn't you hear me? My husband was eaten!"

  "Well, that's no reason the rest of us should starve," Leib pointed out. The widow's reaction to this remark cinched the lawyer's claim to the title Attorney General and Klop-in-Kupf (7) Magnet. He had new business cards printed the following day.

  7 Such a smack in the head!

  "This is why they call us a town of fools! Seriously, what are you yutzes(8) waiting for?" Tanteh Ruchel gave her spiritual leader a brief look and an automatic "No offense." Before the rabbi could respond, she was off again. "What's it going to take? For that scaly beast to gobble up someone from your family?" She pointed at Leib. "Your mama, maybe?" She pointed at Dr. Zoydmacher. "Your sister?"

  8 Plural form of yutz, also meaning a jerk.

  She pointed at Mottel, but that gentleman preempted her by volunteering a hopeful: "My mother-in-law?"

  "All right, all right, we'll think of something." Rav Elfundtvelf made shah, shah(9) motions with his hands, seeking to placate the irate widow, or at least get her to button her lip. Everyone drifted back to his place at the table. "Perhaps the same phenomenon that brought us this dragon has also brought us the means for dealing with it."

  9 Shhh, shhh, for heaven's sake shush already!

  "Ah yes, the Lint Brush Corollary to the Shvartse Shtreimel, Veise Katz(10) Imperative," Leib said, looking as owlish and insufferable as anyone compelled to show off knowledge that everybody else already knew.

  10 Black Hat, White Cat, the specifics of said hat being described further along in our story. Go, read, enjoy!

  Well, perhaps not everybody else.

  "Um, excuse me?" The doorway that the widow Zalman had just vacated was now occupied by another woman. Blond, blue-eyed, and built like a runner-up from America's Next Top Model, she clutched an iPad to her #ThanksObama T-shirt. "Could you help me? I'm really lost. One minute I'm heading for the L train, the next I'm here. Like, here-here, out in this hallway, eavesdropping against my will. I'm normally not a nosey person, but now I'm kind of curious. Can you forgive me for overhearing your conversation and give me directions to the L and tell me what's that you were saying about a black shtreimel and—"

  "A new one!" Leib exclaimed, joy writ large upon his countenance. He rushed forward to take the bewildered lady's hand. "What year is it?"

  "Y-year?" She regarded him as one might any casually encountered madman. "You mean now?" Yogi Berra's ghost smiled as the visitor stammered out a date belonging to the twenty-first century of the Common Era.

  He frowned to hear it. "Isn't that a little late for dragons?"

  This remark was more than she cared to process in such proximity to someone clearly a few wontons short of a Jewish Christmas dinner. She jerked her hand free of his clasp and made a break for it. Her flight was intercepted by Tanteh Ruchel's daunting person and impressive speed. The council's unexpected guest was soon forcibly seated at the table. There Rabbi Elfundtvelf briefed her on the present situation and reassured her that all was somewhat well.

  "This is well?" said an incredulous Barbi King (for thus she had introduced herself). "I'm stuck here? Forever? In Chelm?"

  "Ah, so she's heard of us," Dr. Zoydmacher remarked sardonically. "Yet another newcomer horrified to find herself trapped in a community of fools for the remainder of her days. This is our reputation! A shayna shanda(11)!"

  11 Literally, a "pretty" scandal or embarrassment, with "pretty" used ironically, as in "a pretty kettle of fish." Fish kettles are not as attractive as you'd think.

  Barbi glowered at the doctor. "You think that's what's got me upset? I once worked as a Senate page. When it comes to stupid, this Chelm of yours is Wannabe City next to that hive of scu—My gosh, I'm not going to get to see the next Star Wars movie!" She bawled like a nerdy baby.

