Enemy of the Tzar Page 4

  “Motlie,” he said. “You are a marvel. Such challah should be placed in a museum so people can see perfection.”

  Motlie waved her hand depreciatingly, but everyone could see that she was pleased at the compliment. “Such a tale should be put into a museum. Anyhow, it’s the oven. Israel built it himself. Did you know that?”

  The rabbi turned to Israel with surprise. “You did that?”

  “My father, alav ha-sholom, may his soul rest in peace, was a mason, and I worked with him when I was a youngster. Some of it rubbed off.” He nodded his head with fond remembrance. “He was such a perfectionist that you wouldn’t believe. A mechanic, everyone called him.”

  “Israel,” said the rabbi. “I have a question to ask of you and Motlie. I know you have Hershel Bloch boarding here now. Could you put up with another boarder? First of all, he’s my first cousin’s son, from Minsk. My cousin wants him in the countryside to get fresh air, and he asked me to look after him.”

  Israel glanced at Motlie, who signaled her acceptance at once. Having another boarder was stacking luck on luck. “Well, we do have an extra room upstairs. Hershel said he wanted to sleep alone, so they can’t double up.”

  The rabbi took another sip of tea and set himself more firmly in the chair. “He will pay three rubles a week, like Bloch,” he said, then coughed delicately behind his hand. “However, I should explain one thing. My cousin is a Hasid.”

  Israel sat up straighter with astonishment. “And the young man?”

  “Him, too.”

  It took Israel a moment or two to digest the remark. “There are no Hasidic congregations here,” he said carefully, in the sudden quiet of the room.

  “He knows that.” He leaned closer to Israel. “The boy is twenty-five years old, and is so learned that the congregation considers him a marvel.” There was unmistakable pride in his voice. “He studies twelve, fourteen hours a day, sleeps only to dream about Torah, barely eats, and is so thin that he is just skin and bones. My cousin wants him away for a few months, away from the books, the shtetl.”

  “Did his rebbe give him permission?”

  Warnitski raised his hands in resignation. “My cousin is the rebbe,” he replied flatly. There was an even greater silence at that comment. He turned to Motlie. “The way you cook, you could put kilos on him overnight. Most of all…” his voice grew tender, “…this is a house full of love.”

  Israel sat quietly for a few seconds trying to sort out his emotions. “Thank you, Rabbi, but I don’t know what to say.”

  “Why not say, yes?”

  Israel chuckled. “Why not, is right. All right, we’ll take him. When is he coming?”

  “Tomorrow morning. I’ll keep him for the noon meal, then bring him over.”

  When the rabbi had gone, Hanna asked, “What is a Hasid, Papa?” She had heard the term used occasionally, but only with an expression of depreciation. They were said to be ultra orthodox Jews.

  “I don’t really know,” he replied. “I’m not even sure whether there are any in Lithuania. I do know that most of them live in Poland and Byelorussia.”

  “Do you mean to say that you do not like them even though you don’t know anything about them?” she asked, indignantly.

  That was Hanna, thought Israel. You cannot make a comment without her punching holes in it. But she’s right, he had to agree. He did not like Hasids for any reason at all, good or bad. And that is being prejudiced. Like the goyim thinking we kill babies to use their blood for ceremonies. As stupid as that.

  “Well, it’s all hearsay. Their rabbis, they call them rebbes, tell them what they can do and can’t do. I don’t think they can even take a job without the rebbe’s permission.”

  “That can’t be right,” said Hanna, almost snapping.

  “Well, that’s what they say,” He was glad to hear the arrival of the first farmer. Coming under Hanna’s guns was most discomforting, especially when one was not sure of one’s ground. But they would learn about Hasids soon enough.

  The first man to come was one he had dealt with during the period he sailed his boat to Prussia and Poland, and they had remained on good terms over the years. He was accompanied by his wife and two teen-aged sons, and while the two men talked, the boys unhitched the horse, placed him in a stall, then gave him a measure of grain they had brought along. The sleek, well-groomed animal was a pleasure to behold. In the next stall was the family cow, swollen with calf, ready to give birth any day. The farmer gave Gitel a small coin for fetching water, lit his pipe, then discussed the crop situation until his wife’s impatient look prompted him to knock out the ash and lead his family to the local Catholic church.

