Shoot Me, I'm Already Dead

by Julia Navarro

  Samuel took Katia’s hand and asked her to continue with her story.

  “My grandmother died of a heart attack. She couldn’t bear it when Konstantin and Vera lost their daughter. She was born prematurely and was very weak. Vera was ill and didn’t have the milk to feed her, and although Konstantin and I did what we could to find milk, we didn’t always manage. We sold what we had, little by little, to get milk for the child, but even if we had had all the money in the world, there wasn’t always milk available. The baby grew sick and . . . died in Konstantin’s arms. Vera grew worse, she blamed herself for the baby’s death, for having given birth too soon, for not having the milk to feed her. My grandmother’s heart broke. I thank God that she died in her sleep, and the doctor said she had felt nothing. From that moment onwards, Konstantin believed that we had to leave Russia. They had taken all that we owned, the house in Saint Petersburg, the summerhouse in Yalta . . . My grandmother had managed to keep some jewels. She had given them to Ivan the stableman, and he hid them in the stables, along with some paintings that Konstantin had managed to cut out of their frames and roll up carefully to save them. We were also able to save the papers that credited us with money deposited by my grandfather in a couple of banks, one in England and the other in Switzerland. We didn’t know how much it was, and we prayed that it would be enough for us to start a new life. We used some of my grandmother’s jewels as bribes. That’s how we managed to get to Sweden and then to England. It was not an easy journey, you know because you took the same route as we did a few years before. Vera was sick and broken down by the loss of her daughter. We dressed like peasants, trying to hide who we were, but lots of people saw through our disguise. They stopped us in a town near the frontier. A group of revolutionaries thought we were suspicious. Thanks be to God, they didn’t realize we had some jewels with us. We had sewn them into the linings of our coats. Apparently, there were White troops nearby, and there were constant skirmishes. We managed to avoid being sent back to Saint Petersburg because the Whites attacked the village that night and we managed to escape in the confusion . . . If you could have seen us running through the snow to hide in the wood. Konstantin wouldn’t let us rest and insisted that we keep running. Vera fainted, and my husband carried her on his shoulders as if she were a sack, and even so he refused to let us stop and rest. I cried and begged for him to stop, to look after Vera. I was afraid she would die . . . But he didn’t listen to me. He kept moving, always going forwards with a determination that astonished me. Sometimes he tripped and Vera and he fell into the snow, but he struggled to his feet and continued walking. We spent several days in the woods, fearing that the Red Army would find us at any moment . . . God took pity on us because one afternoon we saw some men out hunting—we were going to flee but they turned out to be friendly. We were in Sweden.”

  For some time, Miriam and Daniel had not understood what Katia was saying. She had stopped talking in English and had switched to Russian, as if she could explain the pain she had suffered only in her native tongue. They all sat in silence for a few minutes. Then Samuel and Mikhail began once again to talk, both in Russian. Miriam got up and left the salon. She realized that she and Daniel were out of place there, and that they were not part of this past that belonged to the three who remained sitting at the table.

  Later on, Samuel told her what Katia had told them, about her escape from Saint Petersburg to London, where they now lived.

  Konstantin had been surprised that although there was not a huge amount of money in the English and Swiss accounts, it was still enough for them to live decently.

  In Kensington they rented a house that was not very large but it was enough for the three of them. They could even employ servants: a mother and daughter, both very handy, who cleaned and cooked. Katia and Vera told Konstantin that it would not be necessary to hire servants, but he said he didn’t want to see them cleaning the house.

  Konstantin took advice from certain old friends and invested his money successfully. They lived off the investments.

  “We live simply,” Katia had explained, “but we have enough money not to lack anything important.”

  Katia had thought that it would be hard for Vera to adapt to her new life. Her parents were old Russian aristocrats, and she had lived for a good part of her childhood and adolescence in close contact with the court. But Vera never complained and accepted the situation with good cheer. She loved Konstantin and could not grasp the idea of life without him; so she and Katia did what they could to make sure he didn’t worry.

  London, Katia told them, was even more cosmopolitan than Saint Petersburg. They integrated rapidly, and were even received at court, thanks to a friend of Vera’s who was married to an English aristocrat.

  Katia filled Samuel’s life. He had lunch with her, he took her to the opera, together they went to visit friends, Russian exiles like themselves. Miriam did not always come with them. She felt excluded from this relationship, it was as if she had become a stranger once more to Samuel and he was starting to become one to her as well.

  “Konstantin is coming tomorrow. I want you to meet him. You’ll like him. He is a true aristocrat and not one of the ones we’ve met here . . . ,” Samuel said.

  Miriam could not help immediately sympathizing with Konstantin. He was more handsome than she had imagined, but he was also so gentlemanly toward her that she felt like a princess.

  Konstantin insisted that when Miriam or Daniel were present they only speak English, and he refused to reply when Samuel or Katia, without thinking, started to talk in Russian.

  “Where are your manners? Miriam does not understand us, and as we all know English, we will speak only in English,” Konstantin insisted.

  Ever since his arrival, Miriam had not minded taking part in their visits, which always ended up at the house of some Russian aristocrat who had fled the Revolution. Konstantin made sure that she did not feel out of place, and treated her as if she were his own sister.

