The sled glided to a stop in front of Grand Duke Sergei’s St Petersburg Palace. A servant led him to the Grand Duke’s study.
‘The meeting was supposed to start at 10. It’s now 10:03, Moncransky,’ hissed the Grand Duke. The General nodded to General Isvoltsky to begin.
‘The next incident will be in Sebezh in the Pale.’
‘Where’s that?’ the Grand Duke asked.
‘In the Vitebsk Province, Your Highness,’ replied Isvoltsky.
‘I heard that some of the Jews in Gomel actually fought back,’ said General Gromeko, an officer in the Chevalier Guards. ‘Is that true, Isvoltsky?’
‘Yes, Your Excellency. Jews throughout the Pale have formed self-defense leagues after the Kishinev affair – with guns and clubs.’
‘Well, that’s not fair. If the Hebrews have guns, then our people should have some guns, too,’ barked General Gromeko.
‘I’ll see to it, Your Excellency.’
‘Some Jews aren’t going to have a very happy Hanukah this year,’ Moncransky said.
TWENTY-EIGHT
‘Katya! Katya! Wait!’
As Dimitri trotted up the marble steps of St Igor’s Hospital, Katya had come crashing out of the entry doors and run down the stair past him. It was only when she was about to cross the street that she heard his shouts and turned.
‘Whooa … Is the hospital on fire?’ he said. But the look on Katya’s face wiped off his smile.
‘Dimitri, there’s been a pogrom in Sebezh! Dozens have been killed!’ she yelled frantically. People walking along the street looked at her. Dimitri ran down the steps and grabbed her by the arm.
‘Take a breath, then tell me from the beginning.’
She inhaled slowly and set her doctor’s bag on the sidewalk.
‘Dr Tchinarova received a wire from his sister, who has an estate near there. She was afraid the pogromists would come on their land and kill their Jewish steward,’ she said in a panic-stricken voice. ‘I have to go there. The hospital there has put out a call for doctors!’
Dimitri had never seen her act this way. She was always so level-headed. It alarmed him to see her in such a state.
‘Calm down. You can’t go there.’ Sebezh was just inside the border of the Pale of Settlement, at least a three-hour train ride. ‘It’s too dangerous!’
Katya’s face reddened. ‘Damn you, I’m telling you I’m going. I have to help those people. I’m going straight to the train station.’
‘But why?’
‘Because I have sympathy for these outcasts, that’s why!’ she shouted. ‘And I’m a doctor who took an oath to save lives.’
Her anger made Dimitri step back. It reminded him of opening a door to a stove, and the heat of the red-hot fire bursting in his face.
‘Then I’ll come with you,’ he said in a calm voice.
Katya’s expression was transformed. She reached out and squeezed his gloved hand.
‘Oh God!’
It wasn’t the dead body lying in the street that was so shocking to Dimitri but the blood that had spilled from the hole in its head onto the snow. The contrast of the dark scarlet-colored liquid against the pure white snow mesmerized him.
‘I warned Your Honor this place was a goddamn mess.’
He frowned at the driver of the coach and waved him away. He had to be paid triple his usual fare to bring them to this part of town. Katya rushed up to the body, her boots sliding in the snow, the blood turning it a pinkish hue. She turned the man face up. He had a full beard and looked about forty. His eyes were wide open, as though he was gazing at the gray cloudy sky above. When she saw he was beyond help, Katya walked down the middle of the street to another body lying about twenty yards away. This one had a sobbing woman crouching over it. When she saw Katya approaching, she stood up.
‘Please, mistress, please help my poor husband,’ wailed the woman. She spoke as though in a trance. ‘My husband, Mottel Greenspoon. He was a glazier. I just returned this morning from visiting my sister in Drissa. A neighbor said he was hiding in the shed in the back. He was dragged out and beaten by the peasants – one of them he knew.’
Katya just patted the woman’s shoulder. She knelt down to examine him, and found the side of his head had been bashed in. She could see the purple-pink brain inside in the skull.
