No Time for Tears (48 page)

And how did Chavala feel? A smuggler, now. Well, let’s see. Let’s put it up against who she was and where she’d been … A Russian dead in Odessa, by her hand. A Bedouin dead in Palestine, so that she and her family could have something to eat… and out of that had come the gems that had made it possible to get a start in the new land. They were times of life and death, and that was how, now that she thought about it, she had been living almost since she had memory. Her mother dying, her pledge to protect little Chia, her caring for and saving the life of her family … so what was new? She had been doing it a long time, she was still doing it. It was what she
did.
Some people fought for big causes … like Dovid, God bless him, and no doubt Reuven was following in his footsteps. And Joshua … ? She didn’t want to think about that now. Thank God she didn’t have to. Not yet. Well, her life was her family, and whatever and wherever she had to pursue its survival, health and, yes, someday prosperity. Did they think she loved this life away from a man like Dovid? Did she enjoy the nights when she woke up in a sweat and wondered about him, if he had maybe—God forbid, but she wouldn’t blame him—found another woman to take her place at night, even for one night—she would die if she knew … and what she felt in her own body, not willing it, even trying so hard to will it away, the feelings of a woman, which she still was, thank you … But that was her choice, don’t complain. But don’t apologize so much either, Chavala Rabinsky Landau.

Who said it was noble to survive? Who said it was easy or cheap or pretty and clean? Not her. That wasn’t the life she’d known. So who was she to get so squeamish about masquerading as a pregnant Chasid, maybe even use the ritual things that may have been sacred to some, but who did they save when blood was being spilled in Palestine, when children were starving, when a little girl was maybe about to lose her eyesight? They were so devout, God bless them, but even as a Jew … and she
was
a Jew … there was more than one way to serve God. She would do as well as she knew how, and take her judgment later. Meanwhile, she had a little private admission to make to herself … Face it, Chavala, you like it too, the danger, the craziness of what she’d done and the outrageousness of what she was about to do. It was, it seemed, in her blood. Who would want it tranquil? She would probably die first …

By the time Moishe and Julie did marry a month later, Chavala’s new partner in crime Benny looked very much the proper Chasid. Even being underweight helped. To be pious also meant to go hungry, which, Chavala hoped, added to his credibility. His earlocks were curled as prescribed, and the beard he’d grown was just right. When Chavala put on the black
sheitel
, she looked like any dutiful Chasidic wife. After the purchase of the traditional clothes, as a dress rehearsal she placed the small, round pillow under the petticoat and, lo and behold, she took on the aura of a saintly if pregnant spouse of a holy Chasidic husband.

Yussel felt it his duty to take over the responsibility of all the negotiations as well as the arrangements. Their passports were arranged, funds were deposited in a Swiss bank, and all the contacts in Amsterdam were taken care of.

Their passage was booked, second class, and Benny was equipped with an import license for the purchase of religious items. Well, their trip did take a kind of blind faith…

Now there remained one last cover story to manage. How would she handle it with Moishe? …

Sitting in the dining room of Julie and Moishe’s new apartment on West End Avenue, she tried desperately to seem at ease, delay the inevitable with small talk … “How did you learn to cook so good, Julie?”

Julie laughed. “I manage with the help of the
Good Housekeeping
cookbook and Moishe’s uncomplaining temperament, not to mention his non-gourmet palate.”

“You manage … Moishe, you’re getting fat. With all due respect to you, Julie darling, but you’re treating him too good. From my cooking he didn’t look so good.”

“From
your
cooking nobody would look good. Besides, when did you ever cook?”

Julie scowled at her new husband. “Don’t be nasty, darling. Your sister’s numerous talents don’t have to include cooking…”

After dinner they retired to the living room, and the moment was at hand. All week long Moishe had put questions to her, and she had replied, “When the time comes you’ll be the first to know.” Now was the time…

“I know you said the place to buy stones was in Europe, but I think it’s only fair that you should tell me where you’re getting the money, and also, where this big market is,” Moishe was saying.

