A Cobbler's Tale

by Neil Perry Gordon

  CHAPTER 44

  THE RIGHTEOUS ONE

  Moshe sat in the rabbi’s study waiting for his daily lesson. Since the war started, the rabbi had insisted that he visit with him every day.

  “Moshe, there is much to learn. I must teach you in a short time what has taken me years to understand,” said the rabbi.

  It had been a few months since that fateful day of the attack by the killers. Mother had had her hands full settling the children after the terrible stabbing. Then she’d had to deal with the humiliating police investigation.

  Luckily Captain Berbecki had vacated his post as police captain to become an officer in the Russian army. Any criminal charges against his mother or Shmuel were forgotten about.

  With the full outbreak of war and armies from both sides marching across the countryside and through Krzywcza, his mother had new worries. The visit by the three Russian officers to their home had been too much for Grandmother to bear, and her passing had left Mother in a melancholy state.

  He wanted to stay with her as much as possible, but she insisted on his daily lessons with the rabbi. “Go. I’ll be fine for a few hours.”

  Moshe still could not comprehend that he had some special powers that he shared with only thirty-five others in the entire world. At first his special ability to help people excited him. But the more he learned, the more he understood the responsibilities his powers entailed. On top of that, some of these other tzaddikim had evil intentions, and that put him at risk of falling prey to them.

  Since Grandmother had died, he hadn’t had any more episodes, even with all the suffering taking place around him. He asked the rabbi in one of his first lessons, “Why don’t I feel the suffering from the war?”

  “It’s not surprising. These premonitions you have occur only when evil is about to affect you or someone close to you,” explained the rabbi. “The death and destruction taking place all around us has not found you. At least not yet.”

  “But how can I live with this reoccurring illness?” asked Moshe.

  “Once you learn how to channel your abilities, you’ll be able to buffer your physiological episodes. In other words, Moshe, you can numb yourself to a point that you can still feel someone’s pain without doing harm to yourself.”

  While he waited for the rabbi, Moshe scanned his eyes across the hundreds of books filling the shelves. It must have taken a lifetime to accumulate so many books. Has he read all of these?

  “Good morning, Moshe,” the rabbi called out, entering the study. “Sorry to keep you waiting. I needed to comfort Mr. and Mrs. Benzur. Their son just joined the army to go fight the Russians.”

  “I heard that Dovid left yesterday. Maybe I should also go to fight?”

  “You cannot go, Moshe. Your work with me is too important to risk your life. Remember what I taught you, that there are only thirty-six tzaddikim on earth at any one time. If one should perish leaving less than that number, the world would be in peril. You must continue your studies with me.”

  “I understand, Rabbi,” Moshe said. “Tell me, have you read all these books?”

  The rabbi turned to survey the books behind him. “I have, Moshe. It looks like a lot, but you know that I am nearly ninety years old, and that has given me plenty of time to read,” he said with a beam of warmth.

  “Are you a tzaddik, Rabbi?”

  “That’s a good question, Moshe. I was not born a tzaddik like you. But when I have my ninetieth birthday in a few weeks, I will, in a way, become a tzaddik. The word tzaddik also translates to the number ninety, and if one is so lucky to live to such an old age, our imminent death brings us closer to Hashem.” The rabbi paused to allow Moshe to absorb the lesson.

  “The basic understanding is that a tzaddik is an extension of Hashem placed here in the world to help people, which the tzaddik does by tapping into the almighty’s powers. A tzaddik exists to serve as an offshoot of Hashem. He is the righteous one, the leader and teacher of a generation.”

  Moshe looked at the rabbi, his mouth open in awe.

  “I know Moshe, there’s a lot to absorb.” The rabbi patted Moshe on his shoulder. “Don’t be overwhelmed. I will guide you as long as possible. But I want you to remember one thing right now.” He paused and leaned closer. “No one is to know you are a tzaddik, ever.”

