“Got a new tailor,” he said from around a mouthful of food.
“What’s his name?” asked his wife.
“Ain’t a him. It’s a her.”
“For men’s clothing?” asked his wife, looking up.
“She’s good. Damn good,” he replied. He loaded up his mouth again, and then abruptly stopped chewing. “Maybe we can begin making women’s clothes,” he remarked experimentally, starting to eat once more. His wife nodded her head and smiled proudly at him.
Hanna was the first of the workers to arrive the following morning, and at noon, she had completed the jacket. She took it to the owner, who inspected it carefully.
“It’s fine work,” he said in a normal speaking voice. “You’ve got a job. Four Marks per week.”
“I’m worth more,” she said, looking him straight in the eye.
He turned the jacket in his hands again and smoothed out an invisible wrinkle. “The men in the back have been with me for a long time. They get eight marks.” Hanna said nothing, just stared at him steadily. He rubbed his nose for a few seconds, then he smiled, his round face sluicing into a checkerboard of laugh lines. “Yes, I think you are worth it. Six marks.”
Hanna smiled back.
The owner’s name was Augustus Mahler, and he was a pleasure to work for, once one became accustomed to his usual roar. Without obvious prying, he learned about Jakob and his illness, and it caused two or three great arguments with his wife, who contended that there must be something going on between the two, while Mahler hotly affirmed that somewhere on this earth was a saint or two, and why not her. From his weekend house at Starnberg, about an hour’s ride away by train, he bought a net full of fresh vegetables each week for Hanna, who boiled and pureed them into a soup that Jakob ate by the bowlfuls. By early June, a change began to take place with the disabled man. Perhaps it was the air, the sun, the soup–the good humor of the Bavarian nurses–but Jakob began to cough less, his face got some color, and he put on a few kilos of flesh. Now he started to walk, slowly, leaning on Hanna’s arm, and after a week of ambling along, he went by himself with a cane.
Every Friday, Hanna baked a small challah, packed a supper, with candles and a bottle of wine, and visited Jakob’s room. “It is kosher,” she told him about the wine. “I had it brought from München.” The other three occupants of the room took a walk out of courtesy as Hanna lit the candles and Jakob conducted the ritual Sabbath prayers.
In the first week of August, on her usual Sunday visit, she came walking swiftly to where he was seated in the shade of a tree reading. Her face was shining with excitement. Even before setting down the basket with their picnic lunch, she said, “Jakob, Stephen will be in München this Thursday.”
He had known they were writing each other, but Hanna had been careful to omit speaking of their relationship. The sudden news of the arrival of the Russian thundered against him. He realized at once why Stephen was making the trip, and it brought him face to face with his feelings about Hanna. He had grown to consider her as part of his existence, as someone who would be there to count on, to lean on, to occupy the physical space he moved in. He actually had not thought of the future. In his present state of health, the future was tomorrow only. Somewhere in those tomorrows was the reason for existence, and the yesterdays were building blocks that bridged the movement between alpha and omega. If he died before tomorrow, then all that was necessary to be learned and experienced was complete. The time given by the Lord God has been ordained in the Book of Life, and we come to Him whole. No one is too young or too old or too healthy or too ill. Within each beginning and end is totality, and since Hanna was linked with him in the day to day existence, the possibility of not having her about had not crossed his mind.
He looked at her with astonishment, really seeing her for the first time since his wound, and suddenly his mind was confused. He found it impossible to catalogue the reasons for the muddle, and although a small voice was mumbling in his ears that there was meaning to Hanna outside the Hasidic tradition, he refused to tune it to clarity. To do so, he unconsciously realized, would be to hear sounds and see images with which he did not know how to deal.
He fastened his mind on her words. “How is he able to get out of Russia?”
“Men like him can go wherever they want.” She began taking food from the basket and placing it on a nearby table.
She is too overjoyed to see my confusion, thought Jakob. Then as quickly as his mind was muddled, it became clear. “You are fond of him, aren’t you?” he asked, an emptiness lying cold inside.