  The rabbi gave her his handkerchief and swallowed a couple of aspirin. "Daughter, our reputation is for foolishness, not stupidity. Some of our citizens are highly intelligent and learned. Many of those who arrive here as you did have a strong grounding in science, mathematics, and technology, though how useful their skills are depends on the era whence they came. Still, you never know. We owe our WiFi access, limited though it be, to a hacker from twentieth century Pinsk and an alchemist from thirteenth century Pisa. Perhaps one day we will even learn how to reverse the process that brought you here."

  "Which brings me back to the Shtreimel-Katz Imperative," Leib said, with much satisfaction. He edged his chair closer to Barbi's and tried to emulate the roguish charm of an iconic movie heartthrob. His efforts fell short of Cary Grant's charisma and just barely reached the allure of Ulysses S. "Now, a shtreimel, sweetheart—"

  "You're talking about the big, round, fur hat that Hasidic men wear on Shabbat(12) and other special occasions," she broke in. "I know that. I'm from Brooklyn. And I know what a white cat is, too," she added, deftly cutting off any further Chelmsplaining Leib was likely to do. "What I don't get is the Imperative part. Or the lint brush reference. Or why you're calling me 'sweetheart.' Are you looking for a lawsuit?"

  12 The Sabbath, from sundown Friday to sundown Saturday.

  "As a matter of fact—"

  "You'll have to excuse Leib, Miss King: he's a jackass," Tanteh Ruchel said in a grumpy tone. "The answers you want are simple enough. The hat can be in a box in a closet in a sealed room in a locked house in a town that is a hundred miles from the nearest cat. No matter: when you open the box, white hair! All over the black hat, white cat hair! It's imperative."

  "I still don't understand—" Barbi began.

  "Chelm is the shtreimel." The rabbi stepped into the discussion. "And believe me, in my whole life, I never thought I'd say a sentence like that. But yes, Chelm—this Chelm—is the black hat that can't help but attract the white cat hair from the ordinary world. Our scholars have made a study of the singularity that is this Chelm's existence. As far as they can determine, there came a point in history when the stories about our citizens', ah, unique way of dealing with problems acquired so much power in the telling and re-telling that they overwhelmed and abducted reality. And us! Since that time, centuries ago, we dwelt separate from mundane existence, though we still are born, live, and die exactly as you do."

  "What, her people also die from dragons?" Yona quit scribbling long enough to pose his question and be roundly shushed for it.

  The rabbi raised his index finger, a quirk of his when expounding everything from Talmud to why it was impossible for his daughter Miri to adopt a puppy. (She got the puppy.) "Sometimes, however, our world and the world you come from brush up against each other and things from your reality are captured by our own."

  "So I'm not the first person to—to cross over?" Barbi's eyes widened.

  "It's not only people, my dear. I don't think any of us will forget the Year of the Yoga Pants." As one man, the council turned disapproving eyes on Tanteh Ruchel.

  The lady was unfazed. "And the Time of the Velour Track Suits was a bargain?"

  "In any case—" The rabbi cleared his throat loudly to cover his embarrassment. (His track suit had been purple. He believed it complemented his eyes.) "In any case, there is thus far no way we can control the timing or quality of the figurative cat hair our shtreimel attracts. We accept the good—"

  "Vaccines," said Dr. Zoydmacher.

  "Sudoku," said Pinchas.

  "Pocky," said Yona.

  "Yoga pants," said the prodigiously stubborn Tanteh Ruchel.

  "—with the bad."

  "Mullets," said Pinchas, giving his son a meaningful look.

  "Pet rocks," said Dr. Zoydmacher.

  "Fanny packs," said Yona.

  "My mother-in-law," said Mottel.

  "Yoga pants," said Leib, making a face at Tanteh Ruchel. She reached into her fanny pack and threw her pet rock at him. She missed by a solid yard, but it's the thought that counts.

  "In sum, that's how it is for us, and now for you, too," the rabbi said. "It's beshert(13), fated, nothing to be done about it."

  13 Meant to be, predestined. Not to be confused with borschtshert: "We are having cold beet soup for dinner. You'll eat it and like it!"

