Enemy of the Tzar

by Lester S. Taube

  “Jules?” he asked hopefully. Just mentioning his name demonstrated his degree of desperation.

  She shook her head. “I am certain he does not have that kind of money either.”

  Fergl sighed in despair. “I guess there is no alternative. I will have to sell out to those gonifs.”

  Hanna drew over a tablet. “How much time do you have before making a decision?”

  “Nine, ten days. After that, I’ve used up all my reserves. It will be a month before the government pays its next installment, but that will be too late.”

  She began making notes on the tablet. “Friedrich, are your contracts transferable?”

  “They don’t say so, but they don’t prohibit it. Of course, I have the right to subcontract.”

  “How many workers do you have making uniforms?”

  He leaned forward over the desk, his face coming alive with interest. “About sixty percent.”

  “Twelve hundred people,” mused Hanna, writing a series of numbers on her tablet. “Do you have any backpack contracts?”

  “I have about eighty or ninety workers on that,” he said.

  “What else do you have?”

  “About two hundred on mattresses. Fifty on covers. Ninety or ninety-five on tarpaulins. Thirty on helmet covers. The rest on various items.”

  “I would like to see your contracts.”

  “I’ll go back to my office and have them here in an hour.”

  “Make it two.”

  The moment Fergl left her office, Hanna was on the phone to the Stuttgart Zentral Bank to make an appointment with her loan officer. Soon, she was in her car, speeding to her meeting.

  Dieter Grunwald was an older man, his walrus mustache hanging far below his cheeks. His main subject of conversation among his fellow banking officers was his female client. “A fine looking lady,” he explained, secure in the knowledge that she was the only female businesswoman on their records.

  “Herr Grunwald,” she said, after being seated in his office. “I am thinking of taking over a number of principal contracts. For uniforms, backpacks, and other orders.”

  “That is not new for you, Frau Charnoff,” said the bank officer gallantly. “How much will you need?”

  “They are much larger than usual. I will need about three times my present line of credit.”

  “Three times!” he sputtered, expecting only her usual rate of expansion. “Gnädige Frau Charnoff, isn’t that taking on much more than you are accustomed to?”

  She moved to the edge of her chair. “I am making the very same items now,” she explained, “and you have seen my account sheets. What is most important about this expansion is that I will also inherit trained sewing machine operators.”

  “How is that?” he asked, his interest aroused.

  She chose her words carefully. “I have heard that two or three companies will be closing. If I move fast enough, I can pick up the skilled workers.”

  “Are you speaking about Herr Fergl?” he asked, his voice abruptly guarded.

  “It is possible.”

  “Herr Fergl is not a client here, and we see no reason to deal with anything in which he is involved.”

  “Herr Grunwald. Herr Fergl is a competitor of mine. Any misfortune that he may face should not be ignored by me.”

  The banker almost smiled. Over the years he had been goaded in jest by his fellow bankers about his female client, and he was secretly proud that she had not only held on, but had expanded safely and profitably. But he had received the message, which most commercial banks had gotten, that Bremen Aktien Konzern, standing in the shadow of Krupp’s, was negotiating for Fergl’s operation, and that they would consider it an unfriendly act to deny them this acquisition. It was no secret that unfriendly meant doing without any Krupp accounts, and perhaps, even those of the government itself. However, if Frau Charnoff snapped up some of Fergl’s contracts in the event that fool did not come to terms with BAK, that was not an unfriendly act.

  “I will entertain an extended line of credit,” he said, the challenge bringing him a glow of satisfaction that he might aim a dart back at his associates. “However, I must insist upon an additional security of fifty thousand marks.”

  “I have that, in my personal savings account,” replied Hanna, the same surge of excitement pressing inside as when she decided on the first contract with Fergl. She smiled at the older man. “With the same guarantees as on my present contracts,” she said.