She stopped her work to look at him. Her eyes were glistening with happiness. “Yes, very much.” She began arranging the bowls of food to cover her emotion. “He has been a good friend to us both.”
Jakob sat back into his chair. There it was. No matter whether Stephen had wrenched out every muscle to rescue him at Hanna’s insistence, he had still saved his life. He owed Stephen that, without the slightest shred of doubt. So did Hanna, for without him, she would not have gotten ten meters from the scene of the killings. There was nothing he could give Stephen to repay him for their salvation. He took a deep, painful breath. Nothing, except Hanna. But he did not own Hanna. He did not own even a piece of her. How could he give something he did not even have?
“Come, eat Jakob,” said Hanna, helping him to a chair at the table.
The food was lead in his stomach; the lemonade acid to his throat. And that night, as he lay in his bed, he turned his mind totally to Torah, for only there could he find peace.
CHAPTER 23
There he stood! He had stepped down from a coach car, bigger than ever, his face bronzed, the tip of his nose showing the usual signs of peeling, his blond hair shining like a halo. He spied Hanna halfway down the quay and started running, the large, leather suitcase in his hand brushing people as he dodged from side to side. She began running too, tears blurring her vision. Then she was in his arms and hugging him with all her strength, reaching up to kiss whatever she could reach. His lips finally found hers, and a moment later she pulled away, weeping with happiness, pressing her head tightly against him.
Finally, she straightened up and wiped her face with a handkerchief. “Oh, Stephen, my love. I cannot believe you are here.”
He rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. “Neither can I,” he said, hugging her carefully again. He held her back and looked at her tenderly. “I haven’t forgotten how beautiful you are. But you are more beautiful now.” He grinned at her with love in his eyes. “You’ve grown.”
She linked her arm through his and began to guide him to the station. “I’ve gained some weight, finally.”
He pressed her arm against him. “I have thought of you every day since we parted.”
“And I have missed you every day. But you look so wonderful.”
A stocky porter wearing a worn, leather apron wheeled a baggage cart up to them. “Can I help you with your bag, mein Herr?” he asked in German.
“No, thank you,” replied Stephen carefully, also in German. “I am a big man, and it is only a small bag.”
The porter smiled at the evident accent, and he moved off. Hanna turned to Stephen in surprise. “How well you speak German,” she remarked with pleasure.
He laughed; his large, white teeth gleaming in his ruddy face. “I have been studying all year. Also, it is one of the dozen phrases I memorized. Thank heavens he didn’t ask me a question I wasn’t prepared for.”
Outside, in the bright glare of early afternoon, she tugged at his arm. “I have taken a room at a hotel two blocks away,” she said, her face turning pink. Eyes averted, she drew him to a crosswalk, waited as the stream of wagons and black taxi limousines and white and blue electric trolleys passed and wheeled under the watchful eyes of leather helmeted policemen directing the flow of traffic, bringing all to an obedient stop as they turned their direction signals to allow the pedestrians to cross the streets.
In short order, she led him into
the lobby of a tall, pleasant hotel, secured a key at the desk, then up a wide, curling staircase to the third floor. Midway down the corridor, her heart pounding as desperately as his, she opened the door to a large room, dominated by a two piece bed, covered by sparkling white sheets and pillow cases.
“Look, Stephen,” she said excitedly, taking him to the French windows and drawing them open. Outside was a small, iron-railed balcony, and from it they looked down upon the wide boulevard below.
Stephen took one appreciative look, then stepped back and drew her into the room. In an instant, they were in each other’s arms; their lips pressed eagerly together; Hanna’s body melding into that of Stephen.
They undressed slowly, pausing to share long, ardent kisses and to speak of their love, and finally, they lay side by side, Stephen staring in awe at her naked body. It was the first time they had actually seen each other fully unclothed, and Hanna’s blood raced at the sight of his large, smooth arms and chest. Then he was atop her, his lips suddenly gentle as she guided him inside her. She felt a slight pain, and then she opened wide to him. Soon they were thrusting at each other with a burning need to become one.
