Enemy of the Tzar

by Lester S. Taube

  “Whistle up a storm. The sailors believe that whistling on a boat is bad luck and could cause a storm to come up.”

  “They blow whistles on boats, do they not?” said Hanna.

  Jakob’s head rose. “That’s right, they do. Hanna, you’ve put a myth to rest. You should write an article to the newspapers about that.”

  She chuckled. “The next thing you will say is that I should write a book.”

  He was about to say that her life was more interesting than any book on the market when a knock came at the door. Jakob went to answer it.

  It was Jules’ houseman, Reuben, a man well into his sixties. “Sorry to bother you, Herr Gulman, but Frau Weiner has gone into labor. She asked for Frau Charnoff.”

  Hanna was standing in the hallway, looking to see who had knocked. “I will come at once,” she said, starting towards her coat and scarf, hanging in the vestibule.

  “I have Herr Weiner’s car outside,” said Reuben.

  “Take your boots,” said Jakob. “The newspapers said that it may snow tonight.”

  “I will be in the car, Jakob,” she said. Slipping into her coat, she began putting on her scarf. “If I am late, you must remember to take a cup of warm milk before going to bed. Will you remember?” She knew she was wasting her breath. He would think of it only by accident.

  “All right, I’ll remember. But take your boots.”

  “Very well.” She grabbed up her boots and put them under her arm. It was wise to listen to Jakob. If he said it might snow, the chances were ninety nine to one that it would.

  At the house, Natalie’s parents were seated in the parlor. Frau Kaplan embraced Hanna. “Thank you for coming so quickly, Hanna. Natalie started her labor this morning and is having a difficult time. Jules and the doctor are upstairs.”

  Jules must have heard her enter, for he came trotting down the steps. “I’m glad you’re here, Hanna. Please come upstairs. Natalie has been asking for you.”

  She followed him quickly up to their spacious bedroom at the front of the house. She had never met their physician, Doctor Halder, a tall, slim man in his late forties, but she had heard of his reputation as being one of the foremost obstetricians in South Germany. On the far side of the bed was Frau Hofnagel, a Catholic midwife, noted throughout Stuttgart as being more informed about birth than most doctors.

  Natalie smiled wearily when she saw Hanna. “My solid rock,” she said gladly, holding out a hand. Hanna took it and squeezed it gently. “Herr Doktor Halder, Frau Hofnagel,” she said. “This is Frau Charnoff, my friend. I would like her to stay with me throughout the delivery.”

  Halder bowed. “You are welcome, Frau Charnoff. Anyone who can make Frau Weiner smile at such a time is a welcome addition.” Hanna was surprised that he did not take offense at the presence of the midwife or herself. Perhaps that was the reason for his fine reputation–that he was confident enough to use any resource to achieve the desired end. He turned to Jules. “But husbands. They are another matter.”

  “I’ll go,” said Jules. “I’ll be right outside, darling,” he said to Natalie, bending down to kiss her cheek. “I love you,” he whispered, before standing upright.

  Natalie tried to smile, but a wave of pain struck and she gasped. Hanna gripped her hand tighter.

  There were still four more hours of misery for Natalie before, with a completely exhausted moan, she pushed out the tip of the child’s head. Both Halder and Hofnagel were standing close by, and when Halder saw that no emergency yet existed, he nodded to Hofnagel. She nodded back, thanking him for his confidence, and then reached her hands down to Natalie’s womb.

  “It’s coming, meine liebe Frau Weiner,” she crooned. “One more little push. Frau Charnoff, tell her, one more little push.”

  While she was talking, her long fingers were inside the womb, helping to ease out the child.

  “Push, Natalie,” said Hanna gently. “Just once more. You are doing great. You can do one more.”

  Natalie, at the point of fainting, gathered herself and gave a feeble effort. It was enough. Frau Hofnagel tugged the baby’s shoulders past the final point of resistance, and it came out in a rush.

  Now Halder moved in, his eyes searching keenly for any telltale signs of internal hemorrhaging from the mother. “How is the child?” he asked Frau Hofnagel, without looking up.

