Alix sat up with a heavy sigh and swung her feet to the carpet. “Poor Berta. I’m afraid we haven’t been very good guests tonight. Well, I’m going home. I’m exhausted.” She stood up and leaned her fingertips against a little table for balance. “I’ll probably have to ring up for the car. I can’t imagine Lenya remembered to send it back for me. That would be his revenge. Keep me waiting for it.”
A sleigh glided up the road and pulled into the drive. At this hour Berta knew it had to be Hershel and hurried to the front door. Stepping outside she stood under the portico, shivering with her arms clasped over her chest while she watched him climb out of the cab. “Hurry up, it’s freezing out here,” she called to him.
The horse stamped his feet and shook his head, jingling the bells on his harness. When Hershel straightened she saw in the growing light that his coat was stained black in the front, that he wasn’t wearing a hat or gloves, and that his hair was wet and matted against his scalp.
“Where have you been?” she asked, once he had joined her at the door.
“When we get inside.”
“What’s that stain? Is it blood?”
He didn’t answer her but led the way into the house. Alix was in the foyer putting on her coat. “There you are,” she said. “Everybody was asking about you. I hope you told that cabman to wait. Lenya took our car and stranded me here. Isn’t that just like him?”
“You’ll have to call your own cab,” Hershel said, striding past her to the stairs. “I’ll need that one.”
“You’re going out again?” Berta asked.
“Come up, I have to talk to you.” His tone was flat and chilling. The two women stood there a moment watching him climb the stairs. “I’m sorry, Alix,” she said without taking her eyes off her husband.
“Don’t be, milochka. They want what they want. What ’s the point of arguing? Go up to him. I’ll be all right.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course. Go on, I’ll ring you tomorrow.”
Berta kissed her on both cheeks and hurried up the stairs.
She found Hershel in his bathroom with his shirt off and the hot water running in the sink. Steam curled up and clouded the mirror. He was using her good scissors to cut his beard close to the skin. There were curly black hairs on the counter, more floating in the water, and even more stuck to the blades.
“What’s the matter, Hershel? You couldn’t give Alix the cab? That ’s not like you.”
“No, I suppose it isn’t.” He applied a thick layer of shaving soap over his face and chin.
“Why are you shaving off your beard?”
There was a knock on the door.
“That ’ll be Vera,” he said. “Tell her to bring up three suitcases. Not the big ones. I want them easy to carry.”
Her stomach churned. “Are you going somewhere?”
He dipped his razor into the hot water and then, leaning forward to get a better look, scraped a swath off his cheek. The beard made a crackling noise as the razor wiped it away. “Please, Berta. Just do as I say.”
She opened the bedroom door and found Vera standing there wearing her nightdress with a shawl thrown over her shoulders. After Berta explained what she wanted, Vera asked, “Shall I pack them for you, Madame?”
The question threw her for a moment. It hadn’t occurred to her that she might be going somewhere. “No, that’s all right. Sorry to bother you this early.”
“S’all right, Madame. No bother.”
Back in the bathroom, Berta found a stranger standing in front of the mirror, dabbing at a dribble of blood on his chin. With his beard gone, Hershel’s face was pink and vulnerable like the underbelly of a newborn animal. The oval forehead was familiar, as were the dark eyebrows, the Tartar ’s eyes with the long lashes and the high-bridged nose. But the mouth was new, a surprise, a complete stranger, and it changed his whole appearance. She had never seen it before.
“Why did you shave?” she asked him again. She stood at the bathroom door, the steam hot on her cheeks, her back cold from the unheated room.
He rinsed off his hands and face and then splashed water over his chest and under his arms. He grabbed a towel off the rack and dried himself, smearing it with the blood from his shaving cut. Then he stuck a little tissue on the wound to stem the flow and when he was satisfied he looked over at her. His eyes were black and cold like pebbles. “We broke into a police warehouse tonight.”
Her face went flat. “Why?”
“They had guns and we needed them.”