Suddenly, Stephen stopped and tried to draw away. “No! No!” said Hanna, muffled against his shoulder.
“You may get pregnant again,” said Stephen, breathing hard.
“No,” she said. “We are safe; I am sure.”
She lunged against him, and climaxed at once, her body shuddering.
With a few deep strokes, Stephen ejaculated fiercely, a moan breaking from his lips. They did not stop, but continued on until both peaked again, and then they lay locked together, their chests heaving, eyes closed; their minds whirling with the fullness of each other.
Stephen rolled to his back with a sigh of contentment. Hanna placed her head on his shoulder, equally fulfilled; her hand idly caressing the muscles of his chest.
“Will you marry me, Hanna?” said Stephen softly.
She looked up at him. His clear blue eyes were fixed on her with a longing and need far greater than that which they had just shared, and his face was filled with a gentleness she had never seen before. “I will marry you whenever you wish.”
He turned to her and kissed her lips tenderly, a smile of happiness wrinkling the corners of his face. “Now,” he said. “Let’s get married now.”
She chuckled with joy. “Not now. Tomorrow. I’m not going to let you out of my arms today for anything.”
He motioned his head towards the open windows. The sun had passed its zenith, and dusk was beginning to gather in the sky. “You’ll have to. I’m starving.”
She wrestled with him playfully. In a few minutes, he was over her again; their lips joined with passion; his penis again stiff and eager, and they made love once more with endearment rather than the fervor of their first embrace.
They took supper in a Gasthaus, a few blocks from the hotel. Entertained by the vigorous sounds of a Lederhosen clad band, Hanna drank a vegetable puree while Stephen tried the Leberknödel soup, and as she dined on boiled carp with potatoes and carrots, he attacked a large veal cutlet accompanied by an overflowing dish of thick, French fried potatoes. When Stephen signaled for his second liter of rich, foamy Bavarian beer, she grinned.
“Be careful,” she warned him. “It is not like our Russian beer. It is much stronger.”
“I’m used to potent drinks,” he said. “At university, we drink this much vodka.” He took a swallow from the new stein of beer. “Oh, yes. Larisa saw your family just before I left for here.”
She shook her head in pretended reproach. “Why did you not tell me earlier?”
He grinned. “You didn’t give me a chance. Then I was too hungry to talk.”
She yanked at his hand. “Tell me.”
“Your Uncle Sam is still harassed by the police. They watch his mail all the time. Apparently you and Jakob are still very high on their most wanted list. Reba now lives with him, and she is working at a shop in Slabodka, and that fellow in Kaunas who has Gitel took Zelek a short while ago. It seems that Mr. Wilson has not been feeling well the past few months.”
“Poor Mr. Wilson. He has been a savior for us.”
“Who is that fellow in Kaunas?”
“His name is Katzman, the son of a man who helped Papa start his boat business. When Papa had his accident, Mr. Katzman foreclosed on our house and rented it to us for practically nothing so we would not have to move.”
“Why would he do that? Didn’t he lose money, too?”
“It is called a mitzvah. You do something because it will find favor with the Lord.”
“Speaking of the Lord, how is Jakob?”
Hanna laughed. “A lot better, but nothing like he was before the injury. He can barely walk a block without having to rest for five minutes.”
He looked at her from under his thick brows. “You stay with him all the time, don’t you?”
“In a way.”
“Is that to make amends?”
She pursed her lips, thinking over his words. “Yes, in a sense. After all, I would not have lived that night without him. And Jakob and I would not have survived until now without you. We both owe you a great deal. More than we can ever repay.”
He smiled at her serious expression. “Is that why you are marrying me tomorrow?”
She smiled back. “It would serve you well if that was the only reason. No, my dearest. I am marrying you because I do not know how I can live my life without you.”
