The Dressmaker's Son (5 page)

CHAPTER
9

February 1910

Rebekah watched as
the rabbi threw the dirt on her husband’s casket, never shedding a tear.  At
thirty-seven she was still an exquisite woman.  Looking around at the people
gathered there she saw that not many people had come to the graveside service
to say good-bye to Michael.  His family was small, but a few aunts, uncles and
cousins stood around silently.  There were but a few friends as Michael had
driven most of them away over the years.  Her father had died of a heart attack
three years ago, but her mother stood beside her. When the service was over,
Rebekah thanked the rabbi.

            “I will come to the
house tonight for the mourner’s service?” he asked.  

            “No, Rabbi, thank you. 
It’s not necessary.”

Her mother was
horrified.  In the Jewish tradition, when someone dies, a service which
requires ten men is held each evening and the Mourner’s
Kaddish,
a hymn
to God
,
is recited.  It is usually held at the home of the deceased
where the family is sitting Shiva, a seven-day mourning period during which the
family of the deceased accepts visits from friends and family, except on the
Sabbath..

“You can’t do
that, Rebekah.  It would be a disgrace.  He still has family here.  Please,
come to your senses,” she said. Turning to the rabbi she continued, “Yes, please
come