  Soon the remainder of the Sunday traffic had arrived, said their hellos, and gone off also. The Mass usually lasted an hour and a half, then they trooped back together, old friends through over the years, and took their usual challah and tea. The Barlaks collected over a ruble, plus small tips to Gitel and Reba.

  Hanna felt a great relief. From out of the blue, the fortunes of the family had improved, with two boarders bringing in six rubles each week, and the farmers still coming. Yet Hanna’s thoughts regarding practical matters had begun to take second place to her sweet reveries of that afternoon on the river bank with Stephen.

  When all had gone, she happily helped Motlie prepare for the Sunday lunch. It was the main meal of the day, and they baked some of the fish that Stephen and she had caught. They waited a few extra minutes for Hershel, who had taken off directly after breakfast, and who came riding up just after noon on a horse he had rented from a nearby farmer.

  After eating and cleaning up the kitchen, Hanna said she was taking a walk, and made her way to the igloo shaped rock formation where Stephen was waiting with his rods and bait. Their faces flushed with eagerness, they got into the boat. This time he did not drop anchor at the fishing spot, but rowed directly to the woods they had visited yesterday. At the edge of the field, to their left, two boys were fishing from shore, so Stephen led Hanna further among the trees. There, they fell into each other’s arms, hungry for the other’s lips, their bodies pressed tightly together. He drew her down to the forest floor, and they kissed long and hard, stopping only to catch their breath. Full of desire, but knowing the dangers that could develop, they drew apart and lay on their backs, Hanna’s head resting on Stephen’s arm.

  “I’ve been thinking and thinking about us,” Stephen finally said, his chest rising and falling with his emotion.

  “I have been thinking also.”

  He turned his head towards her. “Do you still love me, Hanna?”

  She moved forward and kissed his cheek adoringly. “You know I do. I always will.” She placed her arm over his chest, thrilled by the muscles she felt there. “When will you be returning to the university?”

  “In about two months.”

  “Oh, Stephen,” she said happily. “That is a world of time. How long will you be away then?”

  “Until the Christmas vacation.”

  She gently pulled him down and kissed his lips, hard. His arms captured her tightly. When they drew away, she looked into his clear blue eyes, and they reminded her of a cloudless summer sky just after a fierce rain. “It will seem like forever.”

  “For me too,” He leaned over her. “Hanna, I must finish school. But when I do, we could marry in a civil ceremony. I spoke to a friend of mine who said they will not ask either of us to convert. But they will say, in the name of Jesus Christ, at the end. Would that be all right?”

  “I don’t know, Stephen. I must think about it. I’m not sure I would really feel married that way. And even if we went through a civil ceremony, how could we live together? You know what it would be like.”

  He kissed her tenderly on the lips and his hand shyly cupped one of her breasts. “I have the answer for that, too. We would move to a large city–Vilnius, or even to Russia itself. They don’t make as much of a fuss of mixed marriages as people do in villages.”

  “I
could never leave the family. They are my life, like you.”

  “They could come with us, you know.”

  “Come with us! They may never forgive me for marrying out of the faith. Some parents even sit shiv’ah for a child who does that. You know, mourn her as dead.”

  But Hanna could barely think straight, with his hand caressing her breast, setting her afire. His hand slipped between the buttons of her shirt waist and under her camisole onto her bare flesh. Mind reeling, her lips went slack under his with desire. “Stephen, Stephen,” she moaned.

  He reached beneath her petticoat to her underpants, pulling them down and caressing the soft pubic hair.

  She abruptly pulled away, her eyes wild, her mouth gasping for air, suffused with love and want of him, yet knowing surely that they must go no further.

  Stephen was instantly contrite. “I’m sorry, Hanna,” he said hoarsely. “Please forgive me. I don’t know what came over me.”

  She buried her face in his arm.

