Red Love (22 page)

“I did give money; I didn’t collect it.”

“No? Let the thimble be brought forth.”

Hy Briské rushed down the aisle with quick little steps, holding a tray, his hand under it, gurgling. He extended the tray toward Solly. A tiny object perched on it. Holding his nose away from it and sniffing, Hy held up a thimble between his thumb and index finger.

“
What is this?”
Duboff shouted at Solly.

“Can you see it, My Honor?” Hy said to the judge. “It’s really awful. Show it to His Honor, Mr. Duboff.”

“Wait a minute,” said Duboff. “What is this thing, Mr. Rubell?”

Solly’s voice trembled. “A thimble. Just a thimble.”

“It was in your home when the agents arrested you. What does it say on it?”

“Morgen Freiheit”
said Solly.

“Mr. Rubell, there were hundreds in your home.”

“They were given to new subscribers to the progressive newspaper, the
Freiheit,”
Solly said. “It was all legal.”

“The
Freiheit
is known to be a newspaper deemed subversive by the attorney general,” Duboff said. “Let the thimble be shown to the jury.” Duboff handed the tray to the jury foreman.

“Now bring us the picture of the angry-looking Negro,” said Duboff. Hy handed it to Duboff.

“This picture has the following words on the back: ‘Paul Robeson as Othello. Thank you for your contribution to the Civil Rights Congress. Stop All Lynchings.’

“Now, Mr. Rubell, you did a little bit more than just contribute.”

Solly said, “I just helped.”

“Is it not a fact that the Civil Rights Congress is a Communist organization exclusively?” asked Duboff.

“1 object to the form of the question,” said Henky Rubin.

“The form is all right,” said Judge Goldman.

“I don’t believe it is a Communist group,” said Solly.

“When did you join it?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Who invited you to join it?”

“I don’t remember.”

“How did you first learn of it?”

“Somebody asked me to join.”

“Which somebody?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Perhaps that someone was a member of the Communist Party?”

“I don’t know, no.”

“Where were you solicited?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Mr. Rubell, were you a member of the Communist Party?”

“I refuse to answer on the grounds that it might incriminate me.”

“Were you also a member of the International Workers Order?”

“I just have an insurance policy with it,” said Solly.

“Is it a public insurance company?”

“Yes, Mr. Duboff.”

“Is it not a Communist organization?”

“I don’t believe so.”

“Is it not a fact that its members are exclusively members of the Communist Party?”

“I don’t know whether that is a fact.”

“How did you come to join it?”

“I don’t recall.”

“When did you become a member?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Who invited you to join it?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Mr. Rubell, do you remember that we are in the midst of a war in Korea against the Communists?”

“Yes, sir.”

“How many years have you been a member of the International Workers Order?”

“I can’t remember.”

“What kind of insurance do you have?”

“A two-thousand-dollar policy for life insurance.”

“Where is the policy?”

“My policy?”

“Yes, your policy.”

“Well, it was in my home.”

“Where do you send premiums?”

“To the secretary.”

“Where was he?”

“I sent it to his house.”

“Where?”

“Somewhere in New York City. I can’t recall.”

“You’re telling us you send the money to the secretary at his house? Doesn’t the International Workers Order have an office, a room, a cell, something?”

“Yes. I’m sure it does.”

“But where?”

“I don’t know, Mr. Duboff.”

“Your policy is at your house?”

“Yes, Mr. Duboff.”

“Would you bring it with you when you come here tomorrow?”

“But—”

“Get the policy! Bring it here!”

“But I have no home,” said Solly. “My home is gone. My things are somewhere else.”

“No speech,” said Duboff. “Just the policy.”

“I don’t have it,” said Solly.

“He doesn’t have it,” said Henky. “I will try to get it. The Rubells no longer have an apartment. The lease was canceled. Their furniture was disposed of.”

“We don’t want the furniture,” said Duboff. “The policy will be fine.”

The trial was adjourned for the day. Solly collapsed on his bed.

