2

 

Saint Petersburg - Paris

 

 

“My paternal grandfather was a fur trader, just as his father, Simon, had been. They traveled all over Europe selling Russian furs to furriers for the sewing of sophisticated coats for rich clients. Their best customers were in France. Simon had a furrier friend in Paris, Monsieur Elijah. When Simon died, my grandfather Isaac took over the business and expanded it. He used to exchange part of his stock for coats that he then took back to sell at the court in Saint Petersburg. The Russian aristocrats liked what came from Paris.

My grandmother Esther was French, the daughter of Monsieur Elijah, who was unable to stop young Isaac from taking his daughter, for all that he tried to oppose the match. Monsieur Elijah was a widower, and Esther was his only child. Esther and Isaac married in Paris and traveled from there to a town near Warsaw, to the house where Isaac lived with his widowed mother, Sofia. They had three children, Samuel, Anna, and Friede, the youngest. There was one year between each of them. Monsieur Elijah always complained about his daughter and his grandchildren being far away, and when Samuel, my father, was ten years old, my Uncle Isaac decided to take him to Paris so that he could meet his grandfather. Samuel was not a healthy child and his mother said goodbye to him full of apprehension. She knew that it would be a gift for Monsieur Elijah to get to know his oldest grandchild, but she wondered if Samuel would be able to deal with the inconveniences of such a long journey.

“Don’t worry, Samuel is nearly a man already,” her mother-in-law Sofia said, “and Isaac will know how to look after him.”

“Make sure he doesn’t catch cold, and if he does get a fever, stop your journey and stay in an inn, and give him this medicine. It will help,” Esther insisted.

“I know how to look after our son; you take care of the others, don’t let them out of your sight, especially not Friede, who’s too curious about everything. I’ll be happy knowing that you are not alone, that you have my mother to help you.”

It was a relief for Isaac that Esther had established good relations with his mother. Sofia was a strong-willed woman, but she had melted under Esther’s kindness. They seemed more like mother and daughter than mother- and daughter-in-law.

 

After traveling for several weeks, Isaac and Samuel arrived in Paris; when they got there they found out about the disturbances that were affecting all Russia.

“The tsar’s been murdered. I’ve heard them say that there are Jews implicated in the conspiracy,” Monsieur Elijah declared.

“It can’t be! The tsar has improved conditions for all Jews. What good would it do us if he were to disappear?” Isaac replied.

“Apparently people are taking matters into their own hands and there have been some attacks on villages in the Pale of Settlement,” Monsieur Elijah added.

“It’s just the excuse that all the tsar’s opponents needed to attack the Jews! I hope that reason and truth will prevail.”

“It’s terrible that Russian Jews are not allowed to leave the Pale of Settlement,” Monsieur Elijah said sadly. “At least in France we can live in the cities, right here in the heart of Paris.”

“The terrible idea of the Pale of Settlement is Catherine’s fault. Catherine the Great’s advisers wanted to cut the wings off our merchants and artisans. But now there are a lot of Jews who live in Saint Petersburg itself. They need special permission, but it is possible,” Isaac explained.

“Yes, but not for everyone,” Monsieur Elijah replied. “At least you don’t live far from Warsaw. I would be worried for you if you lived in Moscow or Saint Petersburg.”

 

They couldn’t hide the worry they felt. The news that came from Russia was so vague that they even began to worry about the safety of their family.

“Samuel and I will go straight back. I won’t be calm until I’ve seen my wife and children. I know that my mother is looking after them, but I can’t leave them alone any longer.”

“I won’t rest either until I know you’ve arrived safely and send me news that everyone is well. You should go as soon as you can.”

 

Two days later an old friend of Monsieur Elijah, one well connected at the court, came to visit them.

“You can’t go back. They are killing hundreds of Jews. The trouble began in Yelisavetegrad, but it has spread all over Russia,” the visitor explained.

The situation upset Monsieur Elijah greatly.

“Perhaps it would be dangerous for you to go back . . . ,” he said, without too much conviction, because in his heart he wanted to know as soon as possible that his dear daughter Esther and his grandchildren were not in any danger.

“We can’t stay here, we have to go back. My wife and children might need me,” Isaac replied firmly.

“Maybe you should leave Samuel with me. He never stops coughing, and there are days when he has a fever so bad he can’t get out of bed.”

“I know, but I can’t leave him here. Esther would never forgive me. She loves all her children equally, but has suffered a lot because of Samuel’s poor health. If we don’t go back together she’ll be sure that something has happened to him.”

“I know my daughter, I know she’d prefer for Samuel to stay here, safe.”

 

However, Monsieur Elijah could not convince my grandfather Isaac, who set off as soon as he could. He traveled with Samuel in the post coach, drawn by a team of strong horses, and had as his companions for the journey two other businessmen who were heading for Warsaw, going home with the same sense of alarm that he felt.

“Father, is mother alright? And Friede and Anna? Nothing will have happened to them, right?” Samuel kept asking his father about his mother, and his brother and sister.

The journey seemed to last forever. They were scarcely able to get a good night’s sleep in those wayside inns where being Jewish meant that they were not always welcome. Sometimes they even had to sleep outdoors because the innkeeper didn’t want to give them a room.

“How are we different?” Samuel asked his father one night, as they both lay on a narrow bed in a wretched inn somewhere in Germany.

“You think we’re different?” Isaac answered.

“I think I’m the same as everyone else, but I know that other people don’t see us like that and I don’t know why. I don’t know why there are boys who don’t want to play with us, or why we don’t go to the city more often, and whenever we do you and mother both look like you’re afraid of something. We walk with our heads down, as if trying not to be seen, or bothered. That’s why I think we’re different; we’ve got something about us that the others don’t like, but I don’t know what it is, and that’s why I’m asking you.”

“We’re not different, Samuel; it’s the others who insist on seeing us differently.”

“But they think that it’s bad to be a Jew . . . ,” Samuel dared to say. “They say that we killed Jesus.”

“Jesus was a Jew.”

“And why did we kill him?”

“We didn’t kill him, don’t worry, it’s not bad to be a Jew, just like it’s not bad to be a Christian or a Muslim. You mustn’t think about these things. When you’re older, you’ll understand. Now go to sleep, we’re leaving early tomorrow.”

“When will we get to Warsaw?”

“With a bit of luck, in five or six days. Do you like Warsaw more than Paris?”

“I just want to know how long it will take to get home, I miss Mother.”

 

When they reached Warsaw they had to stay with Gabriel, one of Isaac’s distant cousins. Samuel was coughing, he had a temperature and was shivering, to which was added the exhaustion brought about by such a long journey.

My father had to stay in bed for several days in spite of grandfather Isaac’s impatience.

“Calm down, your son is in no state to travel. You can leave him here with us, my wife will look after him; come and pick him up when you are sure that your family is well, it’s only a day’s journey from here,” his cousin urged him.

But my grandfather would not hear of leaving his son in Warsaw, especially when he was so close to his own house.

They set off at last, though Samuel was very weak and his cough was still not completely cured.

“It must be something very bad to be a Jew,” Samuel kept on repeating as he fought against the fever.

“It is not, my son, it is not. You must be proud of what you are. The wickedness is not is us, but in those who refuse to see us as human beings.”

 

Grandfather Isaac was an enlightened man, a follower of the ideas of Moses Mendelssohn, the German philosopher who had founded the Haskalah movement, the Jewish Enlightenment, which proposed that the Jews should make European culture their own. Mendelssohn translated part of the Bible into German and opposed the most orthodox trends in Jewish thought. He insisted that being a Jew was not incompatible with being a German, and called upon the Jewish community to become fully integrated in the societies within which they lived. Guided by these ideas, my grandfather tried to convince his community that there was no contradiction between being Jewish and feeling oneself to be profoundly Russian. Although there were various orthodox elements that rejected this sort of assimilation, these people, too, felt Russian and could not imagine living anywhere that was not Russia. The important thing, my grandfather said, was not to be closed in upon yourself, but to open yourself up to everyone else, to know them and be known by them. This was how he had brought up his children, and how he himself tried to live, but the Russia he found on his return from Paris was a Russia that rejected the Jews even more than before, if such a thing were possible.

 

They arrived in the evening, with the dust from their journey covering their clothes and their skin. Over time, their shtetl had grown up not far from a Gentile village, and the relationship between the Jews and those who were not Jews had always been filled with mistrust and a subtle hatred that had occasionally exploded into anger. Any suffering in the Gentile village would always be blamed on a Jewish cause, as if it were impossible for the townspeople to realize that their misery was caused by avarice, and by the policies of the tsars who had taken their land from them.

When they reached the area of town where they lived, on the outskirts of the village, they were shocked. It was as if the whole place had been burned down. The walls of the buildings were smeared with soot. My grandfather asked the coachman to hurry, even as he started to feel scared of what he might find when he got home.

The windows were broken, and a thick smell of smoke and tragedy struck them as soon as they stepped down from the coach.

“Shall I wait for you?” the coachman asked.

“No, go away,” Isaac replied.

A few of their neighbors came out to greet them. Their solemn faces gave warning of the news that was to come.

“Isaac, my friend . . .” One of their neighbors, Moses, leaned on a walking stick and grabbed hold of Isaac’s arm, trying to stop him from going into what had once been his house.

“What has happened? Where is my wife? And my children? And my mother? What happened to my house?”

“It was horrible . . . horrible,” a woman murmured, covered in a cape from head to toe.

“What happened?” my grandfather insisted.

“Your wife and your children . . . are dead . . . They were killed. Your mother as well. They weren’t the only ones, the crowd showed no one any mercy. I’m sorry . . . ,” his neighbor explained, still trying to stop him from entering the house.

Isaac pulled himself away from the man who was holding him back.

“Come to my house, I’ll tell you what happened, you can have a rest. My wife will make you something to eat.”

But Isaac and Samuel ran toward the house. They didn’t want to hear what they were being told. They pushed the door open, wanting to see their family. To see Esther opening her arms to them in welcome, Anna asking if they had brought her back any gifts from Paris, little Friede jumping around them, Sofia standing in the kitchen, preparing something for them to eat. But the house was silent. It was an ominous silence, broken only by the meowing of a distant cat and the crunch of broken crockery under their feet. Someone had torn the doors off the store cupboard, and the chair on which Isaac liked to sit and smoke after a hard day’s work was slit open, showing its springs. His books, the books he had inherited from his father and his grandfather, the books that he himself had bought on every one of his journeys, had been grabbed from the shelves and torn and trampled, their pages spread out all over the room.

The room he had shared for so long with Esther, the room where his children had been born, looked like a battleground where the enemy had mercilessly attacked the furniture and the fittings.

Samuel entered the little room he shared with Friede and saw that everything had been destroyed. “Where is the wooden horse?” the child thought, suddenly missing the toy that his grandfather had made for them with his own hands, and that he had seen Friede ride upon so often.

Isaac put his hand on his son’s shoulder and pulled him close, trying to alleviate the despair he saw in his son’s face.

The room that little Anna shared with her grandmother had not been spared in the savage attack. Some of the child’s clothes seemed to have been trampled on the floor, others had disappeared.

Their neighbor had followed them in and stood in silence as they gave free rein to their grief.

“I suppose you heard about the tsar’s assassination. A terrorist group killed him, and one of the members of this group was a Jewish woman. Apparently she did not have much to do with the plot, but she knew the terrorists. You know that the newspapers have been saying for months now that the Jews are a danger. The assassination just confirmed it,” the man said in a choked voice.

“But what does my family have to do with any of this? Where are they?” Isaac asked, his voice racked with pain.

“The newspaper said that the Jews had participated in the murder of the tsar. Novoye Vremya said that we were responsible. People were fired up, and there were attacks in many cities. At first the events were isolated, the odd Jew attacked here and there. Then . . . They burned lots of houses, they attacked our businesses, they beat up Jews wherever they found them. The authorities said these were actions undertaken by good citizens who gave free rein to their emotions after the death of the tsar. In fact, the police did nothing in the face of these attacks against our houses and our people. They were merciless, cruel. Many of us were killed. We have all suffered losses.”

“And my mother . . .? Where are my brothers and my grandmother Sofia?” little Samuel asked, begging for an answer.

“The day the troubles started, your mother and your brother and sister went to the market. My wife and some of the other neighbors went with them. A group of women, hand in hand with their children . . . Who would have thought that anything would happen . . .”

“What happened?” Isaac begged him to continue.

“When they got to the market other women started to insult them. They called them murderers, because of the tsar. They started with shouts and insults, which turned into aggression. A woman threw a potato at your daughter Anna’s face . . . Then others imitated her and started to throw rubbish and rotten vegetables . . . Anna couldn’t bear the humiliation, she picked up the potatoes and started to throw them back at the group that was insulting them. Your wife Esther grabbed Anna by the arm and begged her not to respond to the provocation. All our women took fright and hurried back to their houses, pursued by the crowd. The children fell over, it was hard for them to keep up, and the women held the smallest ones in their arms to protect them from the blows and insults of their attackers. Some of them fell to the floor and were trampled, some managed to get back here, but it was all in vain. I don’t know where they came from, but some of the attackers had sticks, which they used to beat everyone who stood in their way. They started to throw stones at the windows of our houses, to break the doors down and pull out everyone who was hiding there and beat them until they lost consciousness. They broke my wife’s arm and beat her on the head until she lost consciousness. She’s constantly dizzy now and her vision is blurry. And as for me, they broke my leg, as you can see, which I why I need the stick to walk now; I was lucky, because besides the leg, they only broke six ribs. It’s difficult for me to get around, but at least I am alive. The crowd started to ransack our houses, and to destroy what they didn’t steal. They weren’t people, it was as if they were a plague of vermin without any humanity. They weren’t affected by the children’s shouts of terror or the mothers’ pleas for mercy. The police came and stood by, but they didn’t intervene. The more we asked for help, the more they just watched what was happening.”

“Where is my mother?” Samuel shouted.

The man twisted his hands in a gesture of desperation.

“She stood up to these savages. A group of men were in your house following Anna, they were shouting at her for having stood up to the women in the marketplace. One of them grabbed hold of her and Esther protected her daughter like a wolf, biting the attacker and scratching him with her nails. Grandmother Sofia tried to protect Friede, but someone hit her on the head with a stick and knocked her out . . . I don’t know how it happened, but one of the candlesticks got knocked to the floor and the fire affected not just your house, but also the two neighboring ones . . . Only several hours later could we put out the fire. We found the remains of your family in its embers. We buried them in the cemetery.”

 

The pain and confusion they suffered on hearing what their neighbor had said was such that for a moment they did not let fall a single tear. Samuel held his father’s hand tightly, and leaned against him, trying to control his nausea.

They couldn’t move or speak, they felt that their souls had been torn out.

The man stayed silent for a few moments, allowing them to take some measure of control over the pain that flooded over them. Then he turned again to Isaac and pulled him gently by the arm.

“You can’t stay here. You need to rest. I’ll give you a bed in what remains of my house.”

 

They couldn’t eat anything, for all that their neighbor’s wife insisted. Neither did they feel prepared to hear more details of the brutality that had taken place. The woman took them to a room and left them there, with two bowls of milk on a tray.

“It will help you rest. Tomorrow is another day. You will have to find the strength to start again.”

 

They were exhausted from their journey, but that night they scarcely slept. Isaac felt his son tossing and turning beside him, and he himself found no rest in the bed they shared.

Dawn had not yet broken when Isaac found his son staring at him fixedly.

“It’s a bad thing to be a Jew. That’s why they killed mother and Anna and Friede and grandmother. I don’t want to be a Jew, and I don’t want you to be one either; if we are, then they’ll kill us. Father, how can we stop being Jews? What can we do to stop being Jews and for everyone to know that we have stopped?”

Isaac held Samuel tight and started to cry. The child tried to wipe away his father’s tears, but it was an impossible task. He wanted to cry as well, so his tears would mingle with his father’s, but he could not. He was too distraught.

 

The sun was already high in the sky when they heard a soft knocking at the door. The good woman who had given them shelter asked if they needed anything and if they wanted to come down for breakfast. Samuel told his father he was hungry.

They got up and washed themselves before going down to meet the family.

“I’ll take you to the cemetery,” the woman suggested. “I suppose you’ll want to know where they are buried.”

“What about your husband?”

“He’s gone to the printer’s, he has to carry on working.”

“The printer still lets him work in spite of everything?”

“He pretends that he doesn’t know what happened, and Moses is a good worker whom he pays very little.”

“Because he’s a Jew, is that right?” Samuel asked.

“What are you saying?” the woman asked.

“That he gets paid little because he’s a Jew. Maybe if he stopped being a Jew they would pay him more,” Samuel insisted.

“Shush, my boy, shush! Don’t say that,” Isaac begged him.

The woman looked at Samuel and stroked his hair, then murmured:

“You’re right, yes, that’s right, and even so we have to be content with our lot. We’re alive and we’ve got enough to eat.”

 

They felt cold when they reached the grave that held the charred corpses of Sofia, Esther, Anna, and Friede.

Isaac took a handful of the earth that covered his loved ones and squeezed it tight until it ran out between his fingers.

“Are they together?” Samuel wanted to know.

“Yes, we thought it would be better for them to be together,” the woman explained.

“It’s what they would have wanted, and what I want,” Isaac confirmed.

“Will they bury us here, too, when they kill us?” Samuel asked with a note of terror in his voice.

“No one is going to kill us! For God’s sake, son, don’t say that! You’re going to live, of course you’re going to live. Your mother wouldn’t want anything else.”

“He’s a child, and the loss is very painful for him,” the woman said, taking pity on Samuel.

“But he will live, no one will hurt him. Esther would never forgive me.” Isaac burst into tears as he embraced his son.

The woman took a few steps back to leave them alone. She also had cried until she was exhausted. She felt Samuel and Isaac’s pain as though it were her own.

“We would like to be alone,” Isaac asked her.

The woman nodded and left, after giving Samuel a kiss. She, too, had sought solitude when she’d needed to mourn her loved ones.

Isaac sat at the edge of the grave stroking the rough earth as if it were the faces of his wife and his two children. Samuel stood a few steps farther back and he too sat down on the ground, looking at his father and the small heap of earth under which his grandmother, his mother, and his brother and sister now rested for eternity.

Samuel knew that his father, though he appeared to be sitting silently, was in fact murmuring a prayer. But what could he be saying to God? Perhaps it was their fault for not being at home to stop their family from being killed. If they had been there then, then maybe they could have asked God to do something, but now? It was too late.

After a while, Samuel said he had a headache, and they decided to go home in case he got sick again.

They spent the rest of the day rummaging through the remains of what had once been their house.

Samuel found the covers and a few pages from the family Hebrew Bible. He carefully tried to piece them together and put them in order, because he knew that this old book was important to his father, who had gotten it from his grandfather, and so on back through several generations.

For his part, Isaac had found a couple of Esther’s embroidered handkerchiefs on the ground, trampled but still whole. His wife’s earrings and ring had disappeared from the box where she kept them, but he found her thimble, as well as Sofia’s.

There were a couple of books that still had all their pages. They were also able to find the remains of a painting that showed Esther’s smiling face. It had been a wedding gift from a family friend, a keen painter. He had faithfully captured the delicate beauty of Isaac’s wife, her eyes a mixture of chestnut and green, her dark blonde hair, her white, almost transparent skin.

Isaac was about to burst out crying again, but, in front of Samuel, he managed to stop himself. He didn’t want his son to see his desolation, so he sighed deeply and held back his tears, while he used a handkerchief to clean what was left of the portrait. Then they carried on looking for any object that was still in one piece and that could be useful, or at least serve as a memory.

“Father, here is your Bible.” Samuel handed the book to him carefully. “There were lots of pages scattered everywhere, but I think I found them all.”

“Thank you, my son, some day this Bible will be yours.”

“I don’t want it,” Samuel said, but regretted saying so as soon as the words had left his mouth.

They fell silent. Isaac was surprised by his son’s words, and Samuel was thinking about how he could explain to his father why he didn’t want the book.

“My father gave it to me, and his father gave it to him, and I will give it to you. I hope that when the day comes you will not reject it.”

“I don’t want the Jewish book because I don’t want to be a Jew,” the boy replied sincerely.

“Samuel, my son, people do not choose what they will be, they find themselves in what they already are. You did not choose to be a Jew, and neither did I, but it is what we are and there’s nothing we can do about it.”

“Yes, there is. We can stop being Jews, we can tell everyone and they will leave us alone. If we are Jews then they will kill us.”

“My son . . .” Isaac took Samuel in his arms and burst out crying. They cried together in each other’s arms until each felt that he had no tears left.

Isaac was upset by his son’s distress, and understood his despair, and how in his child’s mind the fact of being Jewish had become synonymous with death and destruction. The father did not blame the son for wanting to dispose of what he thought was the cause of his family’s deaths.

They carried on searching amid the remains of what had once been their home. After searching through the house, they went to the shed that he had used to store his furs. There was nothing left. Before going to France he had selected the best of his skins to sell, and had left some pieces behind to trade with when he returned. The mob had taken them.

He had lost everything that had been his. His mother, his wife, his children, his house, his business. Why? Why had God been so merciless to them? What had they done wrong? He bit his lips so as to let no cry escape him. All this that had fallen upon them, was it just for the fact of being Jews? But he could not let the pain overtake him. Samuel was at his side, very quiet, holding his hand, looking at the remains of the shed.

“At least I have a son,” he thought. He held Samuel’s hand even more tightly. Yes, at least he had a son. At least he had Samuel, and his son’s presence would give him strength to carry on living.

When they got back to their neighbors’ house they were exhausted.

“What are you going to do?” asked Moses, the man who so generously had taken them in.

“Start again,” Isaac replied.

“Will you stay here?” the man asked.

“I don’t know, I will have to talk with Samuel. Maybe it would be better to go to another city . . .”

“I understand. Every day when I go out of the house I think that the same thing could happen to my children, my grandchildren . . . Sometimes the pain is so great that I think I need to escape, but where would we go? We are old, and in spite of everything I still have my job at the printer’s. My wife and I can keep ourselves on what I earn. We can’t escape, we are too old to move.”

Isaac thanked Moses for everything he had done for them.

“Don’t thank me, you know that my wife was a friend of your mother. She has wept for Sofia as much as for our family. We do not do anything that our heart does not tell us to do. We don’t have much, but whatever we have is yours, our house is your house, stay as long as you need.”

 

That night Isaac asked Samuel if he wanted them to rebuild the house.

“We could set it up again. It would take time, but we could do it. I have some money, as they paid me well in Paris for the furs I took. What do you think?”

Samuel said nothing. He didn’t know how to reply. He missed his house, naturally, but he felt a sense of loss for something greater than just four walls. His house was his grandmother, his mother, his brother and sister; if he couldn’t be with them he didn’t care where he and his father lived.

“You don’t want to live here?” his father asked.

“I don’t know . . . I . . . I want to be with my mother.” And he burst into tears.

“So do I,” Isaac murmured. “So do I, my son, but we have to accept that she is not here anymore. I know it’s not easy to accept, I feel the same. I have lost my mother as well . . . Sofia, your grandmother.”

“Can we go?” Samuel asked.

“Go? Where would you like us to go?”

“I don’t know, somewhere else, maybe with Grandfather Elijah . . .”

“To Paris? You said that you didn’t like there it that much.”

“But that was because I missed my mother. We could go to Warsaw, with Uncle Gabriel.”

Isaac understood that his son needed a family, that he himself was not enough to soothe his son’s pain.

“Let’s think about it. I’m sure Grandfather Elijah would happily take us in, as would Uncle Gabriel, but we have to think about how we will earn our living as we can’t be a burden on the family.”

“Can’t you sell furs?”

“Yes, but for that we need to be here. The best furs are in Russia, those are the ones the fine ladies of Paris and London want to wear.”

“And couldn’t you do anything else?”

“The only thing I know how to do is this: my father taught it to me and I will teach you. Buying and selling. Buying here and selling over there, where they don’t have what we can get for them. That is why I have taken furs all these years to Paris, to London, Berlin . . . We are traders, Samuel. Maybe we could go to another city. What about Saint Petersburg?”

“Would they let us live there? Would we get permission?”

“Perhaps, Samuel, or at least we could try. At court they always like Parisian fashion, and in the trunks that we brought back with us we have several coats that your Grandfather Elijah made. It wouldn’t be the first time that we’d sell furs to the fine ladies of Moscow and Saint Petersburg.”

“And what would I do?”

“Study, you have to study; it’s only studying that will get you a firm foothold for the future.”

“I just want to be with you, maybe you could teach me how to be a trader, a salesman . . .”

“I will teach you, of course I will, but only after you have completed your studies and only if it’s what you want to do. It’s still early for you to know what you want.”

“I know that I don’t want to be a moneylender. I’ve heard that they ruin people.”

“People who lend money are generally hated by the powerful.”

“Yes, but I still don’t want to be a moneylender. It’s a dirty job.”

 

The next morning Isaac spoke with Moses and his wife.

“We will leave in a few days’ time. I’ll try my luck in Saint Petersburg. My father had a friend there, a chemist, and his medicines are much sought after by the aristocrats of the imperial court. I will ask him to get me permission to live in the city.”

“You’re leaving? But you still own the land your house was built on, and your family is in the cemetery . . . ,” the woman said with regret.

“And we will always carry them in our hearts. But I have to think of Samuel now. It is very difficult for him to carry on living in a place where he used to have a family, a grandmother, a mother, his brother and sister, and where he now has no one. I have to give my son an opportunity. I know that my life is finished, but he is only ten and his whole life is in front of him. We must never forget anything of what has happened, but I need to help my son overcome the pain that torments him. It will be more difficult if we stay here. Everything reminds him of his mother.”

“I understand,” Moses said. “In your place I would do the same. Like I told you, use our house for as long as you need. Do you want me to find someone to buy your land?”

