“My wife, Countess Ekaterina.”
Father and son both bowed deeply, impressed by the title, and above all by her elegant bearing.
“Her skin is like porcelain,” Isaac thought as he looked at the countess’s white complexion, “and she has the body of a young girl.”
“I knew your father. He was always welcome here, and you too will be welcome. This little one is your son, then?”
“Yes, Countess . . . Samuel, say hello to the countess.”
Samuel made a clumsy bow, but the countess took him by the hand and made him stand up.
“You are the same age as my grandson. You should come and play with him one day.”
“Come on, my dear, let’s look at what my friend Isaac has brought with him before your friends come round.”
Isaac held his breath until the countess had gone over his wares one by one.
“There are some very nice coats here, I think I’ll buy one or two, and I’m sure that the women I have waiting impatiently outside will want to buy some as well.”
A few minutes later the countess’s friends came into the room. They were all elegantly dressed, and chatted idly among themselves, anxious to see these marvels that Countess Ekaterina had promised them.
The afternoon could not have been more of a success. Isaac and Samuel went back to the widows’ lodging house without any items unsold. The countess and her friends had bought everything and had charged Isaac to bring more coats back from Paris.
“And some fabric, or lace, or some dresses . . . ,” the women suggested, all of them keen admirers of the fashions of the French capital.
On the way back to the lodging house, Isaac bought some flowers for the widows. For their part, they served larger portions that night at supper.
Saint Petersburg was not a hostile environment, although the newspapers kept publishing articles against the Jews. But Isaac and Samuel both felt relieved that they did not have to face a permanent reminder of their agonies. They would not have been able to reorganize their lives if they had stayed in their shtetl near Warsaw.
No, they could not forget Sofia, or Esther, or feisty Anna, or little Friede, but at least in Saint Petersburg there were moments when they could stop thinking about them, and it was this that allowed them to survive.
With the money he had made from the sale of the coats, Isaac intended to buy more furs to take to Paris, not simply to sell, but also for Monsieur Elijah to make new clothes for him to take back to Saint Petersburg. He also thought that he would invest in some fabrics. If everything went well, Samuel would be able to study at the university. He was sure that Professor Goldanski would recommend him, given the universities’ Jewish quotas: Three percent of the students admitted to Saint Petersburg University were Jewish. But Goldanski had made a name for himself among the best families of the city. He had dedicated all his knowledge of chemistry and botany to the creation of medicines. This had made him some enemies among the pharmacists, but the efficiency of his concoctions was such that he was respected as a professional even by members of the court, some of whom had made it possible for the famous chemist to explain some of his discoveries at the university: He was invited there regularly and it was because of this that many people called him “Professor.”
The days went by, and Isaac and Samuel’s life was ever calmer. They wanted for no more than what they had. The Korlov widows looked after them kindly, and Samuel seemed to be recovering his health, thanks to Raisa’s food and Goldanski’s syrups. Every now and then they visited Goldanski’s house.
“So you go to the synagogue . . .”
“Yes, Professor, I don’t want my son to forget who we are.”
“I thought that we agreed the best thing for us Jews was to be from wherever we lived. In our case, to be Russians.”
“I think so, too, but do we have to abandon our God simply because we are Russians? Do we abandon our books? Do we abandon the dream that next year we will be in Jerusalem? I used to think that we had to abandon all these things to be good Russians, but now I think that we can be Russians and Jews without betraying our country or denying our God.”
“Dreams, words, books! Isaac, life is short, you don’t have time for everything. You don’t have to show your beliefs. Look at me . . . I was born in Warsaw, and if it hadn’t been for my father’s efforts I would never have gotten beyond mixing up strange concoctions for my own use . . . I came to Saint Petersburg, I studied, my path was opened up to me, I met the countess, I got married . . . and I am rich. Do you think that I could have had a wife like the countess if I had been content with simply being a Jew? She was very brave and stood up to her family to marry me. The least I can do for her is to behave suitably.”
“And it’s unsuitable for a Jew to be a Jew?” As soon as he asked the question he regretted it. It was an impertinence that the professor, his benefactor, did not deserve.
Gustav Goldanski looked straight at him before speaking. His eyes sparkled with annoyance, but his tone displayed no emotion.
“The suitable thing was for me to not be different, or at least not to insist on this difference to such an extent as to make our life impossible. I am Russian, I feel Russian, I think in Russian, I cry in Russian, I get upset in Russian, I express my love in Russian. I have long forgotten the language I spoke with my family as a child, those words that were only useful for us Jews to understand one another. I hold God in my heart and ask for him to show me mercy, but I would not honor him more if I chanted prayers or kept the Sabbath.”
“God’s law is sacred,” Isaac dared reply.
“I’m not sure that God has given us instructions for every tiny little detail, how to organize every hour of our lives. I think he wants other things from us. The most difficult thing is to do good, to be generous with those who have nothing, to feel pity for those who suffer, to help those who need aid . . . That is how I try to honor God, and I won’t claim that I always succeed: I am just a man.”
