The Family Moskat (58 page)

He had always worried that he had tuberculosis or catarrh of the stomach, or that he would become blind. But now, when he actually expected to proceed to the front, where men fell like flies, his spirit was calm. It had divested itself of the fear of death.

His mind was filled with Hadassah and with all kinds of sex fantasies. He saw himself as a maharaja with eighteen wives, -376-lovely women

of India, Persia, Arabia, Egypt--and a few particularly beautiful Jewesses. Hadassah was the queen of the harem. Each wife brought him her serving girl, a dark-skinned, black-eyed slave, and he was gracious to her and lay in her lap. Hadassah was jealous, but he assured her again and again that his love was for her alone, and if he was carrying on with the others, it was only because the custom of the kingdom demanded it.

He suddenly felt himself stung, and he opened his eyes. All the efforts of the officers to keep their troops clean were in vain: there were lice everywhere.

4

Marching orders came finally, but for the reverse direction. A gigantic force, composed of German and Austrian troops, under the command of Field Marshal Mackensen, was attacking the Russian center in the vicinity of the Dunayetz and breaking through to the river San. The retreat turned into a rout. Artillery, food stores, piles of ammunition were abandoned. The enemy had outflanked the Russians, and there were rumors that entire army corps had been shattered and that hundreds of thousands of troops had surrendered. Asa Heshel hoped that he would be taken, too, but luck was against him. His division slipped through the pincers.

He marched enormous distances: through Przemysl, Yaroslav, Bilgorai, Zamosc. He passed again through Tereshpol Minor. He ceased to feel the exhaustion in his limbs, the ache in his back, the rumbling in his stomach. Day and night followed each other rapidly in a hot delirium. All fear, all worry for the future, vanished. Lust and mental activity ceased. Torrents of rain fell, winds blew wildly, shells exploded about him, but nothing mattered. Even the longing for rest and sleep became dim. There remained only one thing--a great astonishment: "Is this me? Is this Asa Heshel? Have I really got the strength to go through all this? Is my body really so sturdy? Am I Reb Dan Katzenellenbogen's grandson, my mother's son, Adele's husband, Hadassah's lover?" Somewhere in a field, together with other soldiers, he stacked his rifle and stretched himself out on the ground. He lay amid trampled corn and for a while held his eyes open. A blood-red moon hung in the sky, divided by a wisp of cloud. A column of mist went up from the near-by river. Some--

377-one had built a fire, and sparks rose out of the flames. "Who am I? What am I thinking of?" But the more he searched in himself, the less was he able to untangle his thoughts. Everything had rolled up into a tight coil: the heaviness of his body, the damp-ness of the earth, the groaning of the soldiers. A worm crawled over his forehead. He squashed it. All natural loathing seemed to have left him. What had Adele had, there? A boy, or a girl? He was suddenly convinced that it was a girl. But even this thought did not torment him. What, after all, was the difference?

And he became dumb and mindless as a stone.

IN THE MIDDLE of the summer the Russians began to evacu-

ate Warsaw. On the Praga bridge--whose supports had been mined--moved long columns of wagons and trucks, motored and horsedrawn. The wives of officers and government officials carried away with them to Russia all the furniture they could--chairs, pianos, sofas, mirrors, and even tubs with palm trees. Orderlies lashed at the dray horses, cursing at the tops of their voices. The bridge was too narrow for the traffic; there was a hopeless jam of tramcars, bicycles, wagons piled with homeless Jews, soldiers in full equipment. In the barracks soldiers were busy selling boots, uniforms, underwear, all kinds of flour, groats, and fats. The buy-ers dragged away the illegal merchandise without any attempt at concealment. There was panic at police headquarters. The police were inducted into the army. In their place there had been formed a civil militia, citizens wearing brassards on their sleeves, and with rubber truncheons instead of swords. Among this militia were some Yiddish-speaking youths; the Jews of Warsaw took this as a sign that better times were in store for them. On the last day of the evacuation the janitors went about from house to house -378-warning householders to keep their windows closed because the bridges were to be dynamited. The pessimists predicted that at the last moment the Russians would start a pogrom, set fire to the city, and loot the shops. It was whispered that the sewage canals were laden with explosives. But apparently the Russians were not bidding a permanent farewell to the city; the police commissars and the rank and file all voiced the same phrase: "
Nitchevo
. Well come back."