“No, I don’t want to sell it. It will be for Samuel, in case one day he wishes to return, who knows. But I will ask you to take care of it, and if you wish you can use it to grow food. I will sign a document that lets you take advantage of it until the day that Samuel returns.”

 

One week later, Isaac and Samuel left the village on a cart drawn by two mules. They took with them the trunks that held the coats from Paris. Also, under his shirt, close to his skin, Isaac wore a leather wallet with all the money they had.

Moses’s wife gave them a basket of food.

“It’s not much, but at least you won’t be hungry on the road to Saint Petersburg.”

It was cold and damp. It had rained during the night. They started out in silence, knowing that their path would take them past the cemetery. Isaac did not want to look, did not want to see where his family had been laid to rest. He kept looking straight ahead, bidding farewell in silence to his mother, to his wife, to Anna and Friede. He held back his tears, but Samuel burst out crying. He didn’t try to console his son, he couldn’t. He wouldn’t have known which words to use.

After a while Samuel curled up at his side and fell asleep. Isaac covered him with a fur-lined blanket. A sudden flash of lightning split the sky. It started to rain again.

It was a long, hard journey, and Isaac scarcely allowed himself to sleep. He made sure that his son was out of the rain and he set up a rough cot in the cart so that he could rest.

Many were the nights when they slept in the cart because they didn’t dare ask for shelter in the inns they passed. Hatred of Jews was much more evident than before and the new tsar, Alexander III, had given license for the pogroms to spread across the empire. The more reactionary newspapers justified this persecution as a series of spontaneous acts of indignation on the part of the populace. But who was indignant? And why? Isaac asked himself, and always came to the same conclusion: “They don’t think that we are Russian, more a foreign body that steals work from them.” He also thought the Jews should think they were Russians first and Jews second, not the other way round and, that above all, they should behave like Russians.

On the way to Saint Petersburg he regularly asked himself how Gustav Goldanski, his father’s friend, would receive them. Perhaps he would not even want to see them. He barely knew them, and from what Isaac had heard from his father, Goldanski, although he had not converted to Christianity, had dropped all Jewish customs and behaviors. Perhaps he would not want to receive them, or would feel uncomfortable being put in the position of having to do so.

But he kept all these doubts to himself, as he did not want to pile these uncertainties on top of Samuel’s pain.

They spoke of Saint Petersburg as if it were the end of a journey where they would find the calm they both needed, and the chance to begin again.

 

They arrived mid-morning on a windy autumn day.

It was not hard for them to find Gustav Goldanski’s house. It was in the heart of the city, in an elegant building with two servants standing at the door. These two looked at the travelers with a superior air, wondering how this man with his wild beard, and this child who could not stop coughing, dared ask that the master see them at once.

One of the servants told them to wait outside, and the other went to tell his master about the strange visitors.

It felt like an eternity to Isaac, the time he waited for the servant to come back. Samuel seemed afraid.

“The master will see you,” the servant said, apparently shocked that such a thing could happen.

The other servant took charge of the mules and the cart, as surprised as his colleague that this strange man and boy could know their master.

Samuel looked around and marveled at how luxurious the house was. The chairs upholstered in brocaded silk, the shining golden candelabra, the thick curtains, the delicately carved furniture. It was all so new to him, and so marvelous, that it seemed unreal.

They waited for a long time in a room with blue silk on the walls and a fresco on the ceiling, showing nymphs dressing their hair by a pool of clear water.

Gustav Goldanski had passed through maturity and was on the cusp of old age. His hair was white as snow and his eyes were blue, a blue that the passage of time had dimmed. He was not very tall or very thin, but there was a certain elegance about him. “He’s a little younger than my father would be now, were he still alive,” thought Isaac.

“Well, well, well, I wasn’t expecting a visit from Simon Zucker’s son. We haven’t seen each other for a long time. Do you remember, there was one time when your father came to Saint Petersburg and brought you along. I know that good old Simon died, I sent a letter to your mother . . . Your father and I met on a journey. I don’t know if he told you . . .”

“I know that you met on a lonely road not far from Warsaw. You had gotten into trouble, your coach had become trapped in the snow, and my father, who was traveling the same route, found you and helped you get free.”

“That’s right. I was on the way back from visiting my mother in Warsaw. It was winter, and the roads were nothing but ice and snow. The wheels of the coach got stuck in the snow, and one of the horses broke a leg. We were lucky that your father was traveling the same road and that he helped us, if he hadn’t we would have died of cold. I offered him my home if he came to Saint Petersburg one day. Although he never wanted to stay in my house, he did come to visit me, and from then on we were very good friends. We were very different, with different interests, but we agreed that the only way to deal with the curse of being a Jew was to assimilate into the society we lived in, although your father thought that thinking oneself Russian had nothing to do with religion.”

“Yes, my father taught me the same, although sometimes it doesn’t depend on us, but on other people.”

“Do you think we do enough? No, I don’t think we do . . . But forgive me, I still haven’t asked you why you’ve come. This child, is he your son?”

At Isaac’s urging, Samuel held his hand out to this man, who smiled as he gave it a squeeze.

“This is my son, Samuel, my only son. I have lost all my family,” Isaac said, a trace of emotion evident in his voice.

Goldanski looked at the father and son and then asked what had happened.

“Was it some illness?”

“Hatred and ignorance have the same effect as epidemics. The assassination of the tsar has caused great troubles for the Jews of the empire. You know as well as I do that there have been violent attacks against our community, especially in the Pale of Settlement, but also in Moscow and Warsaw, and mostly in the shtetlach, where we Jews are gathered together, trying to make our way in the world via our hard work.”

“I know, I know . . . From April all the way through the summer there has been bad news about attacks on Jews. It is some time since I abandoned the religion of my forefathers; I have not become a Christian, but neither do I follow the laws of Moses; even so, I did as much as I could to make the authorities stop the disturbances, but for all that they did not always listen to my requests. What happened to your family?”

“My house no longer exists, an angry mob burned it down, and my mother, my wife, and my two little children were caught in the blaze.”

“I’m sorry. I feel for you.”

“I have lost everything I have, apart from two trunks of clothes that I brought from Paris and the money I made from selling the furs on my last journey. It’s all I have to start over. Above all, I still have Samuel. He’s my only reason to carry on living.”

“What can I do?”

“I don’t know anyone in Saint Petersburg, but I wish to begin my new life here and I want to ask your advice, so that you can help us take our first steps in the imperial capital.”

“Do you have a place to stay?”

“No, we have just arrived, all our belongings are in the cart that we left with your servants.”

“I know a widow who might be able to give you a room. She makes her money renting her rooms out, generally to students. It won’t be luxurious, but the house is comfortable and the woman is trustworthy. Her husband was my assistant for many years, but the poor man died of a heart attack. I will give you a note for her, if she has a room free then she will definitely rent it to you without charging too much.”

“Thank you, we need a roof and a chance to rest. We have spent many days sleeping outdoors and, as you see, my son won’t stop coughing.”

“I am not a doctor, I’m just a chemist who has become a pharmacist. I have spent years of my life trying to develop cures for sickness, and this cough doesn’t bode well . . . I will give you one of my syrups, it will help.”

“Thank you.”

“Well, what else can I do?”

“You are an important man, you know lots of people in the court, if you could try to make them take a look at the clothes I brought from Paris . . . Fur coats and jackets, in the Parisian style. Perhaps some lady might be interested . . .”

“I will do it, out of the friendship I bear for your father. I will talk to my wife, she will know the best way for your fur coats to be seen by all the women of Saint Petersburg. Now, wait for a moment while I write that note to the widow.”

 

Raisa Korlov was cold toward them until she read the note, signed Gustav Goldanski, after which she smiled trustingly at them and asked them to come through to the salon, which was kept pleasantly warm by a fire that crackled in the large fireplace.

“So, Professor Goldanski recommends you . . . You couldn’t have a better reference, but I cannot give you a room at the moment. I have rented one room to a student at the university and my sister is in the other one, as she lost her husband and I took her in. She is older than I am and has no one left in the world, poor thing. She couldn’t have children, and neither could I. It’s not an ideal arrangement, because I lose the money from the rent, but what else could I do? I wouldn’t be a good Christian if I left her without any shelter. Anyway, she’s good company, I was widowed as well, and it’s always better to share what you have with your family.”

 

A grimace of despair crossed Isaac’s face. He was worried about Samuel’s cough, remembering that Goldanski had insisted the child needed rest and warmth as well as the syrup and pills he had given him.

“In that case, could you recommend some place where I could find shelter for myself and for my son?”

“I don’t know . . . There’s no one I can trust . . . There are houses, yes, but I don’t know if I dare recommend them to you, maybe . . . Well, I do have another room, but it’s very small, it’s my lumber room, and I’ve never rented it . . .”

“Please!” Isaac begged.

“It’s very small, as I say, and you would have to help me clear some things out, I’d have to clean it and set it up for the two of you to fit . . . I don’t know . . .”

“I’ll help you move things, I’ll help you with whatever you need. My son is exhausted, we’ve made a long journey. Professor Goldanski assured us that you would make us feel at home.”

“The professor is a flatterer. Well, I’ll show you the room and you can decide if you want to stay. In that case, you’d have to give me some time to sort it out. Let the boy stay here, I’ll give him something to drink and warm him up a bit.”

Isaac helped the widow Korlov take some rickety furniture out of the lumber room. The woman set to cleaning and it was no more than two hours before she had the room ready.

It was as small as she had warned them it would be. The bed took up most of the space. A wardrobe and a table and chair completed the furnishings. Isaac paid her the price they had agreed on. Two months in advance.

“It’s too small,” the widow said, hoping that Isaac would contradict her, as the money that she could get for this room would be very useful for her, and she knew it was more than the room was worth.

“We’ll be fine, I promise,” Isaac replied.

The woman showed them an even smaller room that was the communal washroom.

“My husband was obsessed with hygiene, Professor Goldanski taught him that there are lots of illnesses that are the result of dirt, and that is why he insisted that we have a place in the house where we could bathe. I’m sure you will want to clean yourselves up after such a long journey . . . Don’t waste the water, of course.”

 

Isaac could breathe freely once Samuel was finally in bed and wrapped up warmly. The child was exhausted and wouldn’t stop coughing.

The widow Korlov had shown compassion, she had given Samuel a bowl of milk and a piece of cake, and had offered Isaac a cup of tea.

He fell onto the bed next to his son and both of them dropped immediately into a deep sleep. It was already afternoon when they were woken up by a knock on the door.

“Mr. Zucker . . . Are you awake?”

“Yes, yes, I’m coming.”

“I’ll wait for you in the salon . . .”

Isaac got up immediately, worried by how wrinkled his clothes were after sleeping in them. Raisa Korlov and an elderly woman were waiting in the salon.

“This is my sister Alina, I told her that you came recommended by Professor Goldanski.”

“Madame.” Isaac bowed and held out his hand to Alina.

The two women looked like each other. Raisa was the younger, she was about fifty, and Alina must have been past sixty. But the two of them had the same greenish eyes and square jaw, both were overweight, and tall, very tall.

Raisa held out an envelope.

“One of Professor Goldanski’s servants just brought it.”

“Thank you.” Subjected to the women’s inquisitive stares, Isaac did not know what to do.

“I’ve spoken with my sister,” Raisa said, as if Alina were not present, “and we were wondering how you were going to look after your son . . . Well, if you want, you and your son could eat here, for a small consideration. It would be a little bit more work for us, but . . .”

“Oh! Thank you, nothing could be better for us.”

“Your wife died, is that right?” Alina asked, while Raisa smoothed her skirt.

“I told you that Professor Goldanski put all that into the letter of recommendation he wrote . . . ,” Raisa interrupted.

Isaac did not want to satisfy the women’s curiosity, but he knew that he had no other option.

“My family died in a fire. My wife, my children, my mother . . . Samuel and I were on a business trip . . . We couldn’t stay in the same place . . . That’s why we came to Saint Petersburg, we wanted to begin a new life and you are very kind to take us in so generously.”

“What a tragedy! How sorry I am!” Alina said, with apparent sincerity.

“Poor child!” Raisa said. “Losing a mother is the worst thing that can happen to a lad.”

“Yes, it is. Also, Samuel is weak, and although I’m trying to give him all the care he needs, he still misses his mother very much.”

“So, what do you think of our offer?”

“I accept, of course I accept, tell me how many rubles our upkeep will be . . .”

They came to an agreement that was satisfactory to both sides, although Isaac worried a little that he was spending his money more quickly than he had expected. But they had to eat somewhere, and it would always be better to eat at home.

He allowed the two women to ask him questions, but as soon as he could he excused himself; he was impatient to read Professor Goldanski’s note.

Samuel had woken up and smiled when he saw his father.

“How well I’ve slept! I’m much better.”

Isaac felt his forehead: his temperature appeared to have gone down.

“You need to tidy yourself up a bit, we’re having dinner this evening with Mrs. Korlov and her sister. They say she makes a very tasty soup, you’ll like it.”

Isaac opened the envelope impatiently and read the letter.

 

I have spoken with my wife. I will try to help you. Come and see us next Thursday at teatime and bring the coats you told me about. It is possible that some of my wife’s friends will be interested.

 

It was Monday, there were still three days to go until the appointment, and he would have to take the coats out of the trunk, air them out, and fix any slight problems they might have after such a long journey. His whole fate was tied up in those coats, he needed the fine ladies of Saint Petersburg to have their interest piqued.

Isaac thought that the days until he went to the Goldanskis’ house would drag on forever, but Raisa Korlov insisted on showing them the city, even though Samuel was not yet fully rested.

“Breathing fresh air never hurt anyone, as long as he wraps up warm,” the widow Korlov insisted, before dragging them out on another of her endless strolls.

 

Father and son both showed their admiration for the Winter Palace. They were also surprised at the beauty of some of the streets, which reminded them of Paris.

The widow Korlov was proud of her city, and boasted of how happy its inhabitants were.

“The city’s soul is in its students, they fill the inns and the streets with their laughter. Some people think that they are troublemakers, but they are good tenants and pay their rent on time. I’ve only had to throw one out of my house in all the ten years I’ve been renting.”

 

The other lodger was a serious young man, austere, who spent all his time either at the university or else studying in his room. He was not very talkative, but he was polite. The widow Korlov told them that young Andrei was the son of a blacksmith who was spending all of his meager savings on getting his firstborn son an education.

The two widows treated Andrei with affection, just as they did Isaac and Samuel; both did what they could to make their lodgers feel at home.

Raisa and her sister Alina also helped Isaac hang up his furs to air them out; Alina offered to sew up some places where the lining had come loose.

“It will be more difficult to transport them hanging up, but if you put them in the trunk again they will get wrinkled and start to smell,” Alina explained.

With Samuel’s help they managed to get the coats and jackets into the cart. The widow Korlov had lent them some old sheets so that the furs wouldn’t get dirty, and also to keep them hidden from the greedy eyes of thieves.

 

At four on the dot on that wintry Russian Thursday, Isaac and Samuel presented themselves at the Goldanskis’ elegant mansion.

This time, the servants were not so disdainful. They had orders from their master to show the pair immediately into the house.

While they were waiting for Professor Goldanski to appear, Isaac ran his fingers nervously over some of the furs that they had put down on a chair.

His heart beat all the more fiercely when Goldanski appeared, followed by a woman who was some years younger than him.

“My wife, Countess Ekaterina.”

Father and son both bowed deeply, impressed by the title, and above all by her elegant bearing.

“Her skin is like porcelain,” Isaac thought as he looked at the countess’s white complexion, “and she has the body of a young girl.”

“I knew your father. He was always welcome here, and you too will be welcome. This little one is your son, then?”

“Yes, Countess . . . Samuel, say hello to the countess.”

Samuel made a clumsy bow, but the countess took him by the hand and made him stand up.

“You are the same age as my grandson. You should come and play with him one day.”

“Come on, my dear, let’s look at what my friend Isaac has brought with him before your friends come round.”

Isaac held his breath until the countess had gone over his wares one by one.

“There are some very nice coats here, I think I’ll buy one or two, and I’m sure that the women I have waiting impatiently outside will want to buy some as well.”

 

A few minutes later the countess’s friends came into the room. They were all elegantly dressed, and chatted idly among themselves, anxious to see these marvels that Countess Ekaterina had promised them.

The afternoon could not have been more of a success. Isaac and Samuel went back to the widows’ lodging house without any items unsold. The countess and her friends had bought everything and had charged Isaac to bring more coats back from Paris.

“And some fabric, or lace, or some dresses . . . ,” the women suggested, all of them keen admirers of the fashions of the French capital.

 

On the way back to the lodging house, Isaac bought some flowers for the widows. For their part, they served larger portions that night at supper.

Saint Petersburg was not a hostile environment, although the newspapers kept publishing articles against the Jews. But Isaac and Samuel both felt relieved that they did not have to face a permanent reminder of their agonies. They would not have been able to reorganize their lives if they had stayed in their shtetl near Warsaw.

No, they could not forget Sofia, or Esther, or feisty Anna, or little Friede, but at least in Saint Petersburg there were moments when they could stop thinking about them, and it was this that allowed them to survive.

With the money he had made from the sale of the coats, Isaac intended to buy more furs to take to Paris, not simply to sell, but also for Monsieur Elijah to make new clothes for him to take back to Saint Petersburg. He also thought that he would invest in some fabrics. If everything went well, Samuel would be able to study at the university. He was sure that Professor Goldanski would recommend him, given the universities’ Jewish quotas: Three percent of the students admitted to Saint Petersburg University were Jewish. But Goldanski had made a name for himself among the best families of the city. He had dedicated all his knowledge of chemistry and botany to the creation of medicines. This had made him some enemies among the pharmacists, but the efficiency of his concoctions was such that he was respected as a professional even by members of the court, some of whom had made it possible for the famous chemist to explain some of his discoveries at the university: He was invited there regularly and it was because of this that many people called him “Professor.”

 

The days went by, and Isaac and Samuel’s life was ever calmer. They wanted for no more than what they had. The Korlov widows looked after them kindly, and Samuel seemed to be recovering his health, thanks to Raisa’s food and Goldanski’s syrups. Every now and then they visited Goldanski’s house.

“So you go to the synagogue . . .”

“Yes, Professor, I don’t want my son to forget who we are.”

“I thought that we agreed the best thing for us Jews was to be from wherever we lived. In our case, to be Russians.”

“I think so, too, but do we have to abandon our God simply because we are Russians? Do we abandon our books? Do we abandon the dream that next year we will be in Jerusalem? I used to think that we had to abandon all these things to be good Russians, but now I think that we can be Russians and Jews without betraying our country or denying our God.”

“Dreams, words, books! Isaac, life is short, you don’t have time for everything. You don’t have to show your beliefs. Look at me . . . I was born in Warsaw, and if it hadn’t been for my father’s efforts I would never have gotten beyond mixing up strange concoctions for my own use . . . I came to Saint Petersburg, I studied, my path was opened up to me, I met the countess, I got married . . . and I am rich. Do you think that I could have had a wife like the countess if I had been content with simply being a Jew? She was very brave and stood up to her family to marry me. The least I can do for her is to behave suitably.”

“And it’s unsuitable for a Jew to be a Jew?” As soon as he asked the question he regretted it. It was an impertinence that the professor, his benefactor, did not deserve.

Gustav Goldanski looked straight at him before speaking. His eyes sparkled with annoyance, but his tone displayed no emotion.

“The suitable thing was for me to not be different, or at least not to insist on this difference to such an extent as to make our life impossible. I am Russian, I feel Russian, I think in Russian, I cry in Russian, I get upset in Russian, I express my love in Russian. I have long forgotten the language I spoke with my family as a child, those words that were only useful for us Jews to understand one another. I hold God in my heart and ask for him to show me mercy, but I would not honor him more if I chanted prayers or kept the Sabbath.”

“God’s law is sacred,” Isaac dared reply.

“I’m not sure that God has given us instructions for every tiny little detail, how to organize every hour of our lives. I think he wants other things from us. The most difficult thing is to do good, to be generous with those who have nothing, to feel pity for those who suffer, to help those who need aid . . . That is how I try to honor God, and I won’t claim that I always succeed: I am just a man.”

“I don’t want my son to grow up without knowing who he is,” Isaac replied.

“Your son is who he is, and he is what he feels himself to be in his heart. No, don’t misunderstand me, I don’t think that you have to give up being Jewish to be Russian, just that we have not yet been able to find a way to be both at once without one half mistrusting the other. I have given up a few things, maybe you will find a synthesis. I truly hope so!”

 

They became good friends. It was an odd week when Isaac did not see the professor. They liked talking, arguing, speculating.

On a few occasions Countess Ekaterina invited Samuel to play with her grandson. Samuel and Konstantin quickly became friends; the young boy was as open and generous as his grandfather.

Gustav Goldanski and Countess Ekaterina had one child, a son, Boris, who had been a diplomat in the service of the tsar. He had married Gertrude, a German noblewoman, and had given his parents two grandchildren: Konstantin, the older of the pair, and little Katia. They had been a happy family until bad luck crossed their path when Boris and Gertrude took part in a sleigh race. They had an accident in which Gertrude died immediately and Boris a few days later, leaving Konstantin and Katia orphans. Since then, the children had lived with their grandparents.

Samuel admired Professor Goldanski. He wanted to be like him, to have an important position such as his, but, above all, to be brave enough to break with Judaism. Isaac could see that his son gave more weight to the professor’s opinions than to his own. This hurt him, but he did not say anything against it, and in his heart he understood this reaction. How could one not admire a man who had attained a high position thanks only to his talent and his intelligence, and who had never hurt his fellow man? No, he could not blame Professor Goldanski for the admiration he engendered in his son. Neither could he blame Samuel for wishing to break with the religion of his forebears. The boy had lost his mother and his siblings for the simple fact of being Jewish, and he had sensed since his most tender years that other people thought of Jews as pernicious creatures who needed to be kept separate from them. Samuel was keen to be like the others, and that was what Gustav Goldanski had achieved: he was a Russian.

Perhaps because of his admiration for Professor Goldanski and his friendship with Konstantin, Samuel dreamed of being able to avoid his fate. He knew that in spite of his father’s efforts to send him to university, the easiest thing for him would be to carry on with the family business and become a fur trader.

 

A year after Tsar Alexander II’s assassination, his successor, Alexander III, passed the “May Laws,” a set of regulations designed to complicate the situation of Jews in the Russian Empire still further. Many Jews began to think of emigrating; some headed to the United States, others to England, many to Palestine, but this was not the case with Isaac, who carried on building his business as a trader in furs.

“If I were a Jew, I would leave the country.” Andrei’s statement surprised the Korlov widows as much as it did Isaac and Samuel.

The widows and their lodgers were having Sunday lunch together. Alina had mentioned that a Jewish family they knew had sold all their property in order to emigrate to the United States, and Andrei, who was normally so restrained, made his comment as he wolfed down a plate of Raisa’s stew.

“Why?” Alina wanted to know.

“Because no one wants them here; Russians have no rights as citizens, but the Jews . . . are even less than we are,” Andrei said.

“Andrei! How could you say such things! If someone heard you . . . ,” Raisa scolded him.

“Oh, I take care not to say what I shouldn’t, but I am surprised that a good man such as Isaac should accept the crumbs the Russian Empire gives him,” Andrei said as he looked at Isaac and Samuel.

“By the Holy Mother, don’t say such things!” Raisa seemed scared.

“I am sorry, you are right, I shouldn’t have said anything,” Andrei apologized.

“Why not? I am interested in your opinion,” Alina said.

“Don’t encourage him, sister! There are things we shouldn’t do, and criticizing our new government is one of them. I will not allow anyone to say anything untoward,” Raisa insisted angrily.

“Andrei’s opinions don’t upset us,” Isaac said, trying to be conciliatory.

“That’s as may be. I’ll tell you whom they would upset: the tsar himself, if he could hear them. I don’t want anyone to speak about politics in this house. I thought that you were a prudent person,” Raisa said, staring pointedly at Andrei.

“I am sorry to have upset you, it won’t happen again.”

Andrei apologized and asked Raisa’s permission to leave the table and go and study.

The widow Korlov assented angrily.

“Alina, you shouldn’t talk about things that cause problems,” Raisa said, looking at her elder sister.

“So we can’t even speak freely inside the house? The Okhrana doesn’t have ears everywhere,” Alina replied.

“The Okhrana does have ears everywhere. We’re suspicious simply because we have Jews as lodgers,” Raisa said, without noticing the bitter grimace that passed over Samuel’s face.

Isaac said nothing as the two sisters argued. He was afraid that the conversation would go down paths that would end up affecting him and his son. Over the last few days, he had seen that Raisa was much more nervous than usual. The May Laws enacted by the government of Alexander III had lessened the already small freedoms allowed the Jews, who could now be expelled from their homes without reason. The laws also made it more difficult for them to enter university, and even banned them from certain professions. In spite of all this, Isaac felt himself under Gustav Goldanski’s protection and preferred to keep his head down and try to survive.

That night, as they went back to their room, Samuel asked his father if they, too, would go to the United States.

“No, we won’t, we’re fine as we are. How could I earn a living there?”

“But Andrei said that the Jews are worth less and less every day . . . I, too, have heard that the tsar hates us, and some of my school friends say the same . . . Father, why don’t we just stop being Jews?”

Isaac explained once again to his son that the people who were truly unworthy were those who persecuted the Jews for their religion and that they had to learn that each man had the right to believe in his own God and to say his prayers as his forebears had taught him.

“Your mother wouldn’t like to hear you speak like that. Have you forgotten what she taught you?”

“They killed her because she was a Jew,” Samuel said, trying to hold back his tears.

His father did not reply, but held his son tight and stroked his hair. Then he sent him to bed, but Samuel could not sleep.

“I know that it’s cold in the United States as well, they’ll need furs, just like they do here. You could sell them.”

