Enemy of the Tzar

by Lester S. Taube

  After more talk, he sensed it was time to go. As he stood up, Hanna brought over his shirt. He could hardly find the spot mended, due to her expert workmanship. Embarrassed that she had washed and ironed it also, he said goodbye, with the warmth of the evening still inside. She accompanied him to the door.

  “Thank you, Hanna,” he said softly.

  “I enjoyed doing it for you,” she said, with the directness that caught at his emotions.

  He had heard the adage ‘faint heart ne’er won fair lady’ many times at school and university, so he clamped down hard on his shyness. “The river is beautiful in the afternoons. When you have time, would you like to see where I catch most of the fish?”

  He began laughing the moment the words were out of his mouth, his square, suntanned face crinkling and his bright blue eyes twinkling.

  “What are you laughing about?” quizzed Hanna, smiling.

  “I am speaking like a fourteen-year-old schoolboy.”

  Hanna had to agree, but a most appealing fourteen-year-old. It was difficult to equate his great physical strength, and the capability she saw inside with the gentle young man, who stood so firmly rooted in front of her. He certainly acted shy, but it was contradictory, for he was always so competent in other matters.

  “I would like to see it,” she replied. “Can I fish there myself someday?”

  “Would you really like to?” asked Stephen in surprise.

  “Oh, yes. Especially for it being food.”

  “Tomorrow?” His eagerness was so apparent that Hanna smiled again.

  “I suppose so. But I will not be able to go until the afternoon.”

  “That will be all right. Shall I come by to get you?”

  She hesitated a moment. It suddenly seemed that things were moving too fast. She must use a little caution. “Where is your boat?” she asked.

  “At the western side of the village is a round rock formation that looks like an igloo.”

  Hanna did not know what an igloo looked like, but she knew the rock formation. “Yes,” she said. “I have seen it.”

  “I keep it there.”

  She chewed for a few seconds on her lip. “I will meet you there. Would five o’clock be all right?” Her eyes were sparkling with excitement.

  “That will be fine.” He put out his hand, and she placed hers in it. He held it gently, as if he might squeeze it too hard. “Good night. And thanks again for the shirt and tea.”

  As he swung about and started down the narrow, darkened street, Hanna stood yet for another few seconds. She knew she had unleashed an emotion that should have remained tightly under control, but the warmth of Stephen’s hand, still on her fingers, was worth the risk.

  Later that evening, lying next to her sisters on the straw mattress, Hanna thought awhile of the strange man in the room upstairs. There seemed to be something hidden about him, as if deep currents ran swiftly under the friendly exterior. His questions yesterday about the police and the seniunas had not escaped her. He was evaluating them, like an antagonist sizes up his adversary. Then, like a flash, her mind turned towards Stephen. How strong and capable he looked seated at their table, his face ruddy from the sun and wind, his broad shoulders and powerful arms tight against his shirt. Yet, he was as gentle as the lambs on Mr. Nestlokas’ farm north of the village. Not puppy dog gentle, the kind that frisks all over you, but the quiet, dependable type that left no doubt of a force underneath that clearly should not be trifled with.

  Oh, if only he were Jewish! I could give my heart to a man like him. She thought of the men she knew, those of the covenant, and one by one she turned them in her mind. What did she actually want from a young man? She could feel the juices running strong inside her, desires that only a man could satisfy. But she wanted more–the wish to respect a man, and to be respected in turn. That was it. Her man would have to place her by his side as an equal, as someone he would turn to whenever a decision must be made. Not like Mama and Papa. They loved each other so deeply that only a blind person could miss it, but, in spite of this love, Papa was the strong one, and Mama was only the springboard to the making of his decisions. Hanna thought of just walking beside Stephen. She would want to walk tall and brisk and free, matching his stride, not having him shorten his step for her. He would have to understand that. Well, if he cheated a little by seeming to walk normally but cutting a centimeter here and a centimeter there, that would be all right. So long as he did not condescend. She smiled to herself in the dark. I would not want him any other way, she confided to herself.