  The rabbi’s words sent a chill through Moshe. He had known he had a gift that required nurturing, but keeping it a secret added something new and worrisome. Could he muster the strength to live up to his responsibilities?

  CHAPTER 45

  THE SMOKING ROOM

  Jakob sat alone at a table in the smoking room. The prince and his entourage had not yet arrived. A few other passengers were scattered around the other tables. He had never seen such elegance. The walls were finished with dark mahogany wood paneling. Geometrically spaced columns capped with elaborate wood-carved capitals flowed into the decorative plaster ceiling scrolled with symmetrical designs. The ship’s blue-and-orange colors were repeated in the pattern of the wall-to-wall carpeting.

  While the men at the other tables smoked their cigars, Jakob thought it a good idea to fight the temptation to light up. It would be rude to be smoking when the prince arrived.

  As he lounged in the comfortable velvet upholstered chairs, he could easily imagine Gorpatsch socializing in a smoking lounge similar to this one on a business trip to Europe. He also knew that, with him out of the country, Nita would clearly be spending more time alone with Gorpatsch. This sudden image soured his mood. Gorpatsch and Nita were probably hitting the town right now. People would be drooling at the glamorous couple pulling up to his club in his fancy motorcar. What chance did he have, trying to compete with one of the richest men in New York?

  Not only was Gorpatsch rich, he was also a criminal mastermind. Jakob had not had a clue that Gorpatsch and the captain had set him up to seek out a meeting with the Monk and then orchestrated the confrontation at the shop. When Gorpatsch had put a bullet between the eyes of the Monk and the district attorney, Jakob knew that his life would be linked to Gorpatsch. There would be no easy escape.

  But he had to admit to himself that the main reason he’d accepted the offer to run guns was for the money. Two grand was a lifetime worth of earnings. Even splitting the money with Pincus, he would still have far more than he could ever have imagined as a boy growing up poor in Warsaw. He would have enough to marry Nita, buy an uptown apartment, and still have extra to live on without ever working again.

  The other reason was to help Pincus rescue his family. How could he not help the only real friend he’d ever had? He smiled remembering their first meeting on the ship and how sick Pincus had been, how Jakob had had to carry him like a child to the deck. It was a strange friendship, but he was grateful for it.

  A disturbance in the hallway shook Jakob out of his daydream. He rushed over to the entrance of the smoking lounge to see what the brouhaha was all about. Just as he approached, he saw Prince Adalbert pull back his arm, a leather glove held in his hand, and attempt to slap it across a man’s face. The man, dressed in a fine black floor-length coat, reacted instantly. He caught the prince by the wrist, and twisted his arm, forcing him to the ground on one knee and causing him to release the glove that fell harmlessly to the floor.

  Jakob reacted instinctively and shoved the man backwards. He tripped over the prince’s knee, stumbled, and fell hard. Jakob pounced, pinning him to the plush carpeting. “Why are you assaulting the prince?” he asked breathlessly, his heart pounding.

  “Stop! Get up,” the prince called out in a jovial manner.

  Jakob turned and looked up, keeping his opponent securely pinned. “Who is this man, Your Majesty?”

  “His name is Gerald Richter. He’s my friend. We like to play this little game of duel. We’ve done it since we were children. Now let him go,” said the prince, very much amused.

  Jakob released his grip and rose to his feet. His face was flushed, his shirt damp with sweat, and he looked befuddle
d. “I don’t understand.”

  “We were just having some fun. Now help my poor friend Gerald up,” pleaded the prince.

  Jakob looked down at the man he just assaulted, who lay prone on his back, his black coat draped across the floor, staring back at him. Jakob leaned over, clasped his hand, and helped him back on his feet. “My apologies, Mr. Richter.”

  “Don’t be silly. A perfectly acceptable misunderstanding, Mr. . . um . . . your name is?”

  “Jakob Adler, sir. I thought you and the prince. . . .” his voice trailed off.

  “Yes, we sometimes get a little carried away with our charades,” said Richter, laughing.