“It’s not so easy . . . I don’t know how the market works there for furs. We don’t know anyone. No, we won’t go; I’m not going to expose you to more possible disasters. Yes, the Jews are barely tolerated in Russia, but at least we have Professor Goldanski looking out for us, and things are going well, we can’t complain. The only thing we can do is to be prudent and keep our heads down.”

“Father, are you afraid?”

Isaac didn’t know what to say in response to Samuel’s question. Yes, he was afraid. He was afraid of the unknown, of not being able to protect his son. He was still young enough to start a new life, he was in his mid-thirties, but he didn’t want to take any risks.

“When you are older you’ll see that staying here was the right decision. We are Russians, Samuel, and we would miss our fatherland.”

“We’re Jews, that’s what we are, and that’s how everyone else sees us.”

“We’re Russian, we speak Russian, we feel, we suffer like Russians.”

“But we don’t pray like the Russians do, and you insist that I don’t forget how to speak Yiddish, and you send me to the synagogue so that the rabbi can teach me Hebrew,” Samuel replied.

“Yes, and I also make you take classes in English and German. One day, Samuel, no one will be asked what he believes in or where he addresses his prayers, and all men will be equal.”

“When will that be?”

“One day . . . you’ll see.”

“That’s what Grandfather Elijah says.”

“And he’s right. Now go to sleep.”

 

The years went by and they lived under Gustav Goldanski’s protection.

Once a year Isaac traveled to Paris, in springtime. He always went with Samuel, to please Grandfather Elijah.

He had not recovered from the death of his daughter Esther, and begged Isaac to stay and live with him in Paris, but Isaac always rejected his father-in-law’s plea.

“And how would we live? No, it would not be fair to become a burden on you. Every man has to make his own destiny, and our destiny is in Russia, we’re Russian, we would be strangers here.”

“But we are also strangers in Russia,” Samuel answered, “and there we are less than nothing.”

 

It was not the case that Samuel wanted to leave Saint Petersburg. He had grown to love the city more than any other place on earth, but his dreams were filled with starts and fear, with the bloodied face of his mother, his brother and sister screaming. His heart was torn between the desire to imitate Gustav Goldanski and the calm he felt in Paris, sheltered by his Grandfather Elijah. He also dreamed of traveling to the United States. One of his best friends had gone with his family to that distant country.

It was during these trips to France that he began to pay attention to the ideas of Karl Marx, as well as those of a preeminent Russian thinker, Mikhail Bakunin; both of them were dead, but their ideas had been sown throughout Europe.

Elijah lent him their books, and it was not rare for certain friends of his grandfather to get involved in long conversations at the back of the cutting room. Some declared themselves for Karl Marx, others were fervent supporters of Bakunin, and although both of them in theory supported equality, the violence of the men’s discussions made it clear that their positions were irreconcilable. And in that back room Samuel gained an unexpected political education in both socialism and anarchism.

As time went by, he realized that his grandfather and his father both sympathized with Marx, although they tried to keep this a secret from others.

Those summers in his grandfather’s house meant that he did not forget French, his mother’s language. It was also in Paris where he fell in love for the first time, having just reached the age of sixteen. Brigitte had two long wheat-colored plaits and enormous chestnut eyes that stunned him every time he looked into them. She worked in her father’s bakery, one block away from grandfather Elijah’s shop. Samuel always insisted on going to buy the bread himself.

A brass counter separated him from Brigitte, whom he observed standing by the oven, her cheeks lightly brushed with flour.

They never did more than exchange smiles, but Samuel felt his heart beat faster every time he saw her.

He was not the only one to fall in love. One afternoon, when Elijah asked him to help deliver some overcoats to the wife of a lawyer who lived on the Right Bank, they unexpectedly ran into Isaac. He was accompanied by a middle-aged woman with whom he seemed to be on intimate terms, given that they were walking with their arms interlinked. They were chattering and laughing, they seemed happy, but Isaac’s expression changed suddenly when he ran into his son and his father-in-law, whom he had thought were out visiting clients.

In the face of Elijah’s curiosity and Samuel’s astonishment, it was difficult for Isaac to hide his nervousness.

“Samuel!”

“Hello, Father . . .”

“Isaac . . . ,” Grandfather Elijah managed to murmur.

After a few seconds of silence, it was the woman who began to speak.

“So you must be Samuel. I’ve wanted to meet you for a while, your father never stops talking about you. He’s very proud of how much you study, he says that you’ll go far. And I suppose that you must be Monsieur Elijah. It’s an honor to meet you, I know that you are not only the best furrier in Paris, but a good man as well.”

The woman smiled at them, and Elijah and Samuel both felt disarmed by the open expression on her face.

“And you are . . .?” Grandfather Elijah began to ask.

“Marie Dupont, I’m a dressmaker, I work in Monsieur Martel’s shop, I met Isaac there.”

Marie was not beautiful, although her face was agreeable enough. You would have to look at her for a while to find her attractive, because her chestnut hair, chestnut eyes, and her plumpish figure were not obvious attractions. She managed to enchant men with the flow of her talk.

When Elijah took his leave because he had to deliver the overcoats, Marie offered to come with them, and so the four of them spent a large part of the afternoon walking all over Paris. When the time came for them to say goodbye, Marie surprised them again when she suggested that they come to have tea with her the following Sunday.

“I live in the Marais with my mother, it’s a modest little house, but nobody makes tarte tatin like she does.”

They did not agree to go, but neither did they reject the invitation. Once Marie had left, Isaac tried to explain himself to his son and his father-in-law.

“Marie is a good friend, nothing more.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Grandfather Elijah said, without trying to hide his anger.

When they reached their house after some time, Elijah locked himself away in his room and did not want to come out for dinner. Isaac and Samuel ate sitting next to each other, at first in silence.

“Father, why is Grandfather angry?”

“Probably because of Marie,” Isaac replied sincerely.

“Is she . . . is she . . . Well, are you going to marry her?”

“I’m not going to marry anyone; what I said is true, she’s a good friend, nothing more.”

“But she had her arm in yours,” Samuel replied.

“Yes, that’s right, but it doesn’t mean that we’re going to get married. When you’re older you’ll understand.”

Samuel was annoyed by his father’s insistence that it was only in the future he would understand the present, so he dared to answer back.

“I want to understand it now.”

“You’re still very young,” Isaac said, drawing the conversation to a close.

 

The days went by and Elijah scarcely spoke to Isaac. Samuel started to feel upset by the uncomfortable relation between his father and his grandfather. During Sabbath dinner, he plucked up the courage to ask them what was wrong, but he did not get an answer.

“I don’t like being in Paris anymore,” he said suddenly.

“You don’t like it? Since when?” Elijah asked.

“Since you and father have started being angry with each other. You barely talk anymore. All three of us are unhappy. I want to go back to Saint Petersburg.”

“Yes, it would be better. I’m about to finish my work here, and the summer is nearly over,” Isaac added.

They fell silent and did not want to finish the meal. They were going to get up from the table when Elijah made a gesture with his hand.

“Samuel is right, it’s better for us to be open with each other. I know that I don’t have any right to get involved in your life, that you are still a young man, but it’s the memory of Esther that’s clouding my mind. She was my daughter, my only daughter, and I will never recover from losing her.”

“Esther was my wife, and Samuel’s mother. Do you think that we’ve forgotten her? There’s not a single day that goes by when I don’t pray for her, and I know that we will meet each other in eternity. I will never betray her, never.”

“Grandfather, why are you so upset that Marie held my father’s arm? I don’t mind, I know that he hasn’t stopped loving my mother because of it. My father will love my mother, will love my brother and sister, will love me, forever. No one can take the place of my mother, ever. My father would never let it happen.”

“That’s right,” Isaac agreed.

“I’m sorry, it’s my fault that all this bad feeling came to the surface, I . . . I know that I don’t have the right to blame you for anything, but seeing that woman holding your arm was . . . was as if you were betraying Esther.”

“But I was not. I was out walking with a friend, nothing more. I will not lie about Marie. She is a good woman, she is friendly and open, and life has been tough on her. Her father fell ill when she was a little girl, and she had to look after him and her little brother while her mother went out to find food for the family. Her brother caught the fever as well, and died a few months after her father. She didn’t want to leave her mother to fate and so she rejected several suitors. She earns her living honorably, she takes in sewing, and her mother makes cakes and pies and sells them in their neighborhood. She has nothing to blame herself for, and neither do I. It is true that we try to find time to meet and talk about our suffering, about what life has taken away from us, but both of us know that we don’t have a future together. My life is in Saint Petersburg, hers is in Paris, but even so we enjoy the time we are able to spend together. Should we be ashamed because of this?”

“Of course not!” Samuel exclaimed, before his grandfather had a chance to speak.

“You are right. Sometimes the fault is in the eyes that look, rather than in what they see. Forgive me, and you forgive me too, Samuel.”

 

The next day, Samuel said he wanted to go to Marie’s house and try the tarte tatin that he had been promised. Elijah apologized for not going with them, but he said as they left that he hoped they would enjoy the afternoon.

The attic that Marie shared with her mother in the Place des Vosges was small, but clean and tidy, and it smelled of apples.

The two women made every effort for Isaac and Samuel to feel at home, and when evening fell they made the two of them promise to come back.

When they got back home, Elijah was keen to know how the meal had gone, and Samuel felt calm to see his grandfather behaving as always.

As time went by, Samuel also came to appreciate Marie, whom he saw every summer, and even Grandfather Elijah came around to liking her, this woman who looked for nothing more than what she was offered; Samuel felt that his grandfather’s defenses had been breached because Marie knew how to read, and not just that, but she showed great sympathy for those who fought for the emancipation of everyone who, like her, had nothing. Also, Elijah thought highly of the clothes that Marie sewed so neatly for Monsieur Martel’s shop.

 

When summer was about to come to an end, Isaac and Samuel went back to Saint Petersburg carrying trunks filled with overcoats from Grandfather Elijah, as well as a good amount of women’s clothing, sewn by Marie, which Isaac was sure that he, with the help of Countess Ekaterina, would be able to sell for a good price to the ladies of the tsar’s court.

Neither Isaac nor Samuel had felt the need to look for other lodgings away from the widow Korlov’s house, even though the room was so small. Raisa and Alina treated them as if they were family.

It was Raisa’s idea to bring two old beds down from the attic: they were still in good shape and would do as substitutes for the double bed that father and son had shared until now.

“It’s time for Samuel to have his own bed,” she said one day, ordering Isaac to accompany her up to the attic.

And it was Alina’s idea to let the boy study in the living room, which was always empty until suppertime, because the two women preferred the heat of the kitchen.

“When Andrei leaves, you can have his room,” Raisa promised.

But Andrei was not ready to leave. He was finishing his studies in botany and earned a little extra money helping out in the city libraries in his free time. He did not earn much, it was barely enough for him to look after himself and not depend on his father, who was so proud of his son.

Samuel felt sympathetic toward Andrei and when no one could overhear them they discussed politics together. It did not take long for him to discover that the university student was a faithful follower of Marxist doctrine, although Samuel did not dare admit that he himself had read The Communist Manifesto.

Isaac had told him to be prudent, and not to reveal his political leanings.

“Be careful, remember they killed your mother because they accused the Jews of being behind the murder of Tsar Alexander.”

But Samuel tended to be less prudent than Isaac would have liked, and soon after he had entered the university, to study chemistry, he started to meet with other students who, like him, dreamed of a world without social classes.

It was thanks to Gustav Goldanski that Samuel was able to enter the university. He wanted to become a pharmacist, but Professor Goldanski convinced him to study chemistry.

“If you are a chemist you will be able to be a pharmacist, but if you are a pharmacist then you will not be able to be a chemist, and who knows what life will offer you,” he said.

So Samuel followed the professor’s advice and prepared to convert himself into a chemist. He wouldn’t have wanted to study anything else, such was the admiration he felt for his benefactor. Although the professor was now retired, he still made up medicines for some of his most intimate friends. On occasion his grandson Konstantin and Samuel had even helped in the laboratory he had set up in an annex to his house. Samuel was fascinated watching the professor preparing the plants to be macerated, which were then mixed with liquids that seemed to him almost magical, and then converted into pills or syrups to help combat pain. Konstantin was not so interested in his grandfather’s activities, and limited himself to doing what he was asked and little more, but Samuel never stopped asking questions, fascinated by what those distillations might help cure.

“I have always been interested in curative substances. Doctors can make diagnoses, but then they need medicines to cure the disease. I could have dedicated myself to other branches of chemistry, doubtless even more profitable ones, but I was fascinated by what could be obtained by allying chemistry and botany. I haven’t stopped experimenting for a single day, there is so much still to discover . . .”

 

Whenever he could, Konstantin escaped from his grandfather’s laboratory, but Samuel stayed with the professor and listened to him for hours, time that seemed to him far too short.

His father was also grateful to the old professor.

“I don’t know how to thank you for everything you have done for us; a thousand years would not be enough for me to pay you the debt I owe you and your family,” Isaac said to his benefactor.

“You know something? Doing good for others is the same as doing good for yourself. It allows me to think that one day, when I stand before God, he will pardon all my faults because of the good I have been able to do for my fellow man.”

“I know you do what your heart tells you.”

“More than that, I do what my grandson Konstantin tells me. He would never forgive me if he were unable to share his time at university with his best friend, your son. You’ll see, they’ll turn into fine young men. I won’t deny that I would have liked my grandson to follow in my footsteps, but he prefers diplomacy, like my son Boris. So I am happy to at least be able to pass on to your son some of the knowledge I have gained over the course of my life. He has talent, let me tell you, and he is daring when it comes to experimentation. Who knows, maybe our families will one day be joined, my dear Isaac. Have you seen how my granddaughter Katia’s eyes shine whenever Samuel comes to visit?”

“I don’t dare hope for such a thing. I give thanks to the Almighty that we have you as a friend. You have done more for me than a father would do for his son.”

 

Gustav Goldanski died during Samuel’s first winter at the university. He couldn’t shake off an attack of pneumonia that he himself had tried to cure. For Isaac, it was like losing a father.

“I don’t know what we’ll do without him,” he whispered at the funeral, trying to stop himself from shedding even more tears.

“We owe him everything,” young Samuel replied, also feeling an unbearable gulf inside himself.

In the days that followed Gustav Goldanski’s death, Samuel spent a lot of time with Konstantin. His friend had become the head of the Goldanski household, although he relied a great deal on the presence and advice of his grandmother, Countess Ekaterina.

“Nothing will change. You will be a diplomat, in the service of Russia and the tsar; it’s the best way of showing your respect for your father and your grandfather, and you, Samuel, you need not worry, you will always have me to protect you, it’s what my husband would have wanted.”

 

Both Konstantin and Samuel felt as though they had been orphaned. They had held Gustav Goldanski up as an example, and they thought there was no better man in the world. They obeyed the required mourning strictures for several months, and tended not even to leave their houses, but after a while they began to expand their circle of friends. To their surprise, they came into contact with young people who espoused ideas aimed at destroying the current regime. It was not that they did not agree that Russia needed a less oppressive government, but they had never imagined that people even existed who defended the need for a “revolution,” one that would go so far as to get rid of the monarchy.

Samuel was to a certain degree fascinated with socialist ideas, but he held back from showing it, and kept clear of other young men who praised Bakunin’s theories. Of course, both he and Konstantin read banned books when they fell into their hands, but this was as far as their rebellion went.

“Bakunin goes a step farther than Marx does,” Konstantin said to Samuel, “and says that the suppression of the State is necessary. There will be no freedom while the State exists. What do you think?”

 

Samuel rejected Bakunin’s ideas. He supported an ordered State.

“Bakunin’s ideas will never cohere, they will only provoke chaos. The people want things to change, but they need a direction.”

He was surprised that Konstantin argued for the importance of change, that he was moved by the peasants’ suffering, that he was made indignant by the lack of liberty.

He did not know what he would have thought if he had been Goldanski’s grandson . . . if it were he who was to inherit name and fortune and social position.

“Don’t you realize that if socialism does triumph one day then you’ll lose your inheritance?”

“Then I would have to show what I’m worth. Sometimes I think it’s not fair that some people have so much and some so little. What my grandfather earned by his efforts shouldn’t be mine. Anyway, we have too much. Do you think we need all that we possess? Of course we don’t. You share a room with your father, a room so small that you can scarcely move; I live in a palace that looks out onto the Baltic. Good old Raisa Korlov sews up your shirts; I have never had to wear clothes that have been mended. Why do I have more than you? What have I done to deserve it? We are equals, and we should live as equals, and both have the same.”

“Yes, that’s what Marx calls for, but it is a utopia,” Samuel said, admiring Konstantin’s humanity.

“Anyway, even if I wanted to I couldn’t give up what I have. My grandmother would never forgive me and I’m responsible for my sister Katia. All I can do is hope that the tsar realizes he has to make changes to help the people, a people that adores him and is loyal to him.”

In spite of his words, Konstantin was a faithful subject of the tsar, and acted and behaved like an aristocrat, even though he was not immune to the new ideas that had filtered into Russia.

There was another young Jew, Joshua Silvermann, in Samuel’s circle of friends; Samuel had met him shortly after arriving in Saint Petersburg. Joshua’s grandfather was a rabbi, and taught Samuel Hebrew. Isaac didn’t want his son to forget that he was a Jew, so he sent him to the rabbi’s house every week, and Samuel had struck up a strong friendship with the rabbi’s grandson.

The Silvermann family, like the Goldanskis or Isaac and Samuel Zucker, came from the Kingdom of Poland, although they had been settled in Saint Petersburg for several decades.

In contrast to Konstantin and Samuel, however, young Joshua was a religious child, and tried to fulfill the precepts of Judaism with great care.

“My grandfather would be offended if I didn’t go to the synagogue,” he said apologetically to his friends.

In spite of his religious principles, Joshua shared with his friends a keen desire for Russia to change, although he rejected Marx and Bakunin.

“The idea of socialism sounds all very well, but where will it lead us? I’m scared to see some of our friends promoting it without any doubt at all. I don’t know, but sometimes they seem to me to be fanatics.”

“And why should they doubt?” Samuel asked Joshua. “Do you doubt any of the things you believe?”

“The only think I don’t doubt is God,” Joshua replied.

“But you obey all the strictures of our religion, even the most ridiculous ones! That’s what I would call fanaticism,” Samuel reproached him.

“Let’s leave God to one side. Tell me, have you become a socialist?” Joshua asked his friend.

“I think that their ideas make a lot of sense,” Samuel replied.

It was normally Konstantin who made peace between Samuel and Joshua.

Although the three young men were inseparable, they made different choices at the university: Samuel was studying to become a chemist, Konstantin was training to be a diplomat, and Joshua had decided to study botany, so as not to disappoint his grandfather. Even so, they still found time to get together, something that made Isaac happy, as he was convinced that the rabbi’s son would end up inspiring Samuel with some degree of religious feeling.

Isaac was worried when Samuel told him what the friends had been talking about. He, too, dreamed of a classless society, but he was too scared to take a single step toward its creation. He had lost too much—his mother, his wife, and two of his children—to run the risk of losing Samuel as well.

One afternoon, as Samuel was leaving the university, he ran into Andrei and another man.

“This is my friend Dmitri Sokolov,” Andrei introduced him.

Samuel thought that the man’s face was familiar. He was tall and thickset, with a thick black beard scattered with grey hairs, and the hair on his head was nearly completely grey. He had an imposing look to him, and his eyes seemed as if they could drill into the soul of anyone who crossed his path.

“You’ll have seen him around the university.”

“Yes, of course, I know who he is, I’ve heard people talk about him.” Samuel remembered that Sokolov was not a teacher, but rather the oldest library assistant, and he enjoyed a great deal of prestige among those students who thought that Russia needed a revolution. He knew that Sokolov was also Jewish, and although the man had broken with his religion some time ago, he still attracted all the Jewish students at the university. Initially, it appeared strange to Samuel that Andrei and Sokolov would be friends, but he said nothing.

“I know who you are as well,” Sokolov said, to Samuel’s confusion.

“But I’m nobody . . .”

“The university has lots of eyes and ears, not just the Okhrana’s . . . Besides our mutual friend Andrei, there are other people who have spoken to me about you. They say that you’re a brave young man who wants to change things, but some people think you’re too cautious, and we don’t like that.”

“We don’t like that? Who should care what I’m like?”

“Andrei has said that you sympathize with us.”

“With who?” Samuel asked, uncomfortable with the way the conversation was going.

“We are many, many more than you might imagine, the ones who want things to change. Russia is dying. The aristocrats keep our country in the past. We are little more than serfs in a country of serfs. Don’t you think that the time has come to do something?”

Samuel did not know whether to let himself be carried away by the enthusiasm he felt at this moment, or to fall back on the caution that his father had urged so often. He said nothing.

“I’ve told Sokolov that we can trust you, so if you want to come with us . . . We’re going to a meeting with other comrades, some of whom you know . . . but it’s your decision. If you come, then there’s no turning back, we can’t let anyone come with us who we’re not sure shares our ideals.”

“So I didn’t run into you by accident . . .”

“No, I arranged this. I’ve spent some time trying to convince Sokolov to let you join us. I know how you think. We’ve spoken a good deal about what Russia needs. This cannot last forever, and you’re either with us or you’re against us.”

“Andrei vouches for you. Are you ready?” Sokolov asked.

“I don’t know . . . I don’t know what you want from me, what I should do . . .”

“You’ll find out if you join us. All you need to know is that we’re risking our lives if we fall into the hands of the Okhrana . . . But don’t you think it’s worth it to risk everything for freedom and justice?” Sokolov’s face had acquired a reddish tinge, as if his skin were burning.

“I’ll go with you.”

From that afternoon onwards, Samuel was a part of Sokolov’s group, which spent most of its time engaged in debates on the rights of the peasants, or of the workers, or of the Jews. Sometimes Samuel had bitter discussions with people who insisted that the next step was to take action. He roundly rejected anything to do with violence.

“We will all be equal. There will be no difference between men. We will abolish all religion,” Sokolov said at many of the meetings. Of all the promises he made, the abolition of religion was the most attractive to Samuel.

He was still not resigned to being a Jew, to taking on that burden that he felt to be too great because of the way it made him feel different. Now he faced the possibility that in the new society they were going to build, no man would be different from any other. The Jews could live like the Christians, and both groups could be free, disposing of the need for religion, which only served to cloud men’s reason.

He told Konstantin and Joshua that he had joined Sokolov’s group, and invited them to do the same.

“You’re half Jewish, and you are in favor of things changing,” Samuel said, trying to convince his friend.

“Yes, I am, but you are being naïve if you think that the ideas of Marx or Bakunin can triumph here in Russia. What’s more, I don’t like some of your new friends, they seem a little like fanatics to me.”

“Fanatics? Joshua, you know Andrei, how he makes his living giving classes to struggling students. Does he look like a fanatic to you?”

“I barely know Andrei, except when I’ve met him at your house. I don’t have any opinion of him at all,” Joshua replied.

“Sokolov would like to meet you,” Samuel insisted.

“My dear friend, it’s one thing to discuss ideas, and quite another to become conspirators. I cannot afford to do it. Let’s leave it there.” Konstantin’s tone was unequivocal.

“If there is a revolution in Russia, it will be because Marxists and Bakuninites fight for there to be one, we could end up like Germany, or even Britain. Let’s let the Russians decide their own fate. I understand that we need to be careful, but Russia in the future will need people like you,” Samuel insisted.

“I am responsible for my family. I can’t take any risks. And you should be careful, I can’t imagine that the Okhrana will remain indifferent to a group of Jews who gather together to plan how to change Russia,” Konstantin warned him.

“But . . . The people I trust most of all are you two.”

“Listen, if I join your group, Sokolov will start to move you against me. In his eyes I will always be an aristocrat. Let’s not put our childhood friendship to the test. We both want what’s best for each other. Let’s leave it there.”

Samuel couldn’t convince Joshua Silvermann either. The rabbi’s grandson was unmovable.

“No, my friend, don’t think I’ll join Sokolov’s group. Although I am in favor of some socialist ideas, I hate fanaticism, and . . . Well, I can’t afford to become a conspirator. Also, I think it’s dangerous that the group is made up of so many Jews. One of these days they will accuse you of plotting against the tsar. And then they will accuse all of us Jews on the basis of your actions. Think about it.”

“But how can you say such a thing! I don’t understand how it’s so difficult for you to collaborate with Sokolov; I’ve heard you with my own ears criticizing the current situation . . . ,” Samuel complained.

“I don’t like the people who surround Sokolov, he and his group want revolution to be a religion, and I already have a religion. Just like you do.”

Konstantin and Joshua were right. When Sokolov found out that Samuel’s friends had both refused to join the group, he started to sow the seeds of doubt in Samuel’s mind.

“The bourgeoisie don’t want anything to change. Why should they? They hate political parties, they hate any organization that is not the monarchy. They are afraid of losing their privileges. Do they really think that we Russians are not prepared to change, to stop being what we are? We want to be free men, we want a classless society, we want them to stop treating us like garbage for the simple fact of being Jews, we want justice,” Sokolov cried out.

“My friend Joshua Silvermann is not a bourgeois,” Samuel replied.

“His grandfather is one of the few Jews they accept, and he and his family are grateful to the tsar, just as dogs are grateful when their master throws them a bone. You say that Joshua Silvermann sympathizes with socialism, but there is no socialism without commitment.”

 

Samuel and Andrei spent a lot of time together. At night, when they came back from their daily rounds and met each other in the widow Korlov’s house, they would go into Andrei’s room and put together pamphlets, read forbidden books, and prepare for the weekly secret meeting.

