Enemy of the Tzar

by Lester S. Taube

  Sophia had caught the idea the moment she saw Hanna studying the girl. “She is twenty-three. In one more term, she will be a doctor.” She leaned nearer to Hanna. “Are you thinking what I am thinking?”

  “Yes. Would she go to help him?”

  Zelek had grasped the idea also. “She would go in an instant. Even before coffee.” He sat back in his chair, puffing at an American-made cigarette brought in by Hanna. “Eighteen years,” he mused. “That’s not too much.”

  “No, it is not,” affirmed Hanna. “They both have good roots. Would you talk to her on the way home?”

  Sophia laughed. “It would not be necessary. Like Zelek said, she would go in a flash.”

  Over coffee, Zelek took some papers out of his case. “About Reba,” he said.

  Everyone quieted to listen. “I have over forty men searching for her. I was called in by my superiors and questioned about it, and then they gave their approval. One of them even went so far as to introduce me to a comrade high in the NKVD. They were once the OGPU. He got to the files of the Okhrana and showed me the reports. It was very moving to see all our names, written over forty years ago.”

  “Was there anything about Reba?” asked Hanna, quickly.

  Zelek shook his head. “Nothing beyond the notice that she was transported in nineteen o-five.” He lit another American cigarette and savored its taste. “It said the same about Stephen - that he was exiled to Siberia. I got chills up my spine when I read my name as being transported, and that they were searching for you and Jakob. There was even a notice about the attempt on your life in Garmisch, and most amusing of all, absolute certainty that you and Jakob were dead and buried in Stuttgart. They even marked the case ‘Closed’ at that point.” He sat up straighter. “Did you know that Hershel had a woman helping him?”

  “No,” said Hanna.

  “Yes, a countess, mind you.” He looked squarely at Hanna. “It was Zedoff who masterminded the search.”

  Hanna drew in a breath of air. “So we were right, eh little brother?”

  “We were right.”

  “What happened to the woman?” asked Sophia. “The countess?”

  “Her neck was broken in an accident.”

  “A likely story,” said Stephen.

  Zelek again nodded. “I was told by any number of people that the search for Reba is a losing matter. That forty-three years is long, long ago.”

  “Then put on another forty people,” said Hanna, tightly.

  “Perhaps,” said her brother. “We have so much money in our search fund that we can hire a thousand men.” He ground out his cigarette and motioned with a thumb at Israel. “This one has an idea which is short of genius.” Israel tried to muffle his delight at Zelek’s words, but Natasha poked him in the ribs with pleasure. “A few days ago, when we were discussing the matter, he sat me down on a chair like a common soldier and questioned me for almost two hours until I was ready to throw him out of the door. I told him that Reba, Gitel, and I had been put on the train at Kovno in the afternoon, and that the following morning, when I awoke, Reba was gone. The next afternoon, Gitel and I were removed from the train and taken by wagon to the farm where she subsequently died, and I worked until I was picked up by the police for military duty. Israel asked me over and over what time I went to sleep. I didn’t remember. Then he asked another dozen times whether it was dark when I went to sleep. I still didn’t remember. Then he asked how long it took for the wagon to reach the farm, and the most I could remember is that we got there just before nightfall. That came to about five hours. I recall that because we got no supper, and I was starving.” Zelek rubbed his hands together with satisfaction. “Then this genius comes up with a theory.” Everyone leaned forward, hanging onto Zelek’s words. “He takes out some old maps, and marks off the stops the train made between the time I probably went to sleep, and the following morning. There were three. From those, he draws circles to cover the distance a wagon would travel in up to five hours.”

  Stephen let out a snort of understanding. He was already ahead of the others. Zelek smiled at him, and then continued. “Then Israel looks for any railroad connections at those stops. There was only a short, local one. He then checks the stops on that line and draws more circles.”

  Hanna stared at Zelek with curiosity. She did not see any connection thus far. Zelek nodded at her. “That means he thinks Reba ended up in one of those circles.”

  Hanna let out a breath of understanding and her eyes swung with gratitude at Israel. “Well, up to five hours in any direction from a railroad stop covers a lot of territory,” went on Zelek. “But it is a direction to take instead of running here and there blindly.”

  “What do you plan to do?” asked Hanna, excited.

  “Take over, son,” said Zelek.