  Then she turned on her side and willed herself to sleep.

  CHAPTER 3

  The following afternoon Hanna made her way to the igloo shaped mound. Stephen was waiting there with two fishing rods, a pail, and a can of bait. His boat was already in the water, a trim, freshly painted rowboat able to hold three or four people. He greeted her warmly, glad to see that she was wearing a sweater over her shirt waist, and a sturdy pair of shoes under her long cotton skirt.

  Hanna had been on Israel’s boat a number of times before his accident, so she was not apprehensive as she stepped aboard. Stephen pushed off from shore and began rowing strongly over the slow moving water to a bend that curved to the right. He continued on for fifteen minutes or so, then dropped over the anchor.

  ‘You can use the shorter rod,” he said.

  She shook her head, a small smile playing on her lips. “I am not allowed to fish. It is still the Sabbath. Mama and Papa nearly decided that I should not even go.”

  Stephen’s fingers were busy needling a worm to his hook. “I’m not very good at keeping your laws straight in my mind. Didn’t your father sail his boat on your Sabbath?”

  “No, that was work. Torah prohibits us from working on the Sabbath.”

  “Then why are you able to come with me?”

  “I am not on the boat to work. Also, I am not fishing. You are.” Her smile grew broader. “Actually, what Mama and Papa were undecided about was me coming this far from home. The strict Jews will not even leave their houses.”

  “Fishing like this isn’t work. It’s fun.”

  Hanna chuckled. “Try to convince a religious Jew of that. One will say it is work because it is obtaining food, and the other will say it is pleasure. If one changes his mind, the other will, too. The easiest way to avoid an argument is not to fish.”

  Stephen’s heart was nearly bursting. The glow of her face, the whiteness of her teeth, the vitality her body exuded, the curve of her breasts as she moved–he was filled with pleasure at being alone with her.

  He had kissed a number of girls in the past couple of years, and his hands had passed over the breasts of two or three. That had brought a sudden wave of heat in his stomach and loins, then a swift hardness to his penis, a swelling that was almost painful. On one occasion, directly after he had started university, some of the young men had visited a prostitute, and their stories had created near pandemonium among the uninitiated. Stephen had wet dreams for days afterwards, and could think of little else but experiencing the pleasures his schoolmates spoke of. He had agreed to join the group on their next outing, when, during a walk, one of them had pointed out the whore exiting from a store. Stephen’s mind had rebelled at the thought of having sex with a woman certainly as old as his mother, overweight, and with teeth that he could see from across the street were beyond repair.

  “They have younger ones there,” explained a schoolmate, when Stephen had backed out of the venture. “But the one you saw…” whom Stephen later learned was only twenty-seven years old, “…is the best poke of the lot.”

  That made no difference. A whore was a whore, regardless of her age, and by association any loose woman would remind him of the one on the street. Hanna had made an impact. She was pure, and he was certain she would be as ardent as himself, once she cared for a man. But winning her deep affection would not be easy.

  The first fish hooked was a fat carp, and Hanna almost upset the boat in her excitement
and eagerness to wield the net to bring it in. Stephen held it up by a gill. “Over a kilo,” he judged its weight.

  “You are wonderful,” burst out Hanna. “Are there many here?” Her eyes began searching the water, for the carp had opened vistas of a free, important food source at a time when every kopek was crucial.

  “Yes. Many kinds. Cod, plaice, even some salmon. Up towards the coast there is much herring.”

  Hanna could barely restrain herself. “Let me try, please,” she finally said.

  Stephen’s eyes crinkled. “Is it for pleasure or for work?”

  “I am enjoying it too much for it to be work,” she admitted gaily, her eyes sparkling.

  Under his tutelage, she placed on the bait, dropped the line overboard, and sat holding her pole tensely. After a few minutes, she looked up. “Nothing is happening.”