  “He’s fine,” she said, as it cried for air. Expertly, she cleared the eyes and nose.

  Halder finally looked up. Frau Hofnagel was holding him out for the doctor to tie off the umbilical cord.

  Natalie forced open her eyes and looked wearily up at Hanna. “Is the baby all right?” she asked.

  Hanna leaned down. “He is fine, Natalie. It is a boy. Both of you are fine.”

  “Tell Jules,” she said.

  It was morning by the time Hanna got home, and Jakob was asleep in the parlor chair with a blanket over him. She looked down fondly, and then went into the kitchen to prepare a large breakfast. She reasoned, without a shred of medical evidence, that when a person slept poorly, quantities of food could overcome the lack of rest. And to her mind, if Jakob was not in his nightshirt on a proper bed with two pillows under his head, he had not had a good night’s sleep.

  Hanna went over to the Weiner’s house for a short visit each day, for it was only a three block walk, and she was appalled at Natalie’s condition. She was only twenty-three years old, a year older than herself, and although she was a strong, healthy woman, something had snapped inside her. The doctor came in frequently and told Jules and Hanna that Natalie’s state occurred now and then after a prolonged labor. It could go on for any period of time, he explained, or she could snap out of it overnight. The prescribed treatment was rich foods, including red meats, and bed rest.

  Fortunately she was able to produce enough milk for her son, and she never tired of staring at him, lying next to her with a smile of love until he had to be lifted to be burped, or changed, or put back into his crib.

  Natalie’s mother had moved into one of the spare bedrooms, a nurse had been engaged even before the birth, and with Hanna passing by each day, there was plenty of company about to keep the new mother occupied. But each time Hanna was there, Natalie insisted that she burp the child or change him–as if only Hanna could be a surrogate mother. And Hanna was in paradise when she held him in her arms, rocking him gently and crooning some of the Russian and Yiddish lullabies she had heard in her own land. At times her breasts ached with the desire to be full of milk and have her own child suckle.

  “You love him, don’t you?” said Jules one day, watching her change his diaper.

  “Oh, yes,” she said, smiling down at him. “He is the most beautiful baby in the world. Look at him, Jules. He has your nose and mouth so clearly that if you cover up from here…” she placed a hand above the child’s mouth…“you would know at once who he was.”

  Jules laughed, and suddenly Hanna realized what she had said. She blushed red. “You know what I mean,” she said gruffly.

  “Yes I do. And Natalie and I could not have found a truer friend.” He stepped closer to her. “Hanna, Natalie and I would be honored if you would be the baby’s godmother. Uncle Freddy will be the godfather.”

  She looked up at him. “I would like that very much.”

  So at the Brith Milah, the ceremony of circumcision on the eighth day, the baby received his covenant with God, and a name, Paul Levi. He also got two godparents.

  Jules had to redeem his son at the Brith. The mohel, who performed the operation, informed all present that the price was still five pieces of silver, the same as in the days of Moses.

  Within three months, Natalie was up and around, and had regained most of her vitality, but Paul was jokingly called Hanna’s baby. He would giggle at the sound of her voice, and during the times he had problems burping, a few minutes in Hanna’s arms brought him relief.

  Natalie was not jealous. On the contrary, she enjoyed the sight of the two together, and often they wou
ld place the child between them on the bed and play with him, laughing and showing the other something about Paul that she had noticed.

  Hanna had worries of her own as well. Three more months had passed without news from Zelda, and she was frantic. She had even sent a cryptic letter directly to her Uncle Samuel, forwarded to a northern German city to be posted, and one to Mr. Katzman’s son in Kaunas. There was no answer. Growing more and more concerned until it preyed on her mind, she sought out Jules and told him the problem.

  Jules did not even hesitate to think it over. “Somebody has to go there, to check on the situation.”

  “Neither Jakob nor I can go. It would be too dangerous.”

  “Of course. I wouldn’t even consider it. Do you mind if I discuss it with Uncle Freddy?”

