No Time for Tears

by Cynthia Freeman

  When Chavala arrived back from Palestine and found Moishe in his new and welcome condition, her happiness for him was almost … even for her… beyond expression. And here she’d been so worried about the absence of romance and marriage in not only Moishe’s life but in Chia’s. Well … the Rabinsky family could use a new infusion of love, she thought wryly.

  Julie was everything that Chavala had ever hoped Moishe would have the good fortune to find and marry, although their coming together had altered the plan she’d devised all during her journey back to America. Well, she would think about that later, but there was no doubt in her mind now that Moishe could not, would not, continue to spend his life in a pawnshop. Not after Julie…

  She was sitting in the darkened living room, thinking about the alternatives, when she heard the door open and Moishe walk in.

  She called out to him. “I’m in here.”

  He turned on the lamp. “What are you doing sitting here in the dark?”

  “Thinking.”

  He sat down. “When Chavala thinks, it’s usually serious business. What’s it this time?”

  “It’s you, and one or two other things. How does Julie feel about the shop?”

  “She hasn’t said anything. I doubt she would.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t blame her if she did. A pause. “Moishe, are you getting married?”

  “Yes, I think I told you that. And soon. Julie knows a good thing when she sees one—”

  “Stop the jokes, please … Moishe, I was thinking that maybe I would have to take a little trip. Not for long. Now with your getting married, well, I’m not thinking, I’m knowing—”

  “What do you mean, a trip? You just came back a few months ago.”

  “Moishe, we have to expand our business. And upgrade it This family is growing, obligations, needs …”

  “So how do you plan to expand, upgrade?”

  “I plan to open a very fine jewelry store—”

  “And what are you going to use for money to buy stock?”

  “Well, that brings us to the little trip … While I was crossing that big Atlantic Ocean a lot of thoughts occurred to me, and one of them was that the best buys in stones are in Europe. I’ve always heard that…”

  “Europe? This is a little complicated, Chavala, and maybe I’ve missed something, but since you haven’t the money to buy from the wholesalers here, and we’ve been getting the goods from your friend the landsman, I ask you, what are you going to use for money to bring merchandise in from Europe?”

  “I’ll find a way … please trust me, Moishe. Now, the only detail left for you is to get somebody to fill in at the Harlem store while I’m gone. It will only be for a short time. I’m sure you can handle that.”

  He shrugged. “I suppose, but I don’t think you’re telling me everything. I also can see you don’t intend to, so I’ll let it go. But please, Chavala, whatever it is, don’t get in over your head.”

  Chavala forced a smile, thinking, what have I been over all my life… so what’s new?

  Chavala walked into the dismal alley, scarcely aware of the debris around her, and knocked on the landsman’s door.

  He looked through the peephole, then the door leading to the basement was opened. He was delighted to see her. In fact, of all the people he did business with, Chavala was his favorite. “Nu, Chavala, what can I do for you?”

  As she sat across from him she prayed that God … her family … would forgive her for what she was about to ask. “I want to make a good deal of money … and quickly. I want you to tell me how to do that.”

  He laughed. “That’s all you want? Better you should ask for the moon.”

  “That is what I’m asking for,” she answered, thinking of Dovid, Reuven, Raizel and the rest.

  “You could open up another operation … like the one you’ve got. I know just the location—”

  “Another one like the one I have I don’t want…”

  “So?”

  “What do you mean, ‘so?’ That’s what I’m asking you. You’re the expert. Who knows more about what I’m looking for than you do?”

  He hesitated, then: “All right, so I’ll tell you. It’s called smuggling.”

  Chavala thought her heart would jump out of her throat “Please go on.”

  The landsman shook his head knowingly. “I could sit here for hours and tell you how, but diamonds, gems are just about the easiest things in the world to hide.” He went on to regale her with a dozen different ways that, for example, a small diamond could be secreted. A fortune could be concealed in the knot of a tie. A ten carat diamond could be put inside a false molar. The naked body could conceal enough diamonds to live in a mansion in Miami for the rest of one’s life … How? “I don’t want to be vulgar, dear lady, but … the mouth, the navel, the rectum, an ear, an armpit, between the toes. And, if necessary, they could be swallowed. Toothpaste tubes were common carriers. A box of face powder, packets of tea, cans of coffee, the false bottom of a suitcase. One of the best was the hollowed-out heel of a shoe.” He sighed, gesturing with his hands. “Listen, I even knew someone who used the socket behind a false eye … What can I tell you? There’s no end to it.”

  “Well,” she said, “I certainly came to the right party. But it sounds almost too easy—”

  “It is. Take it from me … The kosher merchants puff out their chests and deny that the traffic goes on, and they keep their mouths shut about what they know, even though they hate the way what they call submarine goods cuts into their business. The diamond syndicate, people like the De Beers, would like the diamond world to feel that goods can only be bought from them.”

  Chavala tried not to think about what she was asking. “So tell me, where do people get the stones from?”

