Enemy of the Tzar

by Lester S. Taube

  “One hundred and seventy-two,” said Natalie’s father. He owned a moderate sized accountancy firm in Stuttgart, and the wedding was denting his bank account noticeably. “Why can’t your brother help? He has over a hundred seamstresses working for him. Can’t one of them do something?”

  “I told you half a dozen times. This work is a specialty. His women just sew.”

  “I can’t go like this, Papa,” said Natalie plaintively.

  At this moment, Natalie’s aunt walked in. Natalie was her favorite niece, and the problem pained her deeply. “Natalie,” she said, slipping off her fur coat lightly dusted with snow. “I heard from one of the women that there’s a young Palestinian seamstress who’s supposed to be a marvel.”

  “Tante Nessie,” said Natalie, bordering on tears. “Look at this!”

  Her aunt glanced at the lace below the bodice, and her eyes grew hard. “I think you should call in this seamstress.”

  “But two days,” said Natalie’s mother, pointedly.

  “What’s her name?” asked Natalie, grasping at straws.

  “The woman didn’t know. But she said the Palestinian is staying at the Rosenthal’s on the Bockstrasse.”

  “Mama,” said Natalie desperately. “See if they have a telephone.”

  Luckily, they did. In a few minutes, Frau Kaplan was speaking to Frau Rosenthal. “She’s sending her son up to get her,” she told the others. The room grew quiet as they waited a couple of minutes, then Hanna came to the telephone. “Frau Charnoff,” said her mother. “My daughter is being married in two days, and we are having a problem with the gown. Is it possible for you to come to see us at once?” She listened, and her face fell. “I understand, Frau Charnoff, but this is quite urgent.” Her face fell even more. “Yes, yes, I understand. One moment, please.” She turned to Natalie and her aunt. “She has work that she promised to finish this week. She cannot take on anything further until after then.”

  “Oh, no!” exclaimed Natalie. She grabbed the telephone from her mother. “Frau Charnoff,” she said, her voice hoarse with dismay.

  Hanna sensed the tension in her tone. “Yes.”

  “This is Fräulein Kaplan. I am to be married in two days, Frau Charnoff, and my gown is a shambles. I know you are busy, but please help me. I have nowhere else to turn.”

  The silence from the other end was almost deafening. “Frau Charnoff,” she said desperately, afraid she had been disconnected.

  “I am still here,” said Hanna. She took a deep breath, thinking of the many hours of sewing by hand that she was committed for. But there was something in this woman’s voice that touched her. “I will come and take a look. Where do you live?”

  Natalie gave the address and directions.

  “That is quite far,” said Hanna. “It is almost two in the afternoon. I cannot be there before an hour, or an hour and a half.”

  “I will send someone for you,” said Natalie, hope rising in her chest.

  “All right. I am on the fourth floor.”

  “Thank you, thank you,” said Natalie. The moment the line was free, she put in a call to Jules. “Jules,” she said, her voice tight with emotion. “You must go to the Rosenthal’s at once and pick up a Frau Charnoff. She is going to look at my gown. Please hurry, darling.”

  Jules was a tall, intense looking man, with dark hair, who wore thick glasses that made his eyes loom large. He owned one of the largest department stores in the area. “I’ll go at once,” he said. He hung up, slipped into a heavy, wool coat, and sped down the steps from his office to his car. The heavy snow storm of ten days ago had given way to street cleaning crews and warmer weather, so he reached the Rosenthal’s in fifteen minutes. As Hanna came down the stairs, he could see she was a competent, no nonsense woman. He could not decide on her age. She appeared young, yet so sad looking that she could be in her late twenties. She carried a straw box containing her sewing needs.

  “Thank you for helping,” he said, as he held open the door for her to climb inside.

  “I do not know what I can do, but I will look.” Her accent was easily noticeable, but she spoke clearly and carefully.

  He got behind the wheel, and in another ten minutes of swift driving, he had her at the house. He accompanied her to the door. The maid opened it.

  “Herr Weiner,” she said. “Fräulein Kaplan asks you to please wait.” She motioned to the sitting room, and then gestured for Hanna to follow her upstairs.

