Shoot Me, I'm Already Dead Page 4

  After a while Samuel curled up at his side and fell asleep. Isaac covered him with a fur-lined blanket. A sudden flash of lightning split the sky. It started to rain again.

  It was a long, hard journey, and Isaac scarcely allowed himself to sleep. He made sure that his son was out of the rain and he set up a rough cot in the cart so that he could rest.

  Many were the nights when they slept in the cart because they didn’t dare ask for shelter in the inns they passed. Hatred of Jews was much more evident than before and the new tsar, Alexander III, had given license for the pogroms to spread across the empire. The more reactionary newspapers justified this persecution as a series of spontaneous acts of indignation on the part of the populace. But who was indignant? And why? Isaac asked himself, and always came to the same conclusion: “They don’t think that we are Russian, more a foreign body that steals work from them.” He also thought the Jews should think they were Russians first and Jews second, not the other way round and, that above all, they should behave like Russians.

  On the way to Saint Petersburg he regularly asked himself how Gustav Goldanski, his father’s friend, would receive them. Perhaps he would not even want to see them. He barely knew them, and from what Isaac had heard from his father, Goldanski, although he had not converted to Christianity, had dropped all Jewish customs and behaviors. Perhaps he would not want to receive them, or would feel uncomfortable being put in the position of having to do so.

  But he kept all these doubts to himself, as he did not want to pile these uncertainties on top of Samuel’s pain.

  They spoke of Saint Petersburg as if it were the end of a journey where they would find the calm they both needed, and the chance to begin again.

  They arrived mid-morning on a windy autumn day.

  It was not hard for them to find Gustav Goldanski’s house. It was in the heart of the city, in an elegant building with two servants standing at the door. These two looked at the travelers with a superior air, wondering how this man with his wild beard, and this child who could not stop coughing, dared ask that the master see them at once.

  One of the servants told them to wait outside, and the other went to tell his master about the strange visitors.

  It felt like an eternity to Isaac, the time he waited for the servant to come back. Samuel seemed afraid.

  “The master will see you,” the servant said, apparently shocked that such a thing could happen.

  The other servant took charge of the mules and the cart, as surprised as his colleague that this strange man and boy could know their master.

  Samuel looked around and marveled at how luxurious the house was. The chairs upholstered in brocaded silk, the shining golden candelabra, the thick curtains, the delicately carved furniture. It was all so new to him, and so marvelous, that it seemed unreal.

  They waited for a long time in a room with blue silk on the walls and a fresco on the ceiling, showing nymphs dressing their hair by a pool of clear water.

  Gustav Goldanski had passed through maturity and was on the cusp of old age. His hair was white as snow and his eyes were blue, a blue that the passage of time had dimmed. He was not very tall or very thin, but there was a certain elegance about him. “He’s a little younger than my father would be now, were he still alive,” thought Isaac.

  “Well, well, well, I wasn’t expecting a visit from Simon Zucker’s son. We haven’t seen each other for a long time. Do you remember, there was one time when your father came to Saint Petersburg and brought you along. I know that good old Simon died, I sent a letter to your mother . . . Your father and I met on a journey. I don’t know if he told you . . .”

  “I know that you met on a lonely road not far from Warsaw. You had gotten into trouble, your coach had become trapped in the snow, and my father, who was traveling the same route, found you and helped you get free.”

  “That’s right. I was on the way back from visiting my mother in Warsaw. It was winter, and the roads were nothing but ice and snow. The wheels of the coach got stuck in the snow, and one of the horses broke a leg. We were lucky that your father was traveling the same road and that he helped us, if he hadn’t we would have died of cold. I offered him my home if he came to Saint Petersburg one day. Although he never wanted to stay in my house, he did come to visit me, and from then on we were very good friends. We were very different, with different interests, but we agreed that the only way to deal with the curse of being a Jew was to assimilate into the society we lived in, although your father thought that thinking oneself Russian had nothing to do with religion.”

  “Yes, my father taught me the same, although sometimes it doesn’t depend on us, but on other people.”

  “Do you think we do enough? No, I don’t think we do . . . But forgive me, I still haven’t asked you why you’ve come. This child, is he your son?”

  At Isaac’s urging, Samuel held his hand out to this man, who smiled as he gave it a squeeze.

  “This is my son, Samuel, my only son. I have lost all my family,” Isaac said, a trace of emotion evident in his voice.

  Goldanski looked at the father and son and then asked what had happened.

  “Was it some illness?”

  “Hatred and ignorance have the same effect as epidemics. The assassination of the tsar has caused great troubles for the Jews of the empire. You know as well as I do that there have been violent attacks against our community, especially in the Pale of Settlement, but also in Moscow and Warsaw, and mostly in the shtetlach, where we Jews are gathered together, trying to make our way in the world via our hard work.”

  “I know, I know . . . From April all the way through the summer there has been bad news about attacks on Jews. It is some time since I abandoned the religion of my forefathers; I have not become a Christian, but neither do I follow the laws of Moses; even so, I did as much as I could to make the authorities stop the disturbances, but for all that they did not always listen to my requests. What happened to your family?”