‘I’m very sorry, there’s nothing I can do now,’ said Katya. The wife began screaming uncontrollably. Dimitri was now standing next to Katya. He saw that on both sides of the streets, all the windows had been smashed in. Just outside the open doors were trails of debris that were now being covered by a light snowfall. Clothes and silverware were strewn out of doorways, along with a curious coating of white feathers. One building had smoke pouring out of the second-floor window. He walked into a house, and was taken aback by the extent of the carnage. The room was completely destroyed, with broken furniture and smashed glass. When he saw the feathers from ripped mattresses covering the floor, he now understood where they came from. Even the pictures on the walls had been stolen. He heard someone moaning in pain and shouted for Katya. They found a young woman crumpled up in the corner of a side room. Her face was terribly bruised, and there was a gash across her forehead. Dimitri noticed her black flannel skirt was bunched up at her waist, and there were bloodstains in her underwear. He understood what had happened. The semi-conscious girl didn’t acknowledge their presence and just stared off into space. Katya opened her bag and began to dress the wound. Dimitri walked up the plank stairs and saw another body that looked dead.
When he and Katya left the house, three scarlet-coated Cossacks abreast rode past them, and Katya shouted at them to halt. One turned and bowed politely to her.
‘A girl in there needs to go to the hospital,’ ordered Katya. ‘I’m a doctor,’ she added in a loud voice to make the Cossacks take her command seriously.
‘The Jews will take care of their own, Doctor. Don’t worry,’ replied the Cossack in a jovial voice.
His answer surprised Katya. Before she replied, the soldier spoke.
‘All is under control, we’ve dispersed the rioters,’ he said proudly as if he’d done his duty well.
‘What caused all this?’ asked Dimitri.
‘Oh, the usual circumstances, Your Honor. A Jew cheats a peasant. A Christian gets killed by a Jew, and things get out of hand.’ He saluted and rode off.
As they walked down the street, they found three more bodies. All of them had their heads bashed in. The violence reminded Dimitri of when he was a child, smashing all the melons in a garden on his father’s estate, for the pure fun of it. There were also more wounded lying about, and one by one Katya tended to them while Dimitri assisted. He noticed something off to his right. The new snowfall was covering up a piece of paper. After he tied off a bandage, he went over to pick it up.
‘Kill the Jews & Save Russia,’ it read. He tucked the flier into his pocket. After an hour, people appeared like mice cautiously emerging from their holes. All were Jews, out to survey the damage. He watched as they picked through the rubble, setting aside possessions that were spared and going right to work beginning the cleanup. Several more injured people, including a limping child, came out of the building, and Katya gathered them in one spot to treat them. Finally, the doctor and two nurses from the Jewish hospital arrived in a droshky and consulted with Katya. The wounded were piled into the carriage, and the doctor drove off, saying he would be back for another load. A wagon had arrived, and people began piling the dead like cordwood into it. The image of the dead child in Kishinev came back to him. It was twilight when Katya saw the last victim.
Dimitri’s boot crunched on something. He bent down and picked up a little piece of metal about a half-inch wide and four inches long. It had an engraving of a little house with a symbol rising above it like a sun. On both ends, it had holes with tiny nails still in them.
An old woman was outside a house cleaning up broken glass.
‘Excuse me, does this belong to yo
u?’ asked Dimitri.
The crone walked slowly up to Dimitri and took the metal from him. She wiped the dirt off it with the hem of her long black skirt.
‘Why yes, thank you, Your Honor,’ she croaked.
She then fastened the object to the right side of the door frame, touched it lightly with two fingers and muttered,
‘Hear, O Israel,
The Lord is our God,
The Lord is one.’
‘Is that your house number?’
‘In a way, Your Honor.’
Dimitri walked in another building, a grocery store which had been looted to the last morsel of bread. An old man was sweeping up broken glass from the storefront that had been completely smashed in. He looked up at Dimitri, then continued.
‘Here, this will help you get back on your feet, old fellow,’ said Dimitri as he handed the man some ruble notes.
‘Thank you, Your Honor, this will be of much help,’ said the old man in a quiet voice. He bowed slightly and went on sweeping. When Dimitri turned to leave, he saw Katya standing in the doorway. She glowered at him.
