The Landsmen

by Peter Martin

  “Tatya, there’s no danger.”

  “I’m afraid.”

  “Dismiss it. I’ve explained it to him. Arkip Apollonovitch will not touch off Kolya.”

  “He says he will not. I’m afraid, Alexei.”

  “Don’t tremble. . .

  “But Father hates him . . . more than I do. . . .”

  “Not enough to brew a stroke in him. Tatya, it is all right, please . .

  “But I’ve sinned, sinned — ”

  “Not us, never that. Let God be judge. And I swear your father won’t give him a blank ‘no.’ ”

  “You are wrong.”

  “He’ll put him off, leave Kolya his hopes. Kolya will never know the truth. We spoke of it only just now.”

  “I shouldn’t have told him Kolya’s scheme!”

  “He knows he must leave Kolya his hopes. The man is your father, not a murderer.”

  “Promise you won’t let him die, Alexei ... ?”

  “You think I would?”

  “I would not be free! Yes, I spoke against Kolya to Father, with malice. . . .”

  “False conscience, Tatya. Your father and I would not be murderers. . . .”

  “And I, Alexei ... ?”

  “No, darling Tatya, it is all right. . . .”

  They moved, their voices trailing away, around the other side.

  “Glueck!”

  He stared ahead, fiddling with his glasses, gulping like a hooked fish. “Sh.”

  “What was it?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Not her . . . and the doctor?”

  “Sh!”

  “But it was her and the doctor. . .

  “Sh!” he repeated savagely, against his panic. “Whispers are deceiving, ears make mistakes! No, there is an explanation!”

  We went back to the Beethoven and Glueck hurled himself into the piano part. But the harder he pounded the keyboard, the more he thought about it. Tatiana Arkipovna with a lover? So great and warm a woman speaking secretly against her husband’s Parisian scheme to her father, knowing it might kill the Squire if Arkip frowned upon it? Twice never! Not she who had risen above herself to protect him from her own impossible daughter; no, ears must be mistrusted, whispers flung into the wind.

  At lunch the Squire was gay, quips radiating from the great central news given him by Kremenko an hour before. Quite rested now from his journey Arkip Apollonovitch would be leaving his bed that afternoon, take some air, and listen to how I played. “First he’ll hear the boy, then what I propose! On guard, Tatya — to pack for Paris at any moment!”

  She appeared to be pleased; no sign of her depths. The talk ran on and until Leta spoke I thought I alone noticed the absence of Glueck. “Mother,” she said, “does Ernst know we are eating?”

  “He is late.”

  Late and more; he did not appear at all. Finishing first as usual the Squire gave his mouth a careless napkin-wipe and said, “Ed better hurry him, Kremenko didn’t say exactly when Papa was coming down.”

  He strode out with pleasant quickness, sure the sun shone for him that day. He wore a hard collar and a frock coat, adding a typical touch by putting himself under a turban of ivory silk adorned with rhinestones and a couple of gay feathers, a trophy brought back years ago from a pseudo-harem in Petersburg. Tatiana Arkipovna pushed her tea glass away, she had something to tell Grandpa. Not wanting to be left with the girls, I went upstairs too. As we climbed her face lost its clean lines, her emotions melting them waxenly.

  I left her at the second landing.

  Glueck’s door was closed. I heard the Squire talking to him all buttery and jolly but I didn’t catch what Glueck said. In my room I stood looking out of the window until the Squire left. Then I went to see what made Glueck miss lunch.

  His trunk with the lid up stood in the center of the room, his closet door was open, and his worktable always so piled with books and papers and music manuscript now sat bare of everything but dust, Glueck leaning forward on the chair, his legs spread, his head bowed. A second look and I saw he was packed.

  "Glueck?”

  He raised his head, looked at me, and removed his eyeglasses, putting them on the table. I had never before seen him without them. He appeared fishier, hungrier, younger, and completely stunned.

  "Did anyone die, Glueck?” He shook his head. "But I see you’re going away for a while.”

  "Not for a while.” He went to the window and looked out, then started rubbing his palms against his temples as though his hair would not stay down. But he had hardly any, keeping it cropped so close.

