A Cobbler's Tale

by Neil Perry Gordon

  Hunched over his sewing machine, pumping the pedal, and watching the needle bob up and down, he felt sadness overwhelm him. With all transportation shut down and even the mail delivery canceled because of the war, he had no choice now but to wait for the war to end before he could see his family.

  Why did I wait so long? he kept asking himself. I could have gone back last year. Between the murders in my shop and the start of this war, coming to America could turn out to be the worst decision I’ve ever made. If something happens to them, I don’t know what I’ll do.

  The bell jingled, signaling the opening of the front door. Pincus slowly stood up and reluctantly walked to the storefront. “Oh, it’s you, Jakob,” he said, and turned to walk back behind the curtain blocking the view to his workshop.

  “Pincus, I need to speak with you,” Jakob called after him.

  “Come on back, let’s talk here.”

  Pincus sat down on his work stool and watched Jakob as he lifted himself onto the countertop between dozens of pairs of shoes waiting for the cobbler’s hands.

  “I’m leaving. I need to do something and I won’t be back for a while. Maybe a few months,” Jakob said.

  “Leaving? Leaving for where?”

  “I really can’t say. But it’s something that I need to do.”

  “Great, that’s just great, and what am I supposed to do here without you?”

  “Come on, it won’t be so hard finding someone to handle the customers. You’ll be fine.”

  “I don’t know if I’ll ever be fine again,” Pincus said with a sigh.

  Pincus lay awake in his bed. He could hear Jakob snoring a few feet away. “Jakob, are you awake?”

  When Jakob continued to snore, Pincus repeated the question loud enough to wake him.

  “What is it Pincus? What’s wrong?”

  “I made a mistake not going back to Krzywcza sooner. Now it’s too late. From what I read in the newspaper, my family is living in a war zone. How could I have done such a thing?” he said, struggling to hold back tears. The last thing he wanted to do was to cry in front of Jakob.

  Jakob got up, lit a candle, and placed it on the small night-stand next to his bed. “Pincus, I know this is very tough for you. But you must believe that they’ll be safe. There’s nothing you can do about it now.”

  “I know that. But I won’t be able to live with myself if something does happen to them.”

  Both men sat in silence for a while as the candlelight flickered strange patterns of light on the ceiling. Pincus rubbed away the tears he could no longer hold back.

  “Pincus, I need to tell you something.” Jakob stood up, walked over to the window, and sat on the sill. He told Pincus about his plan to escort the contraband to the Jewish fighters in Galicia. “I’m to make the delivery to Krakow. That’s not too far from Krzywcza is it?”

  “A few days’ ride by wagon,” Pincus said.

  “Come with me. You can help me with the shipment, and then I’ll go with you to Krzywcza. We’ll rescue your family and bring them here.”

  Pincus, now sitting up in bed, stared at Jakob with his mouth open, the tears no longer running down his face.

  “And Pincus, there’s one more thing. They are paying me two thousand dollars, a thousand now and another thousand when we make the delivery. I’ll split it with you,” he said, pulling out a wad of cash from his pocket and showing it to Pincus.

  “I don’t care about the money,” Pincus said, lying back down and staring at the flickers of candlelight on the ceiling. Both men said nothing for a good minute.

  Suddenly Pincus jumped to his feet. “I’ll do it. I’ll go with you. I need to save my family.”

  “You’d better get dressed first,” Jakob said with a smile at Pincus, who was standing there naked except for his briefs.

  CHAPTER 42

  THE RUSSIAN GUESTS

  Clara figured they had enough food at least to get through the winter. If it had not been for Shmuel’s warning about the war now raging at their doorstep, they would be starving by now. A large assortment of grains, root vegetables, sugar, goose liver, flour, meat, and beans were stored in the cellar.

  Her mother and her daughter Jennie had helped to cook a variety of meals for the family and the usual guests—Shmuel, and Moshe’s friend Max, who naturally had open invitations. They ate only once a day, in the early afternoon. Clara looked forward to Shmuel’s visits. He came with news about the war that was raging in full force only a few miles away.