  If she had not been in love with Samuel, then she might have fallen in love with Konstantin, although she tried to put this feeling to one side, as she was also kindly disposed toward Vera. But she was a little surprised that a man like Konstantin could have such a fragile-seeming wife, especially one who was not exactly a beauty. Of medium height, with chestnut-brown hair and eyes, and extremely thin, Vera would not have stood out anywhere had it not been for her aristocratic bearing and her silk dresses.

  Miriam scolded herself for finding Vera insignificant, as she was always extremely friendly and attentive to her, just as Konstantin was.

  Aside from the presence of Konstantin and Vera, Miriam found these evenings boring, all these visits to the houses of Russians who had fled the Bolsheviks and were now trying to make France their new homeland.

  Samuel and Konstantin introduced her to princes and dukes with excessively long names, who behaved as though they were still at the court of the tsar even though many of them were forced to live with a modesty they could never have imagined. A large number of these exiles had to work to survive, and only at these evening parties, which they attended as elegantly as they could, did they recover a little of their former brio.

  Miriam was surprised at the aversion she saw in the eyes of some of these ruined aristocrats. It was all too clear that they considered her vulgar. When they asked about her life in Palestine, she spoke to them about Hebron, about her farming family, about when she was a child and had looked after the goats with the other girls. She felt proud of her life and wouldn’t have traded it for any other.

  “You are prettier than any of these duchesses,” Mikhail assured her, out of the instinctive antipathy he felt for all of Konstantin and Katia’s friends.

  In spite of their reticence, they did attend some of these parties to which Samuel was always trying to make them go. It was a relief to Miriam to have Mikhail near her. She liked to hear him making provocative comments. He said
that the Bolshevik revolution had been necessary, given the incapacity of the tsar and the nobles to solve the problems faced by the Russian people.

  “We were serfs, and now we are citizens, the revolution was worthwhile for that alone,” he said seriously.

  The exiles were scandalized without understanding how this young man who had come with the Goldanskis could claim to support the revolution, and they explained to him that if the Russian people had been asking for freedom and justice, then they had not obtained either.

  Two months had now gone by since their arrival in Paris, and still Daniel was asking his mother to go back to Palestine. Although he was learning French, Daniel felt there was no sense in remaining in Paris. He missed the laboratory bench, he missed even the scolding that Netanel would give him for not having ordered the implements they used to create the medicines that provided them with a living. Daniel insisted so often that Miriam once again raised with Samuel the idea of their return.

  “Konstantin, Vera, and Katia are going to London tomorrow and you have had enough time to put your affairs in order. We should go back. Also, since we came here we have barely had time to be with the children. Have you realized how much Dalida has grown? Our daughter’s clothes are too small, and so are Ezekiel’s. They are very young and need to be at home.”

  “They are at home, this is their home as well,” Samuel replied, ill-humoredly.

  “This is your house, not theirs.”

  “How can you say that? You are my wife, and Dalida and Ezekiel are my children, all that I have belongs to you. The children don’t mind Paris; you might have noticed, Dalida and Ezekiel both chat a little in French already.”

  “You gave me your word, Samuel . . .”

  “You’re right, and all I can do is ask you once more to have patience. I haven’t told you, but I am going into business with Konstantin.”

  Miriam said nothing, hurt and surprised by what she had just heard.

  “You know that while I was in Paris I worked in Monsieur Chevalier’s laboratory. He is now an old man and he has no children. He has suggested that I take over the business. He is offering me an excellent price, given that the laboratory is working at its full potential. With Konstantin’s help we could export some of the medicines abroad. Monsieur Chevalier has a couple of patents that are worth their weight in gold . . . What do you think?”

  “I don’t understand what you’re saying.” Miriam felt her stomach knot.

  “Why don’t we stay in Paris? I don’t mean forever, but for a while. You know that we have enough money to live comfortably, and if I invest a little of it in the laboratory . . . I thought that we could send some of the medicine we make here in Monsieur Chevalier’s laboratory to Palestine.”

  “You have a laboratory at Hope Orchard.”

  “Please, Miriam. It’s a converted shed where we can make half a dozen remedies; we make medicines that are very basic, except when Yossi passes us a master formula. I’m talking about having a real laboratory. I’m not a pharmacist, although I dedicate myself to making medicines. I won’t deny that I am attracted to the idea of going into business like Konstantin. I would like to try . . .”

  “My son Daniel would like to go back,” Miriam said, making an effort not to break down.

  “Well, he can; Mikhail has told me he’s going, too, they can go together.”

  “You forget that he is my son.”

  “You’re right. The best thing is for him to stay.”

  “Daniel has nothing to do in Paris.”

  “You’re wrong there. If I buy Monsieur Chevalier’s laboratory, Daniel can work in it. He’ll learn things that will be very useful for when we go back to Palestine.”

  “Are you sure you’ll go back one day?” Miriam asked, fearful of what the answer might be.

  “Of course! All I’m asking is that you let me try to start this business. You don’t know how much it would mean to me to share this with Konstantin and Katia . . . I won’t hide from you that it’s been a long time since I’ve felt so at peace with myself. We live so intensely in Palestine that we have no time to think about ourselves. Please, Miriam . . .”