“But I thought—”
“I know what you thought.” He pushed past her and left the bathroom. She followed him into the bedroom and found him searching through the armoire. “There was a boy. Not much over eighteen. We thought he was experienced. We were told he was reliable and would make a good lookout, so we stood him outside, across the street from the warehouse.” He found a shirt and put it on, squaring his shoulders to make it fit better, and then started buttoning it up.
Down below in the alcove off the foyer the telephone began to ring. They stopped when they heard it. Hershel went to the door and listened. He left her standing in the open doorway and called down: “Who is it, Vera?”
Vera had been taught never to shout and ran up the stairs to deliver her message properly. “He didn’t say, Excellency. Only that he wishes to speak with His Honor. He said it was urgent.”
Hershel glanced back at Berta and then followed Vera downstairs. Berta waited for him in the hallway, while her heart began to pound. She had no idea what was happening, but she knew it was something awful, something to be feared. Her world was under assault, that much was clear. Her beautiful house in the Berezina, her family, her friends, and all her precious things were vulnerable and could be taken away. Hershel had gambled with them and, judging by his behavior, had lost.
When he came back to her he was carrying a small suitcase. “What is it? What’s happening?” she asked.
“It’s Scharfstein.”
“Who?”
He went back into the bedroom and she followed him inside. “They ’ve arrested him. There’s no time to pack now. Get the children ready. We’re leaving in ten minutes.” He was fumbling with the button on the back of his stiff collar.
“Leaving? Where?”
“To America.”
She stared at him. “I’m not going to America.”
He draped his tie around his collar and looked at himself in the armoire mirror while he tied it. “You have to come. You have no choice.”
“I’m not leaving my home, Hershel. Everything is here. My life is here. You expect me to walk right out the door on a moment ’s notice?”
“Yes, I suppose I do. Now, hurry, we don’t have much time.”
“Well, I won’t do it. I just won’t.”
He sat down on the bed and began pulling on his boots. “You’re going to have to, Berta. We can’t stay here. If we do, I’ll be arrested.”
Berta couldn’t believe this was happening. Everything seemed so unreal, slowed down, as if underwater. He was telling her that her life in Cherkast was over, that everything that was important to her was gone and there was nothing she could do about it. “Then you go,” she said firmly. “I’ll come later.”
He stopped and looked over at her. Then he stood and stamped his feet, working his toes into the boots. “I’m not going without you.”
“But you have to.”
The door burst open and Olga raced in on bare feet, laughing and squealing. Berta turned on her. “Get out!” she screamed. “Get out of this house.”
Olga stopped and stared at her, momentarily shocked into silence. She held up her hands and patted the air. “Yes, kotik, now don’t get excited.” She backed out of the door. “I’m going. We’re all going. Calm down.”
Berta slammed the door after her. They could hear her down the corridor telling the others that Berta had lost her mind and that they all had to leave immediately. There was a clamor of voices, q
uestions and answers that faded down the stairs and out through the parlor door.
“Berta, listen to me.” Hershel tried to take her into his arms, but she pushed him away. She took a seat in the chair near the armoire and dropped her face in her hands. He sat across from her on the bed and leaned in. “There’s no need for this. There’s a new life waiting for us in America. We’ll stay with my sister. I hear Wisconsin is a beautiful place. It’s true we won’t have much at first, but I’ll find something.”
“What will you do there?” she asked through her tears.
“I don’t know. It’s a big country. Plenty of opportunity. It could make our fortune.”
She shook her head slowly. “I know how people live there, Hershel. You’re not fooling anyone. Is that what you want for us? For your children. To live like that?”
“There are all kinds of people and they live all kinds of ways.”
“I saw pictures of those horrible tenements in a magazine.”
“That was New York City. This is Wisconsin. It’s different. Now come, get up and tell Galya to get the children ready.”
