Читать книгу Two Suns - Дмитрий Наринский - Страница 9

A couple of months later, Yakov returned to fetch his family. He had departed with a heavy heart, venturing into the unknown, but he returned with confidence that everything would fall into place as it should.

In the mid-1920s, as new societies, artels, and trusts emerged almost daily, there arose a need not just for laborers – there was plenty of that – but for people who were savvy and resourceful. Fortunately, Yakov managed to find a job rather swiftly. As a citizen of Jewish origin in a new place, the natural course was to approach the synagogue – they always offered help to their own people.

They advised him to seek out a certain Baruch Berkovich, the headman of a construction artel. Fortunately for Yakov, but to the dismay of Baruch, the artel's foreman had gone rogue and was expelled in disgrace. This was the perfect opportunity for Maretsky senior to utilize his experience as a traveling salesman, his negotiation skills, and, of course, his imposing appearance. «Schtark vl a ferd – strong as a horse,» his father used to say about him. The short, stocky Baruch gave Yakov a shrewd look but sternly inquired:

«Where are you from? What can you do?»

«From Henichesk…» And briefly, Yakov recounted what he had been doing since he was very young. He was immediately hired. The new occupation suited him perfectly, and he quickly became an indispensable assistant to the headman. Baruch even helped him with housing, introducing him to the right people.

* * *

Yakov shared all this with his family as they hurriedly packed up their rustic belongings. The journey was arduous, especially for Maria, but finally, they arrived in Moscow…

The capital immediately overwhelmed them with the clamor of the station square, the shouts of merchants, the clang of street – cars, and the rumble of wrought iron wheels on the sidewalk. In the evening, it dazzled them with bright shop windows and lights, astounding them with the abundance of advertising, especially in the main streets. Mark was enthralled. Since childhood, he had possessed the ability to marvel at even the smallest things and to find the extraordinary in the ordinary. Consequently, he immediately fell in love with the diverse and vibrant crowd, and with the seemingly endless streets that the streetcar carried them along from the station. The young provincial barely had enough time to turn his head, observing passers-by and reading the bright, promising signs: «Artel of Gastronomic Goods,» «Confectionery Cooperative,» «Metallotrest: Our Drills, Scythes, Axes – all Strong and Sharp.»

«Look at The Haberdashery Manufactories! It's not like the Bersov's store; have you seen their window?!» Mark marveled, familiar with the wisdom of trade from childhood, and astonished by the capital's grand scale.

«Anna, look, look, look! This is how the capital dresses!» Mark even leaned out of the window to catch a glimpse of the elegant girls – the kind he had only seen in movies – emerging from the arcade doors.

«Don't break your neck,» his father chuckled.

«Oh, the dresses are so beautiful…» Anna caught her brother's mood, and her apprehension towards passers-by transformed into curiosity.

«I'll get you a dress, don't worry.»

«You're boasting, son. Moscow has a temperament; it won't accept just anyone.»

In reality, Yakov, who himself had never been afraid to embark on a new venture, was pleased.

«We'll be kind to it, so why shouldn't it accept us!»

«You're quite the braggart, Mark!» The sarcastic tone held no malice; his sister trusted him wholeheartedly.

Only Maria did not share her family's optimism. Pale and exhausted from the journey she could barely bear the stifling heat in the crowded streetcar and tried not to sigh too loudly so as not to upset her husband and children. Only occasionally did she whisper to herself, «Meshuggah, meshuggah.» Yes, to newcomers, this city often seemed a little crazy.

* * *

They arrived at a rented apartment on 3rd Meshchanskaya Street, two cramped rooms without a kitchen – quite a fortune for those times. Yakov had deliberately chosen this neighborhood for its proximity to the former Sheremetev Hospital, now transformed into the Institute of Emergency Care, located on Bolshaya Sukharevskaya Square. Just in front of the hospital, standing like a fairy-tale palace at the foot of the renowned Sukharev Tower, was the bustling main market of the capital. The Moscow Soviet had closed down the market during the revolutionary turmoil, denouncing it as a «hotbed of speculation and crime.» However, with the advent of the New Economic Policy (NEP), trade had spontaneously revived, nearly matching its previous scale.

Thus, a new chapter in the family's history began. At home, Anna diligently cared for her mother, managed the household, and attended typing courses, while Mark found employment in his father's artel. The years of revolution and war communism had left many buildings dilapidated, necessitating not just repairs but restoration as well. Simultaneously, new constructions were unfolding, leading to numerous orders for their brigade. The team was friendly, and Baruch, the leader, meticulously selected personnel based on reliable recommendations, ensuring smooth holidays and the observance of the Sabbath.

In the evenings and on weekends, Mark took the opportunity to explore the unfamiliar cityscape. Following a self-imposed rule, he ventured from the center, the Kremlin, into different directions, acquainting himself with the city, its customs, and its habits – traversing on foot or aboard streetcars like a true Muscovite. Everything was new and surprising, but when he reached the Moskva River, the bustling wharves reminded him of his native port, and he felt at home.