  “I hate to keep bothering the both of you.”

  He shook his head. “You mustn’t ever think that way. You are never a bother. What affects you, affects us.” He grinned, his eyes looming large behind the glasses. “After all, you and I are related. We have the same son.”

  He spoke to Fergl that very day, and Fergl was immediately on the phone to the attorney in Frankfurt, seeking advice. Within hours, the attorney called to say that he was sending over a man who could help. Towards the close of work, a lean, hooded-eyed, middle-aged man was ushered into his office.

  “I am Ludwig Wuerst,” said the stranger. “A private detective, from Frankfurt. I work closely with the gentleman with whom you spoke.”

  Fergl felt an immediate sense of confidence; the detective seemed just right. He gave him the details fully and without embellishment. Wuerst listened carefully, making a few notes, and then he stood up.

  “I will review our discussion this evening and phone you tomorrow with my suggestions.” He left as quietly as he had come.

  True to his word, he was on the phone early in the afternoon. He had been in touch with a private detective agency in Königsberg. They could send an agent into Lithuania without difficulty. He went on to say that he had explained the sensitivity of the mission, and they had agreed to be exceptionally discreet. Therefore, if Herr Fergl liked the idea, he should give him the names of the people to be located, their last addresses, and he would work out the details concerning cost and method of operation. In this manner, the identities of those asking for the search would not be revealed, even to the investigators.

  Fergl drove over to Hanna’s that very evening and discussed Wuerst’s plan with both. Hanna and Jakob were fully in accord. “We have some savings,” said Jakob. “We’ll gladly pay whatever is necessary.”

  “We’ll talk about that later,” said Fergl. “My main reason for coming is to make certain that you don’t see any dangers to your family or yourselves.”

  “If the detective does not arouse any suspicions,” said Jakob, “I don’t see any problems. But he must be very careful.”

  “Wuerst guaranteed that he would take extra time to check things out so as to avoid revealing his mission.”

  “Thank you, Friedrich,” said Hanna. “Please have him start as quickly as possible.”

  Four weeks later, Wuerst phoned Fergl and asked to meet with him. They agreed on Fergl’s office. Jules was waiting also when the detective arrived.

  Wuerst drew out from his briefcase a sheet of paper on which he had written several notes. “Samuel Barlak was arrested, a second time, seven months ago,” he said quietly. “He died in prison a month later.” Fergl and Jules nearly rose from their chairs, their faces tight with disbelief. Fergl took a deep breath and motioned for the detective to continue. “His family and a niece named Reba Barlak were also arrested and have disappeared. The investigator feels they have been deported to Siberia. As Siberia is three times the size of Europe, it is senseless to look there without help from someone within the Russian government.” Without taking a breath, he went on. “Samuel Barlak’s daughter, Zelda, and her husband have also disappeared. Probably also exiled to Siberia. The brother of her husband, the one who had been receiving the communications, fled into the forest after hearing of the police raids. He was tracked down after a massive search, and later died in prison. There is little doubt that he and Samuel were beaten to death. Mr. Katzman’s son, the boy, Zelek Barlak, and the girl, Gitel Barlak, were taken into custody a week later. Apparently young Katzman escaped suspicion until Samuel and Zelda’s brother-in-law were jailed. They must have implicated him– certainly by torture. Old Katzman received a communication by some unknown means that his son was in a labor camp in Siberia. There was no news about Zelek, Gitel and Reba. In addition, there is no word about Herr Timoshinkov. No report of arrest. Nothing. He has just vanished.”

  There was silence in the room when Wuerst finished his report. Fergl and Jules were shocked beyond words. Then Fergl lit a cigar with trembling fingers and puffed furiously to control his anger.

  “Thank you, Herr Wuerst. I am in your debt.”

  “I am sorry I was unable to bring better news.” He sat up straighter in his chair. “From the timing of the arrests, I suspect that the Russian police knew of the communications between the people there and the fugitives. They waited until they were located in Garmisch before closing in.”