She watched him through a haze of tears as he threw some clothes into the small case. She had heard about the tenements in New York City. She knew how people lived there. She wondered if Wisconsin was any better. Maybe it was worse. Maybe they ’d be hungry and cold and crammed into a few filthy rooms like the pictures in the magazine.
“Berta . . .” he said, slipping on his jacket.
“What?”
“We have to hurry.”
She drew a breath. Then she sat up and wiped her face with both hands. “I told you I’m not going,” she said grimly.
“Don’t be ridiculous. You are coming with me.”
She shook her head.
“Then I’m not going either.”
“But they ’ll arrest you.”
“Undoubtedly.”
She was about to argue with him when they heard the sound of sleighs coming up the road. “Hershel . . .”
“Shush!”
The horses turned in at the drive and soon they were pulling up to the front door. He looked at her and smiled. It was the bitter half smile of defeat. “Well, it seems it’s too late now,” he said quietly.
“Oh my God. You have to hide.”
“I don’t think that would work. I’m not Samuil.”
“What are you going to do?”
Someone knocked at the bedroom door. “Go away,” Berta shouted.
“Madame . . .”
“Tell them to go away, Vera.”
“Who, Madame?”
“The men at the door.”
“It is only the cabs.”
“What?”
“For the guests, Madame. The cabs to take them home.”
And then, as if to confirm this fact, they could hear excited chatter and laughter in the foyer. There was a high-pitched squeal from Olga and a girlish shout from Yuvelir. Berta ran to the window and looked out on the drive. Hershel came over and stood beside her. From where they stood they could watch the guests make their way down the snowy steps and pile into the cabs.
“Go now, Hershel,” she whispered. “Please, what are you waiting for?”
“Are you coming with me?”
“No . . . not now.”
He gave her a level look. “I could insist, you know.”
She held his gaze. “I know.”
He looked at her a moment longer and then down at his hands. “I always knew you were like this. But I thought if ever the time came . . .”
“Hershel, please, it happens all the time. You know that. Men go first and the women and children follow.”
He stood there a moment longer and she thought he was going to say something, but instead he picked up his traveling case and left the room.
At the front door she watched him put on a clean coat and pull a fresh pair of gloves from the pockets. “Where will you be?” she asked.
“Does it matter?”
He put on the gloves then a papakha and stepped out into the frosty morning. The towering black clouds on the horizon were lit from beneath by the rising sun.
“Hershel . . .”
“I’ll write,” he called back over his shoulder. “If you need money, see Levy. There isn’t much, so be careful. I’ll send you more.”
“I’ll miss you.”
He ignored her, threw his case in the back, and climbed in after it. Once he was settled in with the leather rugs on his lap, the driver urged the horse on and the sled plunged forward. She stood at the top of the stairs and shivered in her evening dress waiting to see if he’d turn around. When the sled disappeared beneath the crest of the hill, she came back into the house and shut the door. Her legs gave out and she slumped into a nearby chair. She hugged her chest and trembled. There was a glossy spot of red on the floor, hard and smooth. She bent down to touch it and found that it was nail varnish.
Chapter Eleven
May 1914
IT WAS hours before dawn when Berta first heard knocking at the front door, not knocking exactly, more like tapping, so soft that she couldn’t even be sure she heard it at all. Then, after a short silence, it started up again, only this time it grew louder, slow beats, evenly spaced, until they tapered off into silence. At first she thought it might be a branch in the wind. But there were no branches by the front door, and it was a still night with hardly a breeze. Then she thought it might be some kind of prank, but certainly not by children. Not this time of night.
She’d been in bed for hours and hadn’t yet slept. Falling asleep was difficult now that Hershel was gone. She usually stayed up alone most nights worrying. He had been gone for four months and still she hadn’t received a letter: not a card, nothing, not even after she found his sister’s address among his things on his desk and had written to him several times. Not knowing was becoming more and more intolerable with each passing day. She’d made inquiries with friends who would have known if he’d been arrested, but nobody had heard anything. He wasn’t in any of the prisons or hospitals. He had simply disappeared.