“I don’t want my son to grow up without knowing who he is,” Isaac replied.
“Your son is who he is, and he is what he feels himself to be in his heart. No, don’t misunderstand me, I don’t think that you have to give up being Jewish to be Russian, just that we have not yet been able to find a way to be both at once without one half mistrusting the other. I have given up a few things, maybe you will find a synthesis. I truly hope so!”
They became good friends. It was an odd week when Isaac did not see the professor. They liked talking, arguing, speculating.
On a few occasions Countess Ekaterina invited Samuel to play with her grandson. Samuel and Konstantin quickly became friends; the young boy was as open and generous as his grandfather.
Gustav Goldanski and Countess Ekaterina had one child, a son, Boris, who had been a diplomat in the service of the tsar. He had married Gertrude, a German noblewoman, and had given his parents two grandchildren: Konstantin, the older of the pair, and little Katia. They had been a happy family until bad luck crossed their path when Boris and Gertrude took part in a sleigh race. They had an accident in which Gertrude died immediately and Boris a few days later, leaving Konstantin and Katia orphans. Since then, the children had lived with their grandparents.
Samuel admired Professor Goldanski. He wanted to be like him, to have an important position such as his, but, above all, to be brave enough to break with Judaism. Isaac could see that his son gave more weight to the professor’s opinions than to his own. This hurt him, but he did not say anything against it, and in his heart he understood this reaction. How could one not admire a man who had attained a high position thanks only to his talent and his intelligence, and who had never hurt his fellow man? No, he could not blame Professor Goldanski for the admiration he engendered in his son. Neither could he blame Samuel for wishing to break with the religion of his forebears. The boy had lost his mother and his siblings for the simple fa
ct of being Jewish, and he had sensed since his most tender years that other people thought of Jews as pernicious creatures who needed to be kept separate from them. Samuel was keen to be like the others, and that was what Gustav Goldanski had achieved: he was a Russian.
Perhaps because of his admiration for Professor Goldanski and his friendship with Konstantin, Samuel dreamed of being able to avoid his fate. He knew that in spite of his father’s efforts to send him to university, the easiest thing for him would be to carry on with the family business and become a fur trader.
A year after Tsar Alexander II’s assassination, his successor, Alexander III, passed the “May Laws,” a set of regulations designed to complicate the situation of Jews in the Russian Empire still further. Many Jews began to think of emigrating; some headed to the United States, others to England, many to Palestine, but this was not the case with Isaac, who carried on building his business as a trader in furs.
“If I were a Jew, I would leave the country.” Andrei’s statement surprised the Korlov widows as much as it did Isaac and Samuel.
The widows and their lodgers were having Sunday lunch together. Alina had mentioned that a Jewish family they knew had sold all their property in order to emigrate to the United States, and Andrei, who was normally so restrained, made his comment as he wolfed down a plate of Raisa’s stew.
“Why?” Alina wanted to know.
“Because no one wants them here; Russians have no rights as citizens, but the Jews . . . are even less than we are,” Andrei said.
“Andrei! How could you say such things! If someone heard you . . . ,” Raisa scolded him.
“Oh, I take care not to say what I shouldn’t, but I am surprised that a good man such as Isaac should accept the crumbs the Russian Empire gives him,” Andrei said as he looked at Isaac and Samuel.
“By the Holy Mother, don’t say such things!” Raisa seemed scared.
“I am sorry, you are right, I shouldn’t have said anything,” Andrei apologized.
“Why not? I am interested in your opinion,” Alina said.
“Don’t encourage him, sister! There are things we shouldn’t do, and criticizing our new government is one of them. I will not allow anyone to say anything untoward,” Raisa insisted angrily.
“Andrei’s opinions don’t upset us,” Isaac said, trying to be conciliatory.
“That’s as may be. I’ll tell you whom they would upset: the tsar himself, if he could hear them. I don’t want anyone to speak about politics in this house. I thought that you were a prudent person,” Raisa said, staring pointedly at Andrei.
“I am sorry to have upset you, it won’t happen again.”
Andrei apologized and asked Raisa’s permission to leave the table and go and study.
The widow Korlov assented angrily.
“Alina, you shouldn’t talk about things that cause problems,” Raisa said, looking at her elder sister.
“So we can’t even speak freely inside the house? The Okhrana doesn’t have ears everywhere,” Alina replied.
“The Okhrana does have ears everywhere. We’re suspicious simply because we have Jews as lodgers,” Raisa said, without noticing the bitter grimace that passed over Samuel’s face.
Isaac said nothing as the two sisters argued. He was afraid that the conversation would go down paths that would end up affecting him and his son. Over the last few days, he had seen that Raisa was much more nervous than usual. The May Laws enacted by the government of Alexander III had lessened the already small freedoms allowed the Jews, who could now be expelled from their homes without reason. The laws also made it more difficult for them to enter university, and even banned them from certain professions. In spite of all this, Isaac felt himself under Gustav Goldanski’s protection and preferred to keep his head down and try to survive.
That night, as they went back to their room, Samuel asked his father if they, too, would go to the United States.