  Miriam resigned herself to the inevitable; she knew that for all she insisted, Samuel had no intention of returning to Palestine, at least not at the moment. She was ready to sacrifice herself to this new scheme but was worried about Daniel. Her oldest son was not adapting well to Paris. The city was beautiful and grandiose, so much so that he felt lost. He had no friends and it was an uphill struggle for him to learn French, unlike her two younger children, Ezekiel and Dalida. Mikhail had done all he could to help Daniel, and had often asked him to come to reunions with his old friends from his childhood. Daniel preferred being with Mikhail and his friends to being with Samuel and his friends, but even so, these young Frenchmen seemed very strange to him.

  Miriam explained the situation to him without hiding her worries about losing Samuel.

  “If we go and leave him here, I don’t know what might happen. Samuel has found his past once again with Konstantin and Katia, and at the moment it’s the most important thing there is for him.”

  “You mean that these people are more important to him than me or my brother and sister?”

  “Not exactly . . . He loves us, he loves us all, he loves you, he shows he loves you, but now he needs to be with his friends and he doesn’t want to miss the opportunity that Monsieur Chevalier has given him of becoming the owner of a good laboratory. He has said that you could work with him, so you would have the chance to carry on learning. Wouldn’t you like that?”

  “I understand that you shouldn’t leave Samuel. He is your husband. But you have to understand me and let me go back. I’ll be alright in Palestine. My uncle and aunt, Judith and Yossi, are there, and also my cousin Yasmin. They are our only family now that . . . Well, after grandmother was murdered.”

  They sat for a few seconds in silence, Miriam holding back her tears; thinking about her mother’s murder caused a sharp pain in her chest.

  “But Yossi can’t look after you, he’s got enough to do as it is with looking after my sister. Judith is very ill and Yasmin works all the time helping her father and looking after her mother. You would be a burden.”

  “I didn’t say I was going to live with them, although if I did I would try to be useful. I will go back to Hope Orchard and work alongside Netanel. He will encourage me to finish my schooling and even to go to the university. And you know that Kassia and Ruth treat me like a son.”

  “Yes, but . . . I don’t want to be apart from you.” Miriam started to weep.

  Mikhail interrupted them, surprised to see Miriam crying.

  “What’s happening here?” he asked.

  While she explained what had happened, the color rose in Mikhail’s face.

  “Samuel will never settle in any one place. He doesn’t have a home. He’s alright now because he’s found Konstantin and Katia again, but in a while he’ll leave them to go back to Palestine, or somewhere else. He doesn’t care about hurting the people he claims to love. He abandoned me when I was a child and thought of him as my only support. Miriam, if you go back to Palestine, he will not follow you. If you love him, the only thing you can do is to stay here in Paris until he decides to go back. As for you, Daniel, come with me if you want. There’s a boat leaving Marseilles in a week. I can buy you a ticket.”

  “I’m surprised you want to go back to Palestine. You’re rich . . . You’ve inherited a lot of money and you’re almost French, you were educated here and if you wanted to you could become the best violinist in the world,” Daniel replied.

  “Yes, my childhood is here, my first adolescent years are here, my friends are here, and so are my dreams of becoming a great musician. I was happy here with Marie and Irina. But I couldn’t bear it that Irina married Monsieur Beauvoir, and that’s why I left to go to Palestine wit
h Samuel, although I would really have gone anywhere. I never imagined that Palestine would become so important to me. Sometimes I ask myself if it makes sense to lead as deprived a life as we live there. But now I wouldn’t live anywhere else. I’m happy to have met my childhood friends again, to have gotten to know my city once again, and to have enjoyed all the little bourgeois pleasures I grew up with once more, and it will always seem that Paris belongs to me. But here I realized that Yasmin is more important to me. If I could bring her here, live with her in Paris, but it is impossible . . . With her mother in such a state, Yasmin will never leave Palestine. So I will go home, determined to marry her.”

  They embraced each other. Mikhail had surprised them, he had always seemed so introverted, even reticent.

  “I’m so happy that you will become my nephew,” said Miriam. “And I am sure you will be very happy with Yasmin.”

  Later, with Mikhail’s help, Daniel convinced her not to try to go back to Palestine. She had no other option than to accept the situation or to leave Samuel, and that idea hurt her the most.

  Months turned into years and it was 1933. They had left Palestine four years ago. Miriam and Samuel had developed a routine that seemed to make him happy. He had bought Monsieur Chevalier’s laboratory, and had teamed up with Konstantin to sell medicine in England and several other European countries, which led them to travel together and rediscover their childhood bonds. Monsieur Chevalier owned the patent to several medicines that had been extremely good earners for him, especially after the Great War.

  Samuel traveled to London regularly and tended to stay for rather longer than Miriam would have liked. She knew that when he went there he spent a large amount of time with Katia and on more than one occasion she had caught them looking at each other with a tenderness that upset her greatly.

  She realized that they had stopped being a couple and had instead become a quintet, because their lives were now inseparable from those of Konstantin, Vera and Katia.