Enemy of the Tzar

by Lester S. Taube

  She saw that he was tired. “Would you like to rest?” He nodded. “We have an extra room in the suite. Come.” She led him into it, showed him the bathroom, pulled down the covers, and kissed him warmly.

  Back in the parlor, she sat quietly by the window, looking out at the street.

  Jules came up behind her and pressed her shoulder. She placed her hand over his.

  “It is still not over, Jules,” she finally said. “I will never stop looking. I fervently thank God that we found Zelek, though.”

  “What do you plan to do now?”

  “About Zelek? I want to take him to Stuttgart.”

  He smiled. “That will be an experience.”

  Zelek walked into the parlor just before suppertime. He had bathed and looked refreshed. At the hotel restaurant, he was again awed by the opulence. Hanna chuckled. “You can order whatever you like, little brother. We are rich.”

  He grinned back at her. “Are you really rich?”

  “Yes. I was very fortunate. I made a great deal of money.”

  He nodded sagely. “It is good to be rich. But someday the poor people will take it away.”

  “I will share it, gladly. Do you remember Jakob?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “He died in Germany a few years ago. He was like a brother to me.”

  “He was very nice. They said he killed a Cossack, too.”

  “Yes. He saved my life, three times. He was badly wounded doing so.”

  Zelek’s eyes softened. “I will remember him forever, then.”

  “So will I.” The waiter came. Hanna translated the menu, and they ordered. “Do you remember the Russian boy, Stephen?”

  “Yes. He used to bring fish.” His face brightened. “He also helped with the cow.”

  “That is he,” said Hanna, smiling. “He saved both Jakob and me. He got us into Germany.” She looked down at the ring on her finger. “I married him, but he has disappeared in Russia.”

  Zelek folded his hands, hard and calloused from heavy work. “I will remember him forever, too.”

  “And so will I.”

  The meal came, and they began eating. Zelek had little knowledge of table manners, but Hanna smiled with pride.

  When they finished, Zelek rolled another of his simple cigarettes. After he lit up, Hanna placed her hand on his. “Zelek, we would like you to come live with us in Germany.”

  He looked at her in surprise. “Thank you, sister, but I must go back to my company.”

  “You do not have to go. You are quite safe here. You will be very comfortable in Stuttgart. It is a lovely city.”

  He shook his head. “Russia is my country. We are changing it. Soon, we will wipe from its face all the injustices we’ve suffered. There is so much to do. I am needed.”

  Hanna stared at him in amazement. Little Zelek, unable to read or write, forced to work like an ox since childhood, undernourished, beaten–he was needed to build a new country! All the privations he would be facing–he chose them over the comforts which awaited him in Stuttgart! A wave of love and admiration swept over her. Look, Israel! Look, Motlie! Look with honor on your son!

  “You will keep in touch with me, will you not?”

  “Yes. Of course. But first, I must learn to write.” He grinned shyly. “A friend wrote that letter I sent you.”

  “It was the most welcome letter I have ever received in my life.” She caressed the back of his hand. “How long can you stay here?”

  “I must return tonight. I told the people who brought me. I do not want anyone to think I have deserted.”

  “Come up to the room,” she said. Once there, she took a roll of bills from her handbag and held it out to him.

  “I cannot take that,” he said. “It is too much.”

  “Take it,” she insisted. “Use it to learn to read and write. So that you can write to me yourself.” She kissed his hand. “And search for Reba and Stephen. We must not rest until we find them.”

  Shyly, he accepted the money. “I will do as you say, sister.”

  A knock came at the door. Jules answered it. He turned back into the room. “It’s Herr Liebknecht. He’s come for Zelek.”

  Hanna put her arms around him and kissed his lips. “Take good care of yourself, little brother. Always remember that I love you.”

  He kissed her in return. “And I love you, sister.” He stood back, and for a moment he seemed taller. “Soon we will be going south to fight the enemy. I will kill a Cossack for you.”