  This time he smiled. This woman took no chances. She was willing to pay an additional, unnecessary premium to guarantee her line of credit. That is why women will never be captains of industry, he affirmed smugly to himself. They could wield a sewing needle, but never a saber.

  Fergl was waiting when she returned. She looked over his contracts carefully, and then she placed them neatly to one side.

  “Friedrich,” she said in her direct manner. “I cannot save your companies. If I entered the fight with Bremen Aktien Konzern, they could possibly find a way to injure my own operations. I will not allow that.” Fergl’s expression of hope turned to despondency. He had counted so much on Hanna finding a source of funds. “What I can do,” she went on, “is take over certain of your companies. I will give you thirty percent ownership and be grateful if you will continue to run them as you now do.”

  She had not expected the shock to be as great. His thin face grew paler, and his eyes grew larger. He swallowed with difficulty. “I had hoped for a more reasonable solution,” he managed to say.

  “Friedrich, I would not be here if it were not for you–for your kindness and assistance. I will always be completely in your debt. But we operate differently. If any of my companies are to suffer, it must be due to my own fault, regardless of how much I owe you. The moment I take over your contracts, BAK will learn I exist. I do not know how they will react, but I am certain they will probe at my financial backing. If they decide that I have thwarted them in acquiring you, they might become vindictive enough to cause me trouble. It must be understood by all that I took advantage of a good opportunity, and that I am not challenging BAK. I have offered thirty percent. That is much better than sitting in the sun.”

  He stood up. He was somewhat unsteady on his feet. “I understand, Hanna. I accept your offer, and I thank you for the opportunity of running my companies.”

  She stood up also. “My companies, Friedrich. I will say this only one more time. I will not allow anyone to make a decision, which might affect what I have fought for.” She held out her hand. “Please remain my friend. I am doing only what I honestly believe is the best for us both.”

  His grim face relaxed as he took her hand. “I believe that,” he said softly. “I will guard your companies with all my heart.”

  As he started out, she said, “Friedrich.” He turned. “We will keep only those contracts I feel comfortable with. Prepare to close down the others.”

  Time continued to rush by, months of joy watching Paul develop, of pleasure helping Frau Weiss make a special dish for a special occasion, of fighting to make her companies stronger and more profitable.

  It was a cool evening in March when Hanna came home early. She found Jules seated in the parlor, in front of the fire, with a glass of schnapps in his hand.

  “Come, have a drink,” he said, getting up and pouring her a Likör.

  “What’s the occasion?” she asked, kissing his cheek.

  “The revolution in Russia.”

  “Another one?”

  “The Tzar stepped down.”

  She laughed, bitterly. “The only step that murderer could take to satisfy me would be on the gallows.”

  “I mean it. It looks like he’s out.”

  She plopped tiredly on a chair. The supervision of eighteen companies, and more than two thousand employees was taking its toll. “All right, Jules,” she said, leaning back and sipping at her drink, barely able to keep her eyes open. “Now you can tell me the facts.”

  It took another yea
r for the result of the revolution to manifest itself, and Jules rushed in with the news. Russia and Germany, after months of negotiation, had signed a peace treaty. Now the armies tied up on the Eastern Front could be diverted to crack the stalemate against the French and English, and hopefully, before the Americans, now in the war, could send over enough men to turn the tide.

  It was a balmy afternoon in May when Hanna’s secretary knocked on the door. “Herr Rosenthal is on the phone,” she said. The Rosenthals had remained fast friends, and she sent them gifts for all occasions.

  Hanna took up the phone. “Hello Herr Rosenthal. How are you and Frau Rosenthal?”

  “Fine, Frau Charnoff, fine, thank you. Frau Charnoff, a letter just came from that address in Berlin that you asked us to keep in mind. It is from Russia, for a Hanna Barlak, from a Zelek Barlak!”

