by Herz Bergner
Nathan didn’t answer her or disturb her with a movement, but he looked intently at her. The sight of Sarah’s ribbon in this cabin had deprived him of speech and he sat as if stunned. He didn’t know what to do. Then a light knock on the door was heard and Bronya came in quickly, without waiting for an answer. She pretended to be startled and hastily drew back, asking in an exaggeratedly genteel voice,
‘Am I permitted...may I enter? Oh, pardon me, have I disturbed you? Believe me, I didn’t know, God protect me. I am not one of those people who stick their noses into other people’s business. God forbid!’
She pursed her lips and spoke a strange Yiddish dotted with German and Polish words. She pretended that she wanted to leave but remained rooted to the spot and her eyes swept over everything looking to discover what was taking place. All this time she stood by the open door, which she had deliberately left ajar so that anyone could freely look in.
Nathan’s blood boiled and his face grew red. It was only with difficulty that he restrained himself from throwing her out. He couldn’t understand how anyone in such tragic times could behave so badly or be concerned with such trivial things.
On the following day the whole ship knew that Ida and Nathan were not married and after that their every step was watched. Everybody looked at them with knowing smiles and during the long, empty days they had something to concern themselves with and something to talk about.
CHAPTER V
No sooner had Nathan and Ida ceased to be the main topic of conversation than a new event stirred everyone deeply.
Mrs Hudess and her two daughters and Fabyash and his wife and children were involved.
An altercation broke out on the ship and two factions came into being. One group was on the side of Mrs Hudess and the other supported Fabyash.
Fabyash flew around muttering and heaping curses on himself.
‘What good did it do me?’ he shouted. ‘How could it help me?’
But turn back he couldn’t. He felt small in his own eyes and he told himself that he had fallen in the estimation of all the other men.
‘When one falls,’ he said to himself, ‘one falls to the bottom.’
Fabyash felt guilty and he told each one separately the same story. He said he could no longer watch the suffering of his little boy. The poor child was fainting from hunger and he had had no choice. He had fallen so low as to take a biscuit from Mrs Hudess’s little girl and give it to his son. He felt that the little mite was dying; what was he to do? So Fabyash defended himself.
‘What is all the row about? What have I done? In what way did I sin? As a matter of fact I did not trick the biscuit away from the child as Mrs Hudess says. It’s a lie! As a matter of fact the child left the biscuit on a step.’
Although nobody really believed his story and secretly thought that Fabyash had tricked the biscuit out of the child’s hand, nevertheless even Fabyash’s enemies looked aside and let him get away with his story. Only Mrs Hudess would not remain silent. She was excited and interrupted his talk.
‘Found it. Found it,’ she mimicked him in a honeyed, innocent voice. ‘Look at the simpleton! Look at the holy man in his white collar! One would almost think he is innocent as a dove. Pearls pour from his mouth. It’s as well that the child’s a witness.’
Mrs Hudess was not slow to call the child to be a witness and meanwhile she held Fabyash.
‘Liar!’ she shouted at him. ‘May you live to speak one word of truth, you are a thief through and through. Coming as he does from amongst the Gerer thieves how can one believe a word he says?’
But this was going a bit too far and although Fabyash didn’t have many close friends and everybody got a little pleasure from hearing him told off, nobody could agree with her remarks. Everyone remained silent, even those who were opposed to him and considered that he had committed a great crime. They were ashamed to lift their heads, to look each other in the face, and for two reasons. Because Fabyash had sunk so low that he had stolen food from a child, and because Mrs Hudess, who was regarded as such a refined person, had burst forth with the language of the coarsest market vendor. To what depths suffering can bring a person.
Nevertheless no one spoke a word and Fabyash could have dug a grave and buried himself if his wife had not come to his aid. Fabyash’s wife, who was ill and hardly able to move, her swollen hands and legs covered with chilblains in summer and winter,exploded. Although she was not allowed to move about or excite herself she could no longer watch her husband’s humiliation. From where she stood, she poured forth, so that everyone turned to look, hardly knowing where the voice came from, ‘Well, well! What an important matter! Just look at the Warsaw madam! A Warsaw lady indeed!’ Without moving from the one spot, like a snowman that might fall to pieces at the slightest touch, her mouth crackled and sent forth fire and brimstone.
