“Undo your trousers,” she whispered.
He felt like an idiot but hurriedly undid them and thrust himself into the yielding softness, coming immediately, feeling the sticky wetness running down the inside of her thigh. He lay dazed, amazed by the abruptness of the act, suddenly aware that the wooden notches of the lifeboat were digging uncomfortably into his elbows and knees.
“Was that the first time you’ve made love to a girl?” asked Zaphia, wishing he would move over.
“No, of course not,” said Wladek.
“Do you love me, Wladek?”
“Yes, I do,” he said, “and as soon as I’ve settled in New York, I’ll come and find you in Chicago.”
“I’d like that, Wladek,” she said as she buttoned up her dress. “I love you, too.”
“Did you fuck her?” was George’s immediate question on Wladek’s return.
“Yes.”
“Was it good?”
“Yes,” said Wladek, uncertainly, and then fell asleep.
In the morning, they were awakened by the excitement of the other passengers, happy in the knowledge that this was their last day on board the Black Arrow. Some of them had been up on deck before sunrise, hoping to catch the first sign of land. Wladek packed his few belongings in his new suitcase, put on his only suit and his cap and then joined Zaphia and George on deck. The three of them stared into the mist that hung over the sea, waiting in silence for their first sight of the United States of America.
“There it is!” shouted a passenger on a deck above them, and cheering went up at the sight of the gray strip of Long Island approaching through the spring morning.
Little tugs bustled up to the side of the Black Arrow and guided her between Brooklyn and Staten Island into New York Harbor. The colossal Statue of Liberty seemed to regard them austerely as they gazed in awe at the emerging skyline of Manhattan, her lamp lifted high into the early morning sky.
Finally they moored near the turreted and spired red brick buildings of Ellis Island. The passengers who had private cabins left the ship first. Wladek hadn’t noticed them until that day. They must have been on a separate deck with their own dining hall. Their bags were carried for them by porters and they were greeted by smiling faces at the dockside. Wladek knew that wasn’t going to happen to him.
After the favored few had disembarked, the captain announced over the loudspeaker to the rest of the passengers that they would not be leaving the ship for several hours. A groan of disappointment went up and Zaphia sat down on the deck and burst into tears. Wladek tried to comfort her. Eventually an official came around with coffee, a second with numbered labels, which were hung around the passengers’ necks. Wladek’s was B.127; it reminded him of the last time he was a number. What had he let himself in for? Was America like the Russian camps?
In the middle of the afternoon—they had been given no food nor further information—they were brought dockside to Ellis Island. There the men were separated from the women and sent off to different sheds. Wladek kissed Zaphia and wouldn’t let her go, holding up the line. A passing official parted them.
“All right, let’s get moving,” he said. “Keep that up and we’ll have you two married in no time.”
Wladek lost sight of Zaphia as he and George were pushed forward. They spent the night in an old, damp shed, unable to sleep as interpreters moved among the crowded rows of bunks, offering curt, but not unkind, assistance to the bewildered immigrants.
In the morning they were sent for medical examinations. The first hurdle was the hardest: Wladek was told to climb a steep flight of stairs. The blue-uniformed doctor made him do it twice, watching his gait carefully. Wladek tried very hard to minimize his limp and finally the doctor was satisfied. Wladek was then made to remove his hat and stiff collar so that his face, eyes, hair, hands and neck could be examined carefully. The man directly behind Wladek had a harelip; the doctor stopped him immediately, put a chalk cross on his right shoulder and sent him to the other end of the shed. After the physical was over, Wladek joined up with George again in another long line outside the Public Examination room, where each person’s interview seemed to be taking about five minutes. Three hours later when George was ushered into the room, Wladek wondered what they would ask him.
When George eventually came out, he grinned at Wladek. “Easy, you’ll walk right through it,” he said. Wladek could feel the palms of his hands sweating as he stepped forward.
He followed the official into a small, undecorated room. There were two examiners seated and writing furiously on what looked like official papers.
“Do you speak English?” asked the first.
“Yes, sir, I do quite good,” replied Wladek, wishing he had spoken more English on the voyage.
“What is your name?”
“Wladek Koskiewicz, sir.”
The men passed him a big black book. “Do you know what this is?”
“Yes, sir, the Bible.”
“Do you believe in God?”
“Yes, sir, I do.”
“Put your hand on the Bible and swear that you will answer our questions truthfully.”
Wladek took the Bible in his left hand, placed his right hand on it and said, “I promise I tell the truth.”
“What is your nationality?”
“Polish.”
“Who paid for your passage here?”
“I paid from my money that I earn in Polish consulate in Constantinople.”
One of the officials studied Wladek’s papers, nodded and then asked, “Do you have a home to go to?”
“Yes, sir. I go stay at Mr. Peter Novak. He my friend’s uncle. He live in New York.”
“Good. Do you have work to go to?”
“Yes, sir. I go work in bakery of Mr. Novak.”
“Have you ever been arrested?”