  Israel sat up on the bench. “I will have an investigation team assigned to each circle. Each circle will then be divided into sections. The team will seek out an old-timer in each section, the district know-it-all, the gossip, to whom they will pay small sums of money to speak with the farmers, merchants, and so forth. They are to ask specific questions, such as, do you know of any girl about eleven years old who came there in nineteen o-five, who spoke Lithuanian? Aunt Reba would be about fifty-four years old if she survived. She would certainly have told people about her experiences over the years. One thing we must explain clearly–that Reba is not being sought for by the government; else the people will not cooperate, but that an army officer with limited money is trying to locate a sister lost many years ago. If the word gets about that a wealthy woman is financing the search, we will have a hundred women claiming they are Reba.”

  Zelek held up his hand. “We must consider some possibilities. First, there is always the possibility that she was transferred to another car on the train and was taken off God knows where. Second, it is quite possible that she was moved from one of those circles when the Germans attacked, but never came back. Third, she might not have gotten clear. That does not deny the fact that Israel’s suggestion is brilliant.”

  “How many more investigators will you need, Israel?” asked Hanna, her face flushed with hope.

  “About fifty, Aunt Hanna.”

  “We plan to recruit them next week,” said Zelek.

  Hanna’s eyes misted over. She got up abruptly and started walking down the road towards Gremai. Stephen caught up with her a few minutes later. He shortened his stride to stay abreast. “You’ve got a smart family,” he finally said.

  She nodded, still trying to get her emotions under control. “They take after Papa,” she said.

  He went on a few more paces. “So do you,” he said quietly.

  She stopped and faced him, her eyes red from sorrow. “You never stop saying nice things to me.”

  “Want me to?”

  She broke into a smile. “Not on your life.” She took his arm and swung him about. “Back to the crowd. There is still more to eat.”

  Anna Motlie flung her arms around Hanna’s neck and bussed her when the subject of going to England to help Paul with his speech was proposed. “Will this interfere with your studies?” asked Hanna.

  “Not at all,” said Anna Motlie, almost dancing. “Anyhow, I could make it a term paper, working with a heart specialist.”

  “How about an exit visa?” Hanna asked Zelek.

  “To help a fellow like Paul give a lecture here? They will throw her out of the country.”

  The family took off soon afterwards, amid kisses all around and storing the gifts that Hanna had given them in their car. She and Stephen sat up for a while, listening to music from her phonograph. She felt his eyes on her. “Why are you staring?” she chuckled.

  “I was just thanking my lucky stars that you found me.”

  She got up and lowered herself onto his lap, drawing his head against her breasts. “And I bless them with every breath, my love.”

  She phoned Paul the following day from the booth in the post office at Gremai. He was pleased
to hear about the invitation being offered. “Of course, I will help. But what is this about Anna Motlie? Are you trying to set up a shiddach?”

  She laughed. It was exactly what she was trying. A match between Paul and Anna Motlie would combine both of her worlds. “You are old enough to decide that,” she said, evading the question. Then she swung the conversation to that of business.

  CHAPTER 51

  The messenger from the Post Office at Gremai rode up on his bicycle in late afternoon. It was about a month after the reunion of the family.

  “Comrade Timoshinkov,” he said to Hanna. “You have a call waiting from Comrade General Barlak.”

  “I will be there at once.” She looked out of the window. Stephen was working in the field with his beloved mare. She swiftly wrote a note that she would be at the post office, left it on the table, then stepped on her bicycle and peddled to the center of town. It was only a few minute ride, and she preferred to get the exercise rather than use the pickup truck. It was probably Zelek giving the latest information about Anna Motlie’s stay in London. She and Paul had gotten on famously, and she was taking some courses at a nearby university while tutoring him in Russian.

  The operator was waiting on the line and put her through at once.

  “Hanna,” said Zelek, in a voice barely controlled. “I have some news.”

  “Reba?” asked Hanna, at once.

  “Possibly. One of our men, a very reliable fellow, ran upon a woman living about forty versts east of Grouzdov, in a very small village. Her name is Irena Kosnofsky. She is about fifty-five and is married to a farmer, crippled during the war. She works both in the fields and at a small metal working shop. Apparently, they are very poor. A neighbor said she had come there many years ago, but she didn’t know when. The investigator then interviewed Irena. She does not remember anything at all about her childhood. He states that she has a long scar on her head, probably from an injury. That could be a cause for her loss of memory. Her husband laughed that they named her Irena because she was such a ninny that she forgot her own. She does remember arriving at a farm a few versts away when a young girl of about eleven or twelve and being put to work in the fields. Just before World War One, she was married to the farmer’s son. They had five children. During our program of collectivism of farms, the father’s property was incorporated, and the family went to work for the commune. During the Nazi invasion, her husband was severely wounded while fighting as a partisan. He lost a leg, and the use of an arm. One of her sons was killed.”

