Enemy of the Tzar

by Lester S. Taube

  “Will there be enough work to keep him busy after then?” asked one of the members.

  Colemann had been listening closely to Gluck. He interrupted. “I have a suggestion,” he said. “In bookstores all over Germany are precious works, just gathering dust. I know that some of the material in our library was bought by members of the congregation for just a few Marks. They didn’t even realize the importance of their purchases.” He rubbed his stubby hands together. “What’s he like?” he asked the rabbi. “Will he drop dead on us, God forbid, before the cataloguing is complete?”

  “I would have thought so at first, but he becomes stronger each day. Remember how he would shuffle down the street? Now he runs. And that Hanna– she watches over him like an angel.”

  Colemann rubbed his hands together more vigorously. “We’ll establish a fund, starting now. Every month, we’ll put money aside, at interest. Have Jules Weiner tell his father-in-law, Nathan Kaplan, to set up the books. He’s an accountant. Tell Jules that we expect his time to be donated to us.” He grinned contentedly to himself. “For the fund, have Friedrich Fergl manage it. Make sure that Jules tells Fred that his time should also be donated.” His grin became a generous laugh. “In four years, we’ll have enough money to keep that Hasid going from bookstore to bookstore for the rest of his days.” He stopped to think. “The library,” he finally said. “We’ll have to enlarge it.” He turned towards the member in charge of the building fund. “What’s the mortgage here now?”

  “It’s about liquidated, Hyman. I think we have five or six payments. We’re six years ahead of our original estimate.”

  “Good. Once it is finished, put the same amount in a second fund. In four years, we’ll knock out the left side, make a round door, like in the old wine cellars, and build a second room.” He glanced around the room at the nine members. “Do you have any comment?”

  “I think it’s a good idea, Hyman,” said one. He grinned. “When do we put your name on the door?”

  “The first time you say kaddish for me.”

  “God forbid,” said the group in unison.

  “All right,” went on Colemann. “How do we vote?”

  It was carried unanimously.

  Hanna, too, was enjoying herself enormously. The sudden increase of income allowed her to buy healthier foods, and the kitchen facilities made cooking a pleasure. She could not sweep and scrub the house enough, and even Jakob grumbled when she waxed and polished his desk weekly.

  “It shines,” he would say, as she approached with wax and cloth. “Look.” He lowered his face so she could see the reflection on the smooth surface.

  “Go to the parlor and read,” she would say. “Sit in the chair by the stove. The lamp is on the good side.” She would lean down and kiss the top of his head. He would stop grumbling at once. As he left, his hand would touch hers ever so lightly.

  The sewing machine made a tremendous difference in her work. She still traveled to her clients’ houses, but she could now do in an evening after supper what had previously taken her all day. Soon she was sending larger sums through her contact to Russia. There was always a brief note. “Eat well, all of you. And study. Courage. We will meet again. I love you. I love you.”

  In the third month of such comfortable living, she discussed with Jakob the possibility of smuggling the children out of Russia. The conditions there were getting worse. Over a year ago, Russia had been at war with Japan, and with one defeat after another, on land and on the sea, in September, 1905, the Russians were forced to sign harsh armistice terms. But the terrible losses in men, and a rash of increased taxes had created another crisis. Workers in St. Petersburg had demonstrated in front of the Winter Palace. The newspapers carried lurid stories and pictures of police firing on the workers, killing over 1,000. Hanna and Jakob thought of Hershel at that time. They had slain the man, but his ghost was still alive. Soon mass meetings, strikes, and riots spread throughout the land. The workers even forced the Tzar to make concessions, but it really changed nothing. A powder keg was smoldering under Russia, and Hanna wanted the children out before it exploded. Jakob was fully in agreement. Since it would take a large sum of money, they changed their style of living at once. They cut down on unnecessary foods, heated only the kitchen in the evening, where they moved the sewing machine, and pared back the money being sent to Russia to a more logical sum. Hanna spent less time cleaning, and more time sewing, and Jakob, having allayed the rabbi’s suspicions by good behavior, was allowed to tutor some of the more gifted boys during evenings at the library.

  The summer was an unusually lovely one. Everything seemed to bloom without effort, even the vegetables Hanna had planted behind the house. The armchair pundits said it was due to the blood that had been spilled the year before, that no matter how far away were the victims, after a major war, everything grew well. They predicted good grapes. Maybe even the wine of the century.

  The Weiners and Hanna and Jakob had become closer as time passed by.

  Natalie and Jules had finally gotten to know Jakob. At first, they pitied his evidently broken body, then they had grown to respect him, and at last they found the humor and wit that he shared only with close friends. Even Jules, who had an enormous sense of humor, tipped his hat to some of Jakob’s repartees. But most of all, they found themselves in awe of his insight and intelligence. Hanna, they had loved on sight. She was like a warm, solid rock that held refuge for everyone and everything. At the beginning of their acquaintance, they assumed that she had remained with Jakob out of duty, and that she had subordinated her own feelings to necessity. “She could do a lot better than devoting so much of herself to him,” was the unspoken comment. Then they came to realize that their relationship was the merger of two unusual people. With that knowledge arrived a feeling of ease when together. During visits to their small house, they felt comfortable enough to kick off their shoes, argue at great length, or walk into the kitchen and cut off a slice of cake.

