The Rift

by H Schmidt

  Riezler had moved from his house on the dead-end street. He had found an attic room which suited his needs. One evening, as he was walking toward the university, he spotted the man who told him about Nicolai. The man came over to him.

  “Someone has been inquiring at the university about you, Fedor.” “Who?”

  “An American. He speaks excellent Russian. I told him I had not seen you, he said only to tell you that he had something for you and if I see you to give you that message.”

  Fedor knew he should have asked what the man looked like, but he knew. He remembered the last word of the telegram sent a year ago by Victor about William Housman. Dangerous. He had tried to tell them but they would not listen. Riezler had felt only hate for the man until now. Now, he felt fear.

  ---

  The Bolsheviks were spending millions of German marks to undermine the German government. Although the German offensive in the west had stalled, Germany still controlled Russia. Leon Trotsky worried about Dzershinskii’s latest move.

  “You have taken a great risk, Felix.”

  Dzerzhinskii calmly faced Trotsky. “It was a risk, Comrade. But you need not worry. There were no witnesses. The Latvians did their usual professional work. We have him in a secure place. He cannot escape and no one will find him there.” He hoped he could assure the nervous man in front of him. “After he has served his purpose, he will disappear.”

  “How will you get word to the American?”

  “We have someone in the Cheka who is working for the Americans. We can simply arrange to see that person discovers a document showing where the colonel is being kept. That is easy enough.”

  “What if the American doesn’t come, but decides to embarrass us by telling the Germans where to find him?”

  “I know him. He will come himself.”

  ---

  Maria gently placed the cool cloth on her mother’s brow. For three days she had suffered chills, fever and bouts of vomiting. Although her mother seldom complained, Maria knew when she moved her that muscles were causing her great pain. At first, the family thought it was another episode of the malaria that mother had contracted in Africa. Always, after a time, the symptoms would fade and she would be well again. But soon they could see that this was different. Their mother was having a difficult time breathing and the symptoms were far more severe. The illness had interrupted the sense of excitement that had filled the castle after the arrival of the postman. The letter was from Friederich. The three women were in the kitchen, helping their cook, Hilda, cut and clean the dandelions the children had picked. Tomas ran into the kitchen, handing his mother the letter that Friederich had addressed to her. Everyone in the kitchen stopped what they were doing, and waited while Erika read the letter. It was addressed six days ago. She began to read aloud.

  “My Dearest Erika and Family,

  It will be hard to describe the last two days to you but I shall try. For the last two days, I have been with your son, Mother, and your brother, Maria. Willie is here with me.”

  Everyone seemed to have started talking at once until Hilda came forward with a loud shush.

  “Please,” Hilda shouted, “Let us hear the rest.”

  Hilda had never done such a thing before, telling the von Mecklenburgs to be quiet. She, too, had a great smile on her face. Hilda had never known Willie, but she had become attached to him through the family’s search, and she shared their joy. Erika started to read again.

  “Just as we knew, his name is William Housman. He is a lieutenant in the American army. As I write I must struggle to keep my hand from shaking as I tell you what happened. Three days ago, the German Embassy in Moscow sent me a cable instructing me to detain William Housman, who was escorting American families to Murmansk, where they were to be sent to America. When I read the name in the cable, my head began to swim. After eighteen years, I am going to see little Willie.

  The train arrived late at night and Captain Marx and Lieutenant Giesler went on board the train. I could see Willie sitting in the back of the car. Although the windows were frosted over, I knew it was him. As I waited on the platform, I prayed that he would come peacefully. I decided before he got off the train that I would not speak to him then. No one knew of our relationship and I knew I would not be able to hide my emotions if I spoke to him.

  Finally, two of our soldiers stepped off the train and then Willie. Tomas, he looks so much like you, and you Mother, that I could only stare. I wanted to move away but I could not. He was wearing civilian clothes. He is slight, but broad-shouldered. He looked around and there was no fear in his eyes. I was told later that before he left the train, he called to all the passengers to be calm, assuring them that no one would be hurt.

  We have spent three days together. Please understand, Mother and Maria, that this time was far different for Willie than for me. Willie, for the first time, was facing a brother he did not know he had. He was finding out that he had a family that he never knew and never dreamed he would see.”

  Erika stopped as she heard the sobs of her mother-in-law. Maria was sitting next to her, trying to console her mother, while fighting back her own tears. They were tears of joy and tears for what they sensed was waiting for them.

  “As we talked, and we talked about all the images that Willie had seen in his dreams, Willie came to fully understand that he is your son, Mother, that he is our brother, Maria. But he was raised by the Housmans, who love him beyond everything else in the world. It was their love which caused them to do something we think is unspeakable, and it is their love that still holds Willie. Someday, we can only hope that we all will see Willie, who calls himself Billy, and learn to accept this painful twist of our lives.

  I know that Father would be proud of Willie. He is an officer who graduated from West Point. He has a quick mind and a kind heart. He speaks fluent Russian, and you can see that men would gladly follow him in war. His manner is very American, I suppose.