  “I wouldn’t do anything to harm you. Ever. You know that, don’t you?”

  “I know. It’s not easy for me, either.”

  They lay together quietly, the fires inside raging, knowing they had teetered on the brink of an action so vital to their future that they were both appalled.

  After a while, she took his hand in hers, feeling the strength that lay behind tender touch. “How much longer must you go to the university?”

  “Two more years.”

  “That is a long way off.

  “It’s worth waiting for. To me, it is.” He pressed her hand. “But I wish we didn’t have to wait. The trouble is that I have no money.”

  “We will manage somehow when the time comes.”

  “Will you wait for me?”

  “I’ll wait, Stephen.”

  They really never knew what happened after that point. The first thing Hanna realized was that after a long, ardent kiss, Stephen was lying on top of her and guiding himself gently into her. Although it hurt for a few seconds, she was too full of the want of him to draw back. Her heart cried out his name, and her lips could only whisper, “I love you. I love you.” Stephen was hers, now and forever, and whatever he wanted of her, from one end of this life to the other, was his.

  Then she felt him fully inside her, and the most glorious sense swept over her body. She grasped him tightly so he could experience the same thrill of belonging, the exquisite pleasure of togetherness. The soaring reached a zenith, hovered for the merest flash of infinity, and she began falling downward, faster and faster, racing down wildly until she was a comet’s trail shooting sparks into the void.

  Suddenly, at the very nadir of the plunge, at the instant of her crash, she zoomed straight up, and a cry of savage ecstasy broke from her lips, draining all awareness, all sensation of body. In the distance, she heard herself crying, “Stephen. Stephen.”

  He lay quietly atop her, breathing as hard as she, his chest rising and falling against her breasts. After a while, he raised his head and kissed her lips.

  “I love you, Hanna,” was all he could say.

  She sighed and twisted her face into his chest.

  He held her closely in his arms. It was the most wonderful experience of his life, he thought over and over, one that he could share only with her. He thanked his lucky stars that he had waited for her. There could never be anyone else but her. No matter how far away he must go or for how long, he would have no other woman.

  Then a notion shook him violently. He remembered that making love could make her pregnant. He drew away from her with sudden anxiety. “Hanna,” he said urgently, his face tight with worry. “You could become pregnant, couldn’t you?”

  She pulled down her petticoat and skirt, then she saw her bloomers off to one side. How they had gotten there was beyond her understanding. Part of her awareness noted spots of blood on her skirt.

  But Stephen’s question was booming in her mind. “I don’t know. My cousin, Zelda, said it was safe to be with a boy if it was a week or so before…you know.”

  Stephen was not about to make light of the subject. “Do you mean your menstrual period?”

  Hanna was regaining control of herself. “Yes.”

  “How about yourseIf?”

  She took a deep breath. “I should have my flow in two or three days.”

  Stephen let out a long sigh of relief. Deep inside, he rather hoped she would become pregnant. Then she would have to marry him, regardless of religion, university, or family. But he had to admit it was much better not to have to face a crisis of that nature at this time.

  He took her into his arms and pulled her back to the ground, kissing her tenderly and murmuring words of love, his hand more confidently exploring her body, going inside her waist shirt again and over her camisole to a soft, warm breast.

  The sounds of the boys fishing from the field came to their ears. They were walking in their direction. Quickly the two got up, brushed off their clothes, then, locking hands, their eyes full of love and tenderness for each other, they returned to the boat.

  There was still light to fish by, and in almost no time, Hanna boated two fish and Stephen one. But there was no longer the heady excitement of yesterday, for it paled before the ardor they had shared only a short time ago.

  CHAPTER 5

  The following day, directly after lunch, Hershel packed a small case, saddled his horse, and rode to Slabodka. He went through the small, bustling town and started over the wooden bridge, traversing the narrow Neris River to Kaunas, his horse’s shoes thumping upon the heavy planks. Riding the ten versts from Gremai had been good exercise for both the horse and the expert rider on his back.