‘You think giving him a hand-out will solve things,’ she snarled. Dimitri, puzzled, said nothing. ‘You think everything can be put right with money! These people need their civil rights and freedom – to be treated as human beings,’ she said loudly, catching the old man’s attention. ‘Not money!’
Dimitri was now ashamed for his gesture, but then he became annoyed.
‘So, what do you expect me to do?’
‘Fight for justice for these wretched people. Change the way they’re treated! Didn’t you see first-hand these atrocities? Persuade your chum, the Tsar, to make Russia a constitutional monarchy,’ she said acidly.
Dimitri shook his head.
‘You mean, tell Nicholas II that he’s a tyrant, and not ordained by God Himself to rule his people as he sees fit?’
‘Exactly,’ she said.
‘Sometimes you remind me of a four-year-old who can’t get her way.’
‘You’re the child who lives in his own nursery. Open your eyes, Dimitri. Look at this suffering. But it’s not just here in this shtetl, but throughout an entire empire of a hundred thirty million people – except for you, Lara, and the Tsar.’
‘You and your father live pretty well, I’ve noticed.’
She narrowed her eyes and took a step forward.
‘And I’m ashamed of that, do you hear? It kills me to live in privilege while children live in shit. I’d give that up for a free Russia any day. At least my father treats his workers well and pays them fairly.’
Before Dimitri could answer, Katya held up her blood-stained hand to end the discussion.
‘We have to get to the hospital,’ she said as she walked back into the street.
The Jews were milling about, some carting debris out of the buildings. Katya asked a man where the hospital was, and he offered to walk her there. The people had seen her on her knees treating the injured and were eager to oblige her. Two old women had wanted her to come in and have tea, but she wouldn’t hear of it with so much work to do.
‘We can walk, it’s only a mile,’ she said grimly.
Dimitri instinctively looked around for a carriage, but there were none in sight. He took her arm, and they started walking.
After about five minutes, a wagon pulled by a half-dead gray horse appeared at the end of the road. It picked up the pace and came toward them. A peasant woman bundled up in rags was driving. When it pulled alongside of them, she hopped out with surprising agility.
‘Are you the lady doctor?’ she wailed.
Katya just nodded. The woman took hold of her fur sleeve.
‘My boy has been crushed under a pine he was felling, his leg is broken badly. The bone is sticking out through his trousers, there’s blood all over. Please come, I beg you, mistress.’
‘I’m on my way to the hospital to tend to the wounded of the pogrom,’ replied Katya calmly.
‘I beg you to come and save him. We’ll go in the wagon. It is not far. Please,’ pleaded the woman.
‘But I must go to the hospital.’
‘Mistress Doctor, he is a good Christian boy. Those people are just Jews, they can wait.’
Dimitri could see anger flush Katya’s face red. He expected her to start shouting at the peasant. But she said nothing, and only stared at the woman’s wrinkled, weather-beaten face that was racked with panic and desperation.
‘Take us to him.’
The woman kissed Katya’s hand and quickly ushered her into the back of the wagon. Dimitri followed and sat next to her. The peasant whipped the hell out of the poor horse to get it to move faster. Dimitri thought it would keel over at any second. The village, which wasn’t that close by, was a collection of sagging shacks, their roofs heavy with snow. Pulling up to a rough plank door, the woman jumped off and ran to the back of the wagon to help Katya out.
Dimitri was almost knocked down by the stench when he entered the one-room space. Except for a dim red glow coming from the big five-foot-high brick stove, the room was pitch-dark. Its one window was covered with canvas to keep the cold out, but Dimitri soon realized it wasn’t much warmer inside. As his eyes got used to the darkness, the woman lit a candle and beckoned Katya over to a corner. There under a tattered blood-stained blue blanket was a shivering boy of about twelve.
‘Stoke the fire,’ Katya commanded Dimitri. ‘His teeth are chattering.’
When Dimitri got the fire going, it threw more light in the room. Two dirt-covered, hollow-cheeked children wrapped in rags were leaning against the log wall staring at him. He took in the whole space they were in; a filthy sty with a wet bare dirt floor. It was like looking into a cesspool. Disgusted by the sight, he walked over to Katya, who had pulled the blanket off. There, protruding through his pants, was the boy’s leg bone. With a scalpel, she cut the pants leg off. Dimitri had to turn his head away. It looked like a snapped chicken bone. She asked the mother to fetch some clean water and soap, but the woman said she had no soap.