Russia flashed through Wladek’s mind. That couldn’t count. Turkey—he wasn’t going to mention that.
“No, sir, never.”
“Are you an anarchist?”
“No, sir. I hate Communists—they kill my sister.”
“Are you willing to abide by the laws of the United States of America?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Have you any money?”
“Yes, sir.”
“May we see it?”
“Yes, sir.” Wladek placed on the table a bundle of bills and a few coins.
“Thank you,” said the examiner. “You may put the money back in your pocket.”
The second examiner looked at Wladek. “What is twenty-one plus twenty-four?”
“Forty-five,” said Wladek without hesitation.
“How many legs does a cow have?”
Wladek could not believe his ears. “Four, sir,” he said, wondering if the question were a trick.
“And a horse?”
“Four, sir,” said Wladek, still in disbelief.
“Which would you throw overboard if you were out at sea in a small boat which needed to be lightened, bread or money?”
“The money, sir,” said Wladek.
“Good.” The examiner picked up a card marked “Admitted” and handed it over to Wladek. “After you have changed your money, show this card to the Immigration Officer. Tell him your full name and he will give you a registration card. You will then be given an entry certificate. If you do not commit a crime for five years and pass a simple reading and writing examination in English and agree to support the Constitution, you will be permitted to apply for full United States citizenship. Good luck, Wladek.”
“Thank you, sir.”
At the money-exchange counter Wladek handed in eighteen months of Turkish savings and the three 50-ruble notes. He was handed $47.20 in exchange for the Turkish money but was told the rubles were worthless. He could only think of Dr. Dubien and his fifteen years of diligent saving.
The final step was to see the Immigration Officer, who was seated behind a counter at the exit barrier directly under a picture of President Harding. W
ladek and George went over to him.
“Full name?” the officer asked George.
“George Novak” was the firm reply. The officer wrote the name on a card.
“And your address?” he asked.
“286 Broome Street, New York, New York.”
The officer passed George the card. “This is your Immigration Certificate, 21871—George Novak. Welcome to the United States, George. I’m Polish, too. You’ll like it here. Many congratulations and good luck.”
George smiled and shook hands with the officer, stood to one side and waited for Wladek. The officer stared at Wladek. Wladek passed him the card marked “Admitted.”
“Full name?” asked the officer.
Wladek hesitated.
“What’s your name?” repeated the man, a little louder, slightly impatient.
Wladek couldn’t get the words out. How he hated that peasant name.
“For the last time, what’s your name?”
George was staring at Wladek. So were others who had joined the queue for the immigration officer. Wladek still didn’t speak. The officer suddenly grabbed his wrist, stared closely at the inscription on the silver band, wrote on a card and passed it to Wladek.
“21872—Baron Abel Rosnovski. Welcome to the United States. Many congratulations and good luck, Abel.”
PART TWO
1923-1928
CHAPTER TWELVE
William returned to start his last year at St. Paul’s in September 1923 and was elected president of the senior class, exactly thirty-three years after his father had held the same office. William did not win the election in the usual fashion, by virtue of being the finest athlete or the most popular boy in the school. Matthew Lester, his closest friend, would undoubtedly have won any contest based on those criteria. It was simply that William was the most impressive boy in the school, and for that reason Matthew Lester could not be prevailed upon to run against him. St. Paul’s entered William’s name as its candidate for the Hamilton Memorial Mathematics Scholarship at Harvard, and William worked singlemindedly toward that goal during this fall term.
When William returned to the Red House for Christmas, he was looking forward to an uninterrupted period in which to get to grips with Principia Mathematica. But it was not to be, for there were several invitations to parties and balls awaiting his arrival. To most of them he felt able to return a tactful regret, but one was absolutely inescapable. The grandmothers had arranged a ball, to be held at the Red House on Louisburg Square. William wondered at what age he would find it possible to defend his home against invasion by the two great ladies and decided the time had not yet come, and at least it would give the servants something to do. He had few close friends in Boston, but this did not inhibit the grandmothers in their compilation of a formidable guest list.
To mark the occasion they presented William with his first dinner jacket in the latest double-breasted style; he received the gift with some pretense at indifference but later swaggered around his bedroom in the suit, often stopping to stare at himself in the mirror. The next day he put through a long-distance call to New York and asked Matthew Lester to join him for the fateful affair. Matthew’s sister wanted to come as well, but her mother didn’t think it would be “suitable.”
William was there to meet him at the train.
“Come to think of it,” said Matthew as the chauffeur drove them to Beacon Hill, “isn’t it time you got yourself laid, William? There must be some girls in Boston with absolutely no taste.”
“Why, have you had a girl, Matthew?”
“Sure, last winter in New York.”
“What was I doing at the time?”
“Probably touching up Bertrand Russell.”
“You never told me about it.”
“Nothing much to tell. In any case, you seemed more involved in my father’s bank than my budding love life. It all happened at a staff party my father gave to celebrate Washington’s Birthday. Another first for old wooden teeth. Actually, to put the incident in its proper perspective, I was raped by one of the directors’ secretaries, a large lady called Cynthia with even larger breasts that wobbled when—”
“Did you enjoy it?”