In his cell, he read the
National Guardian.
There was a Soviet cartoon illustrating the Soviet Union’s relationship to the People’s Democracies. Two sparrows wanted to live by themselves. But they ran into a lot of trouble with cats, dogs, and children. Finally, they realized they had to live with the other birds for their own protection. So it was that smaller nations needed to join the Soviet Union so that they could be protected.

Solly clipped the cartoon for Dolly. He captioned it “Educational Reading.”

Duboff resumed his cross-examination of Solly the next afternoon.

“How long have you known Sophie Rich?”

“I’m not sure exactly.”

“How often have you seen her since you first met her?”

“I don’t remember. She had been Joe Klein’s sweetheart, and he would come to the house with her. I think I also saw her at musicales.”

“When did Joe Klein leave the country?”

“I’m not sure, sir, but around 1948.”

“When was the last time you saw Sophie?”

“It’s hard to say.”

“A couple of weeks before you were arrested?”

“I’m not sure.”

“A week before your arrest?”

“I don’t remember.”

“What did you chat with Sophie Rich about the last time you saw her?”

“The price of eggs, that sort of thing. I says, How are you, Soph?”

“Did you talk with her about anything else?”

“Nothing else in particular.”

“Did you give her some money?”

“Can’t say that I did, no sir.”

“Did you send her on a trip to Pittsburgh?”

“No, not at all, sir.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

“Didn’t you give her three thousand dollars to bring to someone in Pittsburgh?”

“Totally untrue.”

“You’re certain?”

“I am certain.”

“Where did you see Joe Klein?”

“At his apartment in Greenwich Village.”

“What was the address?”

“I can’t remember the exact street. It began with a p. Either-”

“Wasn’t it 29 Perry Street?”

“Right, that’s it, Perry Street.”

“Was that very hard to remember?”

“I just told you it was.”

“How often did you go to that apartment?”

“A number of times.”

“How frequently?”

“Not very frequently.”

“Were you there with Maury Ballinzweig?”

“No, Mr. Duboff.”

“Were you there with Jed Levine?”

“No, not at all.”

“When did you last see Klein?”

“In 1948.”

“Where is he now?”

“In Brooklyn, I believe.”

“You don’t know exactly where he is?”

“No, I wouldn’t know for sure.”

“Don’t you know that he is in Russia?”

Henky jumped up. “I object to that upon the ground that it is incompetent, irrelevant, immaterial, and highly inflammatory—”

“Oh,
sure
it is!” said Hy.

“I move for a mistrial,” Henky said.

“Denied,” Judge Goldman said.

“Mr. Rubell, you were interviewed in this building the day after Hershie was arrested, weren’t you?”

“Correct.”

“You were interviewed by Mr. Steve Tabackin of the F.B.I.”

“Yes I was, sir.”

“And you were arrested a month later?”

“That is right.”

“Did you see Mr. Tabackin in the following weeks near your shop or home?”

“I noticed Mr. Tabackin hanging around my shop. One day I saw him peering through the open window. His nose was in my shop. He winked at me.”

“Did you think you were under surveillance?”

“I don’t have a thought on that.”

“Didn’t you find it unusual that an F.B.I. agent was peering through the window of your shop?”

“I thought that was his business, Mr. Duboff.”

“And what were your thoughts?”

“That he might be looking through the window in order to find something.”

“What might he be hoping to find?”

“I really don’t know.”

“Weren’t you upset by his looking through your window or standing outside your shop?”

“No, that was his business, Mr. Duboff. I didn’t manifest anxiety because I had no guilt.”

“Why did you think he was standing there?”

“It didn’t occur to me to think about it. That was his concern.”

“It made absolutely no impression on you?”

“It didn’t concern me.”

“But it made no impression?”

“I thought he was seeking something.”

“But it had nothing to do with you?”

“Perhaps yes, perhaps no, but I was not concerned.”

“But did you think Mr. Tabackin’s nose, perched as it was in your window, or his standing outside your shop, had any connection to you?”

“Perhaps yes, perhaps no. It didn’t occur to me to think about why he was doing it.”