He drew her hand to his lips. “Let’s go back to the hotel now. I want to hold you in my arms, and never let you go.”
The morning was a hectic one. After a quick breakfast, they took a streetcar to the Rathaus, the huge, impressive, red brick city hall, where a succession of clerks gave them forms to complete, and then informed them that banns posted for four days would be required before the marriage ceremony could take place. At their crestfallen expressions, one of the dour faced clerks went on to explain that since the Kingdom of Bavaria was a Catholic state, were it a church ceremony, the banns would have to be posted on three successive Sundays first.
In desperation, Hanna led Stephen to the post and telegraph building, and put in a call to the police sergeant in Garmisch, to whom she reported each month, and explained the situation. Those Russians again, he raged inwardly. What did they do to deserve such privileges, such as medical costs, identification papers, and now bothering him about a wedding? But he remembered the strict orders he had received that he was to contact a certain number in Berlin if anything important came up concerning the two.
“I will think it over, Fräulein, and call you back shortly,” he said curtly.
Hanna put down the phone, a look of discouragement on her face.
“Don’t be so sad,” said Stephen. “If we must wait four days, we can wait.”
She said nothing; she just led him to a corner in the crowded communications section.
The police sergeant’s call to the designated number went through promptly to his complete astonishment.
“Hauptmann Roth here,” came a clear, commanding voice.
“Herr Hauptmann,” said the sergeant, almost stammering with surprise. “I am Sergeant Prosner, of the Garmisch station.”
“Yes, Prosner. I know of you. What do you want?”
The sergeant was further amazed at the idea that he was known to an important captain in Berlin. “It is about Fräulein Barlak, Herr Hauptmann. She has requested my assistance for her to get married.”
“Is that right! To whom?”
“A Russian. A Stephen Timoshinkov.” He pronounced the name badly.
“Timoshinkov! Is he there?”
“They are in München, Herr Hauptmann.”
“Good for them! What do they want?”
“They need help with the banns.”
“I see. Wait.” Roth put down the receiver. He was the one who had sent Stephen on his way. He got up from behind his desk and walked to a nearby door, tappi
ng on it lightly before going inside.
Colonel Dannetz was standing in front of a map, hanging on a wall. He had a notebook in one hand and was marking information on the map with a red crayon. He turned. “Yes, Roth.”
“It is Prosner, Herr Oberst, from Garmisch. Timoshinkov is in München with Hanna. They want to get married, and they need help with the banns.”
A light kindled in the stern eyes of the colonel. “So, he came for his prize,” he said softly. He nodded his head approvingly. “He’s got more sense than I hoped for. Clear the way, Roth.”
“Very well, Herr Oberst.” He started from the room.
“Roth.” The captain turned. “After you finish with Prosner, get me the Rathaus at München.”
It was almost an hour later when the switchboard operator signaled to Hanna to take up the phone in a booth. Gnawing her lip with anxiety, Hanna almost ran to the booth, Stephen hard on her heels.
“Hanna Barlak here,” she shouted into the phone, Stephen holding his ear close to the receiver.
Sounding further away than the ninety kilometers was the sergeant. “Fräulien Barlak?”
“Yes, yes. I hear you.”
“Return to the Rathaus. Ask for the chief clerk. He will help you.”
Hanna’s knees suddenly felt weak. “I will. Thank you, Herr Sergeant. Thank you.”
She hung up. The two looked at each other. Stephen opened his mouth. She knew he was going to let out a shout of victory, so she pinched his arm. He laughed with sheer relief, his white teeth flashing. Hand in hand, they hastened out of the building.
The chief clerk was a ruddy faced man with an expansive belly. The moment they were announced, he came from his office and motioned them down a corridor to a large, pinewood paneled room with a long oak desk at the far end, flanked by candle holders two meters high. Flags of Bavaria stood in front of a highly polished railing. It was the most impressive room Hanna had ever seen.
Enemy of the Tzar Page 24