  Hanna did not go through any formalities when she was ushered into Natalie’s bedroom. She walked directly over to the woman, standing tensely in front of a full length mirror and studied the gown. Like Natalie’s aunt, a flicker of disapproval crossed her face as she saw the problem.

  “Is there anything you can do, Frau Charnoff?” asked the girl’s aunt.

  Hanna looked into Natalie’s eyes. She saw there the despondency. She shook her head sadly. “It will be too difficult by hand. If I had a machine…” She left the words dangling.

  Without a word, Natalie walked swiftly to the door and opened it. “Jules,” she called.

  He came to the foot of the staircase. “Jules, go to Uncle Freddy’s. I need a sewing machine. As soon as possible.” She turned back into the room. “What else do you need?” she asked Hanna.

  Hanna took quick measurements with her eyes. “Four meters of the same lace trim and two meters of the same silk.”

  “Did you hear that, Jules?”

  “Yes. Where will I get them?”

  Hanna stepped forward. “Where did you have the gown made?”

  “Here, in Stuttgart,” responded Natalie, her hopes rising.

  “Have him go there. Get the same material.”

  In a flash, Jules was on his way. He knew Natalie’s uncle would move mountains for her, especially since he owned one of the largest clothing manufacturing companies in the Kingdom. Then he sighed with impatience. That girl, he thought to himself. Why does she make such a big issue of a large bosom? Actually, Jules was fascinated by Natalie’s breasts. He would not have them one millimeter smaller, no matter what. Ten years ago, having a well-developed bust was high fashion, but over the last three or four years, the style seemed to shrink year by year until girl watching was no longer rewarding. Those damned French designers, he growled. Just because the French women have only small boobs, the whole world has to go to pot.

  Hanna slipped out of her coat, folded it neatly, and laid it on a rug in a corner. Opening her straw box, she took out a scissors and carefully cut away the lace below the bodice. Then, stepping back, she took a second look and leaned forward, opening the seam on one side from thigh to armpit. Natalie’s mother gasped at the sudden undoing of such meticulous work by the dressmaker. Hanna opened the other side. Then, taking out a straight edged razor, she began cutting away the lace from the silk at the bodice.

  Natalie’s face turned white with apprehension. This Palestinian was tearing her gown apart. If she had erred with her choice of the refugee, her wedding was now totally ruined in the event she decided to make the best of a bad situation.

  At the sound of Jules and the maid coming up the stairs, Natalie, holding her torn dress together, dashed into her dressing room. Under no circumstances was Jules to see the gown before the ceremony. That was bad luck.

  He had gotten the machine, and Hanna was relieved to see it was the make she had used in Königsberg. He also had the materials she ordered, with several spools of varied sized thread.

  “Do I have everything?’ he asked Hanna.

  “You have done well,” she replied formally.

  The moment he was out of the room, Hanna was back on Natalie’s dress, attentively separating the silk. “You can take it off now,” she said.

  Natalie stepped out of the gown. “What do you plan to do?”

  “We must make it flow,” said Hanna quietly. “We must be careful not to make it like a big…” she searched for the word, “…bag.”

  The women sat quietly while Hanna be
nt over the sewing machine to do the major work, then used needle and thread for the molding touches. She gave the gown more volume by adding strips of lace to the sides, where it would be less noticeable.

  After two hours, she had Natalie try it on. It looked terrible, and the two older women were shocked, but Hanna seemed satisfied as she helped take it off and returned to her sewing machine and needle and thread.

  The maid came to ask about supper, and they noticed it was already dark.

  “Would you care to take time to eat, Frau Charnoff?” asked Natalie.

  Hanna shook her head. “Later,” she said.

  “I’ll stay with her,” said Natalie. She motioned to the maid. “Please bring up a tray. Cheese, tea.” She turned to Hanna. “Will you have some cheese and tea?”

  Hanna shook her head again. “Later,” she said, biting off a thread.