His exploration initially centered on the neighborhoods of Sretenka and Meshchanskaya Sloboda, where intricate facades of revenue houses stood alongside sturdy stone buildings from the last century and wooden two-story shacks inhabited by a diverse and often unreliable population. The Sukharevsky market was a place to be cautious about, and Anna was strictly forbidden from going there alone. Yakov also warned his son, «Don't venture in there unless necessary; it's not a place for leisure. And keep a close eye on your pockets!»

As understandable as his father's instructions were, they proved challenging to follow in practice, given that nearly all roads led through the market. The adjacent streets, filled with shops, stores, and inns, were essentially an extension of it. Yet, the newly minted Muscovite found this unusual place fascinating. He visited as if attending the movies, gaining experience from the sights and sounds. And when he sensed suspicious glances – «he's prowling around, seeking out a thief; there are plenty of hooligans now» – he would cautiously retreat, imagining himself as a protagonist of a detective story. There was something elusive that drew him to the market.

One Sunday, as he strolled along the rows, he heard a sudden commotion behind him – shouting, whistling, and cursing, as if a wave of chaos was approaching. From a distance, Mark had witnessed such occurrences before. As he turned around, he saw a boy emerging from the sea of people, pushing him, and then disappearing into the crowd. Mark could have apprehended the hoodlum, but for an instant, their eyes met, and he found himself frozen. Following closely behind was a policeman, shrilly whistling, and a short while later, a panting, bewildered, heavy-set citizen arrived.

The scene played out as a typical occurrence in the market. Mark noticed that no one else in the crowd seemed bothered, and life resumed its normal pace. Nevertheless, the weight in his pocket felt unusual, prompting him to reach for the source of the heaviness.

Once out of the crowd, he ducked into the first alley to examine the «foundling» – a costly cigarette case. «What should I do? Should I go to the authorities?» he pondered, feeling perplexed. He couldn't understand why he refrained from apprehending the thief, a blueeyed, attractive young man who appeared to be around his age. There was something in the thief's gaze that halted him – perhaps slyness, as if they were comrades sharing a secret, or an undeniable, composed seriousness. Mark was certain that he wasn't going to take any action. Was it compassion, a sense of camaraderie, or maybe fear of the consequences, knowing the ways of the local public? Whatever it was, fear wasn't what he felt.

«Discard it! Toss it away and forget it,» his self-preservation instinct whispered, urging him to make the sensible choice. But he couldn't bring himself to do it. Instead, he secretively stashed the cigarette case under the mattress at home. A surprising thought crossed his mind: «This is my first secret…» Strangely enough, within the friendly Maretsky family, secrets, even when they surfaced (mostly about the boys' mischief), had a tendency to be revealed swiftly.

He hadn't yet decided what to do with the stolen item, but from that day on, every time he passed through the market, he searched for the pickpocket. Mark couldn't help but wonder if the thief had been caught on that ill-fated morning. Nights were spent restlessly, cursing himself for unwittingly becoming an accomplice.

A week or two later, while leaving the house, Maretsky nearly collided with the blue-eyed pickpocket.

«Sacha,» the unpunished thief introduced himself briefly, extending his hand.

Mark introduced himself and shook the grubby, five-fingered hand. Surprisingly, a sense of relief washed over him – he saw a way out of the delicate situation.

«Why didn't you report me? I could've been caught,» the pickpocket inquired, studying Mark with unabashed interest.

«I had second thoughts,» Mark admitted, realizing that he indeed had.

«Well, I'm grateful,» the pickpocket remarked jokingly, extending his gratitude. «Where's the item? Did you get rid of it already?»

«You're insulting me! It's right there, waiting for you. Let me get it for you.»

When the item was returned to its rightful owner, Mark finally breathed a sigh of relief. Sacha inspected the cigarette case and expressed his dismay:

«Oh, what a waste of effort. And it was such a serious gentleman.»

«What's wrong?»

«I don't believe it's gold. Well, I might get a few pennies for it, at least.»

As they strolled together towards the square, Mark couldn't help but ponder how this newfound acquaintance defied the stereotypical image of a street thief. Sacha was a blond, well-built but notably thin young man with delicate features and an exceptionally smooth way of speaking. Something about him didn't quite add up.

Nevertheless, that day marked a significant turning point for Mark – unexpectedly, he had found a friend.

* * *

The more Maretsky got to know Sacha, who happened to be a year younger than him, the more he understood why he hadn't reported him. Sacha Voisky hailed from Tver, born to an officer in a destitute noble family and a former maid. He recounted his life with a subdued demeanor, devoid of any emotion.

«The last time I saw my father was in 18. He returned from active duty, from the war. It was barely a week, and then he left to fight again, this time against the Bolsheviks. He assured me he'd be back soon, said they wouldn't last long,» Sacha paused for a moment. «But you see how it turned out… He vanished, and I haven't heard from him since.»