  CHAPTER 41

  Zelek! Hanna thought her heart would stop beating. She found she was holding the receiver of the telephone so tightly that her fingers were white. “I will be there at once,” she managed to say. Without a word to her office staff, she rushed out to her car and sped through the streets. Zelek! Zelek! How could this be true? How could the black pit of silence suddenly be torn open?

  Rosenthal was waiting at the door, and immediately handed over a stained envelope. On it was printed in large, irregular letters, in Russian and German:

  HANNA BARLAK

  From Zelek Barlak

  She tore it open with trembling fingers. It was in Russian.

  Petrograd,

  March 17, 1918

  Dear Sister Hanna:

  I am alive. I was given your address by Cousin Zelda many years ago. She is dead. I am a soldier in the Fourteenth Red Guards Regiment. I hope you are alive and well.

  Your brother,

  Zelek

  She leaned back against the wall, her brain spinning, and then she threw her arms around Rosenthal’s neck and kissed him. “He is alive!” she shouted with joy. “My brother, thank God, he is alive!”

  Tears were blinding her eyes, making it nearly dangerous to drive home. She managed to get to the house without incident and put in a call for Jules at the store. He rushed home at once.

  He was as excited as Hanna at the news, but he kept his wits. “Don’t write,” he cautioned her. “In Russia the Bolsheviks are fighting the Mensheviks, and both those Marxist idiots are fighting the Tzarists. A letter from Germany could cause suspicion. Have your detective agency contact Zelek personally.”

  It made sense, and at once a telegraph was sent off. It was the end of June before a reply was received. The agency had reached Zelek. Since the terms of the peace treaty compelled Russia to give up Poland, Lithuania, and the Baltic countries, the agency could arrange a meeting in July in any of the occupied countries, or even in Königsberg itself.

  “Take Königsberg,” said Jules. “We can travel there in safety.”

  “You will go with me?”

  “Of course. I will obtain permission to travel in uniform. It will open doors. I will put in for leave at once.”

  Each day went by like it would never end. Finally, in late July, a telephone call came for them to start up. Jules got the tickets. They had no trouble getting seats, for the trains, battered by years of wartime service, were going east with plenty of space. It was only the westbound cars that were overloaded with troops being shipped to the lines in France and Belgium.

  It still took two days to get to Königsberg. A large, elegantly furnished suite had been reserved for them by the agency in the finest hotel of the city, one Hanna had passed with awe so many years ago during her sojourn here. At long last, she finally met the owner of the agency, Herr Liebknecht. He was a short, rotund man, with a walrus mustache, and a large bald spot on the back of his head.

  He greeted Hanna warmly. “Frau Charnoff,” he said, bowing over her hand. “After so many years. I feel like I have found one of my own family.”

  “You have been a loyal, diligent gentleman,” said Hanna. “My dearest friend, Herr Leutnant Weiner,” she went on, introducing them.

  The two exchanged stiff bows.

  “My brother,” said Hanna, barely able to suppress her anxiety and nervousness.

  “There has been a holdup,” said Liebknecht. “Another day or two.”

  “Is there anything wrong?” She asked in alarm.

  “Not at all. We are going through…” he waved his hand expressively, “…legal channels. Safety suggests caution. He is already en route. Another day or two, gnädige Frau.”

  They remained close to the hotel, not dreaming of sightseeing in the event they might miss the call. On the third morning, directly after breakfast, a knock came at the door. Liebknecht stood there, his face red from having hurried. “He will be here in an hour,” he said.

  Hanna’s hand went to her breast, her heart beating furiously. “Is he all right?” she asked breathlessly.

  “Quite all right, Frau Charnoff, from the report. He is already in Prussia, in a car. Do you wish to see him here? I have a flat available.”

  “No, here.” Hanna sat down heavily. She began crying.

  “It’s all right,” said Jules, gently patting her on the shoulder. “It’s all right, my dear.”

  She grasped his hand, gripping it with all of her might, the tears running freely.

  “Thank you, Herr Liebknecht,” said Jules. “We will be waiting.”