  What was known was that the Austrian General Conrad had pushed back the unprepared Russian army north and into Ukraine. But the Russians had regrouped and pressed forward, causing the Austrians to fall back, and in desperation they had formed a defensive line along the cities of Lemberg, Prxmysl, and Krakow. She knew these cities well; Krzywcza sat directly between Prxmysl and Krakow.

  “Mama, Shmuel is here,” Moshe called to his mother as he supervised Anna and Hymie, who were peeling potatoes for the soup.

  “Moshe, tell him to take off his boots,” ordered Grandmother.

  Shmuel kicked off his snow- and mud-covered boots, placed his hat, scarf, and coat on the chair by the door, and gave a Moshe a hug. “Will it ever stop snowing, Moshe?”

  “Shmuel, come tell me the news. What have you heard?” asked Clara.

  Shmuel greeted the children and their grandmother before walking over to Clara, who sat at the large kitchen table, cutting beets for the horseradish.

  “It’s not going well for the Austrian army, the rabbi says. The Russians have broken through gaps in the line, and General Conrad had to order the army to retreat into the mountains. All of Galicia is now under Russian control,” Shmuel said, grabbing a potato and a knife.

  “Oh, this is bad,” Clara said. “What about the Germans?”

  “From what we hear, the Germans have captured Lodz and are trying to push into Warsaw, but the Russians have held them back.”

  Moshe and Clara listened intently to every word. “What about the Jews?” Moshe asked. “Last time you told us that we were fighting alongside the Austrians.”

  “That’s still happening, Moshe. Jewish men all across Galicia are being given the rabbinical blessing to fight this holy war against the Russian barbarians.”

  “Mama, I want to go fight,” Moshe said.

  Clara dropped the knife, leaned over, and smacked Moshe across the face. “Don’t say such a crazy thing. You’re twelve years old, and I am not going to lose you.”

  Moshe touched his stinging cheek. “Okay, Mama.”

  “I’m sorry, Moshe,” she said, hugging him.

  With everyone asleep, Clara looked out the window onto a moonlit street covered with a blanket of fresh snow. The winds howled, and occasional bursts of faint flashes of light could be seen over the treetops in the distance, followed by low booms.

  She had slept little since the war began. No one, not even her mother, knew that she sat guard every night. Not that she could do much if anyone approached the house. Tonight, under the bright light of the moon, she could see clearly down the street to the marketplace.

  Clara couldn’t stay awake and fell into a deep sleep. Slumped in the chair, she had a vivid dream of Pincus. In the dream, she opens the front door and Pincus stands there with the same valise he left with. “I’m back, Clara,” he says. She slams the door in his face and locks it.

  Pincus knocks and knocks and screams, “Clara, please, I’m sorry. Open the door, Clara!”

  The rumbling of the floorboards startled Clara awake from the dream. She jumped up from the chair and looked out the window. Marching in formation, moving directly toward her house, was a band of Russian soldiers.

  She spun around in a panic. “Children, wake up quickly,” she said, not too loudly. “Come, Jennie, wake up,” she said, shaking her oldest daughter awake. “Mother, you need to wake up. Everyone into the cellar right now.”

  With the help of Jennie, the children got to their feet and ran down the stairs int
o the dark cellar. As soon as her mother’s head was clear, Clara closed the cellar door and slid a straw rug on top.

  A loud knock rattled the door in its frame. With hands shaking and her heart pounding so hard it hurt, she opened the door. A tall thin man of no more than twenty-five years of age stood there. His faced was smeared with a mixture of dried blood and mud. Light powdered snow had accumulated in the creases of a coat that was clearly too big for his skinny frame.

  “What do you want?” She spoke sternly as a way to conceal her fear.

  “Madam, please excuse us for the late hour,” the man said in broken Polish.

  Clara inhaled a breath to calm herself in order to understand the Russian soldier struggling with the language.