  “Come now, Mr. Adler, you’ve earned your drink,” said the prince, gesturing toward the smoking lounge.

  Jakob followed the prince and Richter quickly through the groupings of tables and chairs to the back of the smoking lounge. There the prince parted a burgundy velour curtain and disappeared into a private room. Richter pulled back the curtain, turned and gestured for Jakob to enter.

  It was as if he’d stepped into another world. Not even in the private club that Gorpatsch owned had he ever seen such opulence. The curved walls featured deeply tufted fabric upholstery in the same burgundy velour. Oversized cushions were scattered across a half-round banquette that wrapped around the room and surrounded a round table topped in navy blue felt. The prince slid in with care to avoid hitting his head on the crystal chandelier. Richter and Jakob joined him on either side.

  Jakob worried that his opportunity for a private moment with the prince to discuss the guns might have been lost. He needed to learn more about this man before he could risk sharing his plans.

  “So, Mr. Adler, let me properly introduce my friend, retired Colonel Gerald Richter,” said the prince.

  “Retired? You look too young to be retired,” said Jakob.

  “In my case, early retirement,” Richter replied.

  “My brave friend here incurred a severe concussion from an explosion on the battlefield in Flanders. As a result, he experiences violent episodes that may endanger his fellow officers and enlisted men under the duress of battle,” explained the prince.

  “I am sorry to hear that,” said Jakob.

  “Now he serves the royal court. . . .” He paused, and then continued, “And assists me in my duties.”

  “I don’t think the princess enjoyed having a third wheel on her honeymoon, your highness,” Richter added.

  “No, she didn’t,” the prince replied with a chuckle. “Now, tell me about you and your friend. Where is he, and why is he not joining us?”

  “That’s Pincus. He needed some rest and went back to the cabin. He asked me to send his regrets,” said Jakob.

  “Why don’t you pull out those cigars and let’s order drinks,” the prince said, summoning over the waiter. “Do you mind if we skip the schnapps?”

  Jakob shrugged in indifference.

  “Excellent. Have you ever had the pleasure of cognac?” the prince asked.

  “I can’t say I ever had.”

  After toasting the meeting of new friends, the prince took a long drag on his cigar, exhaled, looked directly at Jakob, and said, “Tell me why you and your friend Pincus are traveling first-class in the dead of winter to a country at war?”

  CHAPTER 46

  THE PRINCESS

  Pincus awoke early as usual. The first-class accommodation provided the most comfortable bed he had ever slept in. He got to his feet and looked out the porthole. A thick layer of ice covered the glass and blocked his view of the vast ocean. He knew the comfort and warmth of the cabin would be short lived. Soon he and Jakob would try to move five hundred rifles through Germany and then across the battlefield in Galicia.

  While he dressed, he could hear Jakob snoring in the other room and wondered how the evening had gone with the prince. Assuming he would sleep a while longer, Pincus quietly left the cabin in search of coffee.

  He followed the maître d’ to a table near the center of the near-empty dining room. While the waiter poured his coffee, Pincus recognized the princess seated alone a few tables away. He watched the graceful way she scooped the sugar into her teacup with a tiny spoon. But why was she here alone, and where was the prince?

  She looked up and caught Pincus staring at her. Unperturbed, she offered a delicate smile and a “good morning.”

  Pincus felt himself blush. He nodded and looked down at the toast the waiter had just placed before him. He knew he had none of the social graces required to interact with someone like the princess, yet, as he nervously spread strawberry jam across his toast, he could sense her continued stare. He chanced a quick glance and noticed that she had stood up and was walking over to his table.

  “Good morning. Would you mind if I joined you?” she asked.

  “Please do,” Pincus said, clearly flustered.

  A waiter standing nearby quickly hurried over and pulled the chair out for the princess. She sat down and smiled. Without the makeup and the elegant dress she had worn the night before, she looked like a teenage girl, perhaps only a few years older than his Jennie. Unlike his daughter, the princess had deep blue eyes and long wavy blonde hair.