  “Different places. Amsterdam is one.”

  “And where does Amsterdam get them from?”

  “Russia.”

  “Russia? A communist country deals in diamonds?”

  “Of course. They pretend they’re only selling their revolution, but they’re competing in the world market in other commodities, believe me …” he laughed. “Like a regular democracy, they happen to like the decadence of money too. What do you think, the Kremlin doesn’t like money? Think again.”

  “How do people get the stones out of Russia?”

  “That’s not too hard. They have a license to sell, courtesy of the government—”

  “From there, though, what countries do they do business with?”

  “South America, Marseilles in France, but one of the biggest markets is Amsterdam.”

  Chavala sat silent, almost afraid to ask the next question. “How do you get back into this country?”

  “Well, sometimes that’s the tough part. Although diamonds are the easiest thing in the world to conceal, still the customs are smart and they eventually get to know the operators.”

  “So, if I understand right, unknowns would be the answer?”

  “Obviously, and without records.”

  Chavala sat thinking it over. If she were going to be a smuggler, thief, what would she do? “What thief do you know that can be trusted?”

  “Oh, Chavala,” he laughed out loud, “that’s what I like about you. No matter how serious, you have a sense of humor.”

  “All right, so start laughing a whole lot. Who do you know?”

  “I know plenty, as you might imagine, but I wouldn’t recommend them. They cheat you blind.”

  “What about your Benny?” she said quickly.

  “Benny? He was a sad kid I picked up off the streets, an orphan, penniless. And, God help him, a clubfoot. You’d have to be a stoneheart not to care about that kid. I’m still trying to find a doctor to fix his foot … He’s become like my son, you know that … A thief he’s not. Sure, he delivers goods … but that’s not being a thief—”

  “So what am I? A hardened criminal?” What she didn’t say, though she was sure the landsman was aware of it, was that, sad as it was, Benny’s s
pecial shoe with its five-inch platform would be a likely place to hide diamonds … “But just suppose I took him to Amsterdam and he helped me bring in the stones, that wouldn’t be stealing. That would make him more like a helper.”

  The landsman laughed again. “Benny? He’d be scared to death.”

  “To tell the truth, so am I. We’d give each other support.”

  “Suppose I let Benny go, how would you get through customs?”

  “As Chasidim.”

  Chavala’s imagination was working overtime, he thought. “Chasidim? How did you come up with that idea?”

  “Because, what Chasid would smuggle? They still live with the teachings of Baal-Shem-Tov like two hundred years ago. They still live with the code of honor … God should only forgive me for even thinking about them like this. But what customs officer would have the chutzpah to search prayer books and tallisim going to Brooklyn? To say nothing of a woman who wore a sheitel… especially a pregnant woman with a sheitel.”

  The landsman shook his head. “You know, Chavala, you have the mind of a thief, and by me that’s no criticism. And you’ve got more guts than anybody.”

  She grimaced. “Thank you for the great compliment. But do you think it would work?”

  He took a little time to think about it. He nodded. This woman was one of a kind, no question.

  “So you think it will work?”

  “It’s possible. Maybe sixty-forty. Not bad odds.”

  She hoped he was right. “Now I have something that I find very difficult to ask you.”

  “Ask.”

  “All right … I need your help like I’ve never needed it before. Will you loan me the money?” she asked quickly, then hurried on to add, “I swear I’ll pay you back with whatever interest you want.”

  That he had to think about for a long time, not because he didn’t trust Chavala, but if it didn’t work Chavala could even end up in jail and he’d be out the money. Happy about that prospect he wasn’t, not only because of the loss, but for Chavala’s sake. On the other hand, the whole thing was just crazy enough to work, and, above all, he knew Chavala could talk her way in and out of anything she set her mind to. More than that, he truly liked this incredibly spunky woman. Admired her too. He knew, without all the details, what drove her on to take such crazy risks. Chavala Rabinsky, by God, believed in family. He liked that. He had no children, only a lot of money to leave to the State of New York and lawyers in the event of his demise, which he’d prefer not to think about, thank you. He was remembering now when Chavala had first come to him and pleaded for goods because she had to support her family. He thought about Palestine and the troubles they were having. Even a fence was a human being, never mind he hadn’t been exactly the most honorable person in the world. Not that he was taking himself to task … who did he hurt? … but life hadn’t treated him to a bed of roses … He’d been born in Siberia, where his mother and father had been exiled. They died when he was nine and he escaped when he was thirteen. During his wanderings he’d been starved and beaten. By the time he was sixteen he’d finally gotten out of Russia—mostly by walking—and managed to get to the Black Sea. He’d wanted to go to Palestine but the only ship he found available was headed for America, so that’s where he went, to the land of the free and the home of the brave, and the one place where it was possible even for a man like him to better himself … He considered himself one of the fortunate ones … So who the hell cared if Yussel Melnetsky lived or died? Sure, he stole… well, life had stolen from him and he only started to get even when he became the landsman. Then, finally, people respected him. Affection? Who cared about him? Who asked them? But somehow Chavala had touched him in a way nobody else had. In her case he wanted to be a mensch. He also wanted to do one thing in his life so that he wouldn’t have to stand in front of his Maker and say he hadn’t helped a living soul. “All right, Chavala. On you I’ll gamble.”

