Daniel Yarosh - The Death of Hercules - A DocuNovel

After entering his office and seating Zalmund and Deena in a large leather sofa across from his heavy wood desk, Eltzbacher offered them tea, which they declined.

“What can I do for you, today, Mr. Hofitz,” Eltzbacher began. He glanced at Deena but Zalmund offered no introduction.

“I am here to redeem our family account, in the name of Hofitz, H-O-F-I-T-Z,” Zalmund replied, pulling papers from his coat pocket.

“By that you mean to close the account?” Eltzbacher asked surprised. “May I ask why the bank can no longer offer you service?”

“I am sure you and your firm have done very well by our family, Mr. Eltzbacher. It is just that with the conclusion of the recent hostilities, we require the capital for our ventures.”

“I see. Just a moment, please,” and Eltzbacher rang a bell. A secretary soon knocked and entered the office.

“Mrs. Simon, could you please retrieve the account of Mr. Hofitz, H-O-F-I-T-Z.”

“Yes, Mr. Eltzbacher,” and the young woman scurried off to the file room.

They waited in a tense silence while Eltzbacher drummed his fingers on the desktop. “Do you plan to stay long here in Amsterdam, Mr. Hofitz?”

“No, we do not. This is an urgent matter, and we must attend to our affairs back home, now that circumstances have changed so dramatically,” Zalmund replied with cold formality.

“I see.” A long silence passed while they waited for the return of Mrs. Simon. Finally, she returned clutching a leather-bound folder filled with papers. She placed it in front of Eltzbacher and left. Eltzbacher then carefully scanned the papers, beginning with the top page and turning each one and placing it carefully on the last. After finishing, he paused and gently rapped his knuckles on the desk.

“Mr. Hofitz, can you confirm the name on the account and account number for me?”

Zalmund unfolded the papers and read off the account number, which Eltzbacher confirmed with a nod. He then recited the name of the owner, Isaac Hofitz. Eltzbacher frowned.

“Mr. Hofitz. This account was opened by a Mr. Isaac Hofitz almost twenty years ago. You do not look like a man who was an adult twenty years ago, if you do not mind my saying. Are you telling me you are Isaac Hofitz?”

“No, Mr. Eltzbacher, Isaac is my father, and this is a family account,” Zalmund said with gravity. He unfolded his passport and pushed it across the desk. Then with great fanfare he unfolded a letter Isaac had written to him during his yeshiva days, addressed to ‘My Dearest Son Zalmund’, and signed ‘Your loving father, Isaac Hofitz.’ Eltzbacher carefully reviewed the documents, checked the signature against the account records, then squinted at them again and raised his fist to his lips.

“Generally, Mr. Hofitz, we require more direct instructions to close an account and release such sums.”

“I understand, Mr. Eltzbacher,” Zalmund replied. “But my father is quite incapacitated now, in part due to the strains of the war. He is really not capable of conducting business as he used to.”

“I see,” Eltzbacher mumbled. “Please excuse me,” and he got up and left the room.

Zalmund and Deena looked at each other nervously. This was their play and there was no turning back. Zalmund rationalized to himself that he had not really lied or broken any law, yet. He felt in his heart that this was money stolen from the ruling class, and he was entitled to it as much as his father. In fact, this was part of his yerusha (inheritance) that he was collecting a little early. They sat fidgeting for some time. Finally, Eltzbacher returned.

“Mr. Hofitz, my staff informs me that under the present conditions, it is not possible to communicate by cable with our Poznan affiliate to confirm this transaction with your father.”

“Nevertheless, we are here,” Zalmund replied unemotionally.

Eltzbacher stared at Zalmund for quite a while, weighing his response. “Mr. Hofitz. I am not in a position to liquidate the account today, as you can imagine. We must also guard against a run on the bank in the immediate aftermath of the Armistice. But I am not unsympathetic to your situation, and the situation of our brethren in Germany.” He lowered his eyes and focused on Zalmund, ignoring Deena. “I could accommodate a reasonable withdrawal from the account.”

Although Zalmund had not expected this offer, it was a workable compromise. “In that case, Mr. Eltzbacher, could you prepare a draft for 50,000 guilders?”

Eltzbacher laughed with a snort. “I think that is a bit of an over-reach, Mr. Hofitz. I’ll tell you what. I will have a draw on your father’s account prepared for 7,500 guilders, which you can cash here or at the bank of your choice in Amsterdam. Of course, the debit will be applied immediately to the principal. Will that be sufficient for today?” He looked up with raised eyebrows.

Zalmund stared back at him, taking a measure of his resolve. “Thank you, Mr. Eltzbacher,” Zalmund finally replied. “I appreciate your consideration. That will be sufficient for today. We will take the cash here.”

“Very well. Please excuse me for a moment while I give the instructions and have the documents prepared.” Eltzbacher stood up and left the room.

Zalmund sighed and smiled at Deena. It was not as much as he had hoped but it was substantial and much better than nothing, which had been a real possibility. Deena smiled back with a guilty smirk, knowing that she was taking money from her townspeople that had been intended for Kosiński and the Koszuty estate. The financing of a Revolution was as uncomfortable as its execution.

When he returned, Eltzbacher plopped down in his chair with a jovial bounce. “Will you be staying here in Amsterdam or returning home to Poznan, Mr. Hofitz?”

“We must return for family affairs,” Zalmund replied.

“I understand the travel must be difficult. Many stops and many cities. Many currencies to navigate.”

“Yes, yes. It can test one’s patience,” Zalmund replied, annoyed with the banter.

“Let me make a suggestion, then, Mr. Hofitz. You will be traveling east, from countries with strong currency to countries with very weak currency. It will be like walking down a stairs of money value. At each step, you should consider changing money with local… uh… people. At each transaction you can collect a commission for the trade, and also trade at a premium value for bringing the more valued currency. By the time you get home you will have at least doubled your money. Do you understand?”

Zalmund pretended that he had already thought of this, and slowly nodded his head.

Eltzbacher then unfolded a paper and passed it to Zalmund. “I have had prepared here a list of common currencies, and their trading value in guilders as of today. This should be helpful for at least a week. After that, even we professionals have no certainty,” and he gave a chuckle.

They sat in uncomfortable silence until a clerk entered with a stack of papers. Zalmund signed for the withdraw and accepted an envelope stuffed with Dutch guilders. Then with a handshake and bow, Zalmund and Deena departed. Their first stop were the grand clothing shops of the central district to replenish their wardrobes abandoned in Kyiv. Then they packed their suitcases in the boarding house and headed south by train for Lille on Tuesday, November 26, 1918.

Max, Zalmund and Deena arrived in Katowice, Silesia, near the border with Poland, on a Friday afternoon, November 29, 1918. The area had been part of Germany and technically remained so. Katowice politicians and much of the residents were sympathetic to the Germans and considered themselves superior to the Poles. This certainly included the entrenched Jewish community, who were horrified by the swarm of Jewish refugees fleeing westward from the chaos of the Russian Revolution. But the sentiment in Poland and among world leaders was that in a few months Germany would cede this land to a new Polish nation as war reparations.