‘Nothing is good enough for her. She wants the whole world. Her eyes are bigger than her stomach. In what way is your child better than mine? What if my hungry baby did take something in its mouth? The child is only skin and bones now. You can count his ribs. Here, just look.’
And Mrs Fabyash wasted no time in unfastening the child’s shirt and she pointed out his thin bones, and pushed him towards Mrs Hudess. The boy, used to being ignored, was at first pleased that his mother was standing up for him and that he was the centre of attention. He grew up in his own eyes. But then he saw his mother’s twisted face, the tears that welled in her throat and felt her hands stumbling over his thin body and he began to cry, his voice rising higher and higher. The child’s tears gave his mother more courage and she really began on Mrs Hudess.
‘You will not easily be forgiven this child’s tears. God will punish you for this! So you really want to play the grand lady here. Just take a look at yourself! You are going about—you will pardon me—with the seat out of your pants. You look like a real beggar. You haven’t got a decent stitch to your back. It’s enough to make one scream with laughter, God help me.’
Then Mrs Fabyash began to laugh—she laughed bitterly and uncontrollably. She bent almost double with laughter, forgetting that so much movement was forbidden her and that she must not get agitated. The people who stood around became frightened and were afraid that she would collapse or that she had lost her reason. But she would allow no one near her and pushed everyone away. The blood drained from Mrs Hudess’s face and she quivered. Furtively, she glanced at her clothes, which, in truth, were very worn, but no tear or hole was to be found. The few dresses that she owned were now falling to pieces but they were always cleanly washed and mended. She had not expected such an insult from Fabyash’s wife.
Slowly and with much dignity she approached Mrs Fabyash and pushed her. She pushed her with the proud expression of one who strikes a person far below herself and repugnant to her. Nothing else was needed. Mrs Fabyash grabbed her by her blouse and both women were soon grappling together. Everything happened so quickly and so unexpectedly that they were already fighting before the men could tear them apart. The children’s screams rose higher and some sailors who bore a grudge against the Jews, whom they blamed for having to remain at sea so long with new dangers to face every day, stood around in a circle jeering and laughing. In every crease and wrinkle of their leathery, wind-swept faces lurked the joy of seeing someone else hurt. In their eyes shone a malevolent insolence. They were bored and were looking for amusement to while away the hours. Now they had found the very thing and they incited the women against each other, shouting in their own language which no one understood and gesticulating wildly, adding fuel to the fire.
‘Give her a good smack, mother! That’s the way! Don’t spare her. Harder still! We’ll soon see who is the strongest.’ The sailors almost spat into their hands with pleasure, delighted to see the Jews fighting amongst themselves.
‘Now then, Jews, why do you stand with your hands in your pockets? Why do you let your wives do all the fighting?’
But the men did not become involved in the figh
t. On the contrary, they tried to pull the women apart. And when they had been separated and were ashamed that they had so far forgotten themselves, Reb Lazar, the grocer, pale and stony faced, was very angry with them.
‘Fie!’ he shouted without looking in their direction. ‘You should be deeply ashamed of yourselves! What has happened here? Almighty God, this is even worse than when Christians get drunk. Who has ever seen Jews, and above all, women, fighting? This is the end of the world.’
Now everyone was on Fabyash’s side, for they knew that Mrs Hudess began the fight. Fabyash now rode on a high horse. But his enemies couldn’t stand the way he gave himself airs and wore such an innocent expression as if he couldn’t put two and two together. They knew quite well that for some time Fabyash had furtively hoarded food, and in his suitcase there was quite a store, so that the rats had plenty to do there. More than once they had noticed him pull something secretly from his coat pocket and now the time had come for the bubble to burst.
And so that no time would be lost, his enemies pulled everyone into the cabin to his suitcase to see what was there.