  She smiled. “I don’t know how to thank you. The first day I met you I said to my brother Moishe that you looked like a tzaddik… I think you are.”

  Funny, he thought, it felt good to do something nice … not for money, just to feel good … and this was the first time in his life he’d felt that way.

  And how did Chavala feel? A smuggler, now. Well, let’s see. Let’s put it up against who she was and where she’d been … A Russian dead in Odessa, by her hand. A Bedouin dead in Palestine, so that she and her family could have something to eat… and out of that had come the gems that had made it possible to get a start in the new land. They were times of life and death, and that was how, now that she thought about it, she had been living almost since she had memory. Her mother dying, her pledge to protect little Chia, her caring for and saving the life of her family … so what was new? She had been doing it a long time, she was still doing it. It was what she did. Some people fought for big causes … like Dovid, God bless him, and no doubt Reuven was following in his footsteps. And Joshua … ? She didn’t want to think about that now. Thank God she didn’t have to. Not yet. Well, her life was her family, and whatever and wherever she had to pursue its survival, health and, yes, someday prosperity. Did they think she loved this life away from a man like Dovid? Did she enjoy the nights when she woke up in a sweat and wondered about him, if he had maybe—God forbid, but she wouldn’t blame him—found another woman to take her place at night, even for one night—she would die if she knew … and what she felt in her own body, not willing it, even trying so hard to will it away, the feelings of a woman, which she still was, thank you … But that was her choice, don’t complain. But don’t apologize so much either, Chavala Rabinsky Landau.

  Who said it was noble to survive? Who said it was easy or cheap or pretty and clean? Not her. That wasn’t the life she’d known. So who was she to get so squeamish about masquerading as a pregnant Chasid, maybe even use the ritual things that may have been sacred to some, but who did they save when blood was being spilled in Palestine, when children were starving, when a little girl was maybe about to lose her eyesight? They were so devout, God bless them, but even as a Jew … and she was a Jew … there was more than one way to serve God. She would do as well as she knew how, and take her judgment later. Meanwhile, she had a little private admission to make to herself … Face it, Chavala, you like it too, the danger, the craziness of what she’d done and the outrageousness of what she was about to do. It was, it seemed, in her blood. Who would want it tranquil? She would probably die first …

  By the time Moishe and Julie did marry a month later, Chavala’s new partner in crime Benny looked very much the proper Chasid. Even being underweight helped. To be pious also meant to go hungry, which, Chavala hoped, added to his credibility. His earlocks were curled as prescribed, and the beard he’d grown was just right. When Chavala put on the black sheitel, she looked like any dutiful Chasidic wife. After the purchase of the traditional clothes, as a dress rehearsal she placed the small, round pillow under the petticoat and, lo and behold, she took on the aura of a saintly if pregnant spouse of a holy Chasidic husband.

  Yussel felt it his duty to take over the responsibility of all the negotiations as well as the arrangements. Their passports were arranged, funds were deposited in a Swiss bank, and all the contacts in Amsterdam were taken care of.

  Their passage was booked, second class, and Benny was equipped with an import license for the purchase of religious items. Well, their trip did take a kind of blind faith…

  Now there remained one last cover story to manage. How would she handle it with Moishe? …

  Sitting in the dining room of Julie and Moishe’s new apartment on West End Avenue, she tried desperately to seem at ease, delay the inevitable with small talk … “How did you learn to cook so good, Julie?”

  Julie laughed. “I manage with the help of the Good Housekeeping cookbook and Moishe’s uncomplaining temperament, not to mention his non-gourmet palate.”

  “You manage … Moishe, you’re getting fat. With all due respect to you, Julie
darling, but you’re treating him too good. From my cooking he didn’t look so good.”

  “From your cooking nobody would look good. Besides, when did you ever cook?”

  Julie scowled at her new husband. “Don’t be nasty, darling. Your sister’s numerous talents don’t have to include cooking…”

  After dinner they retired to the living room, and the moment was at hand. All week long Moishe had put questions to her, and she had replied, “When the time comes you’ll be the first to know.” Now was the time…

  “I know you said the place to buy stones was in Europe, but I think it’s only fair that you should tell me where you’re getting the money, and also, where this big market is,” Moishe was saying.

  She poured herself a little schnapps, sat up almost primly, looked at Moishe with deep sincerity and began. “The first question I’ll answer first. A few dollars I’ve got, right? So that I’m taking. And the answer to the second question is Mr. Leibowitz, who as you know, Moishe, has always been our good friend, signed a bank note for me.”

  “That was very nice of Mr. Leibowitz. But then, as you say, he’s always been a friend. But what I want to know, where are the bargains?”