She poured herself a little schnapps, sat up almost primly, looked at Moishe with deep sincerity and began. “The first question I’ll answer first. A few dollars I’ve got, right? So that I’m taking. And the answer to the second question is Mr. Leibowitz, who as you know, Moishe, has always been our good friend, signed a bank note for me.”

“That was very nice of Mr. Leibowitz. But then, as you say, he’s always been a friend. But what I want to know, where are the bargains?”

“In Germany.”

“Why Germany? That’s not exactly the jewel center of the world.”

Chavala closed her thoughts. At least this was good practice, a sort of dress rehearsal for what she’d soon be going through … “It’s not the jewel center of the world, you’re absolutely right about that … but unfortunately, Moishe, after the war all the Jews that came from Eastern Europe and went to Germany came only with what they could carry. And what did they carry? The same thing we carried when we left Russia, a few diamonds—” she took another drink of schnapps “—well, multiplied by what we had, imagine how the pawnshops there must be bulging with jewelry. Don’t you realize, Moishe, with American dollars you can buy a fortune? The Germans are carrying their money around in a wheelbarrow to buy a loaf of bread. That’s what the mark is worth. There’s a lot of money to be made, Moishe, and although life is very sad, one person’s misfortune can become another’s opportunity … Listen, Moishe, to say I’m happy, you know I’m not. But we didn’t create it, we didn’t make the world what it is, but we do have to make a living. For all of us. And
that’s
why I’m going to Europe.”

When she’d finished, the story sounded so convincing, she just
might
investigate the German situation … yes, she just might …

“And what’s the
duty
on all this going to cost?” Moishe said.

The magic word “duty” meant going through customs. For the moment, she forgot about the pawnshops in Berlin. With a grand effort to reassume her composure she quickly answered, “First of all, there is no duty on anything over a hundred years old” … a good guess … “and besides, what I’ll be buying it for, it’ll be a pittance. I mean, it’s to develop a business. America likes that I’m being like an American …”

Moishe decided not to press, in spite of his misgivings. For whatever they were worth, Chavala at least seemed to have all the answers. “When are you leaving?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Well, dear sister, I can only say go with
mazel
, and come home safely. What time does your ship sail?”

She really swallowed hard. “At midnight.”

“So late? Well, the family will see you off anyway—”

“At twelve o’clock midnight? … don’t be silly. You think I’m going to wake up Joshua to see me off? Absolutely not! Besides, for this family there’ve been enough hellos and good-byes from docks. It’s very sweet of you, Moishe darling, and I do appreciate it but somehow I don’t feel in the mood for more long tearful good-byes … When I come home we’ll have a reunion.” She smiled brightly.

Departure day she rented a room in a downtown hotel, she didn’t even notice the name. Taking shears out of her bag, she cut her hair very short. After she dressed that evening, complete with the
sheitel
and the small round pillow, she examined herself in the mirror. So, Chavala … you’re a mother and a wife,
and
a smuggler.
Mazel tov.
Somehow, though, she managed a secret smile, then quickly put it away.

“Mr. and Mrs. Moses Epstein” (better known as Chavala Landau and Benny Bernstein) shared separate bunks. The pious Mr. Moses Epstein was to stay away from any of the young ladies aboard and
never
to leave the stateroom without his Bible.

He managed to do that, and the entire week’s voyage was a smooth one in every way. People tended to leave the Epsteins alone—they were hardly a gay couple—and the ocean cooperated by not getting out of order and upsetting Chavala’s stomach.

A more incongruous, a more outlandish-looking pair of smugglers had never, Chavala was sure, arrived in the stately city of Amsterdam. After checking into a
kosher
hotel in the Jewish section, they proceeded to the carefully memorized address they had been given.