The Korlov sisters were not surprised that Andrei and Samuel locked themselves away in Andrei’s room, as Samuel had told them that Andrei, as a botanist, was helping him with his thesis. But Isaac was not convinced by these excuses: he saw in his son’s eyes a glint of passion and impatience that had never been there before. Last summer, he had refused to go to Paris with him. Isaac reminded him that his grandfather Elijah was a very old man, who could fall ill at any moment. But Samuel was not to be moved, and that summer, the summer of 1893, he did not travel with his father.

Alongside his passion for politics, Samuel had fallen deeply in love with a young woman whom Konstantin had introduced him to.

Irina Kuznetsova was a few years older than Samuel, she was nearly thirty and was Konstantin’s sister Katia’s piano teacher.

It was not usual for a woman to teach the piano, but Irina’s father had been a famous professor of music until a few years previously, when a stroke had obliged him to stay permanently at home. Irina, whom her father had taught everything he knew, had convinced Countess Ekaterina to allow her to take over Katia’s classes from her father. The countess was not particularly keen on allowing her granddaughter’s education to be left in the hands of this woman, who seemed slightly arrogant, given her situation, but in the end she gave in to Konstantin’s arguments in Irina’s favor.

“Grandmother, Irina seems like a fine person, and at least we know that she can play the piano. Katia is too impatient for music, maybe Irina’s example will help overcome her resistance.”

What Konstantin really wanted was to help the old music teacher and his family. He didn’t care if Katia learned how to play the piano or not; he had realized that his little sister had no aptitude or desire for the instrument, no matter how much her grandmother insisted to the contrary. He was also swayed by Irina’s beauty.

She was of medium height, thin, with blonde hair and huge blue eyes, a beautiful woman, something that she herself knew better than anyone.

Ever since her father had fallen ill she had taken on the family duties, and before she had come to the Goldanski house she had suffered experiences that had marked her for life. Her mother was a good woman, but a little too dreamy. So dreamy that she had assured her daughter, when Irina was a little girl, that her beauty would lead her to marry into the aristocracy.

“You’ll see, all the counts and dukes will fight duels for you. It will be difficult for your father and I to decide whom to choose for your suitor.”

Convinced that her daughter’s beauty would open the doors of the court to her, she had insisted to her husband that Irina be given the best education they could afford. Her father realized at once that Irina had a good ear and a fine sensibility for the piano, and he taught her all he knew, until he was convinced that she was better even than he was.

But counts and dukes did not come knocking at the Kuznetsovs’ door, they did not even know that Irina existed. When she reached the age of seventeen, her father suggested that she take over the teaching of the daughters of a count to whom he gave lessons to twice a week.

“The countess has asked me if I know of anyone who is well mannered and trustworthy. She is looking for someone to take care of her daughters. I’ve told you about them. Two lovely, very well brought-up girls. The oldest one is eight and the youngest one is five, they are very attached to their governess, but she has to leave them and go back to Germany for a while to look after her sick mother. It will only be for two or three months. What do you think?”

Irina’s mother gave the project her blessing. This could be the first step toward the whole of Saint Petersburg society knowing her daughter; also, it was an honest job, looking after people’s daughters.

Irina went to the Novikovs’ house convinced that this was the first step toward the brilliant future that her mother had promised her.

The countess did not appear happy when she saw her, and from the very first moment treated her like a maid. She did not only have to look after the children, she had to take care of their clothes, wash and iron their dresses, bathe them and dress their hair. Of course she would take them out on their visits, but while they played in the houses where they had been invited, Irina would have to stay below stairs. And below stairs they thought she was putting on airs and tried their best to make her feel uncomfortable.

Irina was not ready to be treated like a servant, and far less to be treated like a plaything by Count Novikov.

When they first met, Irina was frightened. Yes, she was frightened by what she saw in that man’s eyes.

One afternoon, when Countess Novikov had gone out visiting, Irina was surprised at the count’s unexpected return to the house. He rang for her and she came to him all flustered, her hands sweating from fear.

Novikov took her to his bedroom and ordered her to undress. She resisted, but could do nothing. He seemed to be beside himself, he tore off her clothes violently and then he raped her. It was the first time, but being raped by Count Novikov became customary.

Two months later the young girl realized that her body was changing. She no longer bled every twenty-eight days, and she felt her breasts swelling and was sick every morning. When she told the count he hit her.

“You wretch! Don’t you know what to do to avoid a pregnancy? You’re an idiot!”

The next day he gave her an address that she was to go to the next Sunday, after church.

“You will ask permission from my wife to go see your parents. But instead you will go here. They will know what to do with you there. Give the woman who looks after you these rubles. Ah, and don’t say anything to anyone.”

Irina did not dare imagine what would happen to her in that house where she was to go on Sunday. And even much later, her guts still hurt when she remembered the woman who opened the door and told her to lie down on the kitchen table. She had ordered her to take off her underwear, and when Irina had protested, the woman had given her a ringing slap across the face. Then she made her lie still and, without being able to resist, the woman tied Irina’s arms and legs to some hooks that were attached to the table. What happened next was the stuff of her worst nightmares. The woman pulled out the child that she was carrying inside her. She didn’t know if she should feel relieved for having gotten rid of the child of the man she so hated, or if she should call upon God for mercy for not having been able to resist being raped.

When the governess came back a few months later, Irina was able to go home. She was no longer the same. She forbade her mother even mentioning the possibility that one day she would marry an aristocrat.

“Never! Do you hear me? Never!”

“But what happened?”

She didn’t tell her mother that she had been raped, or that she had had an abortion. Nor did she tell her about the series of humiliations that had been heaped upon her during those endless months.

For all that her mother insisted on finding out how many dukes and counts she had met, Irina kept her silence. She could have replied that she had managed to get to know one count in particular very well, so well that at night she would wake up to the salty smell of his skin and the wine fumes in his mouth.

She had not seen the aristocratic friends of the Novikovs, not even at a distance. The maids, however well brought-up they might appear, did not mingle with the aristocrats. What did her mother know about counts and dukes? How could she have imagined that they would notice her? She almost gave thanks to God for not having met any more counts.

A little while later, her father found her another job, this time as a maid in the house of a widowed violinist whose son had just reached the age of one. His wife had died giving birth, and his in-laws had looked after the child, but now the child’s grandmother had died as well, and the violinist did not know what to do with his son.

“He’s a good man, and a great violinist, I trust him completely, we play together.”

Irina’s mother argued with her husband. It did not seem right to her that her daughter should go to work in the house of a widower, especially one who was Jewish. People could think all kinds of things and her reputation could be compromised. Irina did not care. She knew that she no longer had a reputation, and that she would never marry.

“I trust our daughter, she would never do anything to be ashamed of. Anyway, she doesn’t have to sleep in the house, she just has to look after the little one during the day.”

Yuri Vasiliev was a well-known violinist who had on several occasions played at the court. His talent made the people who heard him forget that he was Jewish. On the other hand, he had also opted to assimilate, and had changed his surname to make it sound more Russian, and to call less attention to himself.

Tall and thin, with chestnut brown hair and eyes, he had white hands, with long fingers that immediately drew Irina’s attention.

He was friendly and extremely well mannered from the very first moment.

“You don’t know how grateful I am for your help, I cannot work if I need to take care of my child. I don’t have any trouble at night because the porter, who is a good woman, can look after him, but during the day . . . My in-laws looked after my son when my wife died, but now that my mother-in-law is dead I don’t have anyone to leave him with. My parents live a long way away, near Moscow, and they are insisting that I leave the child with them. But I promised my wife that I would not leave the child and that I would look after him. Mikhail is a good boy, he won’t be too much trouble.”

Irina wondered if this man, too, would try to abuse her. But Yuri Vasiliev did not appear to be attracted by her beauty. Little by little they started to trust one another, but they always maintained a respectful distance.

One day, when Irina was cleaning the room where Yuri locked himself away to practice the violin, she found a sheaf of papers on the table, with one word underlined in red that drew her attention: revolution.

Irina told herself that she should not read the papers, but she could not contain her curiosity and became so deeply engrossed in them that she did not hear Yuri come in.

“My God, what are you doing!”

She was frightened and dropped the papers, which fell to the floor.

“I’m sorry . . . I . . . I’m sorry . . . I shouldn’t . . .” She didn’t know how to excuse herself and felt her face burning.

Yuri picked the papers up from the floor. He seemed as stunned as Irina was.

They stood in silence, not knowing what to say. He was worried and she was ashamed.

“These papers are not mine; they were given to me by a friend to look after,” Vasiliev explained.

Irina nodded, she couldn’t tell him that she thought he was lying, neither could she ask him to let her read these papers that said that all men were equal, that religion could not be used to discriminate among them, that the privileges of the nobles had to be abolished and Russia had to be governed by free men.

“I was just coming to pick them up and take them back . . . I was very careless to leave them on the table.”

“It’s my fault, I shouldn’t have read them, but . . . I’m sorry, I couldn’t help myself.”

“Do you remember what happened to Lot’s wife?”

She lowered her eyes in shame. Of course she knew that passage in the Bible, so she nodded.

“I hope that you will be discreet, my friend could have serious problems if anyone . . . well . . . if anyone were to read these papers. And I would be in trouble for having looked after them.”

“Don’t worry! I won’t say anything to anyone, I promise! And anyway . . .”

“Anyway what?”

“I . . . Well, I agree with what it says in those papers . . .”

“What do you know about these things?” Vasiliev asked with curiosity.

“Know? I know that I don’t know anything, but I would like us in Russia to be equal, for those of us who serve to be acknowledged as something more than zeroes . . . I would like for the aristocrats to stop doing whatever they want to the people. They have everything, and they let us have the crumbs that fall from their tables and expect us to be grateful for them. I know that there are people even more unfortunate than I am who have almost nothing.”

“At least you have parents who look after you and care for you,” he replied, “and as far as I know you have always had enough to eat. Musicians don’t earn much, but we can survive.”

“I’m not complaining, sir, I know it could be worse. But I imagine a world like the one described in those papers, a world where we could all be equal, where there would be justice. How is it possible not to wish for a world like that?”

 

Yuri Vasiliev seemed to grow calmer. He had never heard Irina’s father complain about the injustices suffered in Russia, but then again, who would dare complain? He didn’t know if the young woman spoke like this because of her father’s influence or because it was what she herself had thought up. In any case, Irina could be dangerous for him and his friends. He decided to keep an eye on her, and if he thought that she could betray him, then . . . He decided that he would have to reveal this danger to the rest of his comrades so they could decide what to do.

But soon he realized that not only could he trust Irina, but that she also wanted to do something more than read about revolution in secret. At first the two of them avoided any conversation that could lead to the question of the papers, but one day, to Yuri’s surprise, she addressed him directly.

“I am only a servant, but do you think I could meet your friend? Maybe I could be useful for him, I know that I’m not able to do anything much apart from clean and cook and play the piano, but I would do anything that would . . . well . . . that would change things.”

Yuri believed her. She was a young woman who was brimming over with sincerity, and his instincts told him to trust her.

“Your father told me that you play the piano well,” Yuri said.

“He taught me himself.”

“I will trust you. Would you like to come to a musical evening with me next weekend? You could play there.”

“I don’t understand . . .”

But soon she came to understand what those musical evenings were that Yuri attended in his free time. They took place in the house of a violin virtuoso, an older man named Fyodor Volkov.

Many of the Saint Petersburg musicians had taken Volkov’s classes and some kept on finding in him inspiration not only for music, but also for their political ideals. Volkov had traveled all over the world, and had played for the rich and powerful in London, Berlin, and Paris, and had even lived in Switzerland for a considerable time.

His closest friends knew that he had met Marx and Engels, and that he had even met Bakunin in Switzerland, even though he did not share his anarchist ideals. Volkov was a committed Marxist, who had been deeply moved when, in Hamburg at the end of 1867, he had had the privilege of obtaining the first volume of Das Kapital from Otto Meissner’s publishing house.

He, who was condemned to be nothing more than a Jew, had managed to become someone thanks to his talent as a musician: he was an extraordinary violinist, so great that for decades the tsar’s palace doors had opened for him and for his music.

Now he had retired from public performance, but he dedicated himself to teaching young musicians all that he knew. And in between eighth notes and grace notes and the key of G he looked into the eyes of his students to see if they burned with a passion for something more than music. Many of them also became his political disciples. Yuri Vasiliev was one of them.

Irina’s life changed the night she went to Fyodor Volkov’s house with Yuri Vasiliev. That same night her father suffered a stroke while she was listening to Volkov talking about equality.

She went home happy with the confidence that Vasiliev had shown in her, but also with the all-encompassing words of those men talking about the future.

From then on her life would never be the same. She knew that Yuri Vasiliev trusted her and so they became friends. Although he never asked her to come to another meeting, at least they felt free to talk about the future of Russia. Yuri Vasiliev also became their family’s only support.

The doctor explained to Irina and her mother that her father would never move his right leg or his right arm again, and that he had lost some of his vision. Irina took over the running of the household.

“Don’t worry, Mother, now you need to dedicate yourself to looking after Father, and I will work to make sure you lack nothing.”

And this is what she did. Decided on helping out her family, she spoke to Yuri.

“My father needs care and medicine. It’s not enough with what you pay me, so I need to work more.”

Yuri said nothing. He couldn’t pay her any more, neither could he afford to lose her, Mikhail was used to her by now. However, Irina had thought of everything.

“I will go and see Countess Ekaterina. My father taught her granddaughter Katia three times a week. He said that the girl had no talent at all, but that they paid well. I will ask her to let me take over from my father. I just need an hour two afternoons a week. Do you think that you could arrange it for the porter to look after Mikhail during that time? It would just be for an hour.”

Yuri felt relieved not to be losing Irina, although he was not sure if the countess would accept her as a replacement for her father.

“I will speak with the porter, I suppose I’ll have to pay her something . . .”

“I can’t ask you to take it out of my wages. I need everything that I can get,” she said sincerely.

“The porter is a good woman, she won’t charge me much and I would prefer to have you here with Mikhail, the boy has grown used to you by now.”

 

Konstantin and his grandmother met with Irina, and it immediately became clear that the young man was willing to heed Irina’s request; what’s more, he appreciated sincerity and courage, wherever they came from, and Irina had both virtues. He was also impressed by her dignity. Irina did not try to make them take pity on her, but rather asked for them to pass on her father’s work to her, convinced that she could fulfill his commitments.

When, at the end of a month, Countess Ekaterina asked her how the lessons with Katia were going, she replied frankly:

“Your granddaughter does not have a natural gift for music, which is all the more reason for her to take lessons.”

Soon Konstantin began to take an interest in Katia’s schoolroom.

He could not remain indifferent in the face of Irina’s beauty, a beauty that she seemed to hold in disdain, but more than anything else he was enraptured by her personality. He started to wait impatiently for the days when Irina would come to give lessons to his sister, and then he offered to drive her back to Yuri Vasiliev’s house, but she rejected his offer. She was afraid of men, especially aristocrats, and Konstantin, pleasant as he might have been, was a count.

Samuel met her in the Goldanskis’ house and fell in love with her. Of the three friends it was only Joshua who remained indifferent to her.

“If you could see how you look when Irina appears . . . She’s very pretty, yes, but she has such a hard look in her eyes . . . There is a hell hidden inside her. I don’t think she could make any man happy.”

Konstantin and Samuel both protested against Joshua’s judgment, but although they did not accept it, they, too, had on occasion been surprised by the hardness in Irina’s eyes.

 

Samuel found out about Fyodor Volkov via the librarian Sokolov, and knew that Yuri Vasiliev, Irina’s patron, sympathized with socialism.

Irina was aware that the two young men were fighting for the honor of accompanying her, of being close to her, but she preferred not to let herself be tempted by the attractions that either of them offered. Only one thing was important to her in her life: supporting her family. There was no place in her plans for love. It was not something she admitted even to herself, but the idea of any further intimate relations with a man disgusted her. Her first employer, Count Novikov, had traumatized her forever.

Isaac suffered when he saw the two young men competing for Irina’s attention.

“I don’t like it that you and Konstantin are fighting over a woman,” he said to his son, almost pleading with him.

“But Father, Irina is Katia’s piano teacher, we get on well with her and she’s become a good friend, don’t imagine things that aren’t there.”

“What I see is that she doesn’t care for either of you, I don’t know why you walk out with her, why you are working on her affections, when it is clear that she is not for you. Besides, she’s older.”

“Father, I’m twenty-three years old, I’m not a child.”

“And she’s nearly thirty.”

“For goodness’ sake, Father! Irina is only twenty-eight.”

“That’s what I said, she’s nearly thirty, and that’s a lot for a woman. Why hasn’t she gotten married? She’s very beautiful, she should have a husband, and children.”

“She works, Father, she works to keep her family. Do you think that a woman’s only duty is to get married?”

“Of course! What could be better for a woman than to be a wife and mother? Don’t you remember your mother? Have you ever met anyone better than her? I only wish that you meet someone like your mother!”

Samuel gave way to his father’s complaints. He knew Isaac wanted the best for him and that he suffered to think about his future, which was why he did not like Samuel spending time with Andrei, and Andrei’s desire for Russia to become a country like Germany or Britain.

“If Professor Goldanski were still alive, I’d ask him to talk to you and make you see some sense.”

“Father, there is no one apart from you who can have any influence on my mind, and I promise you that you have nothing to worry about. Irina does not mean anything to me or to Konstantin.”

But Isaac knew that his son was lying so as not to upset him.

Raisa Korlov, who could not avoid hearing the conversation that father and son were having, tried to cheer him up.

“Leave it alone, don’t worry about him. This will pass. Samuel is still very young, and what young man can resist falling in love? But he’s sensible, and he studies. And it’s a blessing that he’s got Andrei to help him. You see how many hours they spend shut away talking about plants. Andrei is a good man, and he’s helping Samuel as much as he can.”

“Yes, you’re right, at least Andrei is a good influence. I hope that he isn’t caught up by Irina’s beauty as well.”

Andrei was not interested in anything other than staying as close as possible to Sokolov the librarian, whom he saw as an example of a Russian capable of embodying the new man who would bypass all prejudices and would be able to share his ideals with other men, like him, whose only difference was having been born Jewish.

“There’s no need to run unnecessary risks,” Sokolov would insist at every one of their secret meetings, “it will not help anyone if you end up in an Okhrana prison cell.”

The number of students who had been arrested, tortured, and had disappeared at the hands of the fearsome secret police was not small. Some of Samuel and Konstantin’s friends had been victims of the tsar’s agents, and those who had survived had never gotten over being tortured. Some had survived because they belonged to powerful families, and had paid for their daring with exile. But the tsar was not willing to allow certain wealthy young men to dedicate their lives to plotting the overthrow of his regime, and had ordered that no exceptions were to be made and that no conspirator was to be given favorable treatment. He wanted parents to be aware of the price their sons would pay, and that they themselves would pay, for any hint of treason.

One night, Irina came to the Korlovs’ house unexpectedly. She had Mikhail by the hand, and although she was polite and courteous, Raisa Korlov could read something like fear in her eyes.

“Samuel is studying, I don’t know if he’ll be able to see you. You are . . .”

“Irina Kuznetsova. I’m sure he’ll see me, it’s urgent.”

“It must be when you’ve gone out into the street in this cold, and with such a small baby. Come into the kitchen, I’ll make you a cup of tea.”

“Please, I need to see Samuel!”

Although she was reluctant, Raisa allowed the two young people to see each other alone in the living room. She would have liked to have overheard the conversation, but she could only catch murmurs through the walls.

“You shouldn’t listen,” her sister Alina reproached her. “Young people have things they need to talk about, too . . .”

“At this time of night? It’s past eight . . . Decent women are at home at this time.”

“And what’s indecent about coming to see Samuel? What do you think they could do in the living room, with a baby there as well? Come on, sister, don’t be as mistrustful as Isaac is. He’s Samuel’s father, and he hasn’t even come out of his room to see what’s going on.”

“Isaac has a temperature, and he has to head to the north tomorrow morning to buy new furs. Maybe he’s asleep and doesn’t know that this woman is here.”

“You always stand up for Samuel in front of his father . . . ,” Alina reminded her sister.

“Yes, but I would never have imagined that she would turn up like this at our house. No, it’s not good for a young woman to follow a man home.”

“But she only wants to talk to him . . .”

“It’s already dark! What could be so urgent?”

Meanwhile, Irina explained her worries to Samuel in the living room.

“Yuri hasn’t come home for two days. He hasn’t sent any message. I fear the worst . . .”

“Have you been to see Fyodor Volkov?”

“No, I would only make him worried . . . ,” Irina said.

“And what can I do?”

“Maybe you could speak to Konstantin, he’s an aristocrat, he’s got very good connections, maybe you could find out if they’ve arrested Yuri. I cannot go to his house, the countess wouldn’t like it and she might fire me, but you are Konstantin’s best friend, and it would not be odd for you to go and speak to him.”

“At this time of night?”

“Please, Samuel, help me!”

“Of course, of course I will,” Samuel replied, unable to refuse anything to the woman he loved. “I’ll take you home, you stay there with Mikhail. Then I will go see Konstantin. I’m sure he’ll help us.”

Samuel didn’t know how much Irina knew about Yuri Vasiliev’s activities. Via Andrei and Sokolov the librarian he knew what the musician was doing: they blamed him for not seeing how to connect his defense of the least well-off in society with that of the Jews. Neither did Samuel know if there was anything more than an employer’s relationship between Yuri and Irina. Sometimes he was blinded by jealousy and imagined that a young man like Yuri could not remain indifferent to Irina’s beauty; also, she seemed to like the musician very much. But then he blamed himself for thinking this way, knowing that Irina worked only out of necessity.

Samuel grabbed his overcoat and asked Raisa to look after his father.

“He’s got a bit of a fever, although he’s asleep now. If he wakes up, give him a spoonful of this syrup, which will help his cough.”

“But where are you going at this time of night?” Raisa asked in alarm.

“I’m going to go with Irina, I’m worried about her going home alone. But I won’t be long, I’ve got an exam to prepare for and I need Andrei’s advice.”

“Andrei’s taking a while to get back . . . ,” Raisa Korlov said, impatiently.

“He’ll be in class, it’s exam time.”

Samuel took Irina home and then went quickly to Konstantin’s mansion. His friend was at home, that night he had not gone out to one of the parties he occasionally frequented. A servant led Samuel to Konstantin’s study, where he immediately explained Irina’s fears.

“If there’s been no sign of Yuri for two days, it’s because he’s been arrested.”

“And what can we do?” Samuel asked, worried.

“Tonight, nothing. We have to wait until tomorrow. I’ll see if there’s anyone I can send to ask at the police station about Yuri’s disappearance without arousing too much suspicion.”

“Couldn’t you do it?”

“Are you mad? I would only do it for you. If I turned up at the Okhrana asking about Yuri I would immediately become a suspect. Don’t worry, I’ll find a way to find out without being arrested. Do you think Irina knows anything about Yuri’s activities?”

“I don’t know . . . What do you think?”

“I don’t know either, but she’s a clever woman and she might have realized something.”

“Maybe we should go and see Fyodor Volkov . . .”

“Let’s wait until tomorrow, Samuel, I promise it’s the most sensible thing to do.”

 

There was no need. Yuri turned up early in the morning. He had been playing the violin at a soirée in the house of an important businessman when the police burst in, looking for the owner’s partner. They accused him of subversive activity, of trading gunpowder to the tsar’s enemies, and of conspiring to overthrow the monarchy. The Okhrana were not content with simply arresting the man, but took everyone at the soirée. At first Yuri had been scared to think that the police might have information about him as well, but he calmed down when he saw that the brutality with which they acted was designed primarily to frighten them. They were looking for one man in particular, and all the rest needed to be warned about what might happen to the enemies of the tsar.

For two days and nights he was locked in a cell and behaved as he supposed they expected him to behave: like a poor frightened musician who had no reason to know anything about the behavior of his employers. Yuri and the other musicians were set free with only a few bruises. The Okhrana did not seem to have been totally convinced that these musicians had nothing to do with gunpowder and the revolution. So they thought it not excessive to frighten them a bit, to let them feel their fists and how painful it was to have salt rubbed into open wounds, or to come away with a couple of broken bones as a souvenir. Yuri prayed that they wouldn’t break his hand, as they had the cellist’s.

They interrogated them at all hours of the day and night. The first question was always the same: Why were you at that businessman’s house? And then: Do you know his partner? What do you know about his political activities?

Yuri didn’t need to lie. He had been contracted the same as the rest of the musicians, he had never before seen the owner of the house, nor his partner, nor any of the guests. He didn’t know about their activities, and he didn’t care about them either. He said this until he could say it no longer, and each time he said it he was hit.

His hands were unharmed, but not his nose, which had been broken with a single blow. His eyes were very painful as well, and filled with blood.

When they told him he could leave he gave thanks to God. He, who had thrown God out of his life in the name of pure reason, found himself murmuring one of his childhood prayers.

Staggering, bruised, and hungry, he went home. The porter told him that Irina was at home with little Mikhail. As soon as she heard the key turn in the lock, Irina came running toward the door. She stood stock-still, trying to recognize Yuri in that bruised and beaten face.

“I’m alive, I’m alive . . . ,” he managed to say with tears in his eyes. Tears of joy on seeing his son, and this woman who was now such an important part of his life.

Irina heated water and bathed his wounds. She also laid out clean clothes in an almost vain attempt to recover the man he had been before he was arrested.

He told her what had happened without sparing any details. The blows, the humiliation, the fear of breaking down. A grimace of fear appeared on her own face.

“I went to Samuel to ask him for help. Konstantin was going to ask about you this morning . . .”

“Stop him! You have to tell them that I’m back home. Go, I’ll stay with Mikhail, I need to have my son in my arms.”

Irina ran to Konstantin’s mansion, afraid that she would run into Countess Ekaterina, but it was a risk she had to take. She was lucky, the countess had not yet arisen.

“It’s not Thursday today, are you here for the little countess’s lesson?” a maid asked, curious.