“Yes, but I can’t believe for one moment that Cynthia did. She was far too drunk to realize I was there at the time. Still, you have to begin somewhere and she was willing to give the boss’s son a helping hand.”
A vision of Alan Lloyd’s prim, middle-aged secretary flashed across William’s mind.
“I don’t think my chances of initiation by the chairman’s secretary are very good,” he mused.
“You’d be surprised,” said Matthew knowingly. “The ones that go around with their legs so firmly together are often the ones who can’t wait to get them apart. I now accept most invitations formal or informal, not that dress matters much on these occasions.”
The chauffeur put the car in the garage while the two young men walked up the steps into William’s house.
“You’ve certainly made some changes since I was last here,” said Matthew, admiring the modern cane furniture and new paisley wallpaper. Only the crimson leather chair remained firmly rooted in its usual spot.
“The place needed brightening up a little,” William offered. “It was like living in the Stone Age. Besides, I didn’t want to be reminded of … Come on, this is no time to hang around discussing interior decoration.”
“When is everybody arriving for this party?”
“Ball, Matthew—the grandmothers insist on calling it a ball.”
“There is only one thing that can be described as a ball on these occasions.”
“Matthew, one director’s secretary does not entitle you to consider yourself a national authority on sex education.”
“Oh, such jealousy, and from one’s dearest friend.” Matthew sighed mockingly.
William laughed and looked at his watch. “The first guest should arrive in a couple of hours. Time for a shower and to change. Did you remember to bring a tuxedo?”
“Yes, but if I didn’t I could always wear my pajamas. I usually leave one or the other behind, but I’ve never yet managed to forget both. In fact, it might start a whole new craze if I went to the ball in my pajamas.”
“I can’t see my grandmothers enjoying the joke,” said William.
The caterers arrived at six o’clock, twenty-three of them in all, and the grandmothers at seven, regal in long black lace that swept along the floor. William and Matthew joined them, in the front room a few minutes before eight.
William was about to remove an inviting red cherry from the top of a magnificent iced cake when he heard Grandmother Kane’s voice from behind him.
“Don’t touch the food, William, it’s not for you.”
He swung around. “Then who is it for?” he asked as he kissed her on the cheek.
“Don’t be fresh, William. Just because you’re over six feet doesn’t mean I wouldn’t spank you.”
Matthew Lester laughed.
“Grandmother, may I introduce my closest friend, Matthew Lester?”
Grandmother Kane subjected him to a careful appraisal through her pince-nez before venturing: “How do you do, young man?”
“It’s an honor to meet you, Mrs. Kane. I believe you knew my grandfather.”
“Knew your grandfather? Caleb Longworth Lester? He proposed marriage to me once, over fifty years ago. I turned him down. I told him he drank too much and that it would lead him to an early grave. I was right, so don’t you drink, either of you. Remember, alcohol dulls the brain.”
“We hardly get much chance with Prohibition,” remarked Matthew innocently.
“That will end soon enough, I’m afraid,” said Grandmother Kane, sniffing. “President Coolidge is forgetting his upbringing. He would never have become President if that idiot Harding hadn’t foolishly died.”
William laughed. “Really, Grandmother, your memory is getting selective. You wouldn’t hear a word against him during the police s
trike.”
Mrs. Kane did not respond.
The guests began to appear, many of them complete strangers to their host, who was delighted to see Alan Lloyd among the early arrivals.
“You’re looking well, my boy,” Alan said, finding himself looking up at William for the first time in his life.
“You too, sir. It was kind of you to come.”
“Kind? Have you forgotten that the invitation came from your grandmothers? I am possibly brave enough to refuse one of them, but both——”
“You too, Alan?” William laughed. “Can you spare a moment for a private word?” He guided his guest toward a quiet corner. “I want to change my investment plan slightly and start buying Lester’s bank stock whenever it comes onto the market. I’d like to be holding about five percent of their stock by the time I’m twenty-one.”
“It’s not that easy,” said Alan. “Lester’s stock doesn’t come on the market all that often, because it is all in private hands, but I’ll see what can be done. What is going on in that mind of yours, William?”
“Well, my real aim is——”
“William.” Grandmother Cabot was bearing down on them at speed. “Here you are conspiring in a corner with Mr. Lloyd and I haven’t seen you dance with one young lady yet. What do you imagine we organized this ball for?”
“Quite right,” said Alan Lloyd, rising. “You come and sit down with me, Mrs. Cabot, and I’ll kick the boy out into the world. We can rest, watch him dance and listen to the music.”
“Music? That’s not music, Alan. It’s nothing more than a loud cacophony of sound with no suggestion of melody.”
“My dear grandmother,” said William, “that is ‘Yes, We Have No Bananas,’ the latest hit song.”
Kane and Abel/Sons of Fortune Page 19
