Enemy of the Tzar

by Lester S. Taube

  “What do you plan to do now?” asked Hershel, lighting up a cigarette without missing a step.

  “Do you mean whether I will stay in the house?”

  “Yes.”

  Jakob walked on a few more paces before replying. He had considered the ramifications of Motlie’s death from the moment he knew that her ailment was terminal. Under normal circumstances, he would have left the moment Motlie died. Residing in a house with a marriageable woman, watched over by a disabled parent, could create a dangerous moral predicament. It was only because Hanna was Hanna that he had made his decision.

  “I plan to stay, if Mr. Barlak has no objection.”

  “I feel the same way. But it will place a heavier work load on Hanna.”

  “They will need the money as much as before.”

  “I’m sure of that. He drew in a lung full of smoke and let it curl out of his nose. “She is an unusual girl, that Hanna. Look at the way she is holding that family together.” Jakob said nothing, and after a few more steps, Hershel continued, “I am glad you decided to stay.” He broke into a crooked grin as he glanced at his companion. “We have all become fond of you.” When Jakob looked at him in surprise, Hershel laughed. “Even when you recite the treatise, page, verse, line, and word of the Talmud.”

  Jakob chuckled. He was not at all embarrassed by Hershel’s comment, for as the Crown Prince of his father’s congregation, he had been complimented as far back as he could remember. “I am also glad that you are staying.”

  They had reached the edge of the village, and Hershel stopped. “Let’s go back. It’s almost time for lunch.” After a moment or two of silence, he said, “Can you think of any way we can make her job easier?”

  Jakob’s brow furrowed. It had never occurred to him to consider such an action. Each one in life is destined to bear whatever confronts him. Motlie had died. Due to circumstances, all quite normal in the scheme of things, Hanna had been called upon to shoulder an additional burden. It is the Lord’s work, and Israel’s accident, Motlie’s demise, and Hanna’s burden are as much a part of His work as the sun shining or the stars sparkling or the crops of grain growing alongside the road.

  “I don’t quite know how I can help.”

  “I’ve thought of paying her a little more each week.”

  “She won’t take it,” said Jakob at once.

  Hershel nodded his head in agreement. “I guess you are right. But I could pay Gitel and Reba to take care of my room, and Zelek to watch over my horse.”

  Jakob grinned with pleasure. “That Zelek. He is a wonderful boy.”

  Hershel smiled with him. “He certainly has his fixations about the Cossacks.” He looked over at the Hasid, almost ten centimeters taller and twenty kilos lighter than himself. “Do you really think he will kill his Cossack?”

  “He will,” said Jakob simply.

  Hershel placed a restraining hand on Jakob’s arm and drew him to a halt. “Tell me, Jakob, why are you always so sure of things?”

  Jakob stared steadily into the eyes of his companion, seeing deep inside an intelligence that belied Hershel’s casualness. Had he an older brother, he would have prayed for him to be Hershel. “I don’t know. Words come to my lips, often without me first weighing the content. It has been like that since I was a boy–of Zelek’s age. Frequently what I say comes about.”

  “Doesn’t it awe you to have that strange ability?”

  Jakob turned and started walking again, Hershel keeping in step with extra long strides. “No. Actually, I don’t think about it. It is only when someone mentions that what I’ve told him in the past has happened that I take notice.”

  “What do you see for Hanna?”

  Jakob walked on in silence for a number of steps. “Sorrow,” he finally said.

  And there was sadness in his own face at the comment.

  CHAPTER 11

  Hershel hitched his horse to the post in front of the library in Kaunas a week later. It was time again for their meeting, and he spied Katrine at once seated at a reading table. She got up quickly and met him at the door.

  “You are on time for a change,” she commented with a grin.

  “I have such a ferocious hard-on that I almost came here last night.”

  “But I wasn’t here last night,” she said, her eyes twinkling.

  “That would have made no difference. Just knowing you were coming would have done the trick.”

  “Want to go to the flat to try out the various ways of satisfying hard-ons?”

  “Does a fish need water?”

  Her eyes were still twinkling. “That’s one of your Jewish traits, I believe. Responding to a question with a question.”

  “What else?” he quipped. He took her by the arm and started leading her out to the street. “I love you desperately,” he murmured out of the side of his mouth.

  She drew his arm against her breast. “I’ve missed you terribly.”

  “Where is cousin Teddy, these days?”

  She gave her full voiced laugh. “Would you believe that he is in the United States of America? He met an American heiress, from Texas, who, as he put it, drew out every single sperm from his testicles that was scheduled to be made over the next two months. He is opting for four months.”

  Hershel chuckled as he tipped the horse watcher and began leading the animal towards Teddy’s apartment. Once out of hearing range, he asked, “Did all go well?”

  “Of course. Everything went beautifully. Everything you do goes beautifully.”

  “Did you go on to Moscow as I suggested?”

  “Yes. But I was bored to death. The opera is closed until the fall. Ditto all concerts except in the parks. Everyone is escaping the heat by going to St. Petersburg. Most of all, you weren’t there to sleep with me.”