  “My house no longer exists, an angry mob burned it down, and my mother, my wife, and my two little children were caught in the blaze.”

  “I’m sorry. I feel for you.”

  “I have lost everything I have, apart from two trunks of clothes that I brought from Paris and the money I made from selling the furs on my last journey. It’s all I have to start over. Above all, I still have Samuel. He’s my only reason to carry on living.”

  “What can I do?”

  “I don’t know anyone in Saint Petersburg, but I wish to begin my new life here and I want to ask your advice, so that you can help us take our first steps in the imperial capital.”

  “Do you have a place to stay?”

  “No, we have just arrived, all our belongings are in the cart that we left with your servants.”

  “I know a widow who might be able to give you a room. She makes her money renting her rooms out, generally to students. It won’t be luxurious, but the house is comfortable and the woman is trustworthy. Her husband was my assistant for many years, but the poor man died of a heart attack. I will give you a note for her, if she has a room free then she will definitely rent it to you without charging too much.”

  “Thank you, we need a roof and a chance to rest. We have spent many days sleeping outdoors and, as you see, my son won’t stop coughing.”

  “I am not a doctor, I’m just a chemist who has become a pharmacist. I have spent years of my life trying to develop cures for sickness, and this cough doesn’t bode well . . . I will give you one of my syrups, it will help.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Well, what else can I do?”

  “You are an important man, you know lots of people in the court, if you could try to make them take a look at the clothes I brought from Paris . . . Fur coats and jackets, in the Parisian style. Perhaps some lady might be interested . . .”

  “I will do it, out o
f the friendship I bear for your father. I will talk to my wife, she will know the best way for your fur coats to be seen by all the women of Saint Petersburg. Now, wait for a moment while I write that note to the widow.”

  Raisa Korlov was cold toward them until she read the note, signed Gustav Goldanski, after which she smiled trustingly at them and asked them to come through to the salon, which was kept pleasantly warm by a fire that crackled in the large fireplace.

  “So, Professor Goldanski recommends you . . . You couldn’t have a better reference, but I cannot give you a room at the moment. I have rented one room to a student at the university and my sister is in the other one, as she lost her husband and I took her in. She is older than I am and has no one left in the world, poor thing. She couldn’t have children, and neither could I. It’s not an ideal arrangement, because I lose the money from the rent, but what else could I do? I wouldn’t be a good Christian if I left her without any shelter. Anyway, she’s good company, I was widowed as well, and it’s always better to share what you have with your family.”

  A grimace of despair crossed Isaac’s face. He was worried about Samuel’s cough, remembering that Goldanski had insisted the child needed rest and warmth as well as the syrup and pills he had given him.

  “In that case, could you recommend some place where I could find shelter for myself and for my son?”

  “I don’t know . . . There’s no one I can trust . . . There are houses, yes, but I don’t know if I dare recommend them to you, maybe . . . Well, I do have another room, but it’s very small, it’s my lumber room, and I’ve never rented it . . .”

  “Please!” Isaac begged.

  “It’s very small, as I say, and you would have to help me clear some things out, I’d have to clean it and set it up for the two of you to fit . . . I don’t know . . .”

  “I’ll help you move things, I’ll help you with whatever you need. My son is exhausted, we’ve made a long journey. Professor Goldanski assured us that you would make us feel at home.”

  “The professor is a flatterer. Well, I’ll show you the room and you can decide if you want to stay. In that case, you’d have to give me some time to sort it out. Let the boy stay here, I’ll give him something to drink and warm him up a bit.”

  Isaac helped the widow Korlov take some rickety furniture out of the lumber room. The woman set to cleaning and it was no more than two hours before she had the room ready.

  It was as small as she had warned them it would be. The bed took up most of the space. A wardrobe and a table and chair completed the furnishings. Isaac paid her the price they had agreed on. Two months in advance.

  “It’s too small,” the widow said, hoping that Isaac would contradict her, as the money that she could get for this room would be very useful for her, and she knew it was more than the room was worth.

  “We’ll be fine, I promise,” Isaac replied.

  The woman showed them an even smaller room that was the communal washroom.

  “My husband was obsessed with hygiene, Professor Goldanski taught him that there are lots of illnesses that are the result of dirt, and that is why he insisted that we have a place in the house where we could bathe. I’m sure you will want to clean yourselves up after such a long journey . . . Don’t waste the water, of course.”

  Isaac could breathe freely once Samuel was finally in bed and wrapped up warmly. The child was exhausted and wouldn’t stop coughing.

  The widow Korlov had shown compassion, she had given Samuel a bowl of milk and a piece of cake, and had offered Isaac a cup of tea.

  He fell onto the bed next to his son and both of them dropped immediately into a deep sleep. It was already afternoon when they were woken up by a knock on the door.

  “Mr. Zucker . . . Are you awake?”

  “Yes, yes, I’m coming.”

  “I’ll wait for you in the salon . . .”