  “My name is Lieutenant Alexi Ivanov. My men need rest. Would you allow officers to spend night in home? Make us something to eat?” said the young lieutenant.

  With her hands shaking uncontrollably, she managed to agree.

  The officer turned and waved to two men who stood shivering in the road. The company of enlisted men scattered behind them, seeking refuge in nearby barns and stables.

  The officers entered, taking off their coats, hats, gloves, and boots. The snow quickly melted and small puddles of water formed on the wooden floorboards.

  They were all around the same age, and none of them looked well fed. Like moths to a flame, they quickly found the stove and huddled around it, relishing its warmth.

  “Thank you very much. Allow me to introduce,” Alexi said. He put his hand on the shoulder of a much shorter man with a darker complexion. “This is Boris Popov.”

  Boris gave a slight smile and nodded to Clara.

  “And this is my brother Vadim.”

  “Thank you,” said Vadim, who looked identical to his brother Alexi.

  “Twins?” Clara asked looking back and forth at the two brothers.

  “Yes, I’m older one,” said Alexi.

  “By two minutes,” joked Vadim.

  “My name is Clara. Please sit down, let me see what I can find for you to eat. I don’t have much, as you can imagine.” She placed three bowls on the table and a few pieces of stale bread. Then she ladled warm leftover soup into the bowls.

  “Where is family, Clara?” said Vadim.

  “I am here alone. My family has emigrated to America.” She immediately regretted saying this.

  “And you stayed behind?” Alexi asked in surprise.

  Thinking fast, she remembered something Pincus had told her. “Oh, I did go with them. But on the voyage to America I became ill, and I didn’t pass the medical inspection, so they sent me back. I plan to return as soon as the war is over.”

  The night passed without incident. Clara sat in her chair while the three soldiers slept and snored. In the morning, they thanked her politely and left.

  Clara looked out through the window until she felt safe, and then she kicked away the straw mat and opened the cellar door. Grabbing the kerosene lamp, she flew down the steps and saw Moshe lying on the dirt floor looking deathly ill.

  “Moshe, are you okay? Are you having an episode?”

  Moshe lifted his head and pointed weakly across the cellar into the darkness. Clara moved the lamp and saw her mother lying prone on the ground with her head resting in Jennie’s lap.

  Jennie looked up with tears streaming down her face. “Grandmother is dead, Mama.”

  CHAPTER 43

  THE PRINCE OF PRUSSIA

  It felt like a lifetime ago that Pincus had first boarded the SS Amerika. Back then, he had been poked, stuck, humiliated, sick, and abused. But this time he would spend the extra money he had saved and purchase a first-class cabin. The cost was much less than he expected since traveling in winter to a continent at war was not very popular.

  Before the war, Pincus had fantasized this trip as his triumphant arrival home. He would be the returning hero, the man who offered a future in America for the families of Krzywcza. He had relished the idea of being recognized publicly by the rabbi. He’d imagined himself walking with Clara on his arm through the streets of the village, and his name being called out with shouts of gratitude.

  Instead his homecoming would be one of shame. How could he have ignored his family for so long? How could he have been so blinded by his own need for success and respect that he would put his family in such danger?

  When Pincus put the sign on his shop window announcing its closing, he prayed that Hashem would forgive his disgrace on the day he returned to reopen his shop along with his family safe and sound.

  He was taking one last look down Delancey Street before stepping into the wagon that would take him to the pier, when he saw Mendel Beck walking toward him.

  “Pincus, I’m happy to catch you before you left,” said Mendel, flushed.

  “What is it?” Pincus asked.

  “Please don’t leave Shmuel behind. Somehow bring him back with you. He has been good to your family. Don’t leave my boy there,” Mendel said in tears.

  Pincus put down his valise and put his hands on Mendel’s shoulders. “I will bring him home, I promise.”

  Mendel wrapped his arms around Pincus and hugged him tight. “Thank you. Be safe and come back with your family. The store and the Landsman Society will be waiting for your return.”

