Daniel Yarosh - The Death of Hercules - A DocuNovel

“Not quite, but nearby,” Zalmund said. It was a coy remark that put the conversation back on edge. There was a silence. “I had some business near here.”

“Doesn’t seem like a good time for business,” Max replied. It was his turn to interrogate.

Zalmund laughed. “It is possible at any time that you can have good business!” Another pause, and Zalmund realized that he would have to continue. “I brought something from home to sell. The times are very hard for my family now.” And quickly, “And your family? Do you have brothers and sisters?”

“Just brothers,” Max lied. His sisters would lead to a discussion and then to Kherson. As if to keep the conversation away from them, he continued. “Julius and Saul.”

“When did you last see them?”

Max laughed at the thought, “Just three days ago.”

“They are in the service?”

“Yes, … yes,” Max nodded his head. He wanted to get out of this questioning, but he did not know how. Zalmund noted his discomfort. Why?

“So, I suppose you are all anxious to get home to America,” Zalmund added.

“Yes, … yes,” Max nodded.

“But you are not going there. You are headed East?” Zalmund asked quietly in Russian. He used the same tone of voice that a rabbi uses when guiding a student through a difficult Talmudic passage. They both knew there was some answer at the end.

“I too have some unfinished business,” Max said, replying in Russian.

“I thought this was not a good time for business?” Zalmund chuckled.

In fact, it was a good time for nefarious business in Western Europe. The German and Austro-Hungarian empires had been defeated. British and French troops were on their way to occupy them. Talk of collecting war reparations from the defeated nations had been circulating in the victorious capitals for months leading up to the Armistice. Those with portable assets in the conquered territories were well advised to smuggle them out before the Allies took them, and they had only a few weeks to do it.

Max and Zalmund eyed each other. “I am not a businessman. I am just a messenger,” Max said quietly. He thought this might better fit his circumstance and close down further questions. Zalmund thought this was another deception, but perhaps opened an opportunity.

Before he could continue, Max asked him “Where can you do business right after a War?”

“Oh, that is just it, my friend. Right after a War a victor is decided. The situation becomes clearer to many people. They are more willing to do what has to be done.” Zalmund narrowed his eyes to look at Max and detect whether he had struck a chord. “You are going to Krakow?”

Max tried to contain his astonishment. How could he know this? What had he said? Zalmund reasoned that a Cossack-like red head was not heading to the defeated Germany. Northern Poland, including Warsaw and Kyiv, was under attack by the Bolsheviks. But Krakow was a rich Polish city in love with the Germans. They had in fact sided with Germany against the Bolsheviks but was still out of the Russian Army’s reach. They would be charged for reparations by either the West or the Russians, so it was a city without a ruler and hemorrhaging wealth.

“I am just a poor messenger,” Max replied, and twisted his cap in his hands. Zalmund could see he had made Max uncomfortable but was still no closer to the truth. He sat back and stared forward in the train.

After a moment he said, “It is a beautiful city. Many Jews live in a very old district there.” He glanced sideways to see if this provoked any reaction. It was not unexpected that Zalmund with a yarmulke would remark on the Jews of Krakow, but Zalmund was looking to see if Max shared this knowledge. Max did not react.

“Is that where you are going?” Max asked him to change the direction of the conversation.

“We will change trains there,” Zalmund said indifferently, and stretched out his legs. Max sensed that asking more about his destination would not be fruitful. He was hiding something about his business interests. This Zalmund Hofitz represented all the anti-Semitic stereotypes of an old-fashioned Jew pursuing money and oblivious to the world events overtaking him. This was the Old World he was too familiar with in Kherson and was happy to leave for America.

They sat for a few minutes in silence, and then Zalmund turned to him, narrowed his twinkling eyes and said, “There is someone I’d like you to meet.” Max froze, but with a smooth motion Zalmund rose. Max had no choice. As Zalmund stepped into the aisle, Max followed.

Deena put down her needlepoint at the sound of Zalmund’s approaching shoes. She turned with her most charming smile to greet him and his new companion.

“Deena,” Zalmund said, “I’d like you to meet Saul and Julius’ brother…” A pause. Max had been intending to keep his name out of it, but now he was trapped. Her radiant skin and captivating smile melted his last defense.

“Max, Max Shertok”, he said.

“Pleased to meet you, Max Shertok,” she said as she raised her hand to him and covered her nose and mouth with her handkerchief. “I am Deena Wójcik . Please, Max”, she said, gesturing to the seat. “Sit down here with me and the Rabbi.” She could see the shock in his face. No, Zalmund had not told him at first. But he must have known Max was Jewish if he brought him back to their seats. Max was thin but somehow powerful. His red hair was closely cropped in the military style, and he held a worker’s cap. He was just losing the boyhood freckles to the tanned look of a man who spent some time outdoors. She searched his blue eyes. He was beautiful. She checked his forehead and lip for signs of fever. None. She put down the handkerchief.

“Max here says he is going to Krakow,” Zalmund said. Max began to interrupt with “Not so much…” but Zalmund continued, “I thought he could sit with us and we could pass the time together. It’s a long trip.”

“Have you been to Krakow before, Max?” Deena asked and their eyes met. He floated above his body. Now was not the time to argue.

“Not before, no.” Max said. He just wanted to keep talking to her. “I really do not know much about the place.” All truthful, but still a lie. Yet it kept the conversation going with Deena. He took in her face, her figure in the dark dress, and her handiwork on her lap.

“That a beautiful needlepoint,” he praised her.

“I do it to pass the time. Do you know about needlepoint?” she teased him.

Again, Max had to say “No, but I admire its beautiful quality.” He looked directly at her, not embarrassed by his lack of knowledge about any of the topics of the conversation.

Zalmund quickly interjected, “Max is visiting family in Krakow.” Now Max was in a bind. He could deny it, but that would require an alternative that he was not prepared to launch. So, he agreed.

“Family business,” he said. Hoping to end the inquiry he looked at Deena. “Did you enjoy France?”

“Yes, very much,” Zalmund said. “But we were there only for a short time. Family business.” Max could not tell if he was mocking him. Zalmund smiled a warm smile. They were agreeing to lie to each other.

The train stopped at the small French towns of Tournai, Ath, Mons, and Charleroi, all bustling with activity. After it passed through Namur the train slowed as it turned northeast to follow Meuse River valley. Farther south along the river had been the worst of the fighting for the American Expeditionary Forces, and where Saul had dragged his mule-drawn artillery through muck filled roads near the Forest of Argonne. They stopped at Huy, where the locomotive spewed steam and grunted with impatience at the delay. At Liege they stopped for an hour for formal examination of credentials as they prepared to cross the border. In Aix-le-Chapelle, the former capital of Charlemagne and the Holy Roman Empire, the local Germans pulled their window drapes closed to the French train. The engine purred and hummed while porters loaded and unloaded baggage and crates.