After this, Fabyash went about as though he was not in this world. He avoided everyone and it was clear that something was happening to the young man who had once been so assertive and held such a high opinion of himself. He was no longer the same person. Reb Lazar, the grocer, who knew the Hebrew calendar backwards and always knew when it was the Sabbath and all the holy days, told the Jews when they assembled for prayer:
‘It was wrong to shame Fabyash so.’ He spoke half to the others and half into his own narrow, thin beard, freshly combed and bright for the Sabbath.
‘A Jew doesn’t steal. He took it innocently. And this shame will remain with him forever and ever. After all, what kind of a sin did he commit? In dire need even the Sabbath can be set aside. One has stronger nerves and can stand more. Another has weaker nerves and—may it never happen to us—breaks down. He’d had as much as he could take. In vain a Jew has been hurt. He may do something terrible to himself...’
In truth, Fabyash had broken down. On top of all this another calamity occurred which drove him to distraction. Why did this have to happen to him? He asked himself, shouted the question at his little girl. In the middle of the day she had contracted a high temperature; her head ached and her legs gave way. Fabyash fell into a rage with himself and he could not forgive her as though she were to blame.
‘Unlucky child, there is nothing the matter with you,’ he vented his rage on the child when she complained that she was too tired to take another step.
‘You’re only talking yourself into it. You’re only whining. It’ll soon pass away. This would happen to me!’
He took no notice of the child’s deep sighs, didn’t want to hear anything or know anything, and he let his daughter walk around as if nothing had happened. He even warned her to say nothing to her mother, to keep quiet so that no one would get to know anything about it. Silently he took her hand, walked on to the deck and settled down there in a corner hoping that in the fresh air she would recover. And if anyone passed and asked why the child’s cheeks were so flushed he would cut them short:
‘There is nothing wrong with her. She’s just had a bad turn. I’m sitting with her in the fresh air.’
But Fabyash couldn’t conceal his child’s illness for long. That night his daughter collapsed with a high fever and her whole body became covered in red spots. Then his wife attacked him, complaining bitterly that he had not said anything to her.
‘Madman! Murderer!’ she insulted him. ‘What people say about you is only too true. When people call one a drunkard it is time to go to bed. Do you want to kill my child? You have a heart of stone! Save us, good people. Oh, my daughter! What is the matter with you?’
But Fabyash would not allow her to shout or to call to the others. He covered her mouth with his hand.
‘Shh,’ he pleaded with her. ‘Perhaps by morning the fever will have gone. When people hear of it you and the child will be thrown out of here. Can’t you understand that? Perhaps it is—God forbid—’
Fabyash did not complete the sentence. He was troubled and his arms hung limply by his side. But he didn’t need to say it, for his wife had immediately understood what he meant. As if by a secret agreement they both remained silent, waiting to see what the morning would bring. But the morning brought no change. The child was no better. All night the mother had not closed her eyes. Like the child, she tossed and turned on the bed, constantly getting up in her nightgown to see how her daughter was getting on. After tossing all night in a fever the child fell asleep towards morning. Then she became delirious and every few minutes woke and screamed that someone was following her—that she was being chased and the ship was burning.
No matter how Fabyash tried to conceal the misfortune, in the morning everybody knew about it and discussed it fearfully.
‘Fabyash’s child has fallen ill. It can be nothing but typhus! Fabyash can’t pull the wool over our eyes. We must see that something is done about it. The plague can easily spread. Job’s sorrows have fallen on this Jew’s head!’
They wanted to go to the captain and tell him everything; but they didn’t do it for fear of hurting Fabyash. Meanwhile all those who had slept in the fetid, dirty, dark cabin with Fabyash moved out and settled elsewhere. Nobody even poked a nose into Fabyash’s cabin except the distinguished Warsaw doctor who was constantly bustling about. He came with his instruments and the few medicines that he had rescued and guarded meticulously. And Bronya Feldbaum was not afraid. She, together with Mrs Fabyash, never left the child. Water was impossible to obtain except for the small quantity issued daily to each person that was hardly sufficient for an individual. Nevertheless Bronya brought a jug of water from somewhere and put cold compresses on the child. She carried out all the doctor’s orders and was his right hand. When he examined the child and took her temperature she held her, soothed her with stories and was of great assistance to the mother.