And for the last time they extended their palms for the usual bribes.

The Moskat family, like many other Warsaw Jewish families, divided into two factions, those who supported the Russians and those who cast a hopeful glance toward the Germans. Pearl, Reb Meshulam's oldest daughter, declared firmly that the Germans would mean nothing but misfortune. It was whispered in the family that she had fifty thousand rubles stowed away in the Imperial Bank of St. Petersburg. Queen Esther warned the others that under the German occupation "there'll be no grub." Fishel began to traffic in enormous quantities of merchandise--oil, soap, blubber, candles, herring, and even sacks of feathers and goose down that he had got cheap on Gensha Street. His yard on the Gnoyna was packed with barrels and cases and crates. He was already making inquiries whether it would be possible to do business with the Germans, whether they were open to bribes, and whether it was true that they understood Yiddish.

"What's the difference to me?" he said with a shrug. "This gentile or that one."

Nathan Moskat was a bit of a German from the old days, when he and Saltsha used to stop off in Berlin on their way to Marienbad.

He spoke a smattering of crude German and could even write out an address in the pointed German script. And he had on his bookshelves a copy of the Bible in Mendelssohn's German translation. Now he spent most of the day on his balcony, in a flowered satin dressing-gown and silk skullcap, his feet thrust into a pair of plush slippers, watching with joy the way the Russians were retreating from the city. Pinnie came to visit and discuss politics. He prophesied that when the Germans occupied Moscow the Japanese would turn on Russia, seize Siberia, and tear the bear limb from limb.

"I tell you, Nathan," he beamed, "we can start to say Kaddish for them right now."

-379-Nyunie had just

celebrated his marriage to Bronya Gritzhendler. He spent his time with his wife in her antiques and book shop on Holy Cross Street. He could hardly contain his impatience for the Germans to arrive, and for the time when he would be able to don Western clothing. Already he had a proper suit and hat hanging in his clothes closet. Of his full beard only a small chin-tuft was left.

Students and teachers were coming into the store to inquire after collections of German works, dictionaries, grammars. It was a pleasure to have a young wife, one who wore her own hair instead of a matron's wig, to spend his time among books, maps, globes, decorative pieces of sculpture, to talk with customers about Klopstock, Goethe, Schiller, and Heine. Ever since the German troops had been advancing on Warsaw there was something of a western European atmosphere about the city.

"Well, Bronya, my love," Nyunie remarked, "we'll soon be abroad without having to cross a border."

Abram grew more optimistic from day to day. True, the tenants weren't paying rent. Hama was busy the whole day peeling potatoes in the kitchen. His daughter Bella now lived with him.

His grandchild, the little Meshulam, was in the throes of the measles. Avigdor, his son-in-law, had no job and spent his time rolling cigarettes and reading the Yiddish newspapers. But Abram was seldom at home. Ninotchka had come safely through the abortion, and at her flat on Ogrodova Street there gathered every evening a group of writers, actors, musicians, and others of the intelligentsia. Ninotchka would light two tall candles, seat herself on the carpet, bohemian fashion, declaim poetry, and sing songs.

The evening before the Germans made their entry into the city Abram spent at home with the family. Stepha had brought her fiancé, the medical student. There were other guests besides: Masha, who was an orphan now that Leah had gone to America, and Dosha, Pinnie's youngest daughter. The girls danced about and laughed, whispering secrets to one another. Hama served tea, potato pudding, and vishniak. The baby refused to go to sleep, and Avigdor brought him into the living-room. To amuse the child, Abram got down on his hands and knees, barked like a dog, mewed like a cat, and howled like a wolf. He made such a spectacle of himself that even the melancholy Hama burst out laughing. She shook her bewigged head and put her handkerchief up to blow her reddened nose. "What's there to be so happy about?"

-380-"You

dark-minded woman! What are you worrying so much for?

We'll die--like the richest millionaires. And we'll rot--like the kings and emperors."

Abram went to bed at two o'clock in the morning but he was awakened before dawn by a loud crash. The sound of two more explosions followed. The Russians had blown up all three bridges across the Vistula. Window panes, torn out of their frames, plunged down into the courtyard. Dogs barked. Children wailed.