  As I write this letter, the battalion is preparing to head west to join with the rest of the Eighth Army. Perhaps I shouldn’t include such things in a letter, but we are at peace with Russia now, so I suppose it doesn’t matter much. It should not be long after the letter arrives that I will see you all.

  I hope this letter finds you all well. With love for your all,

  Friederich”

  Mother Maria had sorted through the happiness, the sadness and pain she felt over the news. It was enough, she decided, that he was alive and that he knew of us.

  “I know I shall never touch his face, or be able to put my arms around him, to kiss his cheek, but he is alive and well. Friederich, who loved him as much as I, has been with him, with his brother.”

  She knew she was dying. She had tried to hide the blood that had appeared at the corners of her mouth when she coughed. She must get some sleep. She wanted her body to sleep, to let her dream her favorite dream of Gustav and the children together at Ngordato, the stars close enough to touch, the laughter of the children as they danced around the great fire.

  The news of Friederich came the day after Mother Maria died in her sleep. Erika and Maria thanked God that she had not been alive to hear that Friederich was missing. They had the children to look after. They had their work to do. They could do that for Friederich.

  ---

  The second night after arriving in Petrograd, Billy saw Elizaveta. She looked thinner, her skin had grown more pale. It made her look more beautiful.

  “I didn’t think I would see you again, Billy.” She touched his hand.

  They were alone now, walking across the Nikolaev Bridge. As he turned toward her, Billy felt the tangle of emotions inside him. He looked at the girl whose world was gone, replaced with something she nor anyone could understand. He thought of his own, more confused yet richer than it had ever been before. He felt the guilt of being an American protected by the oceans, the compassion for those whose world had been destroyed, and love for a girl who stood in front of him. It was the love that
made him speak.

  “I want to talk to you about a young girl I knew in a village in Mexico. Her name was Theresa.”

  Elizaveta found her heart beat faster. It was the name he spoke in his sleep the night they brought him in after he had been attacked. She listened to the story he told her, watching the pain on his face as he spoke of her death, the light in his eyes when he spoke of his love for her. Billy grew silent, leaning on the bridge railing, watching the lights on the destroyers anchored on the Neva. She watched as he shifted his weight, sensing the strain he felt.

  She touched his shoulder. “Would you like to continue our walk?” Billy felt relieved. “Yes, thank you.”

  ---

  “Do you think he will ask for her hand?” They were walking behind the two mortals. Sir Rupert had asked the question.

  “What do you think?” Sir Gustav replied.

  “Are you being sarcastic?” Sir Rupert replied. “It is not like you to be sarcastic.” “You are right, Sir Rupert. I was. Things seem to be coming to a head so quickly and I guess I am a little irritable. I would not object if he asked her. She is a fine young lady. But such times cloud your mind. It is not a good time.” “Surely, that is not my friend, Sir Gustav, speaking. Surely not the knight who proposed to Elsbet on the eve of the battle for Tannenberg.”

  Sir Gustav pretended to ignore his companion. “Look, they have stopped.” “Can you hear what he is saying?” Sir Rupert began to walk closer.

  “Wait, Sir Rupert, give them their privacy. This is not easy for Willie.”

  As they stood at a distance and watched, Sir Gustav noted the skies had cleared. The stars had begun to fade as the touch of color filled the eastern sky. They watched as Billy took Elizaveta in his arms and kissed her gently. The two lovers turned on the bridge and began making their way toward the Palace Square.

  “Are you pleased, Sir Gustav?” “Yes.”

  “I, too, my friend.”

  ---

  The Old Man had his moments of kindness and sentimentality but they were rare and seldom extended beyond his immediate family. The lieutenant was asking him for a favor. He had put a lot of stock in the young man, expecting him to work with Carson and produce results. In over a year, he had watched the Russians welsh on their debts, make peace with the Germans which threatened not only the markets in Russia, but if Germany won the war, the United States and Great Britain would be left only with the scraps off the damn Germans’ table. So he wasn’t inclined to help the young man with the girl. She could find somewhere else to live. America didn’t need any more immigrants. The ones they had let in the last forty years had been more trouble than they were worth. He had one other concern about the lieutenant. What had he told the Germans? He was intrigued by the news that his brother was a Prussian officer. The word that came back to him was that the lieutenant escaped. He didn’t believe that one.

  ---

  Billy had not received a reply from the Old Man. He had noticed that the questions from the ambassador and his cultural affairs officials had become sharper. Without saying it, they wanted to know what he might have told Friederich. One of the wags in the embassy, whose careless conversations risked a return to the United States, told him the diplomatic community was buzzing about the American who had a brother in the German Army. Were they going to hang him out to dry? Billy decided he would not let that happen.

  The Old Man turned red when they showed him the cable.

  “Elizaveta Voravskii to arrive Stockholm within next month. Expect action on immigration to United States. Other options available.”

  “What the hell is he talking about? Who does he think he is talking to? What options? That sonofabitch. He’s threatening us. Some lieutenant who’s not even a real American.”

  The short man that had stood beside the Old Man in Georgetown when he talked to Billy was looking at the cable. “I think we should give him what he wants. He could cause trouble.”