  One afternoon, Natalie arrived with the news that she was pregnant.

  Hanna was delighted. The two young women could not stop talking of the clothing they would make, of how they would fix up the nursery, of whether it would be a boy or girl.

  During the summer, they piled into Fergl’s huge sedan and drove to the Bodensee, known by the English as Lake Constance, where he owned a large house. Across the lake was Switzerland, and to the east was the Austrian Empire. During the five days there, all rested, sailed on the lake, ate fresh fish and vegetables, and forgot time. It did wonders for Jakob. He was now actually close to what he had weighed before the injury.

  Natalie was having problems, though. She was in her fifth month of pregnancy, and was not at all well. At times she felt so overheated that she would have to lay down and be fanned, or her temples dabbed with witch hazel. At other times, she became so cold that she would need a shawl or sweater even in the noonday heat. A local doctor gave her a prescription for a mild sedative, and ordered a diet high in iodine and salts. For some reason she was unable to explain even to Jules, she became most comfortable when Hanna was about, and went out of her way to sit next to her or walk by her side.

  “She’s pregnant,” said Jules to the family. “Some women want pickles. She could do a lot worse than want Hanna around all the time.”

  A short time after their return to Stuttgart, Jules sought out Fergl at his home. “Uncle Freddy,” he said in a low voice. “Rosenthal phoned me yesterday. Two men were at his house asking about a Hanna Barlak and Jakob Golub.”

  “What! Police?”

  Jules shook his head, his eyes dark and worried. “No. You’ve got to give that Rosenthal credit. He said the men had accents, similar to Hanna’s, so he got suspicious. He asked if they were from the police, and they said no, that they were friends of Hanna and Jakob. Well, Rosenthal told them that he had heard one of the names mentioned by a man from Frankfurt some months ago, and that he might get the address of the man that evening. He told them to come back af
ter supper. Then he called me at my office. I went to his house right away, and we worked out a plan. That evening, I sat in the car down the street until midnight, waiting for them. They never showed up.”

  “Did you say anything to Hanna or Jakob?” asked Fergl, his face showing deep concern.

  “Not yet. I wanted to talk it over with you first.”

  “If they weren’t from the police…”

  Jules nodded. “They also weren’t friends, or they would have been back that evening.”

  “So it’s the Okhrana again, eh?”

  “I suppose so.” He wiped his glasses with a handkerchief. “But the whole thing is crazy. The incident happened, what was it, three, four years ago?”

  Fergl lit a cigar and took a couple of puffs before answering. “They killed a general; remember that.”

  “Speaking of that, what have you learned about Uncle Levi?”

  “I probed the ministry twice, and ran into a brick wall. But I’d wager my last pfennig that Levi was in the Secret Service.”

  “Isn’t there any way to force them to reveal the truth?”

  “Jules, wake up.” He puffed a few more times on the cigar, letting smoke build a cloud around his head. “Frankly,” he finally said, “I don’t know what to do. If we tell Jakob, we may get him upset about nothing. If we don’t tell him, we may be jeopardizing their safety in some form or fashion.” He puffed a bit more. “We need a lawyer.”

  “Why a lawyer?”

  Fergl tapped his finger on the table. “We must find out what the Russians can do if they are looking for them and do find them.”

  “You mean, like having them extradited?”

  “I mean exactly that.” He tapped his finger again. “They are murderers.”

  “Now, wait a minute!”

  “Wait all you want. They are murderers, pure and simple. They were sheltering an enemy of the Russian State, regardless of him being my own brother, and then killed officers in the execution of their duties.”

  “You make it come over pretty bad.”

  “I make it come over exactly as it is.” Fergl started puffing vigorously at his cigar again, thinking. He looked about, located an ash tray, and ground it out. “We’ve got to tell Jakob,” he said.

  “All right. Then what?”

  “We’ve got two choices. We can help them leave the country or stand and wait.”

  “Out of the country means nothing. If the Russians are searching for them here, they’ll search in Timbuktu. Also, what country could they go to where they speak the language?”

  “Then we stand, eh?”

  “It makes sense.”

  “Not tonight, though. We won’t tell Jakob tonight. I have something to do first.”

  “Very well.”

  The following morning, Fergl drove to Frankfurt. There he had an appointment with the senior partner of one of the most prestigious international law firms in Germany. Closeted in an office with the attorney and his principle aide, Fergl explained the situation in detail, including what he suspected about Levi’s mission.

  They took lunch together, discussed it further in the afternoon, then the attorney sat thinking for several minutes. “Herr Fergl,” he finally said. “I would not be overly concerned. First, there is no extradition treaty between Germany and Russia. Secondly, if your brother was a secret agent on a mission there, the police and the army would not only deny it, but would block any Russian action to apprehend Herr Gulman and Frau Charnoff, since it is in their interest to keep all details secret. Your friends could afford the Russians a great propaganda weapon. But it is always possible that the two strange men seeking them were bent on retaliation. If so, there is no action you can take except to provide guards for their safety. And if the strangers commit a crime in Germany, they can expect no mercy from the courts, no matter what the circumstances. My recommendation is for Herr Gulman and Frau Charnoff to keep a low profile until something further develops. If it does.”