  The widow Zalman eyed the council members coldly. "Just like these schlemiels(14) are doing nothing about the dragon that ate my Beynish!"

  14 Would you look at that? Yet another way to say "jerk"!

  Rabbi Elfundtvelf pinched the bridge of his nose, a man at the end of his rope. "Ruchel, what do you want us to do? Go running after the beast and get eaten ourselves? Will that bring back your husband?"

  "It's worth a try," said the aggrieved woman. "But why bother? It's not like you have a reason to help a poor widow, all alone in this world. No, why should you, when you could be chatting up a pretty, skinny little shiksa(15) who dropped from the sky! It's all right. Ignore my heartbreak. I'm used to it. Don't worry, I won't trouble you for much longer. I might as well just march out of here and find that dragon so he can gulp me down in who cares how many bites?" She rested one hand on her bosom and raised the other heavenward as she turned from the council members and declaimed, "You hear that, Beynish? I'm coming to join you. It'll be in a dragon's kishke(16), but beggars can't be choosers. I don't want to live anymore!"

  15 A non-Jewish girl or woman.

  16 Gut. Also, Jewish haggis. Like we haven't suffered enough.

  She continued in this vein, indefatigable, and without showing any sign of running out of material. The councilmen conferred in whispers, debating how they might achieve their squad goals of getting her to stop without promising to hazard their lives by confronting the dragon. All of them agreed that the latter was non-negotiable.

  "Gevalt!(17)" A mighty shout of exasperation rang out in the council chamber. Barbi leaped to her feet and folded her arms in the least nonsensical of no-nonsense poses. "Nudniks! Genug, shoyn! Ich bin krank fun diese narishkeit.(18)"

  17 OMG!

  18 "You P.I.T.A.s! [or pests, if you will] Enough, already! I'm sick of this foolishness!"

  The utterly shocked silence that answered her outburst lasted long enough for Yona to deem it worth memorializing in the minutes.

  Tanteh Ruchel took it upon herself to restore communications. "Sooooo . . . you're not a shiksa?"

  "Sorry, I left my bat mitzvah certificate in my other reality." Barbi smirked. "Now that I've got your attention, let me really get your attention. While you've been staging the first Yiddish telenovela(19), there's a monster on the loose. No one is safe. If I have to live out my life in Chelm, I want it tallied in years, not minutes. We've got to do something about that dragon now!"

  19 This is not a Yiddish word. Nothing to see here. Move along.

  "Young lady, we will not be rushed, certainly not by you," the doctor said sternly. "As a newcomer, your duty is to watch and learn, not to dictate."

  "I don't want to dictate; I want to help. I overheard that guy—" she indicated Leib. "—mention something called the Lint Brush Corollary. I'm guessing that means a way to clean up the whole hat-cat mess?" Everyone nodded. "Okay! I've got some ideas we could use." She threw her arms open and nearly lost her grip on the iPad. "Let me be your Lint Brush!"

  Dr. Zoydmacher puffed himself up like an inflatable walrus. "You will be nothing without the council's approval. We will follow protocol and honor due process. Chelm has established ways of dealing with emergencies."

  "I know. I've read the stories.(20)"

  20 Such as the one where every time it snows, the synagogue beadle messes up the pristine whiteness by making his rounds to wake people for morning prayers. Everyone complains that they want to enjoy the beauty of an unspoiled snowfall. No problem! The sages of Chelm prevent the beadle's feet from touching the snow by having four strong men carry him on his rounds in a chair. Eh, good enough for government work.

  Wait. Was that sarcasm?

  What do you think, Einstein?

  The physician fumed over this insolence, but did not step down from his invisible lectern. "As far as we know, the dragon might be gone by now, flown away to some distant part of our world."

  "Is Chelm even big enough to have distant parts?"

  Barbi's question was plowed under. "There's no need to get hysterical, little lady." If Dr. Zoydmacher stooped to further condescension, he would have been stuck with permanent curvature of the spine. "I'm only pointing out that so far, we have but two instances of the beast devouring anyone. If he were a more widespread and immediate threat, the streets would be full of people screaming—"

  "—a dragon stole my child!"