“No, no . . . I’ve brought a message from a friend of Konstantin’s.”

“Ah! Alright, I’ll tell the count . . .” The maid seemed reluctant.

Konstantin came down immediately, accompanied by Samuel and Joshua, whom he had also called to come see him. The three friends were even more worried than they had been to see Irina appear so suddenly.

“Yuri is back.”

They listened to Irina’s tale and were shocked to hear about the tortures that the violinist had suffered.

“This morning I sent a message to a friend of my father’s who is in the tsar’s confidence. I was going to meet with him and ask him to find Yuri. I will go anyway, and think of some convincing excuse for having asked to meet him. I don’t know, some advice about a business proposal . . . You, Irina, go back to Yuri’s house, and you, Samuel, tell your friends that he has reappeared, you don’t want them to do anything foolish. Joshua, you should go home, your grandfather will be preparing for the Sabbath.”

“I think that on this occasion I will join in my grandfather’s prayers wholeheartedly. What a shock! It’s a miracle Yuri got out alive,” Joshua said.

Yuri’s arrest marked Samuel deeply. Suddenly he realized that the clandestine meetings, the pamphlets, the leaflets, the long conversations about how to build a new future, all held dangers that he had not been able to assess. And not because he didn’t know about the arrests that took place all the time, or the ferocious repression carried out by the Okhrana against all those who dared even question the tsar.

 

Isaac carried on traveling to Paris every year, and every year he stayed longer. He felt that Samuel did not need him, that his son loved him, yes, but that he was building his own life, a life with very little space for his father.

Samuel spent more time in Andrei’s room than with his father. He seemed always to be keen to talk to Andrei and to ask him to help with his studies. He never said whom he was going out with, or where he was going, although every now and then he mentioned Konstantin or Joshua. It was a relief to Isaac that Samuel was still friends with those two young men, as he thought that his son at least had a couple of true friends.

He didn’t dare admit it, not even to himself, but Andrei made him feel uneasy. When Samuel and he had arrived at Raisa Korlov’s house, Andrei was little more than a shadow they ran into every now and then. He couldn’t remember the moment when Andrei had become a presence in their lives, or rather, in Samuel’s life, but ever since then, he had felt that he was losing his son.

“Why don’t you like Andrei?” Alina asked him one day.

Isaac did not know what to say. The woman had noticed how his lips tightened when the young man came into the dining room to have supper with them. Or how clearly it pained him to have Samuel hanging on the young man’s every word.

Alina was the more intelligent and intuitive of the two Korlov widows, whereas Raisa was more practical, and incapable of reading her neighbors’ thoughts.

Both women had been kind and generous to him and to Samuel, but Isaac felt a secret connection with Alina, with whom he had a certain degree of intimacy. A short time later, Alina died.

Her death hit him harder than he might have imagined. Over the last two months of her life, during which the old woman had not left her bed, Isaac had spent whatever time he could with her. Alina scarcely had strength to speak, but from time to time she opened her eyes and smiled, and if she ever managed to feel a little better, she would try to cheer Isaac up and urge him to start a new life.

“When Samuel is a chemist, you should start thinking about yourself. What about Marie, who sews those fantastic dresses you bring back from Paris?”

“She’s just a good friend,” he said.

“A good friend . . . And who better to share your life with than a good friend?”

He agreed, Alina was right, he would have liked to spend the rest of his life with Marie, but would Samuel understand, or would he consider it a betrayal of his mother’s memory?

Marie and Samuel got on well together, they had done so from the first day. But Samuel did not see in her anything more than a good woman, she was like a distant aunt whom he would always be happy to see again.

Neither could Isaac imagine asking for Marie’s hand in marriage, although he could sense that she would say yes. She had not married and seemed to devote the best of herself to the dresses that she sewed for him. He thought that even Elijah would give his blessing.

“When I die,” Monsieur Elijah had once said, “you can take on my clientele and make fur overcoats as well as dresses.”

Yes, Alina was right, but he was not brave enough to face a new life far away from Samuel, even though his son scarcely had time for him anymore.

The day before she died, Alina woke up in an optimistic mood. She seemed better than on previous days, and asked to speak with all the members of the household individually, in private.

Samuel did not tell his father what Alina had said to him, but he came out of the sick woman’s room deeply moved, and from that day on tried to grow closer to his father, although their daily routine meant that father and son soon grew distant again.

Why didn’t Isaac like Andrei? He would not have known what to say to Alina, but with each passing day he felt a greater aversion to the botanist, for all that he tried to hide it in front of Raisa, and in front of his own son.

 

Eighteen ninety-seven was a key year in their lives. Isaac had come back from Paris with a pamphlet under his arm, which he immediately gave to his son to read.

“Read it carefully, it was published last year. It’s by a Hungarian journalist, named Theodor Herzl.”

“‘The Jewish State.’ What is this, Father? You, with a pamphlet?” Samuel smiled to see his father’s face.

“It’s not a pamphlet, read it. Herzl says that the Jews need a home, a place of our own. They’re going to hold a congress in Basel to talk about the topic, and gauge public reaction.”

“Right, and has Herzl thought about what the Turks will have to say about the matter? Remember, Father, that what once was Jewish land is now a part of the Turkish Empire. Come on, Father, don’t get carried away by what some visionary says in a pamphlet.”

“Theodor Herzl is not a visionary. He is a sensible man who has realized that it’s now time for the Jews to have their own homeland. The Dreyfus affair has really had an impact on him.”

“Really? He hadn’t realized before that it’s a punishment to be born a Jew? He doesn’t know what’s going on in Russia? He hasn’t heard of the massacre of the Jews here, in our country? Yes, they accused Dreyfus of treason and they condemned him for being a Jew, and is that odd? It happens here every day.”

“Herzl is a Jew, and he knows anti-Semitism very well. There is a new wave of hate unleashed against the Jews in Europe. He is worried about how big this could grow: If the Dreyfus case was possible in France, it means that anything could happen . . .”

“Anything? What else could happen? We Jews have been persecuted for centuries, marked like cattle so as not to get confused with them, they force us to live outside of their cities and villages . . . Yes, every now and then they let some of us live like human beings . . . Of course, beforehand, so as not to forget where we’re coming from, they make us pay a tribute in blood. Do I need to remind you what happened to my mother, and my brother, and my sister, and my grandmother?”

“Exactly, and that’s why, my son, that’s why we now need a real homeland, and there’s no homeland possible except the land of our ancestors. There’s no better place: Palestine. For centuries the Jews have been saying, ‘Next year in Jerusalem.’ Well, now’s the time to go back.”

“Go back? You want to go to Palestine? For God’s sake, Father! What would you do there? How would you live? You can’t speak Turkish, or Arabic.”

“We should have gone when your mother was killed. Some people did . . .”

“Yes, yes, I’ve heard of the Hovevei Zion, the Lovers of Zion, and of some other group, the Bilu.”

“The Bilu were brave and went out there to work on the land. They lived as farmers. It was not easy for them, but they’re not alone, there have always been Jews in Palestine, in Jerusalem and Hebron, as well as other cities . . .”

“Yes, but we stayed and it is not little, what we have achieved, and what we could still achieve . . .”

“What will we achieve?” Isaac asked his son.

“We are Russians, this is our country, however badly it treats many of us. It’s here that we need to fight to have a home, and nowhere else. We will change Russia. I have heard my grandfather and you talking about a classless world ever since I was a child, a world where everyone will be equal, where who you are born does not matter, and what you grow into does. You taught me that the only thing worth fighting for was equality, for no man to be more than any other man.”

“Marx was right, but this is Russia. Do you know what would happen if someone heard you talking like that? They would arrest you, they would accuse you of being a revolutionary, and they would kill you.”

“There are lots of people in Russia who think like I do, like you used to think. There are lots of us who want to change the country, because it is our country, the country we want to have. If you are thinking of going to Palestine . . . I’m sorry, but I cannot go with you.”

“We could be Jews there without being ashamed of ourselves, without having to apologize for being Jews. The Turks are tolerant of the Jews.”

“In the future I want to build there will be no Jews, there will be no Christians, there will only be free men.”

“You are a Jew and you will always be a Jew! You cannot renounce it.”

“You know what, Father? I think you don’t understand me, I am only a man, and I hate anything that separates us from other men.”

“I hope that you will be careful, Marx’s ideas are forbidden.”

“Everything is forbidden in Russia, but don’t worry, I am careful.”

“Samuel . . .”

“Don’t say anything, Father, don’t say anything, let it be. And don’t ask me, you know that my answers will hurt you.”

 

The winter of 1897 was extremely cold. Samuel found out via Sokolov the librarian that there were other groups of Jews who had founded the Bund, the General Union of Jewish Workers of Lithuania, Poland, and Russia, and that they had, just like Samuel’s group, an objective: to form part of the larger mass of workers and fight to change the country as Jews, without needing to assimilate.

“Everyone will be able to be what they are, without forgetting what we have in common, that we are men, unique human beings, with rights, and that we should work alongside other socialists toward changing Russia,” Sokolov explained to his followers.

Samuel had graduated, along with Konstantin and Joshua, and had started work.

All three of them had received excellent qualifications. Konstantin had found well-paid work in the Chancellery and dreamed of becoming a diplomat, as his father had been. Joshua was to be a botanist, and Samuel, thanks to the good efforts of Countess Ekaterina, had obtained a job as assistant to Oleg Bogdanov, an eminent chemist and pharmacist.

One night Andrei asked Samuel to come the next day to a meeting where Sokolov the librarian and the violin virtuoso Fyodor Volkov were both to appear.

“Can you imagine it, both great men together? Sokolov is more practical, Volkov is more theoretical, but both of them want the same thing: to end this oppressive regime once and for all.”

“I can’t come tomorrow, I need to go with Bogdanov to a hospital. They are going to test a substance he has been working on for a long time to help with asepsis during surgery. They are going to try it on a civil servant who has a serious pain in his gut.”

“Come on, Samuel, it’s a very important meeting and it will last most of the night. You could leave the hospital at any time, even if only for a couple of hours. The civil servant will live or die whether or not you are there. Don’t imagine that you are vital there.”

“I have to be there, Professor Bogdanov has ordered me to attend. I can’t refuse or leave before he does.”

Anger suffused Andrei’s eyes, but his words remained calm.

“Of course this man’s life is important, but it is far more important that we save the lives of thousands, of millions who live under the boot of the tsar. That is our chief aim, our mission. We cannot fail these millions. One man’s life against the lives of millions.”

“What are you saying?” Samuel said in shock.

“Come on, don’t be a coward! This civil servant’s life is certainly important, but the lives of millions of wretches who this winter, like so many other winters, will die of cold, are they less important? Of course this liquid that Bogdanov’s going to try out will be a success, there’s nothing for you to blame yourself for.”

“I don’t understand you, Andrei. You know how much I had to study to get my degree and how lucky I am to have a job. I can’t not do what is expected of me.”

But Andrei would not allow his arm to be twisted.

“I will see you at Fyodor Volkov’s house. He’s not in the best of health, and out of consideration for that Dmitri Sokolov thinks it would be best for us to meet there. It is important that you Jews make it clear what your role in the revolution will be.”

“I thought that our group was more than just a few Jews, you yourself are an example that we want what the rest of the socialists do. Excuse me, and tell me later what you have decided.”

“You have responsibilities, Samuel, you can’t leave us in the lurch.”

“I’m not going to leave anyone in the lurch, all I’m going to do is my duty, and tomorrow my duty is to go with Oleg Bogdanov.”

It was the first time they had argued. Samuel had never shown the slightest hint of disagreement with Andrei since he had known him as a child. Up to that point, the botanist had had a greater influence on Samuel than his own father. And he did not like it, that this person who had once been no more than a pupil now treated him as an equal.

 

It was cold in Fyodor Volkov’s house, in spite of the wood that crackled in the fireplace, toward which everyone stretched out their hands.

Some of the people who defended the idea of a revolution with the greatest fervor were gathered there that night. Ten men and three women arguing about the future of Russia with great passion.

The librarian Sokolov and Professor Volkov himself both asked repeatedly about Samuel, worried because Andrei could not confirm that he would be coming.

“It is important that he be here, the time to act has come.”

But they could not agree what form this action might take. Some of Volkov’s supporters seemed to side with other groups that called for violence, but Sokolov the librarian was opposed to this.

“We must not make the mistake of allowing blood to run in the streets, the people will never forgive us. They will fear us instead. No, that is not the way.”

Professor Volkov seemed to hesitate; perhaps, he said, the time had come to do something more.

They decided to meet again on the last night of the year. Each group would present its own plan of action, they would discuss it and then decide, although Sokolov the librarian made it very clear that he would not take part in any act of violence.

“We Jews have suffered too much violence for us now to take part in the same. The peasants and workers will not follow people who are incapable of arguing their case. The important thing is to convince rather than to annihilate the enemy, because if we did that then we would be as bad as they are. It is only those who do not trust their beliefs who resort to violence.”

 

Later Yuri Vasiliev told Irina about the meeting, saying that Sokolov had not stopped thinking like a Jew.

“But you don’t want to hurt anyone!” she said, worried that Yuri might be on the side of those who proposed violent action.

“I don’t think it will be necessary, at least not now, but I also don’t think it should be rejected out of hand. But Sokolov the librarian thinks it is unbearable to imagine himself involved in anything that might lead to blood being shed. He thinks that it is socialism that brings him together with the other men, but he still thinks and speaks like a Jew. Ah, Irina my dear, you don’t know what I am talking about because you are not a Jew.”

“But you . . .”

“It was long ago that I rejected the idea of being anything more than what I am, a man who works with his hands scratching notes out of a violin. A man who only wants to live in peace with other men, whose only desire is to erase differences between us. Being Jews makes us different, and while Sokolov the librarian thinks that it is possible to build a society without differences, but that still allows everyone to pray to whomever they want or do whatever they want in the privacy of their own home, I would prefer to abolish any speck of difference forever. I want to get rid of the very idea of a God who makes men fight each other because of the different ways they have of approaching him, because of the rituals they adopt. Sokolov wants a country without an official religion, I want a country where all religions are forbidden.”

“Then you will fail. The peasants will not abandon God, he’s all they have, the only thing that keeps them standing upright.”

“You’re right, Irina, and that’s exactly what we need to fight against. Religion is nothing more than superstition. Free men will be educated men, whether they are peasants or craftsmen, and they will cut the old Biblical rituals out of their lives. They will learn to think and to honor reason.”

“But . . . I . . . I’m sorry, I don’t think you can stop men from believing in God. Also, well, I think it’s terrible, what you said about forbidding God.”

“I didn’t say anything about forbidding God, but about forbidding religion, but it’s the same thing. You know something, Irina? I think you will never be a good revolutionary. Your heart is too soft, and you privilege it above rationality.”

They sat in silence for a few moments. Irina was worried that by contradicting him she had forfeited the confidence he had placed in her. Sometimes she asked herself why he had never invited her to any other meetings like the one she had attended at Professor Volkov’s house, but she did not dare ask him about this. Yuri was the first to break the silence, which was starting to weigh on them.

“If I asked you to marry me, how would we do it? I am a Jew and we would have to get married according to my religion. But the rabbi would ask you to give up your own beliefs. Even so, it would take months, maybe years, for you to be accepted by the Jews. You are Orthodox, do you think that the priest would give you his blessing? He would be furious at the very idea that you could marry a Jew. He would ask me to convert. So we could not get married, and the only option left for us would be for you to become my lover. But I don’t think that the decision to spend the rest of our lives together depends on a rabbi or a priest, it depends on you and me, but they will not let us make this decision. One day, it will be enough for the simple desire to exist for a man and a woman to get married.”

Irina was blushing. She felt her temples throbbing and her palms sweating. She had shrunk away instinctively from Yuri. He realized this and could not stop himself from smiling.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to ask you to become my lover, it was just an example.”

“That’s what I thought,” she said, trying to make sure that Yuri did not notice how uncomfortable she was.

“Although if I weren’t a Jew and if you weren’t Orthodox, then perhaps I would ask for your hand. Mikhail loves you like a son, you’re the only mother he’s ever known, and I’m afraid that you’ll decide to leave us one day.”

She said nothing. The conversation upset her, and had she the strength she would have left the room right away.

“I’m going to be daring, and ask you a great favor: If something happens to me, will you promise to take care of Mikhail? I don’t have very much, but all I have is here, in this little strongbox. I’ll give you a key so you can open it just in case . . .”

Irina did not let him continue. She felt stunned by everything Yuri was telling her.

“I understand that it is a great sacrifice I’m asking of you, but you are my only real friend, the only person I can trust. I know what you are like and I will be calm only if I know that Mikhail is with you. I know I don’t have the right to ask you to make this sacrifice for us, but . . .”

“Enough, Yuri! That’s enough!”

“Tell me you’ll look after Mikhail . . .” Yuri was begging her.

“Nothing is going to happen, you are his father and you are the person he needs now.”

“But if something does happen to me one day . . .”

“I promise you that I will look after Mikhail, I love him, too.”

Yuri seemed happy with the promise that he had dragged out of Irina.

 

As the days went by, the disciples of Sokolov the librarian and of Volkov the music teacher spent their free time writing down what the actions of the future should be. Andrei took it upon himself to collect their suggestions, and even told Samuel that he should write something down.

“I don’t have the time, and I’m also not sure that I should do it,” Samuel replied.

“But at least you’ll come to the New Year’s Eve meeting. We’ll have some vodka and we’ll talk. We need to take a vote on what is to be done.”

“I don’t think I’ll be able to come, I’ve already said I’ll go to the party that Konstantin and Countess Ekaterina are giving.”

“So, you’d prefer to spend time with your rich friends rather than with us. I’m disappointed, Samuel, what’s happening to you? You’re changing.”

In the end, Samuel agreed to make an appearance at Professor Volkov’s party.

On the thirty-first of December, there wasn’t an inch of Saint Petersburg not covered with snow. It had started to snow early in the morning, and the snowfall had continued until the city began to fall into shadow.

Samuel was nervous. He hadn’t slept well and he had a headache. At midday, Joshua had come to visit him, to the delight of the widow Korlov.

Raisa had offered him a mug of broth and a slice of almond tart, both of which Joshua had accepted immediately.

“What’s all this about not coming to Konstantin’s house this evening? Our friend has arranged a fancy-dress ball to bid farewell to the old year. My mother has spent several days sewing me a Harlequin costume, although given how cold it is it would make more sense for me to ask your father for one of his furs and go dressed as a bear.”

“I will go, but not for long.”

“And what’s so important that you have to do it tonight? A little rendezvous?”

“No, it’s nothing as exciting as a party or a romantic meeting. Don’t ask me, Joshua, it’s better you don’t know.”

“I can’t believe your socialist friends have called a meeting for tonight!”

In reply, Samuel gave free rein to the ill feeling that was weighing down on him and making his stomach turn.

“My friends, as you call them, are concerned about the future of Russia. Konstantin and you talk a lot about it, but what do you do to change anything? Nothing, you don’t do anything. You talk and talk . . . Konstantin is an aristocrat and you are the grandson of a rabbi, so that’s an excuse for you both to sit on the fence. Are you going to get your hands dirty? No, of course not, and people are going to carry on dying of hunger, and Russia will remain sunk in misery, and you will keep on eating your fine meals and drinking champagne, and the servants will bow to you as you walk past.”

 

Joshua was hurt by Samuel’s words, as he had never imagined that his friend felt anything akin to resentment.

“What do you have to blame Konstantin for? That he’s an aristocrat? That he’s rich? He didn’t choose where he was born. What do you want him to do? Plant a bomb in his own garden? He has duties, sacred duties, he has to protect his grandmother and his sister. And what should I do? Do you want me to go to the synagogue and shout out that I don’t believe in God? If I did that, it would be a lie. Yes, sometimes the weight of my religion pushes me down, but I am not certain that a world without God would be better than this one.”

“What kind of a person are you?” Samuel asked angrily.

“And what kind of a socialist are you?”

“I don’t live in a palace, and I’m not giving a fancy-dress party, and I’m not standing in a corner sipping a glass of champagne and theorizing about how marvelous a new Russia would be.”

“How can you make fun of our friend like that? You’re talking about him as if he were frivolous, without any moral sense. Konstantin is the best among us, he is generous, he has solidarity with the poor, he always tries to help the weakest among us and uses his family circumstances to help people who need it; and you know that he has managed to save more than one person from the clutches of the Okhrana. How dare you judge him?” Joshua was upset and disappointed by Samuel’s words.

“What’s happening?” The widow Korlov had come into the room, worried by the young men’s tones of voice.

“Nothing . . . nothing . . . Please forgive us . . . Joshua was just leaving, isn’t that right?”

“Yes, that’s right. I don’t think it was a good idea to visit you, you’re in a bad mood; something’s upsetting you and it’s making you lash out against your friends. I won’t say anything to Konstantin, he wouldn’t understand any kind of accusation of disloyalty. I think you have forgotten everything the Goldanskis have done for you and for your father. Even if only for that, you should never have criticized him, not in the slightest. But I won’t say anything; I don’t want to hurt him.”

 

Samuel felt miserable, but did not know how to take a step back or how to stop his friend and ask his forgiveness. He was cross with himself and had felt the need to take that out on other people. He had argued with his father that morning, after he had found out that Samuel was not going to the Goldanskis’ party. And now he had offended Joshua and Konstantin, and was about to do the same to Raisa Korlov, who was looking at him with wide-open eyes, ready to explode into a long tirade.

“It’s none of my business, but I’m astonished at what I’ve just heard. What did you say to offend your friend so much, to make him leave like that? What could you possibly blame the Goldanski family for, when you and your father, not to mention me, owe them so much? The ungrateful will not enter the kingdom of heaven.”

Samuel said nothing. He turned around and headed for the room he still shared with his father, trying to find some refuge.

Isaac had gone out to find firewood for the widow Korlov, who was worried that she might not have enough to deal with the cold, which, she said, was seeping through the pores in her skin and making its way all the way down to her bones.

The night before, Andrei had given Samuel some papers with some of his comrades’ suggestions.

“Read them, you need to know what our friends are planning.”

Samuel looked for the papers that he had hidden among the pages of an old book on botany, a gift from Countess Ekaterina. He remembered the day that he had accepted the present with emotion, taking it from the hands of the countess under the gaze of Konstantin. The book had belonged to Professor Goldanski. How could he have made even the slightest criticism of Konstantin? Konstantin was his best friend, as generous as his grandfather had been, always willing to give without asking for anything in return, and Samuel had just insulted him as being a selfish, frivolous aristocrat. He felt ashamed of himself. He hoped that Joshua would say nothing to Konstantin.

He felt so bad that for all that his father and Raisa insisted, he did not want to eat the stew of meat and potatoes and the apple pie that the widow Korlov had prepared.

“Are you going to see in the New Year with an empty stomach? That’s not good for you. I know what’s wrong, you’re worried about your argument with your friend Joshua. You’re young and there’s nothing that can’t be fixed, although I didn’t like hearing you tell Joshua that you had anything to say against the Goldanskis.”

“But what did you say?” his father asked.

“Don’t worry, Father, I argued with Joshua about nothing.”

“But what did you say about the Goldanskis? All we have here is due to them, we owe them more than our gratitude.”

“I know, Father, I know . . . Don’t worry.”

To Samuel’s relief, the conversation was interrupted by Andrei’s arrival. He came into the dining room shivering with cold.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here earlier, but the snow makes it impossible to take more than a couple of steps at a time.”

“Are you hungry? I hope that you will at least have a bit of my stew. Samuel hasn’t even tasted it,” the widow complained.

“I’m starving, and can’t resist the smell of your stew. I can’t think of a better way to see the year out after a hard day’s work. You were lucky,” he said to Samuel, “they gave you the day off today.”

“I’ve been working all week,” Samuel said to justify himself.

When Andrei had finished giving a good account of himself to the stew, he made a sign for Samuel to accompany him to his room. Once they were there and the door was shut, he looked worriedly at Samuel.

“What’s wrong with you? You’re nervous, and it’s stupid not to eat anything. I told Sokolov the librarian that you would be there tonight, that we could count on you.”

“I’ve said already that I’m coming. And now, forgive me, but I need to go to my father, he wants us to play a game of chess,” Samuel said, as an excuse to get out of Andrei’s room.

It was past ten o’clock when Samuel said goodbye to his father. Andrei had left a little earlier, without even saying goodbye, which gave rise to a bitter comment from Raisa.

“The least he could do is wish us a good night, he didn’t even thank me for the food,” the woman complained.

“Son, you should go to the Goldanskis’ house, there’s still time.”

“I’ve told you that I’ve got another appointment, but I will pass by to wish them a Happy New Year.”

“I wouldn’t like to disappoint the countess . . . I’m not well, but you should go, we owe them a great deal.”

“Please, Father, don’t insist so much, I’ve already said that I’ll go! I won’t be able to stay long, but I will definitely go.”

“Son, I’m worried by how bitter you seem tonight . . . I . . . I don’t know . . . Perhaps if there was something you wanted to tell me . . .”

“Nothing, there’s nothing out of the ordinary going on. Don’t wait up, I’ll be late.”

“I’ll talk to Raisa until the logs burn out.”

Samuel was about to leave when he turned back and hugged his father. Isaac responded to the embrace, but there was a shadow of confusion on his face.

“Father, you know how much I love you, don’t you?”

“How could I not! We only have each other, that’s how it’s been since . . .”

“Since my mother and my brother and sister were murdered . . . Yes, we have never been apart since then. You have been the best father.”

Samuel’s words made Isaac hold his son even tighter. He could sense that something was going to happen, and his hug was not only joyous but also worried.

Samuel left the house after giving Raisa a kiss on the cheek. For her, Samuel was still the same little child who had come to her house so many years before.