  “How can he do that?” It was a defiant question met by a stony stare from the short man, who had taken off his wire-rimmed glasses, carefully cleaning them. “It is a poker hand not worth playing.” The short man knew the lieutenant would get what he wanted, this time.

  ---

  He had been blindfolded for the last part of the trip. They were still in open country. He tried to listen for sounds that would tell him where he was. The men who had taken him prisoner were in a good mood. He listened, trying to understand the mixture of Russian, Latvian, and German spoken by the men. One of the men had become the butt of a joke, which played for some time until he heard the angry protests of the victim, an exchange of angry words, then silence. The hooves of the horses began to clatter on a hard surface. In the distance, he thought he heard the sound of a buoy. Then he smelled it. The sea. They were near the sea. Not the fecund smells of a river, but the briny smell of the sea. He felt the horse being turned to his left. They had been going east. They were turning north. It must be the Baltic. Somewhere near Revel. Somewhere near the straits between Livonia and Finland where his battalion had crossed on their way home. It was evening, the sun’s warmth and light was gone. The cool breezes blew into his face, chilling his bones. How had they known he rode alone? He would probably never know. Why had they taken him? He always came back to the same answer. Billy.

  ---

  Fedor Riezler had stayed away from the house on Rodzianko Street where Elizaveta Voravskii lived. The warning had been enough. Someday, he had promised himself, he would get the two of them. He told himself he was not afraid. Only careful. Two nights ago, he was walking onto a street leading to the university when he saw him. He was alone, standing in the shadows at the edge of the light from the corner lamp. He could not see his face but he knew it was him. Riezler had begun to sweat when he realized that if Housman would have been deeper in the shadows, he would have not seen him and would have walked no more than five meters from him.

  Kutazov Street was narrow. Unlike the street where he had lived before, it was not a dead end. If necessary, Riezler could escape in either direction. He had roamed the streets looking for an easy victim most of the night. Finding someone on the streets who had money or valuables was becoming harder each night. He began to read the newspapers looking for opportunities. He began to think about the new Soviet bank. The more obstacles he saw to such a robbery, the more intrigued he became. The Bolsheviks had achieved power by refusing to dream small dreams, not accepting a morsel of bread but wanting the whole loaf. He slept until noon and awoke feeling better about things. Moving to his small cupboard, he removed the hard bread he had stored there, and poured himself some cold tea. Finding some butter he had stolen the night before, he moved to his attic window where he had his small table, where he could look down on the street as he ate.

  As he began to butter his bread, he watched. Watching was a habit for a hunter. He had lifted the bread to his mouth, the saliva forming to welcome the first bite when he saw him. He dropped the bread and pulled himself away from the window. Slowly, he worked his way back to the window, standing away from it. He was gone. Where? Was he inside the building? He wished he had taken a building with a fire escape. There was only one way out of the building.

  He rushed to the chest he had always carried with him and pulled out his Browning revolver. He spun the cylinder, then moved quickly to the door to lock it. As a visitor entered the door, he would face the table and the window. The bed was to the right; the door opened to the right. Anyone entering could not immediately see a person near the bed, giving the person inside an advantage for a split second. Riezler had noticed that the strain of the last month had caused his hands to shake. When he pushed his weapon into the face of a victim on the street, he could see the fear and puzzlement in their eyes as the weapon trembled in his hand. Once, a well-dressed lady who was with her husband asked if he was alright. Going into a rage, he had struck her husband across the temple, crushing his skull. She began to scream. He shot her in the face. Now, he moved into the
corner, sitting on the bed with his back against the wall. He waited. He could not make his body stop shaking.

  ---

  It was Nicolai who told him of the girl. The boy had heard that a young girl who worked at the university had been sleeping with Riezler. In an act of cruelty, she had told a smitten student that she was sleeping with Fedor Riezler, that she visited him during the day. It was simply a matter of having one of Nicolai’s friends follow her. He watched her go into Number 2, Kutazov Street. Riezler had a room in the attic of the old house.

  Now, it was only a matter of waiting. He could be patient. He thought of the deer blinds he and his dad would set up in the mountains, finding a spot to wait. Hunting was often that way. Patience. His prey was inside the house, he guessed. He had found a room on the opposite side of the street. He pulled a chair up to the window, cracking the window slightly to let fresh air into the foul-smelling room.

  Riezler remembered the young man who had come to the meeting room in Warsaw. He talked about the futility of trying to change the minds of the goyim toward Jews, of the need for the Jews to have their own home. He had listened, and for a while, he and his friends talked about Der Judenstadt and Theodor Herzl; some were persuaded and now lived in Palestine. But there were others who talked about a different world, where all people are treated the same, where Jews would be treated like other citizens. Many saw their salvation in socialism, in the equality which arose from a new social order created by it.

  After the pogroms following the assassination of Alexander II and the Revolution of 1905, many who believed in equality went to the Americas, most to the United States. But there were those like Fedor Riezler who saw in Nicolai Lenin a leader who would create a new Russia. Fedor had thrown himself into the struggle, catching the eye of Lenin, and soon was seen as a rising star among the Bolsheviks.