All the way across the Atlantic Chavala had been in terror of what was to happen next … the actual acquiring of the “goods,” as they were referred to. She’d pictured terrible men and floozy women … guns, knives, who knew what … and then in the middle of the transaction police whistles, handcuffs, jail and the firing squad. It didn’t happen. It all went so smoothly that she was a little let down. The men were polite, if close-mouthed. No floozies. The packets were ready, the vouchers and money quickly exchanged. By noon Chavala and Benny behind locked hotel-room doors were carefully arranging the contraband. The narrow bands around the
tallisim
were taken apart, filled, carefully sewn back. Inside of Chavala’s
sheitel
some twenty carats were taped. The largest amount was secured in the heel of Benny’s five-inch platform shoe. All necessary items were put into the paper valises they’d carried from the shores of Manhattan. They would not risk staying; it was unwise even for the night. As they were about to leave, Chavala could no longer hold back the idea she’d had since they’d left New York … “Benny, let’s find but how far it is from here to Germany—”

“Germany?” He all but screamed. “I want to get
out
of here and get this whole business
over
with. I don’t know whether you know it or not, but I haven’t slept a night. And you may notice that my clothes are practically falling off of me—”

“I know, Benny, I know, and what can I say? It’s
you
who’ve been my greatest jewel through this whole nerve-wracking ordeal. But you see, dear Benny, I have a sister living in Germany that I haven’t seen in a very long, long time, and to be this close and not see her … well, it would be something I’d never forgive myself for … Do you think, for my sake, you could eat a little more?”

Happy, he wasn’t, but her words did get through to him. A family was a family, which was what he’d never had, except for the
landsman.
“All
right,
all right … we’ll go find out how far it is …”

To their surprise, they didn’t need a ship—all those canals, all the water in Amsterdam somehow suggested the sea and ships. Actually, there was a regular train service between Amsterdam and Berlin.

When they arrived in the strange city, they stood for several minutes, clinging to their suitcases, watching the crowd scurrying in all different directions. To keep up their masquerade, their choice of hotels would once again have to be in a Jewish section. But where was that? After searching the platform, asking questions in Yiddish, English and variations thereof, they found a bearded Jewish peddler and Chavala asked him in Yiddish where they might stay. He happily told them how to get to the eastern part of Berlin, where they would find not only Chasidim like themselves but restaurants that prominently displayed Stars of David, signifying that the food was strictly
kosher.
Also, they should have no problem getting a room….

Chavala, of course, felt as though every policeman they passed on the street knew that sewn inside her wig were diamonds, and whenever she looked … in spite of herself … at Benny’s five-inch heel she was sure she lost another pound to the ten pounds she’d already worried off … she hadn’t been able to eat or sleep properly during the past weeks, she’d had nightmares that the gendarmes would break down the door and find this holy couple’s business was illicit gems instead of the word of God. The rest of her life, she’d spend it doing penance in some European jail … Each night she’d wake up soaked in perspiration, and in those moments she just knew her soul would burn in hell. Yes, true, Jews didn’t believe in purgatory, but she was a Jew that knew it was there, never mind what you called it … if this wasn’t a living hell, what the hell was it…?

Finally they did manage to find a guesthouse, faded and crumbling, on Dragonerstrasse. When at long last she’d locked the door, she lay down and Benny, feeling none too good himself, went to the adjacent bedroom and decided to do the same.

As she lay there, she decided that for all its interesting challenges, she really didn’t have the temperament for this jewel-smuggling business. Added to that rather belated insight was the thought that maybe Sheine hadn’t gone to the post office to pick up the message she’d sent.

For three days she lived in her anxiety, never leaving the room, Benny dutifully fetching food she couldn’t eat. By now she’d almost given up hope that Sheine had received her message and debated with herself about taking the risk of calling the Hausman residence. Why not? She could merely ask, “May I speak to Mrs. Gunter Hausman?” … “Who’s calling?” … “The milliner, her hat is ready.” She’d try it … she had to do something or go out of her mind altogether.

Handbag over her arm, she tapped on Benny’s door, gently opened it. “Don’t leave the room, Benny, I have to try and see if I can get in touch with my sister by phone.”

Benny laughed. “You think you can trust me with the merchandise while you’re away?”

Chavala smiled weakly. “Any friend of the
landsman’s
is a friend of mine,” she said, and shut his door.

When she was about to leave her room there was a knock on the door. Her stomach turned over. Sure, it had all been too easy up to now, the righteous wrath of God had fallen down on her head, right where it belonged. Who could get away with such a thing? … It was the police coming to take her away … “Who is it?” A little girl’s voice she barely recognized as her own.