  The door opened. There he stood. They had gotten him a wool jacket and trousers, a checkered shirt, and a leather cap. Even his square-toed shoes were new. He was short, barely Hanna’s height. His face was browned by wind and sun and freezing weather. He is small because he did not eat well these past years, thought Hanna. But God, how he does resemble Papa! His eyes were alert, worried, and his hands were gripping his cap nervously.

  Hanna stepped forward. His mouth opened, but he could not speak. He could only stare at this beautiful woman in front of him, elegantly dressed in the finery of a noble. She took him in her arms, and the tears flowed, and she wept with deep sobs. Then slowly, almost mechanically, his arms went around her, and he held her loosely, as if he was afraid he would injure her.

  She drew away and kissed his face and his eyes and his mouth, not caring that her tears were streaking him, and then she hugged him again, crying with joy and relief and thanks.

  She could not see. She turned to Jules, who passed over a handkerchief, and holding on tightly to one of Zelek’s hands, she wiped her face and blew her nose. “Come, little brother,” she said in Russian. She drew him over to a sofa and sat down next to him, still holding on to his hand. Then, when her eyes could see clearly again, she looked once more at him. It was almost as if Papa was sitting there, and she was close to breaking down again.

  “Do you want some food?” she asked.

  He nodded.

  “Eggs, rolls, tea?”

  He nodded again.

  “Jules, please. Call room service.”

  He pulled the service cord, and then took a chair across from them.

  “Zelek, this is Jules Weiner, my dearest friend.”

  Jules put out a hand, and Zelek took it shyly. He was evidently awed by Jules’ rank. Jules growled under his breath. He should have foreseen this and put on civilian clothes.

  Hanna clenched his hand to her cheek. “How did you find me?” she asked.

  He was still terribly shy. “Zelda gave me an address many years ago. I was not able to write until now.”

  “And Gitel, Reba? What of them?”

  His face tightened. “Gitel died. I don’t remember when. She and I were together in the Ukraine with this family. We worked in the fields from dawn to dark. One day she got a fever, and a day later she died.”

  Hanna dropped her face in her hands, and her shoulders shook with her grief. “Oh, God, God, God,” she sobbed. Her head fell back against the sofa; her eyes closed with pain.

  A knock came at the door. It was the waiter. Jules gave quiet orders, and it was shu
t softly behind him.

  “Reba?” she finally asked.

  “I don’t know. After you left, she and I were in Kaunas for a while, with Mr. Katzman. Then the police came and took us away. They put the three of us on a train with many others, and we rode day and night. While I was asleep, Reba was taken off. I never saw her again.”

  “Do you know what happened to any of the family?”

  He shook his head. “I just worked in the fields. It was a Russian family. They beat me until I said I was no longer a Jew, and then all went well so long as I worked hard. About four years ago, the police came and took me to an army camp. After a few days of training, I was sent to a company. We fought at Tannenberg.”

  “What did he say about Tannenberg?” asked Jules.

  “He fought there,” said Hanna.

  “Everyone was shot except me and a couple of the men, so we ran and hid. After a few weeks, we got back to our lines. At Tannenberg I saw whole companies of Cossacks killed by the Germans. It reminded me of you. I used to tell everyone about my sister who killed a Cossack.”

  Hanna smiled warmly at her little brother. She translated loosely for Jules.

  “Last year,” went on Zelek. “I was in the revolution at Petrograd. It wasn’t much. We just paraded up and down the streets.” He tapped his chest. “They made me a corporal.”

  The breakfast arrived. Hanna and Jules had eaten earlier, so they took just coffee. Zelek fell to his eggs and rolls and tea like he was famished.

  When he finished, he slipped out paper and tobacco from a pocket and expertly rolled a cigarette. He drew smoke in deeply and sighed with satisfaction. Hanna smiled at him. He had not changed, even though he was over twenty years of age now.

  “Then you know nothing about any of the family?” she asked again.

  He shook his head.