  Despite the frigid temperature, Jakob insisted on staying topside until he saw his cargo lifted and safely stored on board the ship.

  “There, that’s it,” he said.

  “Can we go inside now?” Pincus asked with chattering teeth as the wintry winds swirled across the harbor. The incessant spray off the whitecaps sculpted immense icicles that rooted themselves into the steel of the SS Amerika. Pincus thought the ship looked like it had just arrived from an expedition to Antarctica.

  “Let’s go get you warm,” Jakob said, patting his friend on the back.

  Later that evening, as the SS Amerika set sail out of New York Harbor and into the Atlantic, Pincus watched Jakob button up his jacket.

  “That’s a nice suit, Jakob,” Pincus said, putting away his few pieces of clothing in the elegantly carved wooden bureau.

  “Thank you. I bought this for my first date with Nita.”

  Pincus liked Jakob and, in a way, found his vanity amusing. He wished that he had also bought a new suit. It would have been better than this moth-eaten brown wool jacket that he had worn for the past ten years.

  They found their way from their cabin to the carpeted staircase that led to the glass doors opening into the main dining hall. The maître d’, clad in a crisp white jacket, greeted them.

  “Right this way, gentlemen,” he said.

  Following the maître d’ to their table, Jakob elbowed Pincus and directed him with a nod to the table at the center of the cavernous room. Pincus turned to look at a table for four that indeed deserved his attention. There sat a young man dressed in a military uniform. How remarkable, Pincus thought, he sits as if he were standing at attention. Maybe it’s because of all the emblems and metals decorating his blood-red jacket that prevents him from a natural slouch.

  Sitting next to the officer was an even younger woman. She wore a delicate white dress, and a small blue hat was perched on top of her braided bun. Two other men in uniform completed the group.

  As they took their seats at their table, Jakob asked the maître d’ who they were.

  “That is His Royal Highness Price Adalbert. He is the third son of our monarch, Kaiser Wilhelm. The woman next to him is the Princess Adelaide. They are returning from their honeymoon.”

  Jakob and Pincus sat alone at a table meant for ten. Pincus ran his hand across the spotless white tablecloth. He lifted a knife and admired its polish, then regarded the dinner plate emblazoned with the ship’s blue-and-orange insignia. Pincus marveled at the assortment of glassware and how it sparkled from the illumination of the crystal chandeliers slightly swinging overhead.

  “Jakob, this is crazy. Here we are traveling like royalty, while my family’s lives are
in danger,” he said as he gestured to the prince and princess.

  “Not so crazy,” Jakob said quietly. “We need to figure out a way of moving the guns from Hamburg to Kattowitz, and this prince may be the answer.”

  “Why would he want to do that?” Pincus asked.

  Jakob leaned into Pincus and whispered, “We’re going to put guns in the hands of soldiers to fight the Russians. We have a common enemy.”

  “Those men sitting with him. . . .” Pincus glanced over to their table. “They’re probably bodyguards. How do you think you’ll get close to the prince?”

  “I’m going to walk over there right now and ask the prince if he would join me for a cigar and a schnapps after dinner,” Jakob said, producing a few cigars from his jacket pocket.

  “Where did you get those?” Pincus asked with surprise.

  “I bought them from a pushcart on Mulberry,” he said, sliding one of the hand-rolled cigars across his upper lip. “Heavenly,” he added taking a deep breath. He stood up, buttoned his jacket, and walked across the empty dining hall to the royal table. As he approached, the bodyguards took defensive postures to protect the royal couple. Pincus could see Jakob speaking to the men and then reaching into his pocket to pull out the cigars. The guards looked back at the prince, who nodded and smiled. Next thing Pincus saw was Jakob shaking hands with the prince and princess.

  Returning to the table with a big smile, Jakob said, “We are drinking schnapps with the prince tonight in the smoking room.”

  “Not me Jakob. You’re better at this. I’ll head back to the cabin and go to sleep. Tell me what happened in the morning.”