  For the second time that morning, the council chamber was invaded by a frantic woman. "My Fishel! My precious little son is gone!" She collapsed, weeping. Barbi hurried to kneel by her side, hugging her close while Tanteh Ruchel gave the council a look that would reduce steel to ashes.

  A slowly swelling wave of sound came from the street below. The people of Chelm were gathering, having had their day's routine interrupted when the bereaved mother came running down the town's main thoroughfare, proclaiming her woe. The civic clamor covered every possible reaction to the news of a dragon in their midst, from confusion to terror to demands for action by their community leaders.

  Tanteh Ruchel peered into the street pursed her lips. "Now, they care! But when it was me yelling about that fershtinkina(21) dragon, did they listen? No. What am I, chopped liver?" She re-launched her litany of grievances, distracting the council from their deliberations on how to deal with the dragon, since deal with it they must.

  21 Stinking. Did you really need me to translate this? Stink, shtink, po-tay-to, po-tah-to.

  Meanwhile, back on the floor, Barbi was multi-tasking, comforting and questioning Fishel's mother at the same time. She helped the poor lady back to her feet, said, "So he wasn't eaten, just taken?" and walked out while the rabbi was still trying to make the widow Zalman calm down.

  "Hey!" cried Pinchas, the first of the council to notice Barbi was gone. He spread his hands to indicate her absence from the room.

  "What happened? Where'd she go?" Mottel asked.

  Yona checked his notes. "I don't know. It's not in the minutes."

  "She's gone after the dragon," Fishel's mother said, in a small, miserable voice. "She asked me where—where the beast struck. I told her that I was walking with Fisheleh(22) at the edge of the woods by the old, abandoned mill."

  22 Adding –leh is how Yiddish creates the diminutive form of proper names and other words. So mama = mother while mamaleh = mommy. It is usually done to express affection. Usually. Wait until you get to footnote 39. Just wait.

  "Picking mushrooms?" Tanteh Ruchel asked. Everyone in Chelm knew the site in question was the best place for that. "Exactly why my Beynish and I were there! He didn't trust me to tell the difference between good and bad ones. Look where it got him!"

  "That's also where Reb Nachem's housekeeper told me they'd gone when he was taken," Dr. Zoydmacher said. "She ran away as soon as the dragon sprang on him."

  "But that young woman's not from here," Yona interjected. "How would she know which road would take her to the mill?"

  "She asked me for directions," Fishel's mother replied.

  The council members took a moment to marvel over this unheard-of method for getting from Point A to Point B without a lot of cursing.

  "Enough talk," the rabbi decreed. "Summon every able-bodied man in Chelm. We're going after that monster!"

  "Finally," Tante Ruchel said, with bitterness abounding.

  The mustering of the village shtarkers(23) took longer than expected. Where dragon-removal was concerned, most of them preferred to raise their voices rather than risk their necks. Ultimately, a grudging posse of six additional heroes was assembled thanks to diplomatic tactics that included pleas, flattery, some shaming, and a tad of outright blackmail. (This was Dr. Zoydmacher's specialty. Physicians know the darndest secrets!)

  23 Tough guys.

  The road to the abandoned mill was unshaded and the sun was hot. Unwillingness slowed the mission even more. The only souls in a hurry to reach the beast's supposed hunting ground were Tanteh Ruchel, Fishel's mother, and a stray dog of mixed ancestry and ill repute who also liked to crash weddings and funerals. By the time the group reached the part of the path that led into the shade of the forest, their collective pace had slowed to the point where they were up to their ankles in metaphors involving tar, taffy, molasses, sloths, and slugs.

  "We're almost there," Leib said in a hushed voice. "It's so quiet! Do you think the beast ate her already?"

  "It makes no difference." The rabbi was grim. "Whether or not that poor girl has met her death, we still have to do something about the dragon."