While such a narrative was sadly common during those times, it remained no less tragic. His mother was left grappling with desperate attempts to find work. Eventually, she fell in with a lover, a shadowy figure who elicited persistent disdain from the young boy. This new «father» coaxed them into relocating to Moscow.

Once in Moscow, the stepfather engaged in dubious dealings in the Sukharevsky market and soon got carved up, right in front of Sacha's mother. Since then, as his newfound friend recounted, she had been «a bit out of sorts,» and Sacha took on the role of the sole breadwinner.

* * *

Despite living in different worlds, the two young men shared much in common: their curiosity and hunger for new experiences led them to seek out and discover the wonders of the big city. Although Sacha held some disdain for Moscow, he acknowledged its abundance of attractions – movies, theaters, museums, and the plethora of newspapers and magazines. Their mutual passion for reading connected them effortlessly. Mark undeniably lagged behind Sacha, the latter being reared under the vigilant guidance of his father from his tender years. And Mark admired Sacha's remarkable memory; he could remember the contents of all the books he had read and could even quote from them. They often exchanged books, though it seemed that Sacha had somehow acquired some rare volumes from the Sukharevsky market.

By that time, Mark had been toiling at the brickyard, having joined the school of the working youth, and he convinced Sacha to do the same, persuading him that his intellectual prowess warranted pursuing higher education at an institute.

«Are you kidding me? You want me to become part of the working youth?» Sacha sadly protested.

«Well, first you'll have to get a job at the factory. I'll ask around. I think Baruch has a brother-in-law at the candy factory. I'll also ask my foreman. But it might be tough for you at the brick factory,» replied Mark.

«I'm not afraid of hard work. But don't you see? I'm disadvantaged!» argued Sacha.

«What kind of nonsense are you talking about? Nobody here knows about your father,» Mark playfully jested. «And besides, why would you consider yourself disadvantaged? You have everything.»

«What do you mean, 'everything'?» Sacha slyly squinted and tapped his forehead. «What about this?»

«That's exactly what I'm saying! You've got a brilliant mind!» Mark emphasized.

«Maybe we should seriously give it a try,» Sacha finally conceded.

Mark was delighted; it seemed he had successfully convinced his friend. However, Sacha's shenanigans did not hold much appeal for him. Besides, the New-Sukharevsky market, with its orderly rows of stalls and vigilant guards, was a far cry from a place he found enjoyable.

Meanwhile, Sacha was captivated by the idea of pursuing higher education. He began making plans, yet remained undecided about his future. He felt he could excel at anything he put his mind to.

Unfortunately, fate had other plans. On a warm April evening, the two friends attended an operetta that had opened six months prior – a musical performance of Dunayevsky's Grooms. Although it was a comedy, Sacha was preoccupied with worries about his mother, who had been drinking heavily with a neighbor the previous day.

The performance ended late, and as Sacha returned home, he noticed a commotion near his house. Smoke and flames emerged from the cellar window where he and his mother resided in a tiny room. Fueled by desperation, he pushed through the crowd to reach the burning building. Despite attempts to hold him back, he broke through the fire. Tragically, a burning beam collapsed at that moment. The firemen managed to rescue him, but he was left unconscious and severely burned.

For three days, Mark visited both patients in the emergency room. His mother had been struggling with another course of treatment for two weeks, while Sacha remained unconscious due to his injuries. And thus, Mark lost his best friend…

The trees along the boulevards were veiled in a green haze, and the air carried the intoxicating scents of young leaves, freshness, and damp earth, along with something intangible and exhilarating. This time of year always held the promise of something new, something positive – a sense of renewal. And yet, it was also a time of profound loss!

Mark wandered the streets in a daze. Despite his naturally optimistic disposition, always meeting difficulties with a smile, he felt utterly bewildered. The tragic loss of his best friend had taken him by surprise, leaving him emotionally disoriented. Even his beloved books, which had always been close companions, couldn't provide solace during this trying time.

Witnessing his son's profound distress, the seasoned Yakov shared his wisdom:

«Life goes on, my son. You have to carry on despite the pain of loss. It'll hurt, and that's something you'll have to live with. But believe me, only hard work can ease that pain, little by little, yet it will never completely vanish.»

Mark, on the verge of tears, looked up at his father. The words continued to flow:

«So, all I can advise you, my son, is to work diligently, study diligently. Don't give up, no matter what challenges come your way. And be prepared for other losses that life may bring.»

«Daddy, is this your way of comforting him?» Anna was taken aback by her father's unexpected speech.

«I'm not trying to comfort him. Everyone has to find their own way to cope. I'm simply trying to prepare him for the realities of adulthood,» Yakov explained.

«I understand now, Dad. Thank you,» Mark replied gratefully.

* * *

Two years later, Maria also passed away. With his school days behind him, Mark felt a newfound clarity of purpose. He could now embark on his journey to Leningrad, where his dreams of the sky beckoned him.

Beloved little sister, who was experiencing a difficult farewell, and their father remained in the capital. But for Mark Maretsky the Moscow chapter of his life had come to an end, and in that moment, it seemed as if it were for good.