Читать книгу Enemy of the Tzar: A Murderess in One Country, A Tycoon in Another - Lester S. Taube - Страница 18

CHAPTER 12

Hershel saw the crowd the moment he turned the corner of the street leading to the Barlak’s house. He drew up his horse, and his mind swiftly reviewed what the reason could be for the assembly, then he saw a wagon draped in black waiting in the yard, and he kicked his horse into a fast walk.

A short distance away, he dismounted and tied his animal to a rail, and then strode rapidly to the house. He spied Jakob at the entrance and made his way through those standing around him.

“Jakob,” he said, coming up.

The Hasid turned. There was great sadness in his face.

“What’s going on?” asked Hershel.

“Mr. Barlak,” said Jakob huskily. “He died yesterday morning from a heart attack.”

“Oh, my God!” exclaimed Hershel. He peered through the doorway. It was next to impossible to single out the people inside. He turned back to Jakob. “Hanna and the children must be shattered.”

“They all are, but Hanna refuses to show it. I’m afraid she will have a breakdown before the funeral is over.”

Soon the pallbearers brought out Israel on the stretcher, the same black blanket covering his body. Those waiting in the yard drew aside to let it pass and be placed on the wagon. Hanna and the children followed, and behind them was his brother, Samuel, and his children.

Hershel was surprised at the large number of people forming behind the family–sixty-five or more. Old Katzman from Kaunas was there, the man who financed Israel’s first boat, reputed to be ninety-five-years-old, brought from his home in a specially cushioned carriage. He got out and took ten feeble steps as a sign of respect before being helped back into the vehicle. Walking by themselves followed a group of gentiles, farmers and merchants who had dealt with Israel during his boating ventures, and even the seniunas of the village, elected by the people. A smaller group followed at the rear, Russian businessmen and farmers, who felt uneasy at a Jewish affair attended by equally despised Roman Catholic Lithuanians.

As Hershel took his place beside Jakob, he could not help wondering how utterly inane was the death of Israel. From Jakob’s account, Hanna had gone into the bedroom to bring her father his morning tea, and had found him stiff as a board. He must have died in his sleep. It just did not seem right, he reasoned, for a man like Israel, who had scraped and fought his way up from the most menial work as a hod carrier to a successful career in boating, who had lived with a disability, which would have crushed much stronger men, lost a wife who was larger than life, then, on sheer guts, had picked up the pieces and taken the lead again. A man of that nature should have died in the boat accident while saving his cargo or rescuing one of his crew or by having put a bullet through his brain at the loss of Motlie, instead of in his sleep from a malfunctioning organ. A forty-one year-old-man, with his zest for life, should leave this world with the sound of kettledrums beating in his ears.

The graveside service was a short one. Staring at the fresh mound of dirt which held Motlie to the open pit into which Israel was about to be deposited was enough to stagger even the hardiest soul. Hanna stood stiffly erect, determined to hold on. Her dress bore two keri’ah, the rent in the garment of a mourner, and her face was pale with her anguish. Her hazel eyes, usually so beautifully alive, were dull with shock.

As the shovels of earth were being cast into the hole, Hanna’s legs began to give way. Her Uncle Samuel, standing behind her, stepped forward and slipped an arm around her waist, bringing her up against him. He leaned his head next to hers and whispered into her ear. With a quiver, she pushed herself upright again. Samuel held on to her for a few more seconds, then took his arm away and stepped back a pace.

Hershel spied Stephen standing at the edge of the crowd. His face was expressionless, but his eyes were fixed on Hanna. He felt a glow of hope that perhaps Stephen loved Hanna. Stephen was strong, and his social position was secure enough to make a good life for the two of them if it came to that.

Jakob nudged him in the ribs and brought him out of his reverie to listen to the family recite the kaddish, and then everyone began walking back to the house for the meal that was custom.

Hanna made it home without weakening again, her shoulders squared and her jaw set and firm. But her mind throbbed with the terrible loss of the anchor of her life. How could she ever believe that her beloved father was not waiting in the kitchen or in the barn to listen to the news of the day? Or to say in his offhanded way how she should handle a problem that was troubling her? Now she was completely alone. Her sorrowful thoughts muddled her intellect.