  Stephen had to restrain himself from leaning forward and kissing her. “That happens when you fish. Sometimes they bite right away, other times you can wait forever. Move your line a bit. Don’t jerk it. Move it like that worm is alive and wounded. And keep it on the bottom. That’s where carp feed.”

  Almost as soon as she moved the line, she felt a gentle tug from below. Quickly she snapped up the pole, as she had seen Stephen do, and seconds later, she felt a weight and then saw the form of a fish shaking to free itself. “Stephen!” she shouted. “I have one! I have one!”

  They boated another carp, nearly a twin of the first, and Hanna was in seventh heaven, asking for the pliers to take out the hook herself, then looking at it constantly as she rebaited the hook and prepared to drop it over the side again.

  In a little more than an hour, they had caught five fish, none the size of the first two netted, but still good for eating. Four had scales.

  “Let’s go ashore and stretch our legs,” said Stephen. He drew up the anchor and rowed to where the bank was only a step higher than the river. A small woods came to the water’s edge, and next to it was a field of barley swaying in the breeze. He helped her out of the boat, and they sat on the bank, the dying sun’s rays warm on their faces.

  “This has been the nicest Saturday I have had for ever so long,” said Hanna, leaning back against a tree and shutting her eyes with contentment.

  Suddenly, she felt his lips on hers, his hands gently holding her shoulders. She opened her eyes and looked into his, and for the briefest moment her body tensed to push him away. Then her arms went lightly around him and her lips firmed under his, returning his kiss. Her heart sang with delight, and a joy flowed inside that she had never known before. He drew her closer in his arms, and she pressed her lips more tightly to his.

  They drew away to breathe, and she found him kneeling in front of her, his face flushed, his nostrils flaring with his deep breathing, his eyes aflame with desire for her.

  “I love you, Hanna,” he said hoarsely.

  “And I love you, too, Stephen,” she said in a little voice, the pounding in her chest almost too much to bear, her breasts rising and falling with her own emotion and happiness.

  “Do you really love me?” he asked, his eyes shining with wonder.

  She nodded, a smile on her lips, too excited even to reply.

  He leaned forward and kissed her again, shyly, lovingly, and she came to him willingly, her lips soft and full of promise. He turned her to one side and lowered her to the forest floor, his lips still locked to hers, and she felt the weight of him against her breasts. It was difficult to breathe, but she did not care. Instead, she drew him tighter against herself, her lips opening under his, savoring the sweet taste of him, feeling the hardness of his body, her nostrils full of his clean, outdoor smell, the heady scent of flowers in the field.

  His hand moved to a breast and captured it. She cringed at his touch, then she was suddenly on fire, and turned herself towards him to bring him full length against her.

  She felt his penis swell, begin throbbing, and the fire inside her flared with blinding white heat. Reluctantly, they drew apart, and he rolled onto his back, puffing as if he had raced from far off, his eyes closed, waiting for his heart to cease tearing at his chest. His hands were clenched into fists of determination.

  His rapid breathing made his words short and tense. “I’ll never love anyone but you, Hanna.”

  She had closed her eyes also, every nerve in her body pulsating, knowing that if Stephen climbed atop her, she would accept him, eagerly, gratefully, ready to block out of her mind everything but the want of him. His words struck her heavily. She could barely speak. “And I will love only you, too, Stephen,” she finally replied.

  He opened his eyes and sat up. They smiled at each other, their faces still strained with their passion. He leaned down and kissed her gently.

  “I want to marry you, Hanna.”

  It took a few seconds for her to digest what he had said, then she sat up, the implication of what was happening suddenly striking like a wet rag across her face. Their love was as real as the river running at their feet. Their desire for each other, their need, was as meaningful as the fertile ground they had lain on. But marriage! That could never be. All the daydreams she had about Stephen were abruptly make believe. For beyond this wonderful, enchanted spot was reality.