“You didn’t ask Mr. Tabackin why he was sticking his nose through your window?”

“I wasn’t going to order the F.B.I. around, Mr. Duboff.”

“You knew that your brother-in-law had just been arrested?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Did you discuss with your wife the fact that an F.B.I. agent was hanging around your shop?”

“Nope, never did.”

“You didn’t mention it to her at all?”

“Can’t say that I did.”

“Even if you were innocent, Mr. Rubell, wouldn’t you have guilt-free anxiety about an F.B.I. agent watching you at a time when your brother-in-law had already been arrested?”

“It couldn’t have anything to do with me, so I wasn’t concerned.”

“But what if he was mistaken and
thought
it had something to do with you?”

“I didn’t relate to it on a personal level.”

Dolly followed Solly on the stand. She was no more a social bug there than anywhere else.

She cocked her head and held it high because of the pain in her back and her migraine headache. But it made her look prissy—stiff and haughty. And she was very pale.

Duboff quoted Dolly’s testimony before the grand jury two weeks after Solly had been arrested. She had been asked, “Did you ever talk with your brother about his espionage activities?” Dolly had replied then: “I decline to answer on the grounds that this might tend to incriminate me.”

Duboff said now, “Did you give that testimony at that time?”

“Yes.”

“Was that the truth?”

“Was what the truth? That I answered the question that way?” Dolly said.

“That you answered that to disclose whether you had talked with your brother about espionage would tend to incriminate you?”

“I don’t remember what reason I may or may not have had at that time to give that reply.”

“Was it an untruthful reason?”

“No.”

“And today you feel you can answer that question and that there is nothing incriminating about it?”

“Correct.”

“But at the time, when testifying before the grand jury, you felt it might tend to be incriminating?”

“I suppose I had some reason for feeling that way.”

“What might that reason be?”

“I really couldn’t surmise at this time.”

Dolly was asked by Duboff about another grand jury question: “Did you discuss this case with your brother Hershie?” She had refused to answer on the same grounds.

“Was that question asked and did you give that answer?”

“I did.”

“Was it true?”

“Yes, because my brother was under arrest.”

“But how would that tend to incriminate you, if you’re innocent?”

“It wouldn’t necessarily. But it might have, and as long as I felt there might be some possibility of my being incriminated, I had the right to use the privilege.”

Dolly had invoked the same privilege before the grand jury when asked these questions:

“What is your middle name?”

“When did you consult with an attorney for the first time?”

“Did you invite your brother and his wife to your home for dinner?”

“Have you ever met Sid Smorg?”

“Do you know if your husband is working for the Soviet Union?”

When Dolly was asked if she had loved her brother, she said yes, she had loved Hershie deeply.

The jury believed that this was true.

Hy Briské circled around the one witness the Rubells could muster, the little lady wearing sneakers, brown ankle socks, a red cap, and a button on her jacket that said Shoot First!—Manya Poffnick.

“What is your profession, Mrs. Poffnick?” Briské asked her.

“I am an activist all over,” she replied. “I am also a cafeteria worker.”

“And what, Mrs. Poffnick, can you tell us of the Rubells?”

“I know the Rubells as good progressive people; they would never hurt a soul. I can tell you Sol Rubell fulfilled his thimble quota many times over. I saw them selling subscriptions for the
Morgen Freiheit
hours before they were arrested.”

“And do you know Maury Ballinzweig?”

“I know him too well,” Manya said.

“Could you explain your meaning?”

“Forget him. To me he’s not a human being. But he’s innocent. He thinks he’s got four balls.”

“Could you tell us about the espionage activities of Solomon and Dolores Rubell?”

“Dolly Rubell would give her last dime to a person in need. Solly too. They were ordinary working people who wanted to help the workers. That’s the only crime they were guilty of.”

“Mrs. Poffnick,” Briské said, “according to the
Daily Worker
you are a widow.”

“I was married in 1929 and he died in 1932. Peculiarly enough, his name was also Poffnick. He was a dressmaker. A very nice human being.”

“And you have one living son?” Briské asked.

“I have no children,” Manya said.