  There were two more fittings, each seeming less horrible than the one before. Then about 11:30, with Natalie’s mother asleep on a couch in the bedroom, her aunt fighting to stay awake, and Natalie watching nervously, Hanna snipped off the last thread, got to her feet, shook the gown gently, then held it up. Natalie slipped into it, and turned to the mirror.

  She let out a cry of disbelief, and then stood there, biting her lower lip. Her aunt got up and walked closer. Natalie turned towards Hanna, tears welling in her eyes. “Oh, Frau Charnoff, I cannot believe it. It’s beautiful.”

  Hanna stepped to one side to inspect it from that angle. “Yes, it is,” she answered softly. “And so are you.”

  Impulsively, Natalie reached out and hugged her, and then she danced over to her mother. “Mami, Mami,” she said, shaking her awake. Her mother opened her eyes and got quickly to her feet. She held Natalie at arm’s length, stared with wide eyes, and then she began crying too.

  Hanna had put her things back in the straw box and gotten into her coat.

  “Won’t you take something to eat now,” said Natalie, her face beaming.

  “No, thank you. I must get home. It is quite late.”

  “Please eat something,” she pleaded. “Jules is waiting downstairs. He will take you home.”

  “All right. A tea, perhaps.” Natalie reluctantly slipped off her gown and into a house robe, and the four women trooped downstairs. Jules was asleep on a sofa. One look at Natalie’s radiant face told him the story.

  Natalie herself served Hanna tea and cakes. She ate quickly and got up.

  Natalie passed her some rolled up money. “Thank you,” said Hanna.

  “It’s me who should be thanking you,” she replied. “I will never forget you.”

  When Jules stopped his car in front of the Rosenthal house, he handed over some folded up bills. “I cannot take that,” said Hanna. “I have already been paid.”

  “Please take it, Frau Charnoff. It is not for the work. It is a gift. What you did was a mitzvah.”

  “Thank you,” she said, taking the money. He escorted her to the door.

  Upstairs, in her room, she hung up her coat and sat wearily on her bed. She counted out the money. Natalie had paid her twenty marks, and Jules had given her thirty more. She stared at the money in amazement. It was more than she had made in any six weeks of her life, and she could use it desperately.

  CHAPTER 27

  The year 1906 went by so swiftly that Hanna did not realize it was almost over until the arrival of Chanukah, the Feast of Lights, commemorating the victory of the Jewish Maccabees over their Syrian oppressors. The rebellion rescued Judaism from near extinction. The year had been a hard one for Hanna financially, for no matter how long the hours she labored, there never seemed to be enough money left over once their meager needs were met, to send back for the children. After the shooting of Jakob, a contact of Captain Roth had arranged for her letters to be forwarded through the brother of her cousin Zelda’s fiancé, a tough, young man who owned a small sawmill an hour or so south of Kaunas. His wife had an uncle who had emigrated to Germany some years ago, so the receipt of letters from a foreign land had some legitimacy. But ever since the attack on their lives by the Okhrana, she wondered whether her money was actually getting through.

  She had seen Natalie a number of times, for Natalie gave her all of her dressmaking, and Hanna was hard put to insist that she not be overpaid. Natalie also secured a few new clients, ones who could pay well, but they lived so far from the Rosenthals that it consumed much of her day going back and forth. If only she had a machine, it would make a world of difference. But she was still having trouble keeping ahead of her rent and food costs, let alone think of buying one.

  From the very beginning and through their marriage, Natalie and Jules tried to piece together the story of Hanna’s life, but Hanna cut off even the kindliest questions. They had learned through the Rosenthal’s comments to others that Hanna was married to a man who seemed to have disappeared, and that she was taking care of a brother who was quite ill.

  One afternoon, after a fitting at Natalie’s, Hanna was invited to take supper at the house. She was torn between the need to get home to work on a dress to be made against spending time with good company, along with a solid meal for a change, and the latter won out. Jakob would be all right. She had prepared their supper in advance. While sitting in the parlor having a glass of wine before mealtime, the doorbell chimed. Jules’ house servant answered it, and soon a lean, middle-aged, dour faced man entered with a woman evidently his wife. Hanna had been told that some of Natalie’s relatives were to join them for supper.

