Daniel Yarosh - The Death of Hercules - A DocuNovel

Deena turned to hide her tears and clutching the papers she took a step to the door. But she could not control her own body. She spun again and through her own crying she saw Zalmund’s moist eyes. She bent over him, but rather than kiss his face, she knelt and put her forehead on his outstretched hand. They sobbed, maybe for the same reason and maybe for opposite ones. Then with a sniffle and a smile, Deena rose and left the room.

Downstairs in the common room she shared with Max and a few other guests, Deena wiped her eyes with her sleeves, and with her head down, she began to put her few things into her suitcase.

“We must go, now” she barked at Max.

Max was sitting on his bed, reading the newspaper. All he really heard was ‘we’. “Now?” he said with confusion.

“Yes, now. We don’t know when those crazy Cossacks will find us here.”

Max saw the urgency of Deena’s movement, and he began moving more quickly to match her pace. He too began packing his bag.

“Zalmund is coming?” he asked.

“Quiet! Just get ready.” She paused and lowered her voice. “He has other plans, now. We will meet him later.”

“You’re leaving him, the way he is?”

“For now. He will be fine, soon. We must go, and we will see him later” she said. She snapped her suitcase closed, stood up straight, face flushed. “Are you ready?” It took all her will power to keep her lower lip from visibly quivering. Her nervous hands clenched and unclenched the suitcase handle.

This was all going just as Max had hoped, but somehow, he didn’t feel satisfied. It was not right to abandon Zalmund. But what was the alternative? He reminded himself that his brothers were counting on him to find his parents. That was his mission, he thought, but at that moment he didn’t feel it. Better get it straight, he said to himself.

“All right, let’s go!” and he marched out of the room with Deena close behind.

They headed back to the Krakow train station in silence. Deena walked in a fog, not believing she was leaving him. She tried to tell herself that this was what Zalmund wanted. But he was so sick, how could he know his own mind? And now, after putting them in such peril, he was unable to help her or himself. She had to trust that he knew what he was doing, and that he would live. But he didn’t know everything. He didn’t know she carried his child.

Max, too, walked in a haze. He carried the burden of his family to rescue his father and mother. Now he added to that to his obligation to save his new… what? Lover? Friend? Their friendship was more than real now that their survival depended on his decisions. The minutia stormed in his mind. Where would they go? How would they sleep? What would he tell those who asked? Can he call her his sister? Was he just another authority figure stepping into Zalmund’s shoes?

When they reached the station, the anteroom was in tumult. The sense of urgency, and almost panic, was in the air. Many wore face masks as they scurried to their platform. Vendors hawked bread, dried fruit and spicy sausages for the long train rides out of town. The anxiety reflected the chaos to the east, in the Ukraine. The country had declared independence from Russia earlier in the year, but the government failed to function in any useful way, and the countryside descended into the counter-revolutionary convulsions. At the moment, the right wing aristocrat Pavlo Skoropadsky, who had the support of defeated Germany, was displaced in Kyiv by the left wing social democrat Simon Petliura as the German forces withdrew. But the Directorate leader Volodymyr Vynnychenkowould not seize power until December 14, so on December 2, 1918, as Deena and Max headed East, no lawful government was in charge of the Ukraine. Krakow had lost its protection from the collapsed Austrian empire, and the city lay exposed to anyone who could take it.

Max stepped up first to the ticket counter and ordered two second class tickets to Lviv, just over the Polish border with Ukraine.

The ticket agent handed him the tickets as he pointed to the platforms to Max’s left. “Go now. Be ready. They may be leaving soon.” His brow furled and he looked concerned. “Good luck and go with God.”

Max turned to the platforms and looked over his shoulder. He was surprised to see Deena step up to the ticket counter.

“One second class to Poznan,” she said, as she put down a few krone notes.

“What!” Max cried, as the agent pushed the ticket across to Deena. As she stepped away from the ticket window, Max grabbed her arm that held her suitcase. “What are you doing?”

“I am doing what I need to do. I am going home,” she said.

“You can’t,” Max pleaded. “There is nothing there for you. That will be the end of your life, if the Bolsheviks don’t kill you first! Come with me, darling.”

“Max,” she said calmly, “I am done listening to you. I am done being told what is good for me, what to believe, what to do. I want to go home.”

“Deena, please. Come with me to America. You can start a new life. You can become what you want. The place you remember is gone. Who knows what will be there when you get back?”

“But you are not going to America. You are going to the Bolsheviks. You don’t even know if your parents are alive.”

“Deena, please, together…”

“Enough!” Deena screamed and put down her case. “You have a dream. Zalmund has a dream.” Her arms flailed in the air. “You have dreams, and I am just a player you want to love. Well, I have a dream, too. It is not murdering, hiding, running in fear. I may love you Max, but I have to go home.” A tear ran down her cheek. She clutched herself, and Max stepped to embrace and console her. But she reached down to grasp her suitcase, spun on her heels and disappeared into the crowd.

Max stood in stunned silence. His heart sank and his mind was in confusion. How could he let Deena walk away? He must go after her. But his brothers… they trusted him with a mission. His parents depended on him. Maybe they were holed up in a tattered room, dreaming of him rescuing them. He could not turn his back on his family. But most of all, he felt abandoned and alone. No one to trust, no one to help him, stranded in a strange and foreign country, danger all about. He looked around him at the tumult. Now he was scared, more frightened than he had been during the war.

He shuffled, dejected and head down, toward the platform as the conductor called for the train to Lviv. Last hugs and embraces, tearful good-byes lined the walkways to the car doors. Apprehension was writ in the face of each passenger taking the long step up to the carriage. Lviv was in violent turmoil. Just a few weeks before, Ukrainian forces abandoned the city and retreated at the same time as the Germans, while Polish troops took over the city. A riot followed, as bitter scores from the war were settled, and private homes and stores were looted. A pogrom against Jews killed at least 100 between November 21 and 23. The only link between the occupying Polish forces and central Poland was this rail line from Krakow.

Max found a window seat in the second-class compartment and settled in. He immediately saw the problem. There were old women and a few old men with shabby suitcases held together with frayed rope, sitting scattered throughout the car. There were a few uniformed Polish soldiers seated together, chatting and joking with the tone of gallows humor. He was the only young man out of uniform. He wore peasant clothes and a two days growth of beard, looking at best like a deserter. His Polish was barely passable, and his Russian fluency would do him no good until he reached Ukraine controlled territory. The train jolted forward, and Max slumped in his seat, making eye contact with no one. The conductor came by, punched his ticket, looked him up and down for a long moment, but moved on.