 

It was cold. Too cold, he thought. He didn’t want to go anywhere. He would happily have stayed the entire evening with Raisa and Isaac. His father was right, he was annoyed, angry with himself without knowing why. He didn’t like the imperious tone of voice that Andrei used with him. And although he didn’t like to admit it, he was tired of these endless meetings with the librarian Sokolov, where they did nothing more than talk and talk about a future that seemed to him to be a utopia.

Maybe he was an egoist, and that was why at that moment his principal desire was to carry out properly the work that Oleg Bogdanov had given him to do. He was lucky to have been accepted as one of Bogdanov’s assistants, and he did not want to waste the chance to learn and to become someone. Because Samuel had decided that if he became a great chemist, then Saint Petersburg would accept him. The city was aloof to all those people who were nobodies, and to be somebody meant to be recognized for what one did, at least if one were not an aristocrat, or a member of one of the richer families.

He had just about reached the Goldanskis’ house when Irina came out of the shadows. She was wearing a knitted hat that covered her hair, and had a scarf wrapped around her head, but he could see the fear in her eyes.

“Samuel . . . ,” she murmured.

“What are you doing here? Why aren’t you at home with your family?”

“Yuri asked me to take care of Mikhail because he . . . well, he had something important to do tonight. We arranged that I would take the boy to my house, and that he would come to pick him up tomorrow, but something happened . . .”

Irina’s voice quavered. Samuel felt worried.

“What has happened? Tell me . . .”

“I went to pick up Mikhail at the time we agreed. Yuri wanted to have supper with his son, so we agreed that I would not leave until after eight o’clock. I don’t know, but I think something was worrying him . . . Mikhail and I left and we were already on the way to my house when I realized that I had forgotten to pick up a change of clothes for the child, not even a nightshirt. We went back and when we got there we saw a great hubbub at the door. I . . . well, I decided to wait before going in, and . . . It was horrible. . . Some men were taking Yuri, they were pushing him and shouting . . . Mikhail started to cry and call for his father . . . I had to cover his mouth . . . Yuri saw us but didn’t make a single sign, as if he didn’t recognize us . . . I waited for them to go . . . I didn’t know what to do, I didn’t dare go into the house . . . Mikhail is with my mother, I’ve told her what happened and she’s worried . . . I think Yuri’s been taken by the Okhrana.”

“My God!” Samuel exclaimed in fright.

“I didn’t dare bother Konstantin, but because I knew that you were invited to the party tonight I thought I’d wait for you to come along.”

Samuel said nothing. He didn’t know what to say. He felt even more scared than Irina, because he knew that if the police had come for Yuri then that meant they were on the trail of Professor Fyodor Volkov’s group, and this group and Sokolov’s were meeting tonight. He thought of Andrei, who had some of the group members’ proposals. He shuddered to think that the Okhrana could arrest him. He looked at Irina, who was waiting for him to say something, but all he felt was fear. He didn’t know what to do or what to say.

“You should go back home and look after Mikhail.”

“No! No! We have to warn Yuri’s friends!”

“And what about Mikhail? Are you going to leave him with your mother? You can’t give her that responsibility.”

“No . . . of course not, but . . . My God, I don’t know what to do!”

“Neither do I, I don’t know how to help you, and . . . Well, I’m sorry, Irina, but maybe the Okhrana will . . .”

“Samuel, for God’s sake, trust me! I know that you’re like Yuri, you’re part of a group that wants to change Russia and that there is a meeting this evening.”

“He told you about it?”

“Yes, Yuri trusts me, I know what his ideas are, I even went to a meeting at Volkov’s house once . . . We have to do something!”

“You can’t take any risks, it’s enough that you have Yuri’s son in your house.”

“I don’t want to go home!” There was an edge of hysteria in Irina’s voice.

“I need to think . . . I have to go home.”

“No, you mustn’t go home; if they’ve found out about you, then the Okhrana will come for you, too.”

“But I haven’t done anything!” Samuel protested.

“And you think that Yuri has?”

They hadn’t taken more than a couple of paces when they heard the frenetic sound of horses’ hooves, and shouts breaking the silence of the night.

They tried to hide in the shadows, afraid that the police might arrest them. In spite of how late it was, all Saint Petersburg seemed to be on the alert.

“We’ll go into Konstantin’s house, it’s the only place where we’ll be safe.” Samuel seemed relieved to have made this decision.

She barely hesitated. Samuel was right, the only safe place was the Goldanskis’ house, although she didn’t know what she was going to say to the countess.

 

They didn’t try to enter through the main door. They went directly to the tradesmen’s entrance, the one the servants used, which communicated with the kitchens and the servants’ rooms. The door was half open and they took the opportunity to creep in and look for the main hallway. A pleasant smell of roasting came from the kitchen, and they could hear the servants coming and going.

They walked slowly to the salon.

Konstantin was flirting with a beautiful woman whom Samuel remembered having seen at other parties. Joshua was not out of the game either, and was taking a sip from a beautiful brunette’s glass of champagne.

They had not yet managed to contact their friends when they suddenly heard some brusque knocks at the main door and the frightened chatter of the servants.

One of them came into the salon in a fright, calling out, “The Okhrana! The Okhrana!”

Samuel went over to Konstantin and looked at him in anguish.

“They might be looking for us,” he whispered, and pointed at Irina, who was at his side.

His friend seemed disconcerted for a few seconds, then he told the orchestra to play a waltz and ordered the servant to show the fearsome agents into a sitting room.

“You have to hide . . . Samuel, do you remember where we used to hide when we were children?”

Samuel nodded, and ran off, dragging Irina by the hand. They went into the cellar and he opened a little door that led into the coal-bunker. As children they had hidden in there to escape from Katia, who was always asking them to play with her, or else simply to hide from the adults who were looking all over the house for them.

Samuel made Irina leap over a heap of coal and then they sat in silence beside each other.

Time seemed to stand still. Samuel imagined the policemen asking for identification from all the guests, and then going through the house trying to find the two of them.

The door flew open and they made out the figure of Konstantin, followed by a couple of grim-looking men.

“I told you, this is where we store the coal! Go ahead, have a look . . . It’ll be fun to see the state of your uniforms afterwards . . . Have a look . . .”

They heard the threatening voices of the men and Konstantin’s laughter and did not dare breathe until the door was shut again.

Konstantin went back to the ballroom with the policemen and his voice displayed genuine rage.

“I promise you that the prime minister will hear about your treating us in this way.”

“You may be Count Goldanski, but some friends of yours are taking part in dangerous activities, and they might have been among the guests this evening. Anyway, you wouldn’t be the first nobleman to play at being a revolutionary,” the man who seemed to be in charge said in a defiant tone.

“How dare you! I will not tolerate this lack of respect shown toward me or toward my family, when we have shown our loyalty to the tsar on the battlefield.”

Countess Ekaterina had retired to her rooms after dinner, but as soon as she found out about the agents of the Okhrana she came down to the ballroom. All the guests stood around in silence. The police had ordered them to stand with their backs against the wall. The orchestra was silent, nervous as to what might happen next.

The countess walked up to her grandson with great delicacy and tried to take control of the situation.

“Gentlemen, you still haven’t told us what has happened, or why you feel the need to come into our house at this hour of the night.”

The officer in charge stepped up to reply, but whether as a result of the countess’s cold gaze or her magnificent poise, he answered her with rather less anger than he in fact felt.

“A group of revolutionaries was to meet tonight to give free rein to their criminal instincts. They were conspiring to overthrow the tsar.”

“Revolutionaries? My dear sir, neither I nor my family has anything to do with any revolutionaries,” the countess said.

“We have eyes and ears everywhere, and we know that they planned to meet this evening to discuss a plan of action,” the man in charge said.

“And you are looking for them here, in my house?”

“We think that some of them might be among your guests.”

“How dare you accuse my guests! Everyone here is an honorable citizen, and as you can tell from their names, they are all loyal subjects of the tsar.”

“Yes, these ones are. Weren’t you expecting anyone else?”

“I will complain to the ministry. And I’ll make sure that the tsar himself is informed of this affront.”

“You may complain as much as you want. Our obligation is to ensure peace and order throughout the empire.” The eyes of the officer reflected the hatred he felt.

“Do you need to speak here, in front of everyone?” Konstantin asked.

“Do you have anything to say that you don’t want your guests to hear?” the policeman replied with scorn.

“I suppose it’s difficult for you to understand.”

The officer let loose a guffaw, which made those present even more frightened than they were already.

“As I have told you, we have eyes and ears everywhere. The conspirators will be mine tonight; in fact, they already are, as we’ve arrested almost all of them . . . And they will pay for their treason, not one will go free. Ah, be careful! Having friends who sympathize with non-aristocratic causes could lead you to share their fate. You are only half an aristocrat, and half a Jew.”

“Leave my house at once! The tsar will be informed of your behavior.” The countess was pale, but her voice still held its former authority.

“Yes, the tsar will be pleased to know that a half-Jewish family has friends who conspire against him. Russia is too generous with its enemies. They should all be crushed. The Jews are the cause of all our problems. They must be torn out of our land like you would pluck a weed.”

“I have told you to leave! You have already spoken to my grandson.”

They left. Konstantin and Joshua were surprised at this.

“And now, carry on dancing. Let’s have a glass of champagne . . . ,” Countess Ekaterina said to the guests.

No one really felt like carrying on, but neither would they have felt safe leaving the mansion, so most of the guests opted to stay.

The countess made a sign to Joshua and Konstantin to step aside with her, away from the gazes of the guests.

“Now you are going to tell me the truth,” the countess ordered them.

“Grandmother, I have no idea about what has happened, except . . . Samuel arrived with Irina a short while before the Okhrana did. They seemed scared. I am sorry to have put you all in danger, but I sent them to hide in the coal cellar.”

The countess said nothing, trying to understand her grandson’s statement.

“Bring them here, but try to make sure that no one sees them.”

Samuel and Irina appeared before the countess with their clothes covered in coal dust.

“Well? I need an explanation.” The countess’s eyes were filled with rage.

“I’m sorry, we shouldn’t have come here, we have no right to put you in danger.”

“I want to know the truth, Samuel. Are you a revolutionary?”

“No . . . I truly am not . . . Well, I think that Russia needs to change, but never by force.”

“Stop mincing your words and tell me the truth!” the countess cried.

“The truth, Madam, is that my intention was to accept Konstantin’s invitation and to spend a large part of the night here, in your house. But it is also the case that a group of friends were waiting for me to attend a meeting, where we were to talk about how to make Russia more like countries such as Germany or Britain, and how to help the populace escape its miserable situation. That is the truth. And I swear to you that I would never lift a finger against the tsar.”

“And what about you, Irina?”

“Me? I have not done anything, although I agree that things need to change and the people are suffering, Countess . . .”

“Right. So you too were going to participate in this meeting which Samuel was invited to attend after leaving my house.”

“No, I wasn’t invited. All I had to do was to take care of Mikhail, Yuri Vasiliev’s son, but Yuri has been arrested by the Okhrana and I didn’t know what to do, so I went looking for Samuel . . .”

The countess shut her eyes for a moment, trying to find an answer as to what she needed to do.

“My husband would have been extremely disappointed by your behavior,” she said, staring directly at Samuel.

“I’m sorry, and I’m deeply ashamed to have put you in this situation. We’ll go away now, and I hope one day you’ll be able to forgive me for what I have done.”

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to. We have treated you as if you were a member of our family, and you . . . you have dared to place us in this situation, to betray our trust, to put us in danger. You do not deserve our support. I feel sorry for your father, he is a good man, just as your grandfather was.”

Samuel lowered his head. He felt ashamed and it was hard for him to contain his tears.

“Grandmother, Samuel has done nothing wrong. Is it wrong to want a better future for Russia?”

“What he has done is betray us. He has betrayed us and has considered betraying the tsar. But Samuel, I will not betray your father, and because of the goodwill I bear him I will not deliver you to the Okhrana. You will leave my house, I do not want to see you ever again. And you, Konstantin, I forbid you to spend time with Samuel or with anyone who dares endanger the calm and the prestige of our house. And you, Irina, do not come back. We don’t need a piano teacher like you. In fact, Katia has been asking us for some time to release her from her lessons, which she finds boring.”

“Grandmother . . . Please allow me to help him. He is my best friend, I cannot let him get arrested by the Okhrana,” Konstantin begged.

“No, Konstantin, I will not allow you to be friends with a revolutionary. Say goodbye to each other, and let me say that I never imagined things would end like this.”

They left the room, and neither Konstantin nor Samuel was able to find the proper words to say goodbye.

“You are in danger, Samuel, you had better flee,” Joshua said, bringing them back to reality.

“Flee? No, I could never run away, I can’t leave my father and I don’t know where to go,” Samuel said, a cold chill running down his spine.

“If you don’t run then you will be arrested, you have no choice. And you, Irina, you are in trouble as well. The porters will have told the police that you work for Yuri and that you look after his son. They will go and look for Mikhail and take him to an orphanage,” Joshua said.

“But I can’t leave! I haven’t done anything! They can’t arrest me for looking after a child!”

“I don’t know how much you know about Yuri’s activities, but the Okhrana will make you tell them everything. Everything. They won’t take long to find you,” Joshua assured them.

“That’s enough, Joshua, don’t frighten them!” Konstantin interrupted. “My dear friends, I think you should follow Joshua’s advice. I will help you escape, but you must escape. Don’t fool yourselves, if the police arrested Yuri and then came to look for you in my house, it is because they know the names of everyone in the group. They will arrest you. It’s a simple decision: either you stay in Russia in one of the Okhrana’s prisons, or you leave the country to be free. And that means that you, Irina, will have to leave your mother, and you, Samuel, will have to leave your father. As for Mikhail, the poor child may well end up in an orphanage, but there may still be time to rescue him. I’m sure that the Okhrana is now doing everything in its power to arrest the other members of the group, and you, Irina, are only Yuri’s maid. Yes, there might still be time for you to go and look for Mikhail.”

They made a plan. Joshua would go with Irina to her house to pick up Mikhail, with Samuel saying that he would not leave without saying goodbye to his father; then they would meet up again at Konstantin’s stables, where he would provide them with a carriage to get them out of Saint Petersburg that very night.

“It’s a risk going to your house, you won’t get anywhere if they arrest you,” Joshua said to Samuel.

“I cannot leave without talking to my father.”

As he approached his house, Samuel saw nothing suspicious. He hurried up the stairs to the apartment. Suddenly he thought of Andrei. Had they arrested him too?

The house was silent and dark, but he realized immediately that something had happened. The table in the hall had been knocked over, beside it a vase had been smashed, and the watercolors had been torn from the wall and trampled and scratched.

He found Raisa Korlov in the salon with her eyes unfocused and red from tears. The woman was shivering and didn’t seem to notice his arrival.

All the furniture had been knocked over, the curtains had been torn down, the delicate frames that had contained family photographs had been destroyed by some perverse hand.

Samuel shut his eyes and vividly remembered that day, so many years ago, when he had found his house burned to the ground and all his possessions broken into fragments. On that day he had lost his innocence, and his faith. What kind of God would not have halted the murderous hand that had struck down his mother and brother and sister? And now, once again, he came face to face with the same destruction.

“And my father? Where’s my father?” he asked the widow, shaking her to bring her out of her stupor.

But Raisa seemed not to hear him. She did not even look at him.

The room where he lived with his father had also been torn to shreds. His clothes were spread all over the floor, as were the books his father had kept as if they were precious stones; hundreds of pages had been torn out and trampled on, and suddenly Samuel felt his heart begin to beat faster. He rummaged through his desk, which his father had bought for him so he could study. It was empty, they had even taken the pen that Professor Goldanski had bought for him when he was accepted into university.

“I am lost,” he thought. In one of the desk drawers he had kept all the papers connected with his clandestine activities, although he had been sure always to keep it locked.

How could he have been stupid enough to leave hidden proof that he was an enemy of the tsar in his own room?

And these papers incriminated him, even though they contained nothing more than reflections on the misery that the peasants suffered and the need for a government that would be more aware of the people’s needs. He went back to the living room and took Raisa Korlov’s hands between his.

“I’m sorry . . . I am truly sorry. I need to know what happened . . . Please!” he begged, waiting for some reaction from the woman.

But Raisa Korlov seemed to have let her mind loose to wander somewhere that was not her own house. Samuel realized that this friendly and vivacious person, so full of life when he had said goodbye to her only a few hours before, had turned into an old woman.

He went to look for a glass of water and some tranquilizing medicine, and made her take it while he stroked her hair and tried to calm her down. Then he took her to her room and helped her lie down on her disordered bed.

“Please, Raisa, I need you to tell me where my father is.”

Sitting next to her, rocking her in his arms, he waited patiently for the woman to react.

“They took him,” she murmured after a long pause.

“Where?”

“I don’t know . . . It was the Okhrana . . .”

“What were they looking for? Why did they take my father?”

“They were looking for you. Andrei told them that you had gone to the Goldanskis’ house, that you must be hiding there.”

“Andrei? He was here when the Okhrana came?”

She sank back into silence, and Samuel squeezed her hand, begging her to make one last effort to tell him what had happened.

“Andrei had come home. He asked for you. Your father had gone to bed and I was knitting, I wasn’t tired and so I hadn’t gone to bed. I asked him why he was home so early, I thought he was at a party with some friends. He said he was tired. I thought he looked strange . . . nervous, all he did was pace up and down the room, looking through the curtains every now and then. It was midnight and I was about to go to bed when we heard knocks on the door and someone telling us to open up at once. That’s what I did, I opened and . . . Some men came in, they pushed me . . . They said they were from the police and were looking for you . . . Your father had been woken up by the shouts and the knocking and came out of your room. He asked what was happening and they . . . they pushed him and . . . one of them punched him and asked for identification. Your father gave them his documents and asked what they were looking for, he said there must be some mistake. They didn’t listen to him, they started to turn the house upside down . . . Look, they even slashed the cushions . . .”

“And Andrei? What did he do?”

“He was silent, scared, but the men ignored him. I started to shout, to beg for them not to destroy my house, but they . . . they pushed me and threw me on the floor saying that if I carried on screaming then they would arrest me and take me away and that I would never see the light of day again. Your father tried to help me but they hit him as well . . . The agents went into your room and after a while one of them came out with some files in his hand. ‘Whose papers are these?’ he asked. ‘This is proof of the conspiracy.’ ‘Where is Samuel Zucker? He’s a terrorist . . . and we know how to deal with terrorists, with people who conspire against the tsar.’ Your father got up from the floor as best he could, and . . . well, he said something unexpected. ‘These papers are mine, they have nothing to do with my son. Samuel doesn’t care about politics, he’s a chemist. These papers are mine. Tell them, Andrei.’ Andrei was pale and did not know what to do, but he agreed all of a sudden: ‘Yes, they’re his papers.’ The policeman laughed and made us frightened and said that they would catch the son, but for the time being they’d make do with the father. Isaac kept on swearing that these papers and folders were his. ‘Andrei, you know me, you know how I think, tell these men, tell them my son is innocent, that the papers are mine, that I’m the only guilty person, tell them . . .’ One of the men hit him again and threw him to the ground, then another one kicked him in the head and I thought that he’d killed him. Andrei . . . Andrei didn’t do anything, he just looked on in silence . . . The men finished looking through the house, they even opened the sideboard and threw all the china on the floor . . . When they had destroyed everything they left, taking your father with them.”

“And Andrei?”

“They told him to go with them. Before they left, one of the policemen threatened me: ‘So, this is a terrorist’s house. We’ll come for you, old woman,’ and then he threw me on the ground and kicked me.”

Raisa Korlov seemed calmer, the drug was having its effect and her eyes were closing. Samuel calculated that she would sleep for a few hours before facing the devastation again. He watched her until she fell into a deep sleep, and said to himself that in this story, as the widow Korlov had told it to him, Andrei’s behavior was extremely odd.

He left Raisa’s room without knowing what steps to take next, aware of all that his father had sacrificed for him, and also aware that, without the protection that Konstantin had provided, he himself would now be in an Okhrana cell. It was only the countess and Konstantin who could help him find out what had happened to his father, and Countess Ekaterina had made it abundantly clear that she now had to think of her family.

He found some clean clothes and washed himself with the remains of a piece of soap. He had decided to go to the Okhrana headquarters. He would hand himself in and save his father. Isaac had wanted to sacrifice himself, to surrender his life in exchange for his son’s, but Samuel was not going to let him. He had to pay, and he could not leave his father a single second more in the hands of the tsar’s terrible police force. His father had shown him once more just how much he loved him, and Samuel thought himself a poor wretch because he had not been able to save his parent from so much pain.

He was just getting ready to leave when he heard some soft knocks on the door and a thin voice calling his name.

When he opened the door, he found Joshua, who was holding Irina’s hand. Irina was carrying Mikhail, Yuri’s son.

He led them through to the living room, and Joshua only needed a single glance to work out what had happened.

“Barbarians!” he exclaimed indignantly.

“They have taken my father. They found some papers that I had, records of our meetings. My father claimed that they were his so as to get me out of trouble. I’m going to turn myself in. I cannot allow him to pay for something he did not do.”

“But they will torture you! They’ll make you confess!” Irina’s voice was filled with fear.

“Confess? I’ll try not to incriminate anyone, but I assure you that I want to take responsibility, I will not allow my father to pay for my actions.”

“My house had been turned upside down. There was nothing left standing. My parents were terrified, although they had not taken the child . . . I asked them to leave Saint Petersburg today, my mother’s brother lives in the country,” Irina said.

“Did you have anything that could incriminate you?”

“I haven’t done anything, I only know what Yuri told me, and . . . Well, I think there must be a traitor in your group, someone has betrayed you . . .”

“I think it was Andrei,” Samuel replied.

“Andrei? It’s impossible! He’s Sokolov the librarian’s right-hand man!” Irina exclaimed.

“Andrei was here tonight when the Okhrana came, and Raisa Korlov told me that his behavior was very strange. Also . . . Well, it seemed that there was some collusion between the killers and Andrei. It was he who told them that they might be able to find me at Countess Ekaterina’s house.”

“Impossible . . . ,” Irina repeated.

“If you’ll allow me, Samuel, I’ll go with you to the Okhrana headquarters and we’ll ask about your father, we’ll see what the situation is and then we’ll decide what to do,” Joshua suggested.

“No, my friend, I don’t want to get you into trouble. You know that they will arrest me, and if you come with me they’ll suspect you, too. As for what I should do . . . Would you allow your father to suffer for your crimes? I am not a hero, and I know what might happen to me, but I have to accept responsibility for this. You can do something for me: Protect Irina, they’ll come for her sooner or later. I . . . I don’t know how long I’ll be able to withstand the torture . . . They say that in the end, with the Okhrana, everyone speaks . . .”

Little Mikhail listened to the grownups’ conversation in silence. He was no more than four years old, but he seemed to realize that this was a crucial moment in the lives of his father’s friends, and in his own life as well.

“Let me come with you . . . I’ll be of some use at least,” Joshua insisted.

“The only thing you’ll achieve is that they’ll arrest you too; we can’t leave Irina to face her fate alone . . . ,” Samuel insisted.

“We won’t. We’ll go to the Goldanskis’ house, I hope that the countess is still in her rooms, recovering after the party. Konstantin will help us. Irina has to leave Russia straight away.”

“What are you saying! I cannot leave, where would I go? I have to look after Mikhail . . . Yuri has been arrested, I don’t know what will happen to him . . .”3“You know very well what will happen. If you really care about Yuri, take his son, it’s the only thing you can do for him.” Joshua’s tone of voice brooked no argument.

“I want to go with my father.” Mikhail pulled at Irina’s skirt, and his eyes showed fear, intense fear, of losing his father.

“We’ll go to Konstantin’s house, it’s the best option,” Joshua said, cutting off the conversation.

Samuel went into Raisa Korlov’s room to say goodbye. It helped him a little to see her asleep, although it was an uneasy sleep, filled as it was by the nightmare of the Okhrana destroying her house. He couldn’t help feeling wretched for having brought so much pain upon a house where he had grown up, surrounded by his father’s love and the care and comfort of the Korlov widows: wise Alina, who had already died, and good Raisa, always ready to help him.

It would be a while before she woke up, and he thought that he would have liked to help her put the fragments of her house back together, but he knew that in a few hours he would be a prisoner in the hands of the police.

 

When they reached the stables at the Goldanskis’ house, Samuel and Irina hid, just as Joshua had told them to. It was to their advantage that the sun had not yet come up and that most of the servants were still fast asleep after having drunk abundantly to celebrate the New Year. Joshua went to the main entrance, where a servant told him that the family was asleep. But Joshua insisted they wake his friend. The party had finished before its planned end. No one felt particularly happy after the Okhrana had come in. Konstantin followed Joshua to the stables.

“They arrested my father,” Samuel said, explaining what had happened over the last few hours.

Konstantin listened in silence, looking remorseful, his eyes red from lack of sleep.

“I’ll wake my grandmother. She has a great deal of respect for your father, maybe her influence in the court will be helpful . . . But I don’t know, you know she’s very angry . . . She has forbidden me from seeing you again . . .”

“Your grandmother is right, I’ll only cause you problems. I must go, but I can’t stop thinking about my father being tortured by those savages, I should go straight away.”

However, Konstantin insisted on waking his grandmother, he made them wait a good long while until Countess Ekaterina came into the salon.

She was an old woman, and she appeared to be shrunken and exhausted by what had happened the night before.

“I had hoped not to see you again. My grandson has explained the situation. I should not do anything that might get my family into trouble, but I will do it for your father. I will go this morning to see a good friend of mine whose husband is well situated in the court hierarchy. His family is related to Konstantin Pobedonostsev, the tsar’s tutor. I cannot promise you anything. But you know that Konstantin Pobedonostsev has a great influence over Tsar Nicholas, and tells him to remain strong in the face of any attempts to change how Russia is governed. Revolutionaries are treated as the worst kind of criminal and it is difficult to obtain any kind of clemency for them. You do know, Samuel, that my husband was a fair man, but he was also intelligent, he knew the problems that Russia was facing, but he also knew what the limits were, so he did whatever he could to help, to improve the condition of those who needed assistance, to use whatever influence he had to make sure that things changed, and . . . Well, you know that he helped several people, but he never put his own family in danger, what purpose would it have served?”