  “Yes. Kill one for me.”

  He turned to Jules and put out his hand. “I will remember you, Jules Weiner.”

  Hanna translated.

  “And I will remember you, Zelek.”

  The door closed behind him.

  CHAPTER 42

  1923

  Hanna arrived at her office building earlier than usual. She stopped and looked at it with pride. Although the conclusion of the war five years ago had played havoc with all sectors of business, she had held her own through innovation and sheer determination. Her headquarters now occupied two upper floors of a six storied building, which she had purchased the year before. Still carrying the thrill of her achievements, she went inside. Only the maintenance people were on duty. The elevator operator greeted her with his usual mixture of friendliness and awe, and soon she was at her desk.

  She received the call at midmorning from Herr Grunwald of the Stuttgart Zentral Bank, asking if she would be good enough to stop by his office at her earliest opportunity. She was there within half an hour.

  “Frau Charnoff,” he greeted her graciously, coming from around his desk to lead her to a chair.

  Hanna suspected why Grunwald had called. Only the year before, in 1922, the French had occupied the Ruhr, the heart of industrial Germany, and inflation had swept over the entire country. From a prewar value of 4.2 marks to the American dollar, which was now king, the mark had fallen to 7,000 to the dollar, then to 160,000, and only two months ago to an incredible 242 million. Then just yesterday, late in November, Hanna had received an urgent call from her treasurer that the dollar had reached an impossible 4 trillion, 200 billion marks!

  She had leaned heavily on the bank to provide her with larger and larger lines of credit, and it had preyed on her mind constantly. It was not a matter of ability to sell, for the discharged military veterans and the civilians, who had put up with rationing during the horrid war years, had created a demand for the merchandise that she had switched to at the conclusion of the conflict. No, her factories were working to capacity. But the thought of the amount of debt was staggering. One slight miscalculation could be fatal.

  “Frau Charnoff,” went on Grunwald when they had taken seats. “I am certain you realize that the resources of the bank are being stretched to an uncomfortable point. Our Board of Directors has decided that all loans must be made callable. I would like to inform you that your line of credit will be placed on that basis in three days.”

  Hanna found it hard to breathe, although the banker’s change of policy had not been unexpected. But three days! The weekend was coming up, and she would not be able to speak with other banks until afterwards. “But Herr Grunwald,” she explained politely. “We have an agreement for all contracts on hand. My shortest term is two months, and we have others which go for over a year.”

  Grunwald’s eyes remained steady, but there was no longer the gleam of interest he once had. “I have explained, Frau Charnoff, that the policy of the bank no longer recognizes guaranteed periods of credit.”

  “I have understood what you said,” she replied, still courteously. “But I have legal, binding contracts.”

  His eyes gave way for the merest flicker. “We do not agree.”

  “I could lose a great deal,” she said, her voice taking on a tinge of anger. “In that event, I will look to the bank for reparation.”

  Grunwald abruptly rose from his chair. “Good day, Frau Charnoff.”

  The flush of anger grew darker
. She left the room without another word.

  The drive back to her office was one of anxiety, tinged with despair. If she did not meet her debt as specified, the bank would surely foreclose. She could sue, of course, but they could tie her up in litigation for months or years. She wondered whether she could collect enough to make it worthwhile. That made her think of Fergl’s crushing defeat. The disaster had turned full circle.

  At her office, she was immediately on the phone to her lawyer. He was as shocked as she, for he had drawn up the contracts. “You will win your suit, Frau Charnoff,” he said with conviction.

  “But what will become of my companies in the interim?”

  “I don’t know. But I will put in an estop the first thing Monday.”

  “How much time can you obtain for me?”

  “Perhaps a week–ten days at the most.”

  “Do so. Use the strongest terms possible to explain that we will fight to the very last mark. Do you have any idea why the bank would break a valid contract?”