  Kaunas was a strange looking city, he thought, compared to most of those in Europe. Having been initially built as a fortress, to aid in its defensive role, the Russians, upon their seizure of the city, had decreed that no house could rise higher than two stories, and set about demolishing those which did. But since the four storied city hall, known throughout the country as the White Swan, and the equally high, twin steepled Jesuit church to the left of the bridge were national landmarks, the Russians made a reluctant exception. However, to counter the fact that Kaunas contained the Vytautas-The-Great Church, erected five hundred years ago in honor of the Grand Prince, the Russians built the Sobor, a magnificent three domed Byzantine Orthodox church that dominated the new part of the city and stood as high as the Jesuit’s. It was purposely placed near to the railroad station so it would command the eye from near and afar, and thereby explain to the Roman Catholics and the Jews alike just which religion ruled here.

  On the main street was a glistening, white stone and marble theater, renowned for its fine operas and ballets. A few blocks further on was an open rotunda of the same white stone and marble, decorated extensively with rococo work, held up by a score of tall, slender columns. It was an outdoor concert hall, set in a park of carefully tended flower beds and shade trees.

  Across from the park was the library, again of the white stone and marble, huge, square, of a modern design, with tall, narrow windows. A series of semicircular steps led up to the entrance.

  Hershel dismounted, tied his horse to a hitching rail, tipped the horsewatcher a coin to make certain the animal remained on its best behavior and did not begin kicking out at those nearby, and trotted up the twenty or so steps. Inside it was cool, but well illuminated by electric lights that the Governor had ordered installed as one of the first projects in the city. A voracious reader, the library was his favorite haunt. A guard at the doorway, colorfully uniformed with a polished saber at his side, glanced at Hershel, took in the fine clothing, then turned back to gazing off into space.

  In the main reading room were a score or more of mahogany tables with matching naval captain’s chairs. At the far side were two large oak doors. A gendarme, stiffly alert, sat at a small table in front of the doors. Only those with special passes were permitted inside, for here were found the Lithuanian and Polish referenc
e books. For more than a hundred years, no publications in those languages had been permitted outside of official storage areas. However, since Poland had spawned scores of excellent writers, a large number of their books had been kept for private use only.

  Katrine was seated at the end of a line of tables, and as Hershel walked up, he was once again captivated by her beauty. He angled his approach to see her thick, red-brown hair, shimmering with life, hanging in a single braid nearly to the floor. She sat totally erect, as if a soldier on parade, and her high, full breasts rose gently as she breathed. She was unlike any woman he had met. While others avoided the harsh damaging rays of the sun, huddling under parasols at the first hint of tanning, she gloried in its warmth, and had a golden hue over every part of her body.

  She must have sensed him, for she looked up and pinned him with those brilliant gray-green eyes that drew you in like a suction cup. Her wide, sensitive lips crinkled in a welcoming smile.

  He sat across from her, feasting his eyes, drinking in the magnetism she radiated. She knew better than to speak, for Hershel would never forgive her for interrupting one of his ways of saying how much he loved her.

  After a while, he took a deep breath and sighed. “You are the most magnificent woman on this earth,” he said softly. “Hello. I adore you.”

  “Hello, my darling. I love you, too.” She smiled in that slow, eye catching manner that played on his sensations like the twang of a harp string. “Did you completely undress me with that look?”

  He chuckled, his arms aching to reach across the table and haul her over to his side. “No. I stopped at your petticoat. God knows I would have an accident in my trousers if I peeked under that.”

  She laughed in her smooth, sensible tone, pinpoints of a flush on her cheeks.

  Countess Katrine Fedorovna Borodin knew she was a beautiful woman. Scores of men had told her so, from the time she was fifteen, ten years ago, up to only five minutes before Hershel arrived, when a distinguished gentleman, certainly in his sixties, had stopped by her table, bowed gracefully, then said in fluent French that he was honored to find such beauty in a setting that normally drew brains instead of form. Then he had bowed again and left. There were times she would have preferred to be less attractive, for hearing the same refrain a thousand or more times became a bore. Hershel had changed that. Falling in love with him made her eager to be beautiful–for him.