  "Glueck, but aren’t we playing for the old man this afternoon, and aren’t you needed for Paris too?”

  "There is no Paris,” he said, all blank. "She went to her father and exploded Paris. Now she waits with her lover, the doctor,” and here he allowed himself some bitterness, “for the husband to die.”

  "Glueck, it sounds impossible . . . you’re sure?”

  "You’re too young to know these things.” With his hands to his brows and his elbows before his face, the words came as though from behind a shield. "You heard them on the promenade but you didn’t get the meaning.”

  What could I say? All I thought was, "Paris is exploded.”

  When he turned from the window the sobs began. He tried holding back, then did not care. "I was to be a brother to Leta, a brother . . . stupid me, me she thought to deceive even more than the other one! I took her promises, took her far my second mother . . . took what?

  . . . a harlot, a murderess. . . .”

  Saying the last words passing the open trunk, he slammed the lid down hard and stopped pacing. “Yes, I’m young,” he reminded himself, with temper, “too young to marry a Leta . . . and live among trash . . . and compose trash!”

  “You are leaving. . . .”

  “Tomorrow, early. They’ll know before supper . . . yes, and I’ll miss you. . . .”

  Afternoon, the main reception hall, two o’clock. Command performance for Arkip Apollonovitch.

  Enter the Emperor of all the Konayevs, on a cane, in a black velvet gown with tassels, followed by Kremenko with portfolio; and the loyal subjects rose, the Squire now without his turban for the solemn occasion, Lilli limp with boredom but Leta aglow in advance at the triumph of her chevalier standing beside the piano, one hand upon it, with the most dignified and artistic melancholy; present also, of course, the suffering Tatiana Arkipovna saved from the Squire by the doctor become her paramour in Minsk; yet already she was close to a new and steeper fall. She clasped her hands, her proud head dropped in a charming bow, she smiled to hide the pain of her fear’s clutch. Then unexpectedly there the paramour himself, fresh from a healthy gallop across the fields, suffused by a cheery shine from his bald head to his brown boots. Clear is Ostrov’s conscience, teeming with virtue is his sin. He keeps wife and husband somewhat alive by means best suited to each, deriving at last satisfactions both professional and personal, the right spice balancing his Golinsk life.

  And finally there was me, the ignorant hub.

  Arkip Apollonovitch lowered himself, the rest following. He pointed his cane at me.

  Glueck put himself at the piano, his face wearing the concert mask; he began the introduction to the Glinka potpourri.

  I played, the air about me thicker and heavier, the notes striking some wall a foot away and bouncing back. I was surrounded, nothing flowing, I was to my neck in notes. When it was over — silence.

  I looked up. The room was shivering. I blinked my eyes.

  Glueck began the Ave Maria. I came in at the right place, keeping my head down so as not to see the room. I closed my eyes on the sostenutos, played according to practice, no Laib in it until about halfway, the music then forcing me to forget them all. There were no notes, only sounds.

  When it ended — again silence. I saw the Squire’s mouth working. He had many words to say but kept swallowing them until Arkip Apollonovitch spoke.

  Leta stared at Glueck, the Squire
and his wife at the old man, Kremenko threw a noncommittal grin at Ostrov and Lilli said, “Mama. . . ?”

  Tatiana Arkipovna replied with a quick understanding nod and Lilli dashed out.

  Arkip Apollonovitch tapped the floor with his cane. The Squire interpreted this as applause. “Ah, Papa,” he cried, “I see you’re convinced!”

  “You haven’t been idling,” with an honest nod, “he plays well.”

  “Well enough for anybody?”

  “Well enough for me,” said Arkip Apollonovitch. And the Squire’s heart leapt as Arkip Apollonovitch added, “Indeed well enough for anybody.”

  Arkip Apollonovitch prepared to rise; in a man of his age and height this took time. Tatiana Arkipovna threw an appealing glance at Ostrov.

  The doctor stepped close to the old man, his own back to the Squire, and helped Arkip.

  Meanwhile from my angle I saw what the Squire could not. Ostrov caught Arkip’s eye with a slight head-shake of warning; Arkip’s lips moved in recognition. When he was fully up and Ostrov had stepped away, Arkip faced the Squire. “You have something, Kolya. What are you going to do with it?”