  Jules cleared his throat. “Since the Okhrana were thwarted in what they came to do, which in my opinion was to kidnap or murder them, why did they not wait a little longer before arresting the families? I would think they would want to keep information lines open in the event the two fled.”

  Wuerst shrugged. “Who knows, Herr Weiner. In a society such as ours, we would have waited before closing in. But those Russians…” He shrugged again. “One of the officials might have said, “Enough, finish them off,” for no good rhyme or reason.”

  When the detective had gone, Fergl looked across at Jules. “What are you going to tell them?” he demanded.

  Jules shook his head in dismay. “I don’t know,” he said hoarsely. Sometimes he wondered whether the insane of this world outnumbered the sane. How can you tell people, who have been beaten over the head a score of times, that you now have a few more blows to deliver? Blows? He almost had to laugh. A blow would be a kiss compared to this.

  “I don’t know, Uncle Freddy. I don’t think Natalie’s ‘solid rock’ could put up with it. Underneath all of Hanna’s strength, there is a limit. Those people Herr Wuerst spoke about are just names to us. Samuel, Zelda, Gitel, Reba, Zelek, Stephen, and so forth. But suppose we were talking about Natalie and Paul and Tante Martha and the rest?”

  “You make a pretty strong case.”

  “It’s a case that involves blood and flesh. What did they do to Samuel to make him talk? And the wood cutter? What kind of torture do you use to kill a young, outdoor man?”

  Fergl nodded. “All right, Jules, you put it like it is. But, again, what are you going to tell them?”

  Jules sighed. “I wish you would do it for me, Uncle Freddy. I don’t think I have the courage.”

  Fergl pursed his lips. “You’ll have to. I am too close to it.”

  When Jakob opened the door that evening and found Jules standing there, he knew at once that he brought bad news.

  “Hanna’s in the kitchen,” he said. “I’ll get her.”

  “Wait a minute, Jakob. It’s very bad news.”

  Jakob studied the face of the tall, muscular man standing there, with eyes magnified by the thick-lensed glasses. “That bad?” he asked softly.

  “That bad. It couldn’t be worse.”

  “Go into the parlor, Jules. I’ll get Hanna.”

  “Who is there, Jakob?” called Hanna, over the sound of her sewing machine.

  He did not answer, but walked into the kitchen. She looked up at him, and then stopped the movement of her foot on the treadle. She placed the skirt that she was sewing on the table. “Who is it?” she asked quietly.

  “It’s Jules. The news from Russia is not good.”

  Her hand flew to her breast. “Are they dead?” she whispered, her face turning pale.<
br />
  “I don’t know the facts. But you must prepare yourself for the worst.”

  She got up at once and led the way to the parlor. Jules was still standing.

  “Are they alive, Jules?” she asked quickly.

  “Please sit down, Hanna.”

  “It is not necessary,” she said, apprehension driving her impatience to the surface. “Tell me at once.”

  “Your Uncle Samuel and Zelda’s brother-in-law are dead. The rest have been arrested, some sent into exile, the others to places unknown. There is absolutely nothing on Stephen.” Her face was now so white that Jakob stepped forward to support her.

  She waved him away. “The children,” she asked tightly. She had started shaking. “And what did you say about Stephen?”

  “They are all right. Just sent somewhere. Stephen included.”

  “Are you sure about that?” she asked desperately.

  “I’m sure, Hanna. They are absolutely all right.”

  She was trembling so hard now that Jakob took her by the shoulder. She turned to him and buried her face against his chest, holding on as if she would fall if he let go. Jakob put his arms around her. “Did you hear, Hanna? They are…” he started to say, “safe”, then changed it to…“all right.”

  When Jules left an hour later, after repeating a number of times exactly what Wuerst reported, Hanna and Jakob sat quietly in the parlor. The tears had dried on her face and color had returned, but Jakob saw there another film of sadness to cloud the eyes, which had seen so much.

  “What can we do, Jakob?” she finally asked.

  “We must wait,” he replied gently. “Somewhere in this scheme of things is a reason.”