  Jules led them over. “This is Natalie’s uncle, Friedrich Fergl, and his wife,” he said to Hanna.

  She got up and put out her hand. Then she froze. Fergl looked at her with surprise. He had heard about her, and she was as attractive as Natalie said, but a strange, distant expression had come over her face “What is your name again?” she asked Fergl, her voice deep with emotion.

  She had heard it clearly, but it had suddenly rung a long forgotten bell.

  “Friedrich Fergl.” He was about to reach for a glass of wine offered by Jules, but something held him up.

  The expression on Hanna’s face grew more strained. Her hand pressed tightly against her breast. “Herr Fergl,” she said tensely. “Do you know a man named Hershel Bloch?”

  Fergl looked at her quizzically, and then shook his head. “No, I have never heard of him. Why do you ask?”

  Her lips worked as she thought of what to say. “A man in my village whispered these words before he died. He said, “Fergl, Stuttgart.” I had forgotten all about it.”

  Fergl’s eyes narrowed. “What did he look like?” he asked quietly.

  She described Hershel to him.

  “My God,” whispered Fergl.

  Natalie was staring at her also. “It sounds like Uncle Levi,” she said in a hushed voice.

  Fergl could only nod. “Frau Charnoff, would you please tell me the full story.”

  “Did you know him?” she asked.

  “I think he was my brother,” said Fergl, shocked. Jules and Natalie were standing as if turned to stone.

  Hanna started talking, going over the details that were so alive in her mind. Jules waved away the houseman with quiet orders to hold up supper, and during the time she spoke, they took seats and Jules passed around drinks. Fergl and Jules traded glances often, amazement written clearly on their faces.

  “So, that’s how and when he died,” said Jules flatly at the end.

  “Yes,” said Fergl slowly. “They lied to me.”

  “What story did you hear?” asked Natalie.

  “I received a letter from the government stating that Levi was lost in the North Sea while fishing. They said two others were lost with him.”

  There was a long, profound silence. Then Fergl sat straighter in his chair. “All the pain and privations that you and your friend, Herr Golub, went through,” he said softly to Hanna. He looked at her evidently inexpensive dress and worn shoes. What did Jules say, that they lived in simple rooms on the fourt
h floor of a second rate rooming house. And Golub, wounded almost to death twice by the Tzar’s killers, and her husband, Stephen, God knows where. All this because they tried to save Levi’s life. Lord. What a show of gratitude. He turned to the others, his heart still pounding. “I don’t feel like supper,” he said. He glanced over at Hanna, her hand pressed against her mouth, her eyes still seeing the horrors of just yesterday. “Frau Charnoff.” Slowly her eyes focused on him. “May I call you Hanna?”

  “Yes,” she replied in a low voice. “Yes, of course.”

  “And please call me Friedrich. My wife is Martha.” He leaned back heavily.

  What a small thing to offer, he thought. German custom was rigid. The familiar term Du was used only by the closest of friends. Even to many acquaintances of long years, he used the formal Sie. And here, in the space of an evening, he had offered to a virtual stranger that which could not be bought for money or taken by force.

  At that, Jules and the women came over to Hanna, offering their given names and kissing her cheek, pledging their own friendship.

  After more wine and some little talk, they found the appetite to have supper, but picked at the food more than usual. And later in the evening, when Jules had driven Hanna home and returned, Natalie poured them glasses of fiery schnapps.

  Jules leaned back with a sigh of near disbelief. “There are times in my life,” he said simply, “when I believe in God’s ordained plan. This is one of them.”

  Fergl nodded, still unable to come back completely to earth. “I owe her,” he said hoarsely.

  “Uncle Freddy,” said Jules, his face more serious than the family had ever seen before. “Is there enough in this world to compensate for the nights of torment that woman went through?” He took a breath. “And is still going through?”

  Fergl shook his head. “No. No, there isn’t. But I must try.”

  “She will not take charity, you know,” said Natalie. “She will disappear out of our lives if you try, Uncle Freddy.”