  Fergl nodded. It made sense. “Would it be possible to learn if any official requests are being made about them–for some unrelated reason?”

  The attorney shook his head. “I would not advise it. If nothing is being done, why stir up suspicions? From the information you gave me, it appears quite certain that the assistance rendered to your friends was a police action. Therefore, if the Russians decided to seek information about two murderers, their request would surely have come directly to the attention of the police, who would not cooperate. My opinion is that the visit of the two men was without police sanction.”

  The following afternoon, Fergl met with Jakob at a cafe near the synagogue and ordered tea. After a few opening remarks, he told Jakob about the men and his conversation with the lawyer. He got a surprise at the Hasid’s reaction, for Jakob did not blink an eye.

  “I expected that the Russian government would take action sooner or later,” he said calmly. “It’s the Okhrana, their secret police. They have an external department that operates in foreign countries.” He shrugged his shoulders. “They are a psychopathic people, you know.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Look at the way they treat minorities. Not just the Jews, but those in the lands they conquer. Their immediate action is to send in Russian peasants by the train loads to build up a majority, and then they make a major effort to destroy the foreign culture. They are a suspicious, distrustful people, with a passion for revenge that never deviates one iota. I don’t think the mentality of their rulers has changed from one century to the next.” He suddenly grinned at an enjoyable thought. “Of course, our friend Nicholas the Second is getting a taste of his own medicine now. The revolutionaries are hot on his heels, and sooner or later there will be a blood bath that will make the French revolution seem like a picnic.” He leaned forward and waved an educator’s finger. “But if you probe deeply enough, you will find all the rhetoric sprouted by the workers for their rights is merely garbage. They are after revenge.”

  “Aren’t you Russian yourself?” asked Fergl grinning. He had begun to like Jakob enormously, but it was always a shock to hear worldly situations being discussed with such expertise by a strict religionist. Usually the most that highly orthodox, Talmud trained men knew of secular matters was whether to slice a cabbage from the top or from the side.

  “We Hasids,” said Jakob, quite aware of what Fergl was thinking. “realize that the modern generation of Jews hopes to become universal. But not the Hasidim. In the manner that the Jew must be the conscience of the world, so must we Hasidim be the conscience of the Jews.”

  Fergl laughed. “Here I am telling you that your life might be threatened, and you are giving me a course in political science.”

  “Get two Jews together,” said Jakob with his eye-twinkling smile, “and you have a three way conversation.”

  Fergl nodded in agreement as he drew out a cigar and snipped off the end. “Are you going to tell Hanna?”

  “Of course.”

  Fergl stopped the movement of his hands. “Won’t it upset her?”

  Jakob’s mobile features molded into a wistful expression. “Yes. I wish I could spare her the worry, but she has the right to know. Lawyers are very fine advisors, but safety is another matter”. He finished off his tea. “Thank you, Friedrich. We are grateful.”

  “We don’t want to lose good friends,” replied Fergl pointedly.

  Later that evening, Jakob told Hanna of his discussion with Fergl. He knew her well, now. She would become upset, frightened, and would magnify the problem, but the instant she had to make a decision or take an action, her mind would be clear as a bell. She reacted as expected, sitting bolt upright in her chair; her hand flying to her open mouth; her eyes growing tense with worry, then, a few seconds later, she sat back and looked keenly at Jakob.

  “I was praying that we were safe,” she said quietly.”

  “I, too. But apparently Friedrich is not certain.”

  “How about you?”

&
nbsp; He shrugged, rubbing his hands together in thought. “Sometimes the best thing to do is to do nothing. It’s usually the hardest to do also.”

  “Then you think we should do nothing?”

  “No. I think we should keep our eyes open. I don’t mean to look about each time we take a walk, but to stay alert. Look for people who are the same people we saw the day before, in places they shouldn’t be.”

  “I understand.”

  CHAPTER 29

  Jakob thought of it first, but decided to say nothing. Therefore, it took Hanna some time to remark that she had not heard from Zelda for over six months. Zelda was now married to her young man, who worked at a textile factory in Kaunas. His brother, the sawmill owner, was still their main contact.

  As mail service to Russia proper was bad enough during the best of conditions, and letters to areas outside the major cities received less attention, it took anywhere from two to five weeks to reach the recipient. And when one sent money, anything could happen, from its not arriving, to coming without the bills inside.

  “There is something wrong,” said Hanna, tempted to cross her fingers and spit, as her mother used to do.

  “It could be lost letters,” said Jakob, to allay her fears.

  Since that had happened before, Hanna accepted the explanation, but she was uneasy. “I will write again tonight,” she said. “As soon as I finish this dress. Frau Frank wants it this week.” She shook her head. “Imagine, in two weeks. Chanakuh again.” She bit off a thread and held up the dress to inspect her work. “It is lucky the weather has been so mild.” She looked over at Jakob, her hand across her mouth. “I should not say that. It is, what do you say sometimes, whistle up a rain?”