  “It is beyond me, Frau Charnoff. I am sure they realize they will lose a court action, but apparently there is a motive strong enough for them to risk paying the penalty.”

  Motive! Her head cleared and she hung up and sat back in her chair. Then she pressed a buzzer and summoned Fergl. He took one look at her face and quietly took a chair, waiting for her to speak.

  “The bank is calling in my lines of credit,” she said.

  Disbelief flared from his eyes. “But you have contracts,” he said angrily. “They wouldn’t dare.”

  “They have.”

  A sign of understanding abruptly came to his face. “It’s Bremen Aktien Konzern!” he hissed.

  “It had just occurred to me.”

  “They did the same thing to me, those vermin,” he said savagely. He cleared his throat. “Hanna, I have some savings.”

  Her expression gave away her concern. “Thank you, Friedrich. But I am afraid I will need more than we could possibly put up. What I need most is time. My attorney is putting in an estop. That will give me a few more days.”

  “If BAK is behind this, you won’t find a bank in Germany which will help.”

  She folded her hands on her desk. “I wonder if I will ever know whether it is BAK.”

  “You’ll know soon enough,” said Fergl with assurance. “They don’t want a business that has closed.”

  Moments after Hanna left Grunwald’s office, the banker put in a call to Bremen, and was soon on the line with Johann Eichendorff, General Director of Bremen Aktien Konzern.

  “Herr Direktor,” he said obsequiously. “I have just spoken to Frau Charnoff. I have given her three days.”

  “You can be certain her attorney will seek an estop,” said Eichendorff in a rasping voice.

  “We are expecting that. Our attorneys are certain they can set it aside in a week or so.”

  “Very well. How did she take it?”

  “She became angry. She threatened to sue.”

  Eichendorff laughed, mirthlessly. “They always do. After a year or two of litigation, they come to their senses.”

  Grunwald felt a flow of power in his loins. The president of his bank had assured him that BAK would recompense them for any costs incurred, for they would be a drop in the bucket compared to what the company expected to gain. “I will keep you appraised, Herr Direktor,” he said.

  “Yes, do that, Grunwald,” he said, dropping the receiver on the hook.

  The call came to Hanna just after lunch. It was a secretary in Bremen, stating that Herr Direktor Eichendorff of Bremen Aktien Konzern wished to speak with her. Hanna was tempted to hold him off until Fergl could be summoned, then her hackles rose and she took the call.

  “Frau Präsident Charnoff?” said a rasping voice.

  “Yes,” replied Hanna guardedly.

  “Thank you for taking my call so promptly. I trust you have heard of us?”

  “Yes,” she replied. No more, no less.

  Eichendorff waited a few seconds. He had expected her to say more than just the single word. His voice took on a tinge of annoyance as he continued speaking. “We have been following the performance of your companies for some time now, Frau Präsident. The results have been outstanding.” Hanna did not reply, and after another few seconds, Eichendorff went on more sharply. “We would like you to consider a mergence of your companies with ours. We are prepared to make a very attractive offer for them.”

  Hanna could hold herself in no longer. “I will discuss your offer with my chief executive, Herr Fergl.”

  “Fergl? Why him?”

  “You gave him such an offer a few years ago.”

  Eichendorff did not have to thumb through the dossier on his desk to check on that, for he had given the order to take over Fergl’s company. Attacking Hanna was merely unfinished business in his mind. He had just waited for an opportune occasion. “Yes,” he went on. “I remember Herr Fergl. His company failed, did it not?” His temper showed through clearly.

  “It did not fail. I acquired it.”

  “If you wish to express the loss of his company in that manner, then I will not contradict you.” She could sense his shrug over the line. “However, I would like to return to the matter on hand.”

  “You may send me your proposal, if you wish.”

  “Send!” The threat came through clearly. “Frau Präsident, I have taken up some valuable time to speak with you personally. I could very well have assigned one of my very junior executives to make this call.”