She ran with abandon into her parents’ bedroom and fell heartsick onto the bed. The tears came, but brought no solace or lifting of the fog shrouding her brain. She was frightened, but was unable to figure out why. The anguish, pouring from her, blocked all reasoning to see beyond the hideous agony that seared her heart.

Then the door opened, and through her tears, she saw Stephen standing there. He closed it gently and leaned back against it, his face grim. Dear, wonderful, loyal Stephen. She realized how much it must have cost him to walk into the house, through the crowd of staring strangers whose hatred he could actually smell, and then into the bedroom. Oblivious, he sensed only that Hanna needed him. And seconds later, as she sprang to her feet and into his waiting embrace, he knew that he would gladly walk through fire just to console her.

He held her tightly, rocking her in his powerful arms, resting his cheek against the top of her head, feeling her shake with tears of grief.

“It’s all right, my darling,” he said softly. “Everything will be all right. I will watch out over you.”

She leaned hard against his chest, and little by little she felt a resurgence of her strength.

After a while, Stephen said, “I’d better go now. Is there anything that you need?”

She shook her head. “Just you coming here, your comfort, your love. Thank you, Stephen. Can you come back later tonight?”

“Of course I will. When?”

“Make it late, when the children are in bed. About eight.”

He nodded, kissed the tear streaked cheek, and then left the room. Hanna stayed a little longer, slowly regaining her composure. When she went to the kitchen, most of the people inside avoided her eyes, pretending to be engrossed in a conversation or looking elsewhere. They were embarrassed for her.

By sundown, all of the people had left for their homes. Hanna, Jakob, and Hershel sat outside on the wooden bench against one wall of the house, the children resting on boxes around them. The night was balmy, stars emerging from the paleness of the sky, a soft breeze flowing in from the Nemunas to help settle the dust of the hot August sun. The scent of roses, planted by Motlie so many years ago, perfumed the atmosphere.

Hershel did not beat around the bush. “Hanna, Jakob and I want to talk to you about our boarding here.”

Hanna looked at him anxiously. She knew what was coming, and she dreaded the outcome, for the two men represented the major income for the family, exceeding the Sunday churchgoers and her salary.

She sighed in resignation. Another blow about to fall. “I understand, Hershel. Without Mama, Papa…”

Hershel gave his slow, crooked grin. “I don’t think you do understand. Look at Jakob over there. In four weeks he has put on three or four kilos. Pretty soon, we’ll have to start calling him ‘fatty’.” It was true. He had put on weight. But the greatest change was in his demeanor; a calmness and peace he had lacked at his arrival. “Anyhow,” continued Hershel, “we spoke with Rabbi Warnitski this afternoon, and he agrees that your reputation won’t be shattered if we stay on here.” Hanna’s face registered disbelief, and then her eyes clouded over. “We know,” went on Hershel hastily to forestall the tears, “that it may be difficult, working, preparing meals, and all that, but we won’t mind pitching in.”

“I could kiss you both,” she said, overcome with emotion. Then she smiled. “But Jakob would be ruined for life.”

Jakob chuckled. It was good to see her smile. He had experienced a pang of resentment when Stephen had gone into the bedroom where Hanna was mourning and had closed the door behind him. It had not completely surprised him, this notion of displeasure, for he had the same feeling whenever Hanna occupied herself with the Russian, or even when she spoke with complete attention to Hershel. He enjoyed bantering with her, and having others about seemed to interrupt this pleasant game.

“I have to tell you,” he said with a straight face, “that I have kissed a girl not of the family.”

Hershel pretended shock. “No!” he exclaimed. He looked severely at the children hanging onto every word. “I want all of you to stick your fingers in your ears,” he ordered them. “Jakob may make a revelation that young people shouldn’t hear.”

They started laughing. “Tell us, Jakob,” said Gitel. “Who did you kiss?”

“A very pretty girl,” he said, nodding his head in deep memory. He stared at each one deliberately; his lips pursed; his eyes narrowed. “I did it as a bet,” he slowly added.

“A bet!” chortled Hershel. “Hurry up, Jakob. The suspense is driving me crazy. Who was she?”

Jakob took a deep breath. “A neighbor’s doll,” he burst out, his eyes sparkling. “I was five years old.” The children screeched with glee.