  Hanna was listening so intently that all sounds in the post office were tuned out.

  “She is of medium-height, somewhat underweight, and has peasant features.” Zelek chuckled. “When I asked the investigator what peasant features looked like, he didn’t know what to say for a long minute. Anyhow, I assume it means a woman who has worked in the fields most of her life.

  “She has six grandchildren, and her family is scattered over an area of fifty or so versts. There is one thing more of interest. She has meager personal belongings, but one thing she prizes. She said it was with her when she came to the farm. It was a small, paper drawing. Very worn, faded, and difficult to decipher. She didn’t know what it meant. The investigator says it looks like a girl standing by a table. She seems to be stretching out for -”

  Hanna screamed aloud. “A dish of cookies!” she shouted, gripping tightly to the frame of the booth.

  There was deep silence on the other end. Then Zelek, his voice strained, “He didn’t say a dish of cookies. It was too faded. He thought it was a bowl.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “What does it mean, Hanna?”

  “Hershel,” she replied, chokingly. “Hershel drew pictures for all the children. You were like our rooster, with a Cossack uniform. Gitel was on the roof of the house, reaching for a star. Reba…”

  She broke down, weeping.

  After a few moments, Zelek said. “Hanna. Hanna. Are you there?”

  “Yes,” she replied, her voice broken.

  “We will go tomorrow. There is a train from Kovno to Grouzdov, the first thing in the morning. I will be waiting in Grouzdov.”

  “I will drive there. I will leave at once.”

  “No. No. The roads are terrible. You will make it faster by train.”

  She could not answer him.

  “Hanna. Hanna. Can you hear me?”

  “Yes,” she finally said.

  “Don’t get your hopes up too high. It could be another drawing, another place.”

  She took a grip on herself. “I will see you tomorrow.” She dropped the receiver heavily on the hook and leaned back against the door, her brain spinning. Then slowly she walked out.

  On the way home, she suddenly began weeping again. She stopped the bicycle alongside the road and sat down, too shaken to go on. She wept and wept. Then she brushed away the tears. Night was falling. She looked up at the heavens.

  “Jakob, my dear one,” she whispered. “Oh, Jakob. Please come. Please talk to me.”

  Then from the very reaches of her soul, she heard his soft, gentle voice. “Yes, Hanna.”

  “Jakob,” she said, starting to cry again. “Please let it be Reba. Please.”

  For a long moment there was no reply. Then she heard him again. “So be it.”

  She rose to her feet and raised her arms high to the heavens. “Jakob. Thank you. Thank you. And Jakob, tell Hershel I love him. Tell him I kiss his hand.”

  There was the faint flutter of wings, then his voice. “Goodbye, Hanna.”

  She heard a horn blowing. A vehicle was coming. It was Stephen in the pickup. She lifted the bicycle from the side of the road. Then she squared her shoulders. She must prepare herself for whatever was to come.

  After all, she was only sixty-two years old.

  END

  Lester S. Taube

  Lester Taube was born of Russian and Lithuanian immigrants in Trenton, New Jersey. He began soldiering in a horse artillery regiment while in his teens, where in four years he rose from the grade of private to the exalted rank of private first class.

  During World War II, he became an infantry platoon leader and participated in operations in the Bismarck Archipelago, was attached to the 3rd Marines for action on Iwo Jima, and finally combat on Okinawa, the last battle of the war.

  After leaving the army and recuperating from wounds and malaria, he became general manager of a 400 employee electronic company in California, manager of a 450 employee paper stock company in Pennsylvania, and finally opened a logging and pulpwood cutting operation in Canada.

  Called back to duty during the Korea Police Action, he served as an advisor to the Turkish army, then as an intelligence officer and company commander in Korea.

  During the Vietnam period, he was stationed in France and Germany as a general staff officer working in intelligence and war plans.

  Prior to retirement as a full colonel, he moved to a small village in the mountains of North Tyrol, Austria, and kept a boat for five years on the Côte d’Azur, France.

  He began writing novels while in France, and after producing four books, which were published in a number of countries, and selling two for motion pictures, he stopped - “as there was heavy soldiering to do and children to raise”.

  Returning to the U.S. after 13 years overseas, he worked as an economic development specialist for the State of New Jersey helping companies move to New Jersey or expand therein.

  He has four children, all born in different countries.