  Without warning, Hanna hung up the phone. She sat there seething for a minute or two, her hands clenched in anger and helplessness. There is no reason to be polite to that animal, she raged inwardly. His price would be the same whether she ranted or begged. But what could she do? She felt a wave of despondency sweep over her as she thought of what Fergl had said, that no bank in Germany would lift a finger for her. Why should they? They had clients lined up in hallways seeking loans. All the years of effort, of privations– going down the drain of greed. She could not afford being wiped out. There has to be a solution. There has to be.

  She spent the afternoon at two of the banks which had sought her business in the past. The officers were considerate, but predictably answered, “Regrettably Frau Charnoff, we have reached our limit of credit exposure.” She did not know whether they were telling the truth or had been advised to ignore her account.

  That evening at the Sabbath supper, she was unusually quiet.

  “What’s the problem?” asked Jules, always well tuned in to her moods.

  She pulled herself out of her apprehensions. “Just business,” she replied. “The mark has gone crazy.”

  “It is affecting me, too. I have given up all thought of importing merchandise. Now I buy as much as I can locally and try to sell anything I get my hands on here out of the country.”

  “Are you having any success”

  “So so. I subtract a number here, add a number there, and it all works out. One thing is certain, though. I would rather own an oil well in the State of Texas in the U.S.A. Say, did you get the letter from Liebknecht, your detective?”

  “No, I did not.”

  Jules looked over at Paul, gazing off into the distance while chewing his food. He was almost seventeen now, tall, fine featured, his fingers as long as his father’s. Jules remembered that he had been at the violin class that afternoon. Music transported him, and he would daydream about the pieces he played until someone brought him down to earth.

  “Paul,” he said, with just enough force to get his son’s attention.

  Paul brought himself back to reality. “Yes, Papi.”

  “Did you put Tante Hanna’s letter on the entry stand?”

  He came abruptly awake. “Oh, I forgot,” he said, getting up and walking to the vestibule to his leather music case. Back at the table, he handed over the letter to Hanna. “Sorry, Tante Hanna. I was riding on a cloud again.”

  She smiled with affection. Nothing
Paul could do could upset her. Later that evening, she would have him play out some of his dreams. She pulled open the envelope and read the letter carefully. It was pretty much the same as the dozen or more she had received so far that year. Still no news about Reba or Stephen. Liebknecht stated that he was keeping in touch with Zelek. Hanna’s heart lifted at mention of her brother’s name. He had also written over the years. From barely legible printing, he had graduated to careful writing. He was a lieutenant, now. Five years ago, he had killed a Cossack for her and had sent the victim’s cap insignia as evidence. It lay on her bedroom table, a reminder as to what her priorities must remain.

  Liebknecht mentioned a name. His men had run upon a Jew in Kaunas who had been brought before a police officer during the interrogations in the shtetl at the time of Hanna’s escape. A name had stuck in his memory. Zedoff. Hanna made a mental note to ask Liebknecht to check on the man. Maybe he would have heard of her family. The chances were that he would be dead or off in Siberia himself now. Thank the Lord that she had more than enough money for Liebknecht to send a score of investigators into Russia. At least for the present, for since her talk with Grunwald, her world was tilting upside down.

  Somehow she got through the weekend, and then she was off going from bank to bank, hearing one story after the other as to why credit was unavailable. Her heart pounded with each passing hour. Her attorney had initiated an estop, but the bank was fighting it vigorously. It was all just a matter of time. She began phoning banks out of the city. Most of them did not even return her calls.

  Day after day she came home to supper barely able to keep up the pretense of all being well. On Thursday morning, a letter came from BAK, signed by a very junior officer. They were prepared to assume all of her debt and leave her one of the companies. It was one that she organized directly after the war ended to experiment with various materials and fashions. She almost broke into tears. It would be like starting all over again with Elfriede. Could she ever build her company up again? She knew better. The rush to war, and the war itself had given her the foothold.