Abram sat up in bed and thought that soon now it would be possible to travel to Lodz. He'd be able to see Ida. Who knew, maybe she'd completely forgotten about him. Maybe she'd found someone else to take his place. He fell asleep again, but dreams disturbed his rest. For all that his beard was gray, his blood plunged vigorously through his veins. Young and virile desires chased through his brain. In his confused dreams he thought he was kissing Hadassah, and then the image would change and it would be his daughter, Stepha.

The ringing of the telephone awakened him in the morning. It was Nyunie. His voice stammered over the wire. "Abram, m-m-mazeltov! The Ger-ger-germans have c-c-come. We-we-we're in P-p-prussia now."

"Hurrah!
Vival Potztausend
!" Abram yelled joyously. "Where are you, my idiot? Let's go to welcome the Huns."

He started to run around the flat in his bare feet. Hama and his daughters awoke; the baby started to squeal. Abram put on a white summer suit, a straw hat, and an open shirt with a sports collar and grabbed his stick with the staghorn handle. He hurried down the steps, singing. Downstairs he hailed a droshky and gave the driver Nyunie's address. From there he, Nyunie, and Bronya rode on to Senator Street. The sun shone brightly; a soft wind blew from the Vistula. The janitors were dousing the sidewalks and house entrances with rubber hoses. Young women and girls hurried along carrying flowers. The balconies were packed, the streets full of pedestrians. On Senator Street Abram caught ;ight of the German troops. Officers were sitting stiffly on their horses, with spiked helmets on their heads, swords at their waists, and spurred boots. There was nothing about them to indicate that they had just come from the battlefront. Wide columns of soldiers marched along, most of them middle-aged men, broad-shouldered, round-bellied, and spectacled, with porcelain pipes between their lips.

They thumped their boots against the cobble-

-381—

tones, singing in hoarse voices, an absurd bleating, which called forth laughter from the watching crowds. Shouts of greeting came to the conquerors:

"Gut Morgen! Gut" Morgen!"

"Gut" mo'en! Gut' mo'en!" the soldiers called back. "Where's the road to St. Petersburg?"

"Have a cigar! " Abram held out his hand to one of the soldiers.

"Danke schÄ^n.
Have a cigarette," and the soldier handed Abram a cigarette, one that had no mouthpiece, but a thin gold edge. The columns of soldiers seemed to stretch endlessly. Flocks of pigeons wheeled over the rooftops, changing from a fiery gold to a leaden black. Window panes reflected the sun's light. The black, white, and red flag already fluttered over the castle. Wagonloads of special police rode on toward the city hall, in blue capes, most of them wearing dark glasses. Shooting was heard from the Praga section; the Russians apparently were not entirely finished. They were still entrenched on the other side of the Vistula. Yellow-faced deserters began to creep out of the Jewish houses, in ragged clothes. Here and there a German patrol seized a Russian soldier and either led him away to imprisonment or shot him on the spot and left him to lie on the ground in a pool of blood. Early in the afternoon posters appeared on walls and fences, in German and Polish. Groups of people gathered to read them. Boldest of all stood out the words:
"Streng verboten
--"Strictly forbidden. . . ." Toward evening Abram made his way to the Vienna Station to inquire whether trains were running to Lodz. There was excitement on Marshalkovska Street. Troops of cavalry rode by. A band was playing. In the restaurants and bars German soldiers were already drinking and carrying on with women. From Chmielna and Zlota Streets streams of prostitutes poured, faces powdered and rouged, their eyes shaded, and with beauty spots pasted on their cheeks. Drunken shouts and abandoned voices echoed in the air. The Vienna Station was locked and guarded. Abram tried to say something to one of the German guards, but the Swabian, with his horse's face and bulging eyes, pushed him away, almost flinging him into the gutter. "Get the hell out of here, you damn Jew!" The soldier made a threatening gesture with his gun.

-382-

THE EXPRESS TRAIN FROM Bialystok to Warsaw was a few

hours late. It was to have arrived at the Vienna Station at four in the afternoon, but at that hour it had only reached a junction point. There it halted for a long time while cars were uncoupled and new cars joined on. The platforms held a crowd that had purchased tickets but could not make its way onto the train.