  Isaac got up immediately, worried by how wrinkled his clothes were after sleeping in them. Raisa Korlov and an elderly woman were waiting in the salon.

  “This is my sister Alina, I told her that you came recommended by Professor Goldanski.”

  “Madame.” Isaac bowed and held out his hand to Alina.

  The two women looked like each other. Raisa was the younger, she was about fifty, and Alina must have been past sixty. But the two of them had the same greenish eyes and square jaw, both were overweight, and tall, very tall.

  Raisa held out an envelope.

  “One of Professor Goldanski’s servants just brought it.”

  “Thank you.” Subjected to the women’s inquisitive stares, Isaac did not know what to do.

  “I’ve spoken with my sister,” Raisa said, as if Alina were not present, “and we were wondering how you were going to look after your son . . . Well, if you want, you and your son could eat here, for a small consideration. It would be a little bit more work for us, but . . .”

  “Oh! Thank you, nothing could be better for us.”

  “Your wife died, is that right?” Alina asked, while Raisa smoothed her skirt.

  “I told you that Professor Goldanski put all that into the letter of recommendation he wrote . . . ,” Raisa interrupted.

  Isaac did not want to satisfy the women’s curiosity, but he knew that he had no other option.

  “My family died in a fire. My wife, my children, my mother . . . Samuel and I were on a business trip . . . We couldn’t stay in the same place . . . That’s why we came to Saint Petersburg, we wanted to begin a new life and you are very kind to take us in so generously.”

  “What a tragedy! How sorry I am!” Alina said, with apparent sincerity.

  “Poor child!” Raisa said. “Losing a mother is the worst thing that can happen to a lad.”

  “Yes, it is. Also, Samuel is weak, and although I’m trying to give him all the care he needs, he still misses his mother very much.”

  “So, what do you think of our offer?”

  “I accept, of course I accept, tell me how many rubles our upkeep will be . . .”

  They came to an agreement that was satisfactory to both sides, although Isaac worried a little that he was spending his money more quickly than he had expected. But they had to eat somewhere, and it would always be better to eat at home.

  He allowed the two women to ask him questions, but as soon as he could he excused himself; he was impatient to read Professor Goldanski’s note.

  Samuel had woken up and smiled when he saw his father.

  “How well I’ve slept! I’m much better.”

  Isaac felt his forehead: his temperature appeared to have gone down.

  “You need to tidy yourself up a bit, we’re having dinner this evening with Mrs. Korlov and her sister. They say she makes a very tasty soup, you’ll like it.”

  Isaac opened the envelope impatiently and read the letter.

  I have spoken with my wife. I will try to help you. Come and see us next Thursday at teatime and bring the coats you told me about. It is possible that some of my wife’s friends will be interested.

  It was Monday, there were still three days to go until the appointment, and he would have to take the coats out of the trunk, air them out, and fix any slight problems they might have after such a long journey. His whole fate was tied up in those coats, he needed the fine ladies of Saint Petersburg to have their interest piqued.

  Isaac thought that the days until he went to the Goldanskis’ house would drag on forever, but Raisa Korlov insisted on showing them the city, even though Samuel was not yet fully rested.

  “Breathing fresh air never hurt anyone, as long as he wraps up warm,” the widow Korlov insisted, before dragging them out on another of her endless strolls.

  Father and son both showed their admiration for the Winter Palace. They were also surprised at the beauty of some of the streets, which reminded them of Paris.

&nbs
p; The widow Korlov was proud of her city, and boasted of how happy its inhabitants were.

  “The city’s soul is in its students, they fill the inns and the streets with their laughter. Some people think that they are troublemakers, but they are good tenants and pay their rent on time. I’ve only had to throw one out of my house in all the ten years I’ve been renting.”

  The other lodger was a serious young man, austere, who spent all his time either at the university or else studying in his room. He was not very talkative, but he was polite. The widow Korlov told them that young Andrei was the son of a blacksmith who was spending all of his meager savings on getting his firstborn son an education.

  The two widows treated Andrei with affection, just as they did Isaac and Samuel; both did what they could to make their lodgers feel at home.

  Raisa and her sister Alina also helped Isaac hang up his furs to air them out; Alina offered to sew up some places where the lining had come loose.

  “It will be more difficult to transport them hanging up, but if you put them in the trunk again they will get wrinkled and start to smell,” Alina explained.

  With Samuel’s help they managed to get the coats and jackets into the cart. The widow Korlov had lent them some old sheets so that the furs wouldn’t get dirty, and also to keep them hidden from the greedy eyes of thieves.

  At four on the dot on that wintry Russian Thursday, Isaac and Samuel presented themselves at the Goldanskis’ elegant mansion.

  This time, the servants were not so disdainful. They had orders from their master to show the pair immediately into the house.

  While they were waiting for Professor Goldanski to appear, Isaac ran his fingers nervously over some of the furs that they had put down on a chair.

  His heart beat all the more fiercely when Goldanski appeared, followed by a woman who was some years younger than him.