The tapping began again, only this time it was so faint that she could barely hear it. She considered ignoring it, trying to get some sleep. Then it grew louder. She sat up and threw back the covers. She put on her dressing gown and found her slippers. She thought about ringing for Vera or Petr, but for reasons she couldn’t explain, she didn’t want them to know about it.
By the time she walked out into the darkened hallway, it had stopped again. She stood there listening, her eyes settling on a puddle of moonlight that had formed on the landing. When she reached the top of the stairs, she could see an irregular patch of light jutting out over the parquet floor. She followed it across to the front door.
“Who’s there?”
Her voice sounded muffled, tremulous, like it was coming from a wax cylinder for a phonograph player. She tried to peer out through the windows on either side of the door, but the angle was too sharp. She could only see a portion of the doorstep.
“Who’s there?”
She hesitated, then turned the latch and heard the bolt retract. After a moment she turned the handle and slowly opened the heavy door. From where she stood, the front step looked deserted, but she couldn’t be sure. She opened the door a little farther and peered out until she could see the whole portico, the wide steps, and the drive beyond it. Nobody was there. It was quiet except for the crickets and a gentle rustling in the trees overhead. The moon was full, shadows flitted across the drive, and the branches of the trees were silhouetted against the black sky. She was about to close the door when she noticed something in the drive. She thought it might be a dead animal lying half hidden under the box hedge that lined the gravel. She thought of Masha the cat. Poor little Masha had been left out all night and had disappeared. Now, here was her body, killed by some wild animal. She hurried down the steps and strode out across the drive. Maybe it wasn’t too late to save her. She couldn’t imagine how she would
tell Sura that Masha was dead.
When she got closer she could see that it wasn’t an animal, but an old traveling case, half buried under the hedge. She would’ve left it there, if there hadn’t been something familiar about it. She couldn’t be sure in the dark, but it looked a little like one of Hershel’s traveling cases. She picked it up gingerly, and holding it away from her night dress, she brought it back inside and carried it up the stairs, a litter of dirt and leaves trailing behind her. She went down the hallway to her bedroom and put the case on the floor before turning on the lamp. It smelled of mold and leaf rot and seemed to be more like a living plant than a manufactured object. There were trails of snail slime on the lid that glistened in the lamplight and attached to the handle were old spider’s webs encrusted with leaves and bits of insects. The locks had been pried open and the hinges were rusty. Even with these insults to its integrity, Berta could see that it had once been a fine case. It was made of leather and although there were no engraved initials on the backing plate, it most likely had belonged to someone who knew quality. She tried to remember if all Hershel’s cases had initials on them.
When she opened the lid she found that it was empty, as were all the interior pockets, except for one that contained the stub of a train ticket to Kiev. Even though it had been a good case, it was a common one. There had to be thousands of them in Little Russia. How could she say with any certainty that this one had belonged to Hershel? How absurd to think there was even a remote possibility that it was the one he took with him. And yet as she lay back in bed and closed her eyes, she tried to picture him packing, throwing his shirts into the case, closing it up, grabbing the handle, and walking off with it down the hallway. She tried to picture the case as he threw it into the sled and then climbed in after it, ignoring her, adjusting the lap rugs before signaling the driver.
A FEW DAYS later Berta took the children down to the shops. It was such a warm and inviting day that she decided not to take the motor but walk down the hill. The Berezina was busy that afternoon. Gardeners and their helpers stooped over hillocks of bare earth, shoving bulbs into the ground, while nannies kept an indifferent eye on their charges and gossiped with their colleagues in the private parks. Samuil was excited and wanted to run down the hill. Berta told him he could only go to the corner but then must wait for her before crossing the street. A motorcar sped past, belching black smoke from the exhaust pipe, and startled everyone with an explosive backfire. Berta had promised Samuil a new trick from the magic shop and he had pestered her all morning, until she gave up trying to enjoy her breakfast.
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