  In the apartment, Hershel soaked in the huge tub for a long quarter hour, Katrine coming in to deliver a glass of cold, sparkling Moselle wine, scrub his back, then dry him with a large, heavily piled bath towel.

  In short order, they were again in Teddy’s oversized bed, locked in each other’s arms. Afterwards, they lay quietly in full contentment, his heavy breathing slowly returning to normal.

  Katrine kissed his cheek. “Hey, you. Are you falling asleep?”

  “Shush. You’re waking the household.”

  She lowered her voice. “Don’t disturb the children, but straighten up. I want to see who you are.”

  “I’m a stranger. From Siberia.”

  “Good. I like icy penises. They stay stiffer longer.”

  Hershel guffawed with delight. He kissed her lips. “I love you, Katrine,” he whispered. “More than you really know.”

  Her eyes grew soft. “I pray every day that I can hold your love,” she answered quietly.

  For a while he did not respond. This is it, he said to himself. This is what it is all about–the living, the hoping, the dreaming. He had taken on the dangers of his work in the secret service because his life was not full enough, and matching wits against the enemy’s was one way of putting zest into the hours between rising and lying down. But now there was a more fulfilling reason of being, a greater excitement than even the risk of death, a more desirable reward than the success of a difficult mission.

  Katrine was lying still in his arms. But underneath he could feel her tenseness, her need for a sign. To kiss her, or to say he loved her, would suffice, for she was under no false perceptions about their relationship. Then deep inside, he felt the laughter well up. Good Lord, he exclaimed to himself; it should be me begging for her, not her wishing for the few moments we can share together.

  He leaned forward and kissed the top of her head. “Hey, you,” he said softly.

  She looked up at the subtle change in his voice. “Yes,” she said.

  “How would you like to get married?”

  Her eyes suddenly grew tender, and he felt her heart beat more heavily under his hand on her breast. “You mean that, don’t you?” she said, in a husky voice. “Wh
ite lace and all that.”

  He nodded. “That will do for a start.” He kissed the top of her head again. “Then there’s the ring thing, and going to bed on the honeymoon, and maybe half a dozen children.”

  She buried her face in his shoulder.

  “This will be the last mission,” said Hershel. “Then I plan to take a long vacation.” Her face turned at his comments; her eyes gleaming with joy. “Since a vacation alone is a waste of bedroom activities, I thought we might meet at Innsbruck, figure out how to do this marriage thing, then honeymoon in Italy.” He drew her closer, and the banter went out of his words. “I don’t think we can have the white lace ceremony and reception and all that.”

  “It’s not important,” she said in a small voice.

  “I would like it for you, though. We can do it that way if you want to wait a little longer. But one thing is certain; we cannot become married in Russia.”

  “I said it isn’t important, darling. I mean it.”

  He kissed her lips gently, then placed his leg between hers. In seconds, she drew herself closer to him, and her lips grew soft as her body began its quest for orgasm.

  It was a joyous two days they spent together, acting as if they were already husband and wife, speaking of commonplace topics such as where they would reside, the kind of house they would buy, the way of life they would seek.

  “You haven’t told me anything about your family,” she said over a late breakfast.

  Hershel seemed somewhat uneasy. “Katrine, there are several things I want to explain to you. I know you understand that my work is somewhat sensitive. Would you do me one great favor, dearest? Hold all the questions until we meet in Innsbruck. Then I will tell you everything. Is that all right?”

  She chuckled. “Are you trying to conceal some horrible dark secret? If so, it won’t make any difference. You have promised to make me an honorable woman, and I won’t let you sneak out of it.”

  “I wouldn’t want to.” He sipped at his coffee and grinned wryly at her, knowing she was quite aware that he had avoided answering her question. “I’ll be leaving after lunch for a couple of days, and then I will be back for three or four days.” He put down his cup and leaned forward for her to light a cigarette for him. “I would like you to make one more delivery. Are you up to it?”

  “Of course, my dear. Is it the same as before?”

  “Generally. The same number of cases, left at the same place in the station, but all for Kiev this time. The transfer point will still be Brest.”

  “All right.” But her mind dwelled on the pleasure of spending a few extra days in Kiev to shop, for the excitement of meeting him in Innsbruck to get married would require twice the wardrobe she generally traveled with. She made the decision to take the short cut to Kiev, through Zlobin, not Brest. She would hold the bags in her hotel room until it was time to deliver them to the station.

  In a few days, Hershel had made all the arrangements, and they said their goodbyes in the flat while waiting for a carriage to take Katrine and her luggage to the railroad station. Hershel would be far gone by the time the train left. It was standard procedure never to have two people known to each other in the same place at the same time. At Kiev, a contact would telegraph to Julijonas that the courier had left the luggage at the specified spot.

  “Plan to meet me in two weeks from tomorrow at the Hotel Sacher in Vienna,” he told her, as he slung his travel case over his shoulder. He looked down at her, and his eyes grew gentle. “And take care of yourself,” he said softly.

  “I will,” she said, just as softly.

  “Do you remember what to say if anyone asks about the cases?”