  “That’s it, exactly! I haven’t been at a pastime, Papa! I now what can be done with him, superbly!”

  “That should be worth hearing,” said the old man, calm in his ruthlessness. “We’ll talk about it, sometime.”

  He turned away. Kremenko stepped forward. “Don’t forget the telegram,” he said pointedly.

  “Yes, the telegram,” with an annoyed rumble. “Tatya, it is unfortunate. I must be in Moscow Sunday.”

  “Then you leave tomorrow,” the Squire gulped. “Well ... in that case,” grabbing his nervousness by the throat, “we should have our talk immediately, Papa!”

  “Why immediately?” from the man not too senile to be unable to play the fumbler when it suited him. “Later, Kolya, when it is time for good-nights. . . .”

  “Papa — I speak with firmness — allow me to expose the purpose of my months of work. The boy is a Jew; five months ago he could read not one single note of music. Hearing him play, just any way, I decided to bring him along, got him his tutor ... at first for just-so. But then, with the most serious purpose after you wrote in December concerning your dilemma about the loan . . . your letter from Paris, the loan, that opera singer blocking it . . . ?”

  “Well, yes,” with a beetling of his brows, baiting his son-in-law, “but how does it follow?”

  “Papa . . . this fiddle-kid of a Jew will melt her determination to block you with her prejudiced thrusts, allowing he who monopolizes her favors, your friend . . .”

  Arkip Apollonovitch waved his hand, an implication of equality granted; two gentlemen sharing discreetly a certain little fact. “Hn, to use the boy on her. Is that your thought, Kolya?”

  “Let her turn her back upon a hundred Arabias, Papa, she cannot refuse this!”

  “I’m no judge of these points.”

  The Squire paled, Tatiana pleaded with a stretch of her neck and a gasp and the old man dropped the right card. “I’ll give it thought, Kolya, the approach is shrewd.” He imitated, with a twitch of his lips, a veto in the Squire’s favor. “Yes, I might have Lev play for people who know these points and who know her. Then we might try him on her.”

  “Shall we plan for Paris?” the Squire begged.

  “Yes . .

  “Leaving when?”

  “I drag myself first to Moscow. I’ll telegraph from there.”

  “Victory,” cried the Squire, lifting his arms, leaving Tatiana Arki- povna half happy.

  A bit of air on the promenade with Glueck, he in his own silent writhings; announcements of twilight, the bare branches more in a wave, the fields in a darker key; it was a reprise of November before the snow. Inside as we went to take our coats up we found Tatiana Arkipovna at the staircase, an uncertain sentry.

  “Ernst,” needing breath, “a moment . . . ?”

  She led him to her sitting room, the door closed.

  In my room, nothing to do. I looked out toward our huts, watching for the sight of a speck down there. The piece of lane I saw remained unpopulated. What was it like in Paris? How far from there to America?

  Dark enough for the lamp. Where are you, Glueck? Please God, I know You’re busy and angry at me. But don’t let Glueck go. I know You’re on Shim’s side too but listen. Don’t let Glueck go* and leave me here.

  A noise. I stumbled to Glueck’s. He was there, lighting a lamp. “Glueck. . . .”

  “Go away.”

  Deadly said, hostile. “I’m afraid, Glueck. Please don’t go.”

  “You are all crazy her el” he shouted, the pain in him more terrifying than the unexpected noise of so contained a man.

  I jumped away. He ran to the door, slamming it closed. “Excuse me, boy ... I did not mean . . .”

  “Don’t go. ...” I begged again.

  “Crazy, crazy, crazy!”

  All right, I won’t keep you waiting. Now to the comic finale, all brass and percussions, the HAH-HAHS and BAH-BOOM-BAHS

  after one another like cats and dogs. I was too near it to be entertained.

  After supper that night which Arkip Apollonovitch attended with Kremenko in honor of his departure the next day, there was no question any more about Paris. Hair would grow on the palm of my hand before the Squire would ever bring me there and he was the only one who didn’t know it, leaving out the girls. Hearing Glueck’s yelling, Tatiana Arkipovna had thoughtfully sent straight for Dr. Ostrov to administer a sedative.