Samuel did not reply. He lowered his head and bit his lip. He felt the countess’s intense gaze fixed upon him.

“They will arrest you, Samuel, and I don’t want them to arrest you in my house, so you had better leave. As for Irina, I agree with Joshua, you should escape as quickly as you can. Konstantin, give her whatever money she needs and get her a coach that will take her where she needs to go to be safe, but not one of ours, it would be too dangerous . . .”

“I’m not leaving!” Irina exclaimed while Mikhail grabbed her leg with all his might and burst into tears.

“In that case, my dear, we cannot do very much for you or for the child who is now your responsibility. If you stay, you will be arrested and tortured and . . . you will lose your life. If that is what you want, then so be it, but I have no other option than to ask you, also, to leave my house as soon as possible. You should not have come back.” Countess Ekaterina spoke with extreme calm.

“Grandmother, I’ll take care of it, now I’ll go see if we can save Isaac . . . And . . . Well, I remember that grandfather had some kind of friendship with the tsar’s uncle, Sergei Aleksandrovich Romanov; perhaps he has some influence in the court . . .”

“I cannot just go and present myself to Sergei Aleksandrovich.”

“I will go to the Okhrana’s headquarters. Countess, I beg you to tell your friends the truth, that I am the only guilty party here and that my father confessed to protect me. If you tell the truth it will be easier to save him.”

“He is in the Okhrana’s hands, so . . . No, it will not be easy to save him, or you,” the countess replied.

“Grandmother, I’m begging you, do whatever it takes!” Konstantin had taken the countess’s hand and raised it to his heart.

“Only God can perform miracles. Samuel, if you decide to go to the Okhrana headquarters I would not blame you. I don’t even want to imagine what your father is suffering now . . . As for you, Joshua, I think that you should not compromise your position if you don’t want to put your family in danger. Although it hurts me to say it, you are a Jew, and your grandfather is a well-known rabbi. I don’t need to remind you what it means to be a Jew in Russia . . . And the fact of your being a friend to Samuel and Irina . . . No, you must not put your family into any danger.”

“It is my duty. I cannot abandon my friends,” Joshua replied firmly.

“There is nothing you can do. I have given you some advice, just as I would if you were my grandson, but I cannot stop you, of course. Now I must insist that you leave my house, I don’t want to be an accomplice to this madness.”

 

Scarcely had the countess left the room when Mikhail began to cry again. The child begged Irina to take him to his father, but she didn’t even hear him.

Konstantin had decided to help his friend and disobey his grandmother, so he managed to convince Samuel to hide in the stables until midday in the hope that his grandmother would be able to do something for old Isaac.

“Meanwhile, we will organize Irina’s escape plan. I’m going to hire a coach. It will have to be one that doesn’t draw any attention to itself. One of my servants, one I can trust, will be the coachman.”

“But where will she go?” Joshua asked on Irina’s behalf. She herself was silent, gazing into the distance.

“To Sweden and from there to France or England. With a bit of money Irina will be able to make her own way,” Konstantin replied.

“But wouldn’t it be better to go to Odessa, and then to take a boat to England?”

“Sweden is closer. It’s the natural escape route,” Konstantin insisted.

“Have you forgotten about Mikhail?” Joshua asked.

“He will go with her in the hope that Yuri . . . Although it is Irina’s decision whether to take Mikhail with her or to look for some relative of Yuri’s, or maybe he will have to go into an institution . . .”

“No!” Irina shouted. “I will not abandon the child! Yuri made me swear that if anything happened to him I would look after Mikhail. But I am going to stay here; if something has to happen to me, even if I have to die, I would prefer it to be here.”

“Don’t insist on your date with death. No one can avoid it, but there’s no sense in provoking it either. And if you are going to take responsibility for Mikhail, that’s all the more reason for you to go. If you stay you will be arrested and the child will be taken to an orphanage, and we all know that Yuri will not come back . . .” Joshua’s words were like hammer blows to their spirits.

Time seemed to stand still. Konstantin brought them some food and drink and insisted that they keep quiet. Ivan, the chief groom, was an elderly man who professed great affection for Konstantin. Some time previously he had been Konstantin’s riding master, and after he had been left lame following a fall, Konstantin had insisted that his grandmother give Ivan a roof over his head and some way of earning a living. Ivan repaid this trust with absolute loyalty, and that morning he stopped anyone from coming into the stables.

A little before one o’clock, Konstantin came back.

“I’m sorry . . . I don’t have any good news. The husband of my grandmother’s friend was immoveable: it is foolhardy to try to help the tsar’s enemies. He told her there were to be more arrests in the next few days, and—news travels fast!—he already knew that the Okhrana had been in our house. He reminded her, in a friendly way, that my late grandfather was Jewish and that this was not the first time that Jews had participated in plots against the tsar, so he warned us to be careful. They said goodbye in not a very friendly way, it was obvious they felt uncomfortable. Ah, and they also said that the Okhrana is very well informed about all the revolutionary groups, and that in all these groups there is always someone who is the eyes and ears of the police . . . So you are sure to be arrested. They have taken your father in full knowledge that he is innocent, it is their way of starting to torture you. You must escape, leave with Irina and never come back.”

“No, I cannot do that. I will go and turn myself in at once. They will release my father, they have to, he’s innocent.”

Konstantin could not convince Samuel to flee, nor could he convince Joshua not to go with him.

They said goodbye and Konstantin assured his friends that he would arrange Irina’s escape, and would make sure that she left as soon as possible.

 

Samuel and Joshua walked in silence, both of them lost in their fearful thoughts. They were two blocks away from the Okhrana’s headquarters when they ran into Andrei. Samuel went up to him and grasped him violently by the arm.

“You are a traitor! Where is my father?” He shouted without caring about the astonished gazes of the passersby.

“Shut up, you fool, shut up! Do you want them to arrest us all? Let me go!” Andrei pushed Samuel away and Joshua had to get between them to stop them from coming to blows in the middle of the street.

“You’re both mad! You should try not to draw attention to yourself, and you, Andrei, need to explain yourself, and if you are a traitor . . . then sooner or later you’ll pay for it,” Joshua said.

“I was coming to look for you to explain. You need to escape now and . . . what’s done is done,” Andrei said.

Joshua kept a hold on his arm and made him start walking, while Samuel followed them, trying to contain his rage.

They walked until they reached a nearby park. No one was around, as it had started to snow again. They took shelter under a tree and, shivering with cold, Joshua made Andrei explain himself.

“So, you’re a traitor,” Joshua said brusquely.

Andrei lowered his head in shame and then looked at both Samuel and Joshua defiantly.

“I have never been a revolutionary. But the Okhrana thought I might be one, because I worked with Sokolov the librarian. They took me to their headquarters one day. You can imagine that I had given myself up for dead. They took me to a cell lined with evidence of human suffering, the bare stone walls were permeated with urine. There was nowhere I could sit, even. I was there for several hours, listening to the screams of other men begging for death because they could not bear even a second more of pain. I knew that I should prepare myself to be tortured, to be one more of those poor wretches, but I was scared, I knew that I would be unable to resist even a single one of their blows. Above all I was sorry that they were going to torture me without my even being a revolutionary. A few hours later they came and took me to a room where a man was waiting for me. He said that one of his university informants had heard that Sokolov was an important figure among the young, and he asked me if I participated in meetings where people conspired against the tsar. I told him the truth, that Sokolov’s group was largely made up of Jews, and that I was not Jewish. They said that I should gain Sokolov’s confidence, become a member of his group and inform on them. The man did not lay a hand on me, but his steely eyes were enough to frighten me. ‘Your father is a good blacksmith and your mother is a good woman. Do you think that they’d like to be here? They would confess, of course, they would confess to anything we asked them to confess to, desperate for my men to leave them alone. But what are a blacksmith and a woman worth? So once they confessed, why waste rubles keeping them in a prison cell? We would throw their corpses to the dogs. Do you want to prevent this from happening?’ I couldn’t resist. I swore that I would help them. The man listened to me without emotion and suddenly came so close to me that I could smell his breath. Then he said that I had chosen well, that I had made a good choice between life and death, both my own and those of my parents. I left the office, and was met by two men who took me to another room. They opened the door and there was my mother, standing up, crying, pressing herself against the wall. Three officers were laughing at her. They had made her get undressed and she was trying to hide her dry breasts with her arms. My father was there as well. His hands and his feet were tied . . . I don’t know if my mother saw me, but I couldn’t stand my father’s gaze, a gaze filled with shame. They took me back to the chief’s office. I cried, and begged for him to release my parents, I said I would do anything. They had not arrested anyone from the Sokolov group yet, but they wanted to teach them a lesson, to show that no one was safe. They knew about you, Samuel, I gave them your name. Last night, when they came to arrest you, you weren’t at home. They got extremely annoyed and when they searched the house they found your papers and your father swore that they were his, that you were innocent, that it was he who fought against the regime. They took both of us away. Your father begged me in a whisper to denounce him in order to free you, and,” here Andrei could not suppress a sob, “and he told me that he would only forgive me if you were saved. And he threatened me, he said he would come back from the dead for revenge if you were not absolved of any crime. They took him away and made me stay behind. They were furious that they hadn’t managed to arrest you. Then they went for Irina, but they didn’t find her either. They tortured your father with even more cruelty because he swore that you were the innocent one and that he was the only guilty party. Then I . . . Well, I could not undo all the damage that had been done, but I told them that although I had given them your name you did not have an important role in the organization, it was in fact your father who had planted the revolutionary ideas in your head . . . The policeman said to me: ‘The old Jew died swearing the same thing, but he was lying, and now you are as well. Do you want to end up like him?’”

Samuel’s howl of pain rang out against the branches that covered them. Joshua scarcely had time to control his friend, who had thrown himself against Andrei and was gripping his neck with both hands. There was only hatred in Samuel’s eyes, a profound hatred suffused with tears.

“Let him go! Let him go! Do you want to be like him? For God’s sake, let him go!” Joshua managed to get Samuel off Andrei’s neck; Andrei’s face was twisted and he could barely breathe. Then he hugged his friend tight and tried to comfort him as he dried his tears. “Your father gave his life to save yours. Don’t make his sacrifice meaningless . . . ,” Joshua tried to console him.

Andrei looked at them in fright, but continued his story.

“The policeman said that your father was mad, that he never stopped repeating the phrase, ‘Son, next year in Jerusalem,’ and that these were his last words before his head was plunged into the bucket of water for the last time and his heart gave way. Next year in Jerusalem. That means something to you Jews, doesn’t it?”

But Samuel did not reply, he didn’t know how to release the words, he did not even know if he was breathing. Joshua held him against his chest, stopping him from moving, trying to make him feel loved and protected.

“You are a wretched specimen, you should be dead,” Samuel said, shaking himself free of Joshua’s embrace.

“Yes, I know. I am a coward, a wretch. I betrayed you, not simply to stop my parents from suffering, but for myself: I was scared, the shouts of the victims rang round my brain.”

“So you work for the Okhrana,” Joshua said, affirming what was already evident.

“I belong to them.”

“Do you think you’re safe? No, you are not, and soon everyone will know that you’ve betrayed your friends, and everyone will turn his back on you, and what do you think they’ll do with you? You won’t be any use to them like that.” Joshua’s words made Andrei seem to shrink even more.

“I am alive today, and so are my parents. Tomorrow . . . who knows.”

“What happened to Sokolov the librarian and to Yuri . . . to all our friends?” Samuel asked, overcoming the repugnance he felt in order to address Andrei directly.

“They have all been arrested. They will never see daylight again. Some have not been able to bear the torture. Yuri’s heart broke . . .”

Samuel threw himself at Andrei’s neck once again, but this time Andrei dodged out of the way, and Joshua had time to hold down his friend.

“Don’t get your hands dirty,” Joshua said.

“You condemn me, but are you sure that you wouldn’t have done the same as me? Go, Samuel, leave Russia if you can and never return, if you stay then they will destroy you. Oh, and your friend Konstantin, even though he’s an aristocrat and rich, he should take care, they know he’s friends with you, and he’s half Jewish, who knows what might happen to him.” Andrei left them this warning as he walked away. “Now I’m going to see my parents, I need to know if they are alright.”

They let him go. Samuel cried for a long time, and Joshua did nothing to stop him. He knew that his friend needed to release the grief that was burning within him, and that all that was left was to wait until he felt strong enough to keep walking.

“We’ll go to Konstantin’s house. You will leave with Irina, that’s the best course of action,” Joshua said.

“I have to say goodbye to the widow Korlov, I need to pay for all the destruction that’s taken place in her house. My father kept his furs in the attic of the house where he rented a room. I’ll take what I can to sell.”

“I’ll give you what I can, although mine is a modest family, as you well know.”

“You have already given me a treasure, your friendship.”

Joshua insisted on accompanying them to the house. Raisa Korlov was still dozing, but Samuel woke her to tell her what had happened, and to warn her that Andrei was a traitor.

“He will have to leave, I can’t bear the thought of having him here,” Raisa said, unable to contain her tears.

She gave him the key to her attic, which she kept on a thin chain around her neck.

“Your father kept all his furs in a chest, I suppose you know that there’s a little box at the bottom of it where he kept his earnings. He told me when you were still a child, in case anything happened to him. You see how much he trusted me. Look for it, it’s yours, and leave as soon as possible, the Okhrana will not be happy with only your father’s life, they’ll come for yours as well.”

With Joshua’s help, Samuel took a few furs and decided to divide the remainder between the widow Korlov and his friend. He could not carry them all, and he wanted to show his gratitude.

In the little box was all the money his father had saved, enough for him to live well enough for two or three years and to take the journeys he made every year to Paris to see Marie. Now the money would be used for Samuel to begin a new life, although he wondered where this would be possible for him.

“Samuel, your father has shown you the way: next year in Jerusalem. It’s what he wanted, the last words he left for you,” Joshua reminded him.

“Jerusalem . . . Jerusalem . . . I never asked to be a Jew . . . ,” Samuel lamented.

“You cannot stop being what you are, Samuel. You are a Jew, whether you want to be or not, whether you believe or not. You are a Jew, and whether or not you try to escape it, you will always be one. Next year in Jerusalem, my friend, let’s hope that we meet each other there one day.”

 

When they reached the Goldanskis’ mansion, Konstantin had already prepared everything for Irina’s escape. Samuel and Joshua told their friend what had happened, including Andrei’s warning.

“Andrei is a traitor? What a wretch!” Konstantin exclaimed.

“You should go away for a while as well,” Joshua said to Konstantin.

“Me? I should leave? They don’t have anything on me, yes I am Samuel’s friend, but that’s not reason enough for me to flee; anyway, I’m not going to abandon my grandmother or my sister Katia.”

“Let your grandmother decide. You should tell her what Andrei told us.”

Konstantin promised Joshua that he would do this. Then he explained the escape plan to his friends. Ivan, whom he had sent to rent a carriage, would be the coachman who would take them to Sweden by the least traveled routes. From there they could take a boat to England.

But Samuel did not want to get his friend into even more trouble, and insisted on driving the carriage.

“But you’ve never driven a carriage in your life!” Konstantin protested.

“If I’ve been able to train as a chemist, I’m sure that driving a carriage will hold no problems for me. Irina and Mikhail will go inside, safe from prying eyes. If anyone stops us I will say that we’re a family of merchants, going to sell furs in England.”

“No one will believe that a merchant is traveling in mid-winter, with his whole family, headed to Sweden. You’ll have to find another cover story . . . I don’t know, say that you are on the way to visit a family member who is about to die . . . ,” Joshua suggested.

The three friends hugged each other, all of them were crying, they did not know when they would see each other again. Irina joined the embrace.

 

It was snowing without pause and daylight was fading when they finally got on the road. Samuel was exhausted, but he had decided to drive through the night in order to get as far away as possible from Saint Petersburg. When fatigue finally got the better of him, they would drive off the road and sleep a while in the carriage. He didn’t want to stop at any inn, he didn’t want anyone to see them so as not to call any attention to themselves, and for all that the journey would be hard for Irina and, above all, for the child. Samuel did not know when they would tell the boy that he would never see his father again.

While they drove on, leaving Saint Petersburg behind them, he wondered if the Okhrana were following them. It was dawn when, exhausted, he decided to pause. The horses needed to rest as well. They hid themselves in a copse, by a little stream, not far from the road.

“The horses need to eat and drink,” he told Irina.

She got down from the carriage, leaving Mikhail wrapped up in a fur blanket, and helped unhitch the horses and give them water. It wasn’t easy, neither had done this before, but Samuel remembered the instructions that Ivan, Konstantin’s coachman, had given them. It took them a long time to finish the job.

“You have to eat something. Konstantin gave me a couple of baskets with food for a few days,” Irina said.

They ate on foot, standing next to the carriage, looking after the horses. Then she sent him off to get some sleep.

“I will look after the horses and be on the watch for strange noises.”

“But you can’t stay out here in the cold,” Samuel protested.

“I’ll cover myself as best I can. You have to rest, everything will be easier if we share the burden. Don’t think of me as a poor woman, I am strong, I promise you I can deal with the snow falling on my head.”

Samuel climbed into the carriage, huddling next to Mikhail, and fell asleep at once. Irina woke them up after a couple of hours.

Mikhail was hungry and Samuel also had some more to eat before climbing up into the driver’s seat, although he was worried by Irina’s cough.

“It was foolish to let you stay out of the carriage. You shouldn’t do it anymore.”

“Yes, yes, I will. I won’t offer to drive the coach because I know it will draw attention to us, but I will do everything in my power to help. We need to leave Russia as soon as possible, and for that we need both our efforts.”

 

And there, in the loneliness of the snow-covered fields, as he drove the carriage that would take them to freedom, my father said his farewells to Russia, convinced that he would never see her again. He had been a fool to think that they could get rid of the tsar. Neither could he get his father’s last words out of his head: “Jerusalem . . . Jerusalem.”

He said to himself that he had stopped being a Jew, and had not gone back to the synagogue since his Bar Mitzvah, the ceremony in which boys become members of the community. He had broken off relations with God ever since his mother was murdered. He had removed him from his life because he was unnecessary. Why should he want a God who had allowed his mother to be killed, his brother and sister, his grandmother? He hadn’t done anything to save his father either. So, if God had turned his back on him, then he would do the same. So, what sense was there in going to Jerusalem? His father had been a good Jew, had always carried out the word of God, dreaming, in silence, of one day going to the Promised Land. However, he had not taken the necessary steps. The Bible had filled him with the desire for Jerusalem, the city of God, but in fact his father was Russian and only Russian. He thought, he felt, he loved, he cried just like a Russian. And he knew that very well.

Irina and Mikhail fell ill. They could not stop coughing, and a fever had taken hold of both of them. Even so, Irina insisted on looking after the horses and the carriage during the few hours that Samuel was able to rest. They kept avoiding the inns, even though they had very little food for themselves or for the horses.

Irina divided the food between Samuel and Mikhail, and she herself barely ate a mouthful. She was aware that Samuel needed all his strength to get them out of the country. As for Mikhail, he was an unexpected child to whom she would have to devote the rest of her life. She knew that this was what Yuri would have wanted. She had had no option other than to tell the child that his father had died, and that if anyone asked he was to say that Samuel was his father and she was his mother. If not, then he would be taken away forever.

One day Samuel said that he thought they were in Finland.

“It doesn’t matter if we’re in Finland or not, we’re still inside the empire,” she replied.

“Yes, but we’ve come a long way. As soon as we’re in Sweden we will be free.”

Samuel was exhausted after so many days of driving the carriage over frozen roads, far from towns and villages. He scarcely slept, only a couple of hours each night. He was keen to reach Sweden as soon as possible, not just to be free of the threat of the tsar’s forces, but also because he was worried about Irina even more than Mikhail. He knew that she tried as hard as possible to avoid letting him hear her cough, but even though he was not a doctor, she couldn’t fool him. He knew she was sick and that she needed to rest.

He wasn’t so worried about Mikhail. He was a strong child. He scarcely coughed anymore, and his fever was down. Mikhail reminded Samuel of himself during that long trip from Paris to Warsaw with his father. He had coughed and run a temperature as well. That journey had stayed in his memory, for how could he forget reaching home and finding his mother murdered?

Samuel saw some snow-speckled cabins between the trees. They looked like woodsmen’s huts, and he decided to steer clear of them. But luck was not to be with him that day.

Dusk was falling; he must have nodded off for a moment and the coach must have hit a stone. He lost control of the horses and the coach tipped over on its side.

By the time he realized what was happening he was on the floor feeling an intense pain in his head, and he was almost unable to move one of his legs. He heard the horses breathing heavily; and Mikhail’s sobs brought him back to reality. He tried to stand up, but he couldn’t.

“Irina! Mikhail!” he called. He could scarcely see where they were.

Neither of them replied. He dragged himself as best he could to the carriage and, by holding on to the running board, managed to pull himself upright and try to open the door that wasn’t buried in the snow and ice. At first he couldn’t, but then he realized that someone was trying to open the door from inside. It was completely dark when he finally opened the little door. Irina was unconscious and bleeding from a wound on her head. It was Mikhail, sitting by her side, who had been trying to open the door.

“Can you walk?” he asked the little boy.

Mikhail said yes, and he gave his hand to Samuel so that he could help him out of the carriage. The effort made the two of them fall into the snow. Samuel hugged the child and asked him not to cry.

“Listen, Mikhail, we need to get Irina out of there, and if you cry I won’t be able to. I need your help.”

The little boy burst out crying and ran to Samuel’s arms.

“She’s not talking,” he said of Irina.

“She must have hit her head, but don’t worry, nothing’s going to happen to her, the worst will be a bump, like you get when you fall over.”

Samuel was making a superhuman effort to hold himself together, because the pain in his head and his leg was unbearable.

Suddenly all his nerves tensed up. Someone was coming. He could hear firm, solid footsteps, which seemed to break through the ice that covered the ground all around. And he saw a light moving in rhythm with the footsteps. To keep the child safe, he held Mikhail tight without really knowing what he was doing. Suddenly a blinding light shone in his eyes and stopped him from making out the shape of the man in front of him.

“Are you alright?” It was a robust male voice that spoke to him.

“Yes . . . Well, we had an accident . . .”

“I heard a loud noise, and the horses whinnying,” the man replied.

“I think I’ve broken my leg, and . . . my wife, who is in the carriage, has lost consciousness. Could you help me get her out?”

The man came closer and put his lantern on the ground. Then he asked them to stand to one side and quickly climbed into the carriage. A few minutes later he climbed out with Irina’s body in his arms.

“My hut is very close, only a hundred yards. If you want I can take your wife there, and then I’ll come back for you.”

“Thank you,” Samuel replied with relief.

As the man disappeared into the darkness, Samuel reminded Mikhail about what he had to tell strangers.

“Don’t forget what I told you: Irina is your mother and I am your father. If you say anything different they could hurt us and separate us.”

The man came back, and Samuel leaned on him as if he were a crutch.

There were two women in the hut, looking after Irina, whom they had laid on a straw mattress near the stove that warmed the whole room. A child not much older than Mikhail observed the unknown visitors from a corner.

“My wife and my daughter will look after your wife,” the man said.

“Thank you,” Samuel replied.

“I should splint your leg,” the man said.

“Do you know how to?” Samuel asked.

“There are no doctors here. We live and die alone.”

It didn’t take him long to find a couple of pieces of wood and split them down, then he asked his daughter for a piece of clean cloth. Natasha, for that was the girl’s name, obeyed at once, while her mother carried on cleaning the blood from the wound in Irina’s scalp.

When Samuel was able to go and have a look at Irina he saw that the cut was very deep and that it would be best to sew it up. The peasant must have thought the same, and he asked his wife for a needle and some fine thread. Then, carefully, he sewed the split flesh together, watched anxiously by Samuel, who realized with anxiety that he had no other option than to trust this man.

It took quite a while for Irina to regain consciousness, and when she did so her eyes were glassy with fever and she couldn’t stop shivering. Samuel realized that she was sicker than he had thought. He asked the woman to heat some bricks in the fire, and then he wrapped them in furs and placed them on Irina’s chest. Meanwhile, the man came back in (he had left the cabin quite a while ago).

“The horses are safe, although one of them has a broken leg, but I’ve put it in a splint, like yours. I’ll look after the carriage tomorrow. You can stay the night here, but there’s no comforts available for people in your state,” the man said.

“What are you all called?” Samuel wanted to know.

“I am Sergei, and this is my wife Masha and my daughter Natasha. My grandson is called Nikolai, like our little father the tsar.”

“I am very grateful to you, Sergei, and I accept your hospitality. My wife is not well and needs to rest.”

“She is sick in her chest and I think that she will die.” The peasant’s words shocked Samuel.

“No! She’s not going to die. She is sick, yes, but she will recover. She only needs to rest.”

Sergei shrugged and started to brew some kind of herbal infusion on the stove. When it had finished boiling, he gave it to Irina.

“These herbs will help her and make her stop coughing.”

“You know how to make medicine out of herbs?”

“My father did, and his father before him, and his father’s father . . . We take advantage of what the woods offer us, but we cannot always cure people, sometimes we can only lessen their suffering. And now you should eat something before you go to sleep, we don’t have much but it’s enough for everyone.”

Samuel could not contain his curiosity and asked Sergei about the herbs he used. Then they ate in silence. Mikhail fell asleep before he had barely eaten a mouthful.