  As far back as she could remember, she had been able to understand what was right in a situation. Now, for the first time in her life, desire had taken over, had challenged her fitness to make a decision, had confused her as to what was right or wrong. It was right to love Stephen. Nothing could dispute or shake that. She had been ready to give herself without the least regret, to suffer whatever might come from their love.

  But another part of her cried out for attention. A part of her that she had been born with. The faith. To keep the faith was essential, even if it meant losing him.

  ‘I am a Jew, Stephen. You know that. I cannot marry you.”

  “You could convert.”

  The wet rag across her face was now icy cold. She turned away, her heart sinking to depths never before fathomed. To convert was to die. Not just herself, but her family as well, for losing her would be losing a part of themselves. And since death cannot be lost in parts, they would surely die as well.

  Oh, Stephen, she said to herself. Can’t you see that you are breaking my heart.

  She turned and faced him squarely. “I could never convert. But you could.”

  He sat back in shock. The very thought of her suggestion was almost profane. To become a Jew, the murderer of his adored Christ, to wear that fringed cloth, that black skullcap, and to accept a religion that God had condemned to eternal damnation, was totally unacceptable.

  Then he realized with an even greater shock how deep was his bias, how unworthy it was of him. He had felt comfortable and warm among the Barlaks only a day ago. But a single day was not enough to alter his very nature.

  “Hanna, I couldn’t do that. Look, we live in a Christian world. Whether religious prejudices are right or wrong is not the principal issue. To be able to live properly is most important. I want to become an engineer. Jews are not allowed to attend the university. So converting would mean that I must give up my career.”

  His comment stung her, though she knew inside that he was talking sense. “There are other careers,” she said testily.

  “Of course there are. If I had no other choice, I would change to a different field of work. But we do have a choice.” He took her hand in his. “I love you very much. I want to take care of you, to give you a good life. But why should we make life difficult for ourselves?”

  “We were born to suffer. Torah says it. It has been taught to us since childhood.

  He shook his head sadly, as if what he was hearing was not properly thought out. “I don’t want us to suffer, Hanna. And I don’t want the children we may have to suffer.” He sat up straighter, a thought suddenly taking form inside. “Suppose neither of us converts. We could marry without changing anything.”

  “Who would marry us?” said Hanna, already knowin
g the answer.

  “The…” His words trailed away. “I don’t know yet, but I’ll find out.”

  “You were about to say, the priest, weren’t you?”

  He nodded his head agreeably. She was even more intelligent than he believed. Her mind could cut through a problem like a knife. He raised her hand and kissed it. “Is there another way, Hanna?”

  “I don’t know, Stephen.” She climbed to her feet. “It is getting dark. We will have to start back now.”

  He got up and took her into his arms. “We must find a way.”

  “We will try.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Sunday morning the Jewish religious leader, Rabbi Warnitski, visited the Barlaks. Gitel and Reba were helping Hanna and Motlie bake challah and prepare for the farmers coming within the hour. Every Sunday, except during the severest snowstorms, three or four families from farms on the outskirts of the village would stable their horses there while attending mass, then take challah and tea before returning home. It was a welcome source of income for the hard-pressed family, and everyone would pitch in to help. Gitel and Reba, under Israel’s supervision, gave the animals hay to munch on and water to slurp, outside during clement weather and inside the stable in the event of rain or cold.

  Hanna and the girls carried the food to the men while they chatted, and to their womenfolk in the kitchen. There were usually ten to fifteen persons to serve, and at ten kopeks each, it went far to supplement Hanna’s weekly salary of four rubles.

  As there was still half an hour before the guests arrived, Israel invited the rabbi to be seated at the table. At once, Hanna placed before him a slice of soft, golden challah and a glass of tea with the usual cube of sugar. Rabbi Warnitski took a bite of the bread, then shook his head approvingly.