  “My name is Addie, short for Adelaide,” she said, placing the white linen napkin across her lap.

  “Pincus,” he blurted out. “My name is Pincus.”

  She laughed. “Why are you nervous, Pincus?”

  “I’m not nervous,” he said, offering her a forced smile.

  “That’s good. You shouldn’t be. Would you mind if I asked you something?”

  Pincus nodded, still having trouble speaking. What if he got caught talking to the princess alone? Even he knew this to be improper and unacceptable behavior for a princess, especially a newly married one. What if the prince walked in, or his bodyguards?

  Seemingly unflustered by the prospect of any impropriety, the princess asked, “My husband tells me that you and your friend . . . what’s his name?”

  “Jakob,” Pincus answered.

  “Right, Jakob. He’s very handsome, by the way.”

  Pincus looked around the room to see if anyone might be overhearing this scandalous conversation.

  “I understand that you and Jakob are planning on rescuing your family from war-torn Galicia. This is very brave,” she said.

  Pincus nodded. “Yes, my wife and four children are in a small village about two hours east of Krakow.”

  “That is so romantic. I told my husband that he must help you travel safely through Germany to the border. When you find your family, how do you plan to get them out of the country and to America?”

  “I don’t know. We still need to figure that out.”

  She leaned over the table and said in a near whisper, “Go to Arendal. It’s a city in Norway. You can take a Norwegian America ship.”

  Pincus listened with interest.

  “This may be the last voyage for these steamships crisscrossing the Atlantic. Such travel is getting too dangerous. But there are other ways.”

  She took a note pad and a pencil from her small purse and wrote something down. “Take this,” she said, sliding the paper across the table.

  “I wrote down the name and address of my cousin Carl Mortensen. Tell him we met and show him this note. He can arrange safe passage to America. Carl holds a position with the Norwegian America Line. He can get you and your family safely home. It may be costly. Do you have money?”

  Pincus nodded.

  “Good. Now I must go. Promise to write and tell me of your adventures once you and your family have arrived in America.”

  “I will, Your Highness,” Pincus said, rising to his feet and this time offering a genuine smile.

  She returned the smile, stood up, turned, and walked out of the dining hall.

  CHAPTER 47

  PETER PAN

  Jakob awoke to the sun glistening on the icy portholes. He dressed and made his way down the corridor in search for Pincus and something to eat. When he wal
ked into the dining hall, it was clear he had missed breakfast. The wait staff appeared busy setting up for lunch.

  Now where could Pincus be? The frigid weather eliminated any chance of him being topside. He peeked into the library. He had never been in a library before. His remembered his father having a few books and his mother teaching him to read when he was young. But after they were murdered, he had needed to survive in the streets and alleyways of Warsaw. In terms of priorities, browsing through a library came way down on the list.

  He stepped into the empty library. A few tables and chairs filled the center space of the room. Books lined the walls. Printed signs divided the sections by language: German, English, French, and Italian. He realized he had never even looked at an English book before. Standing before the wall of titles he found one that interested him greatly, Peter Pan by J.M. Barrie. The cover had a picture of a boy swinging a sword with a pirate ship in the background. He sat down in one of the chairs and admired the illustrations, while wishing he could read the words.

  After a few minutes, his mind started to wander to the events of the previous night. The prince had not been surprised when Jakob told him about the shipment of guns he had smuggled on board.

  “You’re not the only smuggler on this ship,” the prince had said quietly.

  Jakob had told the prince about his plan to transport the guns from the Port of Hamburg to the border town nearest to Krakow. There the guns would be given to Jewish soldiers.

  “Why would I want to put guns in the hands of Jews?” the prince had asked.

  Jakob had told the prince that the rabbis of Galicia had declared this war against Russia to be a holy war. Jewish men were taking up arms and fighting alongside the Austrian armies in the Caspian Mountains. These guns would help with the fight.

  The prince appeared pleased. “These are honorable intentions,” he had said.