  He stayed for supper, and it was his behavior that convinced me.

  With the finish of the eating they sent me upstairs. I peeked into Glueck’s; he was asleep. It was after nine; I wasn’t sleepy but I went to bed too.

  I couldn’t stop thinking about that supper. The more I thought, the surer I was. In the first place only the Squire drank more than one glass of the special champagne brought up for the celebration, and he alone rose to make toasts. Each time he lifted his glass and proclaimed his loyalty to Paris, to opera, to music, to Arkip Apollonovitch — “to our dearest Papa, who indeed will sit where the right hand of the Tsar may touch him” — though he drained it the others merely sipped; and here took place jolly eye-plays between Kremenko and Ostrov, even a wink, Arkip Apollonovitch himself remaining impassive, excusing his hardly touched glass on the principle of diet. When the Squire allowed himself to ask about where we would be staying in Paris so he might write for rooms the old man quite reasonably explained that Kremenko arranged everything; and though the Squire approached the question from several different sides Arkip Apollonovitch parried telling him even the name of the opera singer whose opposition was to be removed. In all this Tatiana Arkipovna kept silent, her face holding a steady reddish touch. When she looked up from her plate it was only to glance worriedly at Ostrov who pursued a steady campaign with napkin, glass, and fork in order to camouflage his constant pacifying looks in her direction. Through it all, Arkip Apollonovitch quite calmly disposed of his dish of cheese in clab-

  The Landsmen

  338

  bered milk, patient in his role of honored patriarch and benefiter of the Squire’s keen plotting in his behalf, a little tired, considerably bored, and finally annoyed when the Squire brought up “a matter of some embarrassment, Papa,” the problem of his “possibly” being unable to “shake free a couple of thousand” for the trip. He asked “while we are talking about it” if it would be too much trouble for Kremenko “to leave a draft” before he went to bed since “in the rush of good-bys in the morning” the matter might be forgotten “by all.”

  Arkip Apollonovitch looked up with weary scorn. A well-digested laugh rippled from Kremenko which the Squire returned as a gesture of “that’s how it is sometimes with country squires.”

  As Arkip Apollonovitch paused to choose his words Ostrov remarked, “Don’t fret, Kolya, these things are understood.”

  “Yes, don’t flap your wings so hard,” said
Arkip Apollonovitch drily, “or you will be too tired to fly.”

  “Exactly,” smiled Kremenko, lifting his glass; and the Squire, relieved, drained his own. As he did this Ostrov delivered his telltale wink to Kremenko, whose urbanity absorbed it immediately, his lackey’s eyes twinkling semi-preciously over his glass.

  And then there was Leta. She had not been told what had sickened Glueck but Ostrov’s coming to treat him drew all sorts of questions out of her which Tatiana Arkipovna feared to answer. “He has received bad news of a family nature,” was all she said, Ostrov meanwhile assuring Leta that Glueck would be himself in the morning. “It is nothing, you will not even skip a lesson,” he told her. She failed to content herself, asking more questions until the Squire ordered her to stop chattering. As usual, nobody thought to pay me any attention; I wasn’t supposed to know anything or be anything but a piece of special wood. The best I could hope from the Squire would be my return to the other side of the road to starve among the bitter survivors of the winter, laughed at and hated even by Shim. If not that, he could toss me to Pukop where they’d handle me for my part in the bootlegging, but whatever — it would be far worse than running.

  And now, soon spring, was the time for it.

  All right, run where? I tussled with this and came to . . . Glueck.

  With him. To Petersburg, why not? And once in Petersburg I’d figure out the next jump.

  What now? To put it to him, convince him to testify I had to be taken along, that my fate lay with him. When all this? In the morning? No, too late. All right 1 —then before morning.

  Now!

  It was late, the house very still. It felt late enough to be near dawn. Better wait till then? Glueck might be annoyed to be waked in the middle of the night. No, let him know it was important enough for me to wake him, let it be now.

  I tiptoed into the hall, felt for his doorknob. It was pitch black there, I couldn’t find it, my fingers touched nothing. I stepped closer, found the wall, ran my fingers along it to where the door should have been; nothing. Where was I?