  “Yes.”

  He kissed her lightly, and then he was out of the flat, and in short order he was on his way back to Gremai.

  CHAPTER 12

  Hershel saw the crowd the moment he turned the corner of the street leading to the Barlak’s house. He drew up his horse, and his mind swiftly reviewed what the reason could be for the assembly, then he saw a wagon draped in black waiting in the yard, and he kicked his horse into a fast walk.

  A short distance away, he dismounted and tied his animal to a rail, and then strode rapidly to the house. He spied Jakob at the entrance and made his way through those standing around him.

  “Jakob,” he said, coming up.

  The Hasid turned. There was great sadness in his face.

  “What’s going on?” asked Hershel.

  “Mr. Barlak,” said Jakob huskily. “He died yesterday morning from a heart attack.”

  “Oh, my God!” exclaimed Hershel. He peered through the doorway. It was next to impossible to single out the people inside. He turned back to Jakob. “Hanna and the children must be shattered.”

  “They all are, but Hanna refuses to show it. I’m afraid she will have a breakdown before the funeral is over.”

  Soon the pallbearers brought out Israel on the stretcher, the same black blanket covering his body. Those waiting in the yard drew aside to let it pass and be placed on the wagon. Hanna and the children followed, and behind them was his brother, Samuel, and his children.

  Hershel was surprised at the large number of people forming behind the family–sixty-five or more. Old Katzman from Kaunas was there, the man who financed Israel’s first boat, reputed to be ninety-five-years-old, brought from his home in a specially cushioned carriage. He got out and took ten feeble steps as a sign of respect before being helped back into the vehicle. Walking by themselves followed a group of gentiles, farmers and merchants who had dealt with Israel during his boating ventures, and even the seniunas of the village, elected by the people. A smaller group followed at the rear, Russian businessmen and farmers, who felt uneasy at a Jewish affair attended by equally despised Roman Catholic Lithuanians.

  As Hershel took his place beside Jakob, he could not help wondering how utterly inane was the death of Israel. From Jakob’s account, Hanna had gone into the bedroom to bring her father his morning tea, and had found him stiff as a board. He must have died in his sleep. It just did not seem right, he reasoned, for a man like Israel, who had scraped and fought his way up from the most menial work as a hod carrier to a successful career in boating, who had lived with a disability, which would have crushed much stronger men, lost a wife who was larger than life, then, on sheer guts, had picked up the pieces and taken the lead again. A man of that nature should have died in the boat accident while saving his cargo or rescuing one of his crew or by having put a bullet through his brain at the loss of Motlie, instead of in his sleep from a malfunctioning organ. A forty-one year-old-man, with his zest for life, should leave this world with the sound of kettledrums beating in his ears.

  The graveside service was a short one. Staring at the fresh mound of dirt which held Motlie to the open pit into which Israel was about to be deposited was enough to stagger even the hardiest soul. Hanna stood stiffly erect, determined to hold on. Her dress bore two keri’ah, the rent in the garment of a mourner, and her face was pale with her anguish. Her hazel eyes, usually so beautifully alive, were dull with shock.

  As the shovels of earth were being cast into the hole, Hanna’s legs began to give way. Her Uncle Samuel, standing behind her, stepped forward and slipped an arm around her waist, bringing her up against him. He leaned his head next to hers and whispered into her ear. With a quiver, she pushed herself upright again. Samuel held on to her for a few more seconds, then took his arm away and stepped back a pace.

  Hershel spied Stephen standing at the edge of the crowd. His face was expressionless, but his eyes were fixed on Hanna. He felt a glow of hope that perhaps Stephen loved Hanna. Stephen was strong, and his social position was secure enough to make a good life for the two of them if it came to that.

  Jakob nudged him in the ribs and brought him out of his reverie to listen to the family recite the kaddish, and then everyone began walking back to the house for the meal that was custom.

  Hanna made it home without weakening again, her
shoulders squared and her jaw set and firm. But her mind throbbed with the terrible loss of the anchor of her life. How could she ever believe that her beloved father was not waiting in the kitchen or in the barn to listen to the news of the day? Or to say in his offhanded way how she should handle a problem that was troubling her? Now she was completely alone. Her sorrowful thoughts muddled her intellect.

  She ran with abandon into her parents’ bedroom and fell heartsick onto the bed. The tears came, but brought no solace or lifting of the fog shrouding her brain. She was frightened, but was unable to figure out why. The anguish, pouring from her, blocked all reasoning to see beyond the hideous agony that seared her heart.

  Then the door opened, and through her tears, she saw Stephen standing there. He closed it gently and leaned back against it, his face grim. Dear, wonderful, loyal Stephen. She realized how much it must have cost him to walk into the house, through the crowd of staring strangers whose hatred he could actually smell, and then into the bedroom. Oblivious, he sensed only that Hanna needed him. And seconds later, as she sprang to her feet and into his waiting embrace, he knew that he would gladly walk through fire just to console her.

  He held her tightly, rocking her in his powerful arms, resting his cheek against the top of her head, feeling her shake with tears of grief.