‘Dimitri, you’re going to have to help me set his leg. Find some wood for a splint.’
Going to the stove, he found two flat pieces in a pile of wood. While Katya cleaned the wound, the boy moaned loudly.
‘What is his name?’
‘Georgy, Mistress Doctor.’
‘This will hurt like hell, Georgy, but be brave like a Cossack,’ Katya said in a kind soothing voice.
‘Get hold of his shoulders, Dimitri.’
The boy screamed at the top of his lungs when Katya pushed the broken bone back in place. With deft hands, she quickly applied ointment to the wound, set the splints, and wrapped bandages around them. Impressed by her skill, Dimitri told her so, which elicited a smile from her; the first in twelve hours. By the time she finished, Georgy had calmed down, and Katya gave him some aspirin to ease the pain.
She turned to the mother. ‘The bones will knit, but if the wound gets infected, he’ll die. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, Mistress Doctor, I will change the bandage and wash the wound,’ replied the woman.
‘Where is your husband?’ Dimitri asked, gazing about the filthy room.
‘Dead from the typhus, Your Honor. My eldest boy too, may God rest his soul,’ said the woman making the sign of the cross. ‘The famine was hard on us,’ she said, pointing toward the children.
In spite of what Katya would say, Dimitri handed the peasant some coins. Outside the shack, Katya waved her hand in a broad arc toward the village. Crows were pecking away at the carcass of a cow in the snow about twenty yards away.
‘Every one of these huts is a shit-hole like hers,’ Katya said. ‘This is how one hundred million peasants live in this country of ours.’ Dimitri didn’t attempt to answer as she raged on. ‘What did you imagine? Fat happy peasants prancing through the birch groves, singing folk songs and strumming balalaikas?’
Dimitri looked down at his boots. ‘I … didn’t know.’
‘Humans have little sympathy for things that do not directly concern them,’ replied Katya coldly. ‘But don’t feel bad, I’m as guilty as you.’
‘A boy no older than ten came up to me and said, “Jew, you don’t need that other eye.” Then he plunged the stick into my only good eye.’
Katya stood over an old man sitting on the floor clutching a dirty rag to his right eye. She could see that the left eye had been blinded for many years. Its lid was fused shut. Katya gently pulled his hand away and saw a blood-filled crater where the other eye had been. She had seen many ghastly wounds in her young career, but this time she reared back – not at the sight of the injury but the story behind it. This poor man was now stone blind. She had learned to control her emotions, but she blurted out, ‘Who would do such a terrible thing?’ The old man didn’t respond.
They were in a large waiting room in the Jewish hospital stuffed with injured people moaning quietly in pain. There seemed to be dozens, and almost all had their heads bandaged. With Dimitri assisting, she continued to treat wounds. After an hour, she said to Dimitri, ‘I need a smoke.’ She nodded to the door of an adjoining room, and he followed her.
When they opened the door to what they thought was an empty room, they both stood there dumbstruck. Katya gasped in horror, and the sight paralyzed Dimitri. Corpses were lined neatly with their heads against the base of the wall, their eyes shut like they were asleep. Almost all of them had suffered death by head trauma; heads and faces were caked with dried blood and pieces of brain. One corpse’s face was beaten into an unrecognizable pulp. Most of the men were dressed in suits, and all had beards. The few women wore simple white blouses with plain dark skirts. One had no skirt or undergarments left. As Katya walked along the bodies, she came upon rows of murdered children. It was an unbelievable sight. Further down the line, a woman was standing, looking down in silence at a body that had multiple stab wounds in the stomach.
Doctor Slotski walked in. He was head physician of the hospital, in his seventies.
‘I knew most of these people. This is Rose Katsup from Gostinnii Street. She was bludgeoned to death while her grandson looked on from his hiding place. And that’s Chaim-Leib Goldis. There’s the baker, David Drachman; he was thrown off the roof of his building,’ the doctor stated calmly.
The Fabergé Secret Page 16