“No, we won’t, we’re fine as we are. How could I earn a living there?”
“But Andrei said that the Jews are worth less and less every day . . . I, too, have heard that the tsar hates us, and some of my school friends say the same . . . Father, why don’t we just stop being Jews?”
Isaac explained once again to his son that the people who were truly unworthy were those who persecuted the Jews for their religion and that they had to learn that each man had the right to believe in his own God and to say his prayers as his forebears had taught him.
“Your mother wouldn’t like to hear you speak like that. Have you forgotten what she taught you?”
“They killed her because she was a Jew,” Samuel said, trying to hold back his tears.
His father did not reply, but held his son tight and stroked his hair. Then he sent him to bed, but Samuel could not sleep.
“I know that it’s cold in the United States as well, they’ll need furs, just like they do here. You could sell them.”
“It’s not so easy . . . I don’t know how the market works there for furs. We don’t know anyone. No, we won’t go; I’m not going to expose you to more possible disasters. Yes, the Jews are barely tolerated in Russia, but at least we have Professor Goldanski looking out for us, and things are going well, we can’t complain. The only thing we can do is to be prudent and keep our heads down.”
“Father, are you afraid?”
Isaac didn’t know what to say in response to Samuel’s question. Yes, he was afraid. He was afraid of the unknown, of not being able to protect his son. He was still young enough to start a new life, he was in his mid-thirties, but he didn’t want to take any risks.
“When you are older you’ll see that staying here was the right decision. We are Russians, Samuel, and we would miss our fatherland.”
“We’re Jews, that’s what we are, and that’s how everyone else sees us.”
“We’re Russian, we speak Russian, we feel, we suffer like Russians.”
“But we don’t pray like the Russians do, and you insist that I don’t forget how to speak Yiddish, and you send me to the synagogue so that the rabbi can teach me Hebrew,” Samuel replied.
“Yes, and I also make you take classes in English and German. One day, Samuel, no one will be asked what he believes in or where he addresses his prayers, and all men will be equal.”
“When will that be?”
“One day . . . you’ll see.”
“That’s what Grandfather Elijah says.”
“And he’s right. Now go to sleep.”
The years went by and they lived under Gustav Goldanski’s protection.
Once a year Isaac traveled to Paris, in springtime. He always went with Samuel, to please Grandfather Elijah.
He had not recovered from the death of his daughter Esther, and begged Isaac to stay and live with him in Paris, but Isaac always rejected his father-in-law’s plea.
“And how would we live? No, it would not be fair to become a burden on you. Every man has to make his own destiny, and our destiny is in Russia, we’re Russian, we would be strangers here.”
“But we are also strangers in Russia,” Samuel answered, “and there we are less than nothing.”
It was not the case that Samuel wanted to leave Saint Petersburg. He had grown to love the city more than any other place on earth, but his dreams were filled with starts and fear, with the bloodied face of his mother, his brother and sister screaming. His heart was torn between the desire to imitate Gustav Goldanski and the calm he felt in Paris, sheltered by his Grandfather Elijah. He also dreamed of traveling to the United States. One of his best friends had gone with his family to that distant country.
It was during these trips to France that he began to pay attention to the ideas of Karl Marx, as well as those of a preeminent Russian thinker, Mikhail Bakunin; both of them were dead, but their ideas had been sown throughout Europe.
Elijah lent him their books, and it was not rare for certain friends of his grandfather to get involved in long conversations at the back of the cutting room. Some declared themselves for Karl Marx, others were fervent supporters of Bakunin, and although both of them in theory supported equality, the violence of the men’s discussions made it clear that their positions were irreconcilable. And in that back room Samuel gained an unexpected political education in both socialism and anarchism.
As time went by, he realized that his grandfather and his father both sympathized with Marx, although they tried to keep this a secret from others.
Those summers in his grandfather’s house meant that he did not forget French, his mother’s language. It was also in Paris where he fell in love for the first time, having just reached the age of sixteen. Brigitte had two long wheat-colored plaits and enormous chestnut eyes that stunned him every time he looked into them. She worked in her father’s bakery, one block away from grandfather Elijah’s shop. Samuel always insisted on going to buy the bread himself.
A brass counter separated him from Brigitte, whom he observed standing by the oven, her cheeks lightly brushed with flour.
They never did more than exchange smiles, but Samuel felt his heart beat faster every time he saw her.
He was not the only one to fall in love. One afternoon, when Elijah asked him to help deliver some overcoats to the wife of a lawyer who lived on the Right Bank, they unexpectedly ran into Isaac. He was accompanied by a middle-aged woman with whom he seemed to be on intimate terms, given that they were walking with their arms interlinked. They were chattering and laughing, they seemed happy, but Isaac’s expression changed suddenly when he ran into his son and his father-in-law, whom he had thought were out visiting clients.
In the face of Elijah’s curiosity and Samuel’s astonishment, it was difficult for Isaac to hide his nervousness.
“Samuel!”
Shoot Me, I'm Already Dead Page 5