 

The sun had been up for hours when Samuel awoke. It took him a few seconds to remember what had happened and where he was. He felt calmer when he realized that Mikhail was by his side, and that Irina was sleeping by the stove.

Masha, Sergei’s wife, was in a corner of the hut peeling turnips. Natasha and her little son were not there, and neither was Sergei.

“I’m sorry . . . I think I have slept too much,” he said as he tried to sit up.

The woman smiled as she helped him to his feet.

“Sleep cures all things. Don’t worry, your wife is better. I made her eat some bread and she’s had a cup of tea as well. The wound on her head will heal up well.”

“And your husband?” he asked anxiously.

“He’s trying to fix your carriage. The wheels are broken, but he’ll do what he can. And he’s fed the horses. Ah, and here is your luggage, he took it out of the carriage; people don’t usually come by here, but it’s best that you keep it close and then no one can steal it.”

“And your daughter?”

“Natasha is helping her father and my grandson is out in the stable feeding the rabbits.”

“I don’t know how to thank you for all you have done for us.”

“God sees everything, so we try to act as he would wish.”

“God?”

“Of course, do you doubt this? If we didn’t help you, he would remember this when we were called into his presence.”

“So you do good to keep God happy.”

The woman looked at him in shock, unable to imagine things being any different.

“There is a jug of water in the corner if you need to refresh yourself.”

Sergei had left a crutch for Samuel. He had improvised it out of a branch he had cut. Hobbling, with the crutch to help him, he walked to the edge of the road where the carriage was.

He was surprised to find it upright, as only a giant could have set it right again, but then he remembered that Sergei was almost two meters tall, was broad shouldered, and had the largest hands Samuel had ever seen. Also, he had had the help of a mule, which Natasha had held steady for him.

Samuel insisted on helping them, but Sergei barely paid him any attention.

“Have you repaired a lot of axles?” the peasant asked without irony.

“No, I haven’t, but I want to help you.”

“The carriage needs to be repaired. Not just the wheels. We’ll have to find something to cover the windows so that the cold doesn’t get in, and then we’ll see if we can repair the dents in the right-hand side, the side that hit the ice.”

“We need to get going immediately.”

“Why such a hurry?”

“My wife’s mother is very ill. She wants to be with her.”

“Well, it won’t be at once, I can’t perform miracles. It will take some time to repair the carriage. I’ll have to go to the village and buy a few parts.”

Samuel tried to keep Sergei from noticing the anxiety that these last words had provoked.

“No, there’s no need. Please, do what you can to repair the wheels; as for the rest of the carriage, the dents don’t matter . . . My wife will never forgive me if we don’t get to her mother in time.”

Sergei looked him up and down incuriously and then shrugged his shoulders.

“Every man knows his own business best. I’ll do what I can, but I can’t promise to be finished before nightfall.”

“We can’t delay any longer . . . ,” Samuel begged.

 

The rest did Irina a world of good, or maybe it was the herbs that kept her sleepy and almost free of her cough. Masha made her eat, and managed to get her to try some vegetable soup and a piece of roasted rabbit. Mikhail played with the little boy, sliding around on a rudimentary sled that Sergei had made.

Samuel tried to keep an eye on all the members of the family, worrying that they would go to the village and say that they were looking after some strangers who had had an accident. But Masha seemed too busy taking care of the family and Irina, and Natasha never left her father.

“When I die, someone will have to do what I do. I don’t have any sons and Natasha doesn’t have a husband, so she will have to learn to look after herself, and take care of what little it is that we have, the cabin, the hut . . . If she learns to understand the woods, they will provide her with everything she needs to live.”

Sergei worked all day on the carriage, but he had to stop as soon as the light began to fade.

“I will finish it tomorrow,” he said to Samuel.

“Thank you very much, we are prepared to leave as soon as the carriage is ready.”

They all sat round the fire; Irina lay very close to it on the straw mattress that Natasha had lent her. She still had a temperature, but she was coughing less thanks to Sergei’s infusions. As for Mikhail, he seemed happy to share his toys with Nikolai. The boy was exhausted after traveling for so long, and he appreciated this pause in the journey. Even Samuel acknowledged that he felt stronger because of the chance to rest and Masha’s hot soup.

He was worried about Irina; her cough seemed to come from deep down in her lungs, and her temperature was a good indication that she had an infection. He did not lie to himself about the diagnosis: pneumonia. He was certain. On his trips with Oleg Bogdanov to the hospital in Saint Petersburg it had not taken long to learn to distinguish the symptoms of various illnesses. This was how he knew that it would be best for Irina to stay for a few weeks in the cabin, with a warm stove and Masha looking after her. But if they remained, then sooner or later the news would get out that there were travelers staying in the house of Sergei the woodsman, and it would not take long for this news to make it to the ears of the tsar’s men. They had to leave, even if this put Irina’s life at risk. Anyway, Samuel knew that she would rather die free than live in an Okhrana jail cell.

 

At dawn, when he awoke, neither Sergei nor Natasha were in the cabin. He went over to Irina, who was sleeping peacefully. He was shocked not to see Mikhail. Masha and her grandson Nikolai were not there either.

He stepped out of the cabin and the wind almost pushed him over. It was snowing so vigorously that he could scarcely see anything. He walked until he saw Sergei who, with Natasha’s help, was just finishing the repairs to the carriage door.

“I’m sorry, I overslept, I should have come to help,” he said to Sergei.

“You didn’t need to, Natasha’s help is enough. The wheels are ready. You can help us set them on the axle. But this door . . . Natasha has covered the windows with some old leather, but it’s not enough to keep the cold out.”

“It doesn’t matter, we’re wearing fur coats.”

“Your wife fell ill even while wearing a fur coat . . . I don’t think you should leave yet. She’s not well.”

“We can’t stay. What about my son?”

“He’s in the hut, my wife is feeding the animals and my grandson and your son insisted on helping her.”

Samuel prepared the inside of the carriage as best he could to make Irina as comfortable as possible, and took a couple of furs out of the chest that they were carrying.

Masha insisted they eat something before starting the journey.

“There isn’t another inn, and with the snow here . . . I don’t want to insist, but your wife would be better off here,” Masha suggested.

“Hold your tongue, woman, men know why they make the decisions they make,” Sergei snapped.

Once they had Irina and Mikhail installed in the carriage, Samuel gave Sergei a hug goodbye. He wanted to pay him for all that he had done, and even took some of his father’s money out for this purpose, but the woodsman rejected it.

“We weren’t looking for any payment from you. You don’t owe us anything. Go in peace, and we will stay in peace.”

“I’ve been a great deal of trouble to you, let me help you a little . . .”

“You cannot pay for what we have done of our own free will. Go, and take care. There is another, larger village just past our own little village, and there’s a regiment stationed there.”

Samuel didn’t know how to reply to the woodsman’s warning, surprised as he was to discover that there was a sensitive and intelligent man behind this facade of enormous force.

“I would not defy this weather to force my way to my mother-in-law’s deathbed. Not because she’s not a good woman, but because it would be a foolish act on my part. You must have important reasons to do what you’re doing, but that is none of our business.”

Masha gave him a basket with a jar of honey, a loaf of bread, and the herbs to help with Irina’s cough.

As he said goodbye to the generous family, Samuel could not contain his tears. He would never forget Sergei the woodsman.

 

He drove carefully, trying to keep clear of the parts of the ground in the worst condition, but with the snow it was difficult to see the road. Also, he could not force the horses. He had needed to leave one of them with the woodsman because it had broken a leg.

His tender age notwithstanding, Mikhail seemed to understand that Irina was ill, and tried his hardest not to bother her. In spite of the difficulties of the journey, Samuel barely stopped. At night, the more it snowed, all he did was wrap himself in a fur blanket and sleep next to the carriage. He didn’t want to lose sight of the horses, as they would never get to Sweden without them. He knew that they would get there sooner if they took a boat, but he preferred to steer clear of the shore, where there were more villages, more loose tongues, and many more garrisoned soldiers; he thought that if they traveled by the longest route they would have a better chance of making it across the border.

He spent so long in silence that he sometimes thought he heard his own thoughts, and at night, before he took his scant few hours of rest, he tried to speak to Mikhail for a while, as though he were speaking to an adult.

Samuel helped out until the last rays of sun disappeared and they stopped and rested, and he slept only for a few hours before starting to travel again, long before dawn began to break. It was during one of those pre-dawn mornings that they met the hunter. He was a tall and well-built man in a fox fur coat. Samuel greeted him and the man shrugged, as if he did not understand. Samuel stopped the carriage and got down to ask the man where they were, and almost wept with relief when he discovered that a few days previously they must have entered into Sweden. Fate had brought them along a path that, although they did not know it, crossed the border without drawing the attention of soldiers or customs officials. By gestures, the man indicated to them that there was a large village nearby where they could find food for the horses.

The village did not seem much different from those they had been avoiding ever since entering into Finland, although they were surprised by the elegance of its wooden church.

He asked a woman, also by means of gestures, where they could buy fodder for the horses and rent a room to rest and recuperate. The woman took them to the other side of the village, where a blackened wooden house served as an inn. When he had paid for a room, he brought Irina up. She had gotten worse and Samuel feared for her life.

The room had a fireplace, where the innkeeper had just set a fire, and a large and comfortable-seeming bed. The innkeeper’s wife showed them where they could wash themselves. Still making himself understood with gestures, Samuel asked for a tub of hot water. He wanted to give Irina a bath, as he thought it would be good for her to feel clean.

Because they were the only guests, it didn’t take long for the innkeeper to bring up the tub, and the innkeeper’s wife offered to help bathe Irina. Samuel breathed a sigh of relief.

She hardly complained, and let herself be washed. Her hair was dirty and her traveling clothes smelled bad. The innkeeper asked permission to wash her clothes. He made it clear that he would not charge much.

Samuel felt almost happy when he saw Irina in that bed with clean sheets, the warmth of the hearth filling the room. He examined her carefully. Irina was so thin that she seemed to have shrunk. And her once brilliant eyes looked around without focusing.

The innkeeper’s wife took care of Mikhail as well, and bathed him without paying much attention to his protests.

That night they slept as they had not slept since leaving Saint Petersburg. It was not the comfort of the bed or the warmth of the fireplace that made them sleep so soundly, but the knowledge that they were now out of the reach of Tsar Nicholas II’s men.

Samuel decided to stay in the village until Irina was better. So it was that, with the aid of the innkeeper, he dedicated the next few days to trying to improve Irina’s health. Mikhail was bored but he said nothing. Samuel had explained to him that Irina needed to rest.

“If she doesn’t rest, will she die? I don’t want her to die, if she dies I’ll be alone with you, because I don’t know anyone else.”

“Don’t worry, Mikhail, Irina is not going to die, but she needs to rest and she needs for you to behave.”

They stayed almost a month in the village, until Irina could get back on her feet.

The innkeepers were good people and the locals were friendly. They were accustomed to strangers, because they lived not very far from Finland and the tsar’s empire. So a married couple with their son raised no more than the usual amount of interest, apart from their curiosity as to what was wrong with Irina, whose illness they sincerely regretted. In the meantime, Samuel allowed one word to take root in his most intimate thoughts: Jerusalem. He owed it to his father.

It wouldn’t be difficult to get there, and there they would be free. He knew of other Russians, Jews like him, who had emigrated to Palestine and set up their homes there. Throughout the Russian Empire were groups, calling themselves the Lovers of Zion, whose final aim was to return to the land of their ancestors. Some of them had managed it and had founded agricultural colonies where they grew their own food.

The Turkish functionaries seemed not to get in the way too much as long as they received the tributes to be sent to Constantinople. They lived and let live when it did not cause them any problems.

But first he would go to Paris and sell Marie the furs that he had kept in the chest.

He had not seen her for two years, but he remembered that she was a kind and supportive woman who had doubtless loved his father in silence without ever asking for anything, knowing that Esther, the dead but never-to-be-forgotten first wife, would always stand between them.

From Paris they would go to Marseilles and seek out a ship to take them to Palestine, although he wondered if Irina would want to travel with him.

He had not said what he had in mind, that for days now he had been planning the trip to Jerusalem. He was afraid of what her reply would be. Irina was not Jewish, although Mikhail was, but why should they go with him anyway? Yes, he was scared of what her answer might be, because he would not be able to leave her alone to her fate, or to leave little Mikhail either, of whom he had grown very fond.

Mikhail had been a little kid when Samuel had first seen him in the arms of his father Yuri, or those of Irina, and he had scarcely paid him any attention. But what they had suffered throughout the journey had brought them together, and the child had been surprisingly mature for his age, as if he were aware that their lives depended on their escape being successful.

But did he have the right to ask them to go from being subjects of Nicholas II to being subjects of the sultan? Would it not be more sensible to start a new life in Paris? He did not have answers to all these questions and he waited for the right moment to pose them to Irina, who was getting better little by little, although she was still very weak.

But it was she who suggested one night that they continue their journey.

“I am better now. We shouldn’t stay here any longer, we’ve spent a lot of money because of my illness, and it will run out soon. It would be best to go to Paris and find jobs as soon as possible. It shouldn’t be too difficult for you, you are half French.”

“You’ll like Paris and you’ll like Marie, I’ve told you about her, she’s an incredible seamstress. She’ll buy the furs from us and then . . .”

She would not let him continue. She seemed excited by the idea.

“I’ve always wanted to get to know Paris. We’ll work, we’ll look for a school for Mikhail. The only thing we can be grateful to the tsars for is that French was our second language.”

“Which only the upper classes know,” Samuel said.

“Well, you are half French, you told me that your mother was from Paris . . . And my parents worked hard for me to have an education, as they thought I would end up being a duchess at least,” she said bitterly.

Samuel was about to confess that Paris was not their journey’s final destination, but he preferred to wait to tell her at some other moment.

He was careful with their money, but he decided that the sooner they got to Paris the closer they would be to Palestine, so they set off toward Gothenburg two days later. Samuel’s plan was to go from there to the French port of Calais.

The journey to Gothenburg was almost pleasant. Irina seemed happy and whenever they stopped, Mikhail tried to go fishing in the innumerable lakes that lined their route. They no longer had to hide themselves in fear that the tsar’s men would catch them at any moment. The peasants they met on their trip were always pleasant and ready to help them.

“I would have liked to have seen Stockholm,” Irina admitted one day.

“Me too, but the innkeeper suggested that we go to Gothenburg, we’ll find a boat there, you’ll see.”

And find one they did. The captain of an old merchant vessel was willing to take them to France, although the price he asked for was much higher than what Samuel was expecting. But luck was not entirely against him, as the captain recommended a place where he could sell the horse and the carriage. At last, they embarked.

Samuel did not cope well with the movement of the waves, and scarcely came out of his cabin throughout the whole journey, but Irina and Mikhail enjoyed the crossing. The child went from one side of the deck to the other without the sailors protesting at the nuisance; Irina spent hours staring out at the sea. She never wanted the journey to end, and regretted the day that one of the sailors spied the coast that was their destination.

“Even on land my head is still spinning,” Samuel said as soon as they had disembarked.

They looked for a post coach to take them to Paris. Irina refused to wait even a day longer to get to the city that she had begun to dream about. It was on the way to Paris that Samuel told her of his dream of going to Palestine.

“To Palestine? And what would we do there? How long have you been treasuring such a strange idea?”

“You’re right, we haven’t spoken about it, but I’ve been thinking about it ever since leaving Saint Petersburg. I owe it to my father. I understand that you won’t want to come with me. I will leave you in Paris, with Marie; she’s a good woman and she’ll take care of you and Mikhail and she might even find you work. And I won’t go while you still need me.”

After this confession, Irina barely spoke to Samuel for the rest of the journey. The silence that grew up between them made them both suffer, but neither felt capable of breaking it. Mikhail was very upset by the fear of losing them. He missed his father, but he loved them and little by little he had begun to think of them as his family.

 

Marie put them up in her house. In fact, it was Monsieur Elijah’s house. The old man had become rather taken with this serious and honest young woman who was also an excellent dress designer. So much so that little by little, following Isaac’s suggestion, he had begun to rely on her to run the business. One day he had suggested that they become partners and she had accepted with pleasure. A little before he died, Monsieur Elijah had sold her the workshop that abutted his own apartment, on the first floor of the building.

Marie could pay for it because Monsieur Elijah had been extremely generous toward her, and in his last years he had come to see her as the daughter he had lost. So Marie moved from the little attic room she shared with her mother in the Place des Vosges into this elegant Parisian district where ladies came to buy their dresses and to order their coats made from those extremely desirable Russian furs.

Samuel felt at home here, and even though Marie had redecorated the place, it was still a part of his childhood.

“She’s a good woman,” Marie told him after meeting Irina. “You should marry her.”

“I am not in love with her, Marie; if I were, do you think I’d go to Jerusalem and leave her all alone?”

“Of course you’re in love with her! But your heart is also filled with the guilt of your father’s death and the sense of guilt is stronger than the love at the moment. You are going to Jerusalem because you think that this is something you owe your father, not because it’s something you really want. I remember you as a child arguing with your father, and fighting with him not to be a Jew . . . You know what, my dear? You need to forgive yourself. I am sure that your father would forgive you, he died to protect you, without blaming you for anything. Don’t punish yourself, Samuel, talk to Irina and if she wants to then you should become a family, you are responsible for Mikhail as well. The kid’s frightened, he doesn’t want to lose you.”

“I know I should go to Jerusalem and I will. Maybe I’ll make some sense there of the fact that I’m a Jew, maybe I won’t, but I owe it to my father. I made him suffer by rejecting our religion. As for Irina . . . She doesn’t love me, Marie, she doesn’t love me like a woman loves a man.”

“There is something strange about her. Sometimes I think she must have suffered bitterly at the hands of a man, an unhappy love affair to be sure. But she is still young, and one day she will want to marry and have children.”

“You never married or had children,” Samuel reminded her.

“No, no, I didn’t, and do you want to know why? Because I fell in love with your father and I let the years go by while I waited for him to love me as much as I loved him. Your father was a good friend, but he never loved me, he loved only your mother and you were his most precious memory of her. He thought that the best thing for you was to live in Russia, to be happy in the house of that widow, Raisa Korlov. He was so proud of you. ‘Samuel, Samuel a chemist!’ he used to say.”

“I never gave him anything, Marie, anything apart from worries. I was an egotistical son, interested only in my studies, my ideas, my friends. I loved my father, yes, but I didn’t pay him much attention, he was just there, and I was never worried about what he might want or feel.”

“He knew how much you loved him. Don’t torture yourself. It’s very rare for a child to be able to tell his father how much he loves him, and that is because we don’t know ourselves. It is only when our parents die that we realize the love we are holding on to. I was never able to tell my mother how much I loved her, and when she died I was cross with myself for not being more tender. Come on, Samuel, you have to live, don’t punish yourself, your father wouldn’t have wanted it like this.”

“I will go to Jerusalem, Marie, I will go to Jerusalem.”

Marie shrugged. She realized that she would not be able to convince him, so she decided not to try. She thought that Samuel was making a mistake in renouncing Irina. She felt sympathy with this young woman because she reminded her of her earlier self. But Irina was more reserved and less transparent than Marie had been.

In Marie, Mikhail found the grandmother he had never had in life, and a sense of mutual love grew up between the two of them.

The boy said that he didn’t want to travel anymore and that he preferred to stay with Marie, and that he didn’t care if Irina and Samuel left, something that upset Irina a great deal.

Because her business was flourishing, Marie insisted on paying Samuel a good price for the furs he had brought from Russia.

He was surprised by the amount of money Marie gave him.

“It’s too much! I cannot accept it,” he insisted.

“Do you think I’m giving you a present? No, Samuel, it’s not like that. Look, I’ll show you the accounts and you can see that I paid your father the same, just as your grandfather Monsieur Elijah did. French ladies will pay whatever you ask for coats made with real Russian furs. I even have some English aristocrats among my clients.”

“I don’t need so much money, I’d prefer for you to use it to look after Mikhail and Irina. The boy has to go to school.”

“They can stay here, it’s a large apartment and I could use the company. They can be here for as long as they want. And I think that Irina could help me. If she sews well I’ll employ her; I can’t pay very much, but enough for her to have her own money and know that she’s not depending on anyone. I always need hands to sew, all the more now that my eyes aren’t what they once were. I’ll teach her the trade, and when I’m not around anymore . . . who knows . . .”

Samuel hugged Marie. He was sincerely fond of her and regretted that his father had not married her; the pair deserved to have been happy.

 

At last the day arrived for Samuel to begin the last stage of his journey. He would go to Marseilles to seek out a ship to take him to Palestine. Marie had introduced them to a man whose family had kept in touch with old Elijah.

He was a Jew, his name was Benedict Peretz, and he was a merchant. He was a follower of Theodor Herzl, and in 1897 he had gone to Basel to take part in the First Zionist Congress.

Benedict seemed to know Palestine well, and spoke enthusiastically with them about the groups of young people who had settled there as part of the Lovers of Zion. Many had fled persecution and pogroms and were making their ancestors’ land their new home.

“My father told me about them,” Samuel remembered.

“Many of them have set up home in Jerusalem, in Hebron, on the banks of the Sea of Galilee in Tiberias. Some of them dedicate their lives to God and spend their time praying and studying the Talmud, living off charity, and others have become farmers, trying to draw from the dry soil the fruits that will allow them to survive,” Benedict explained.

Not for one moment did he lie to Samuel about the difficulties he would encounter once he got to Palestine. Not only would he have to get permission from the Turkish authorities, who were ever more reluctant to allow Jews to settle there, but he would also find out that there was a strong negative feeling among the Jews who were already settled there and who felt overwhelmed by the waves of immigrants, who said the newcomers were brothers but had different customs and languages.

“The Turks don’t always let the Jews disembark, many have to enter via Egypt. Ah, and you’ll have to be careful about malaria, which affects the newly arrived fairly severely.”

He described the Promised Land like a wasteland, full of dangers and hostility, where mere survival was difficult.

“How is it possible that a sacred land like Palestine can be in such bad shape?” Samuel asked.

“There is a decree, that dates back to when the Mamelukes expelled the Crusaders and forced them out of the Middle East forever, that the non-mountainous regions were to be left uncultivated, so that in case the Crusaders were ever tempted to return to the Holy Land, they wouldn’t find food either for themselves or for their horses. Most of the lands that belonged to the Crusaders were parceled out by the sultan to his favorites, generals or favored members of the court, who cared little about arid lands so far from Constantinople. Most were left to the fellahin, the Arab peasants. It is not difficult to buy land there, the Turks sell it freely.”

“And all the land belongs to Turkish families?” Samuel asked.

“In the sultan’s court there have always been, and there are still, Arabs, people who come from Syria, Lebanon, and Palestine itself. They are all supported by the sultan and they are all equally indifferent to some useless lands that scarcely bring them any benefits.”

“So, Jews should have no problem buying these lands,” Samuel insisted.

“As you can imagine, the Jews who escape from the Russian Empire rarely do so with full pockets. They suffer great hardships. Baron Rothschild tried to help the colonists, and has even founded some agricultural colonies, and helps as much as he can with the Turkish authorities,” Benedict explained.

Samuel asked his grandfather’s friend to recommend someone who could teach him the basics of Arabic.

“I know it won’t be easy, but I want at least to be able to understand the people who live there.”

Peretz introduced him to a friend who in his youth had traveled all over the Middle East and who said he knew some of the languages spoken in those distant countries.

Samuel felt that it was an impossible task to decipher those elegant marks that they told him were the Arabic alphabet. But he managed, little by little, to learn a few phrases by which he might make himself understood.

Marie did all she could to make Samuel stay with her. She knew that he was lost, and was keen to help him find peace within himself. But Samuel did not delay his journey because of Marie’s insistence, but rather because of his desire to learn Arabic, and the sadness that the idea of leaving Irina provoked in him.

The young woman had made an unshakable decision to start a new life in Paris, and there was nothing that Samuel could say or do to make her come with him to Palestine.

As Irina did not want to rely on Marie, she found a job for herself, on Marie’s recommendation, in a florist’s shop. She didn’t earn much money, but it was enough for her to pay for her own maintenance and for Mikhail’s. She helped Marie sew fur coats at night. She did not like sewing, but she felt indebted to this woman who had behaved so generously toward her.

 

One morning in September, Samuel set off toward Marseilles with some letters of recommendation from Benedict Peretz to a number of Palestinian Jews. It was more than a year since he had left Saint Petersburg, and now, in the closing months of 1899, he was prepared to start a new page in his life.

For the first time in a long while he was responsible only for himself, and he was scared about what he might find in the “Promised Land.”

The Mediterranean was a more agitated sea than Samuel had imagined it would be, but on the last few days of the crossing the waves died down a little and the ship began slowly to approach the port of Jaffa.

His first difficulty was getting permission to disembark from the Turkish authorities. He trusted that he would be able to smooth things over, but Benedict had told him that sometimes the customs officials kept their bribes and still wouldn’t let anyone disembark.

“We will reach Palestine tomorrow,” the captain told him. “Be prepared to disembark at Jaffa at first light.”

That night he couldn’t sleep. It was impossible not to think about the future that would begin the next morning. He went back over his past, remembering everything he had left behind.

He went up on deck before dawn, filled with emotion to see the coast of Palestine. The sea seemed to be bluer and the air saltier than what he remembered from the Baltic. He was thinking about this when he was brought back to earth by a sailor shouting that he spied land.

That word was a dream and a hope. They had reached the Promised Land.

When the ship was just about to dock, Samuel looked down at the port and saw a man, young like him, who was holding the hand of a boy a little older than Mikhail, about seven or eight years old. They were both looking at the ship with curiosity. A few paces behind them stood a woman holding a baby in her arms, her face covered with a headscarf; a little girl clutched the folds of her skirt as if she were afraid of getting lost. The mother was heavily pregnant, and Samuel was struck by the glint in her large deep black eyes.