The Red Symbol
Page 36
CHAPTER XXXIV
THE OLD JEW
We halted for the night at a small town, with some five or six thousandinhabitants as I judged, of whom three-fourths appeared to be Jews.Compared with the villages we had passed, the place was a flourishingone; and seemed quiet enough, though here again, as at Wilna and Riga,there was something ominous in the air. Nearly all the business was inthe hands of the Jews; and their shops and houses, poor enough,according to civilized notions, were far and away more prosperouslooking than those of their Russian neighbors; while their synagogue wasthe most imposing block in the town, which is not saying much, perhaps.
We put up at the best inn in the place, where we found fresh horseswaiting us, as we had done at a village half-way on our day's march,under the care of a couple of men in uniform. There was a telegraph wireto Zostrov, and Mishka had sent word of our coming. I learned laterthat, when the Grand Duke was in residence, a constant line ofcommunication was maintained with relays of horses for carriages orriders between the Castle and the railroad.
I had wondered, when Mishka told me the arrangements for the journey,why on earth motor cars weren't used over this last stage, but when Ifound what the roads were like, when there were any roads at all, Iguessed it was wise to rely on horses, and on the light and strongRussian travelling carriages that go gayly over the roughest track,rather than on the best built motor procurable.
The landlord of the inn was a Jew, of course,--a lean old man withgreasy ear locks and a long beard, above which his hooked nose lookedlike the beak of a dejected eagle. He welcomed us with cringingeffusion, and gave us of his best. I'd have thought the place filthy, ifI hadn't seen and smelt those Russian villages; but it was wellappointed in a way. The dinner-table, set in the one bedroom which wewere to share, so that we might dine privately and in state, was spreadwith a cloth, which, though grimy to a degree, was of fine damask, anddisplayed forks, spoons, and candlesticks of solid silver. The frowsysheets and coverlids on the three beds were of linen and silk. EvidentlyMoses Barzinsky was a wealthy man; and his wife,--a fat dame, with beadyeyes and a preposterous black wig,--served us up as good a meal as I'veever tasted. I complimented her on it when she brought in the samovar;for here, in the wilds, it didn't seem to matter about keeping up mypretended ignorance of the language. She was flattered, and assumedquite a motherly air towards me; she didn't cringe like her husband. AsI sat there, sipping my tea, and chatting with her, I little guessedwhat would befall the comfortable, homely, good-tempered old lady a veryfew days hence. Mishka listened in disapproving silence to ourinterchange of badinage, and, when our hostess retreated, he entered ona grumbling protest.
"You are very indiscreet," he grunted. "Why do you want to chatter witha thing like that?"
He jerked his pipe towards the doorway; Mishka despised the cigarettewhich, to every other Russian I have met, seems as necessary to life asthe air he breathes; and when he hadn't a cigar fell back on adistinctly malodorous briar.
"Why in thunder shouldn't I talk to her?" I demanded. "She's the onlycreature I've heard laugh since I got back into Holy Russia; it cheersone up a bit, even to look at her!"
"You are a fool," was his complimentary retort. "And she isanother--like all women--or she would know these are no days forlaughter. But, I tell you once more, you cannot be too cautious. Youmust remember that you know no Russian. You are only an American who hascome to help the prince while away his time of exile by trying to turnthe Zostrov _moujiks_ into good farmers. That, in itself, is a form ofmadness, of course, but doubtless they think it may keep him out of moredangerous mischief."
"Who are 'they'? I wish you'd be a bit more explicit," I remonstrated.He did make me angry sometimes.
"That is not my business," he answered stolidly. "My business is to obeyorders, and one of those is to bring you safely to Zostrov."
I could not see how my innocent conversation with the fat Jewishhousewife could endanger the safety of either of us; but I had alreadylearned that it was quite useless to argue with Mishka; so, adoptingBrer Fox's tactics, "I lay low and said nuffin." We smoked in silencefor some minutes, while I mused over the strangeness of my position. Ihad determined to return to Russia in search of Anne; had hailedMishka's intervention, seized on the opportunity provided by the GrandDuke's invitation, as if they were God-sent. And yet here I was,seemingly even farther from news of her than I had been in England,playing my part as a helpless pawn in a game that I did not understandin the least.
The landlord entered presently, and obsequiously beckoned Mishka to thefar end of the room, where they held a whispered conversation, which Itried not to listen to, though I could not help overhearing frequentreferences to the _starosta_ (mayor), an important functionary in a townof this size, and the commandant of the garrison. From my post ofobservation by the window I had already noticed a great number ofsoldiers about; though whether there was anything unusual in thepresence of such a strong military force I, of course, did not know.
Mishka crossed over to me.
"I am going out for a time. You will remain here?"
"I'll see. Perhaps I'll go for a stroll later," I replied. It hadoccurred to me that he regarded me almost as a prisoner, and I wanted tomake sure on that point.
"Please yourself," he returned in his sullen manner. "But if you go,remember my warning, and observe caution. If there should be anydisturbance in the streets, keep out of it; or, if you should be withinhere, close the shutters and put the lights out."
"All right. I guess I'm fairly well able to take care of myself," I saidimperturbably; though I thought he might have given me credit for thepossession of average common sense, anyhow!
I went out soon after he did, more as a kind of assertion of myindependence than because I was inclined for a walk. It was some timesince I'd been so many hours in the saddle as I had that day, and I wasdead tired.
It was a glorious autumn evening, clear and still, with the glow of thesunset still lingering in the western sky, though the moon was rising,and putting to shame the squalid lights of the streets and shops. Thesidewalks--a trifle cleaner and more level than the rutted roadwaybetween them--were thronged with passers; many of them were soldiersswaggering in their disreputably slovenly uniforms, and leering at everyheavy-visaged Russian woman they met. I did not see one woman abroadthat evening who looked like a Jewess; though there were Jews in plenty,slinking along unobtrusively, and eying the Russian soldiers andtownsmen askance, with glances compounded of fear and hatred.
I attracted a good deal of attention; a foreigner was evidently anunusual object in that town. But I was not really molested; and, actingon Mishka's advice, I affected ignorance of the many and free remarkspassed on my personal appearance.
I walked on, almost to the outskirts of the little town, and turned toretrace my steps, when I was waylaid by a pedler, who had passed me aminute or so before. He looked just like scores of others I had seenwithin the last few minutes, except that he carried a small but heavypack, and walked heavily, leaning on his thick staff like a man weariedwith a long day's tramp.
Now I found he had halted, and as I came abreast with him, he held outone skinny hand with an arresting gesture. For a moment I thought he wasmerely begging, but his first words dispelled that notion.
"Is it wise of the English excellency to walk abroad alone,--here?" heasked earnestly, in a voice and patois that sounded queerly familiar. Istopped short and stared at him, and then, in a flash, I knew him,though as yet he had not recognized me, save as a foreigner.
He was the old Jew who had come to my flat on the night of Cassavetti'smurder!
_Then, in a flash, I knew him._ Page 228]