The doctor was alive again. A new soul had entered into him. His thick, aristocratic moustache moved boldly up and down and his broad, black, artist’s hat now sat proudly on his long hair that was the colour of tarnished silver. His eyes shone like one who had just regained his lost reputation. He constantly and reverently polished his instruments with a clean handkerchief which stood out white against his grubby clothing so that it drew every eye. Like a religious Jew he was always wetting his hands and rubbing them with soap. He didn’t wipe them on the towel but held them in the air until they dried. He was so busy and excited that big drops of sweat appeared on his brow and he talked incessantly of cleanliness and hygiene, although he himself was far from clean.
But nothing went smoothly for the doctor, and he had great difficulty with the little girl who was shy in his presence and resisted him when he uncovered her and resolutely prevented him from properly examining her fever-ridden body. No matter how hard Bronya tried to distract her attention by telling her countless stories, she would not allow her body to be exposed when the doctor was near. The child cried and screamed and told the doctor to go away and when she was forcibly uncovered she struggled with her last ounce of energy and covered herself again. She would not allow them to cut off her thick, fair plaits and protected her head with her hands. Although the little girl often lost consciousness and talked deliriously she became lucid whenever Bronya approached her plaits with the scissors. She drove Bronya away and with tears in her eyes, dim with fever and the constantly burning electric light, she pleaded with her mother:
‘Mama, where are you?’ She looked about for her mother who had deliberately hidden herself so that she would not have to take part.
‘I don’t want my hair shorn. I don’t want it, Mama!’
The doctor worked hard, moved his feet helplessly, continually wiped the sweat from his brow and held out his hands like one in despair. Nothing helped; the child remained obstinate and Fabyash had to come to the doctor’s aid. Only when her fa
ther shouted at her in a strained voice did she take her hands from her head. As the thick fair plaits fell on to the bed like severed limbs the child gazed at them, unable to tear her tearful eyes away. She demanded the plaits to play with, not wanting to let them out of her hands. It was only with difficulty that her mother succeeded in taking the hair away from her. She had to persuade her that when she was well she would get her plaits back.
The doctor did not spare himself and never left the child, night or day. But it was all in vain—there was no improvement. Everyone on the ship knew that Fabyash’s daughter had typhus. His boy had long since been taken away from Fabyash and he slept elsewhere. Everyone went about in great fear that the typhus would spread throughout the ship. They thought the best thing to do would be to disclose everything to the captain. But nobody wanted to do it and each was afraid to give voice to his thoughts. The first to speak out was Reb Zainval Rockman. The self-assertive Zainval Rockman never lost his head and he said emphatically and openly that it was time the captain was told what was happening. But he saw that no one wanted to make a move and that he would have to do it himself. In his slow, measured voice he said that of course he would be called an informer, but if saving a ship full of Jews was informing then he would be an informer and gladly carry that sin on his own shoulders.
Whether Zainval Rockman went to the captain or not was never discovered. But on the very day when he spoke so emphatically, two sailors with a senior officer, a doctor, appeared at Fabyash’s cabin.
Fabyash’s wife, more dead than alive, pleaded with the officer not to take away her child. She vowed there was nothing wrong with her; she had only caught a chill and was running a slight temperature. But it was to no avail. The officer, a short, stout, well-groomed man scarcely even looked at her. He didn’t examine the child, but cast one glance at her and, in his own language, angrily ordered the sailors to use the stretcher they had prepared. Mrs Fabyash called the Greek who was travelling with them, thinking that he might soften the heart of the officer, but he also failed. Then Mrs Fabyash, in her misery, signed to her husband not to stand like a dummy and stare foolishly, but to do something. But Fabyash stood by helplessly, hardly moving from his place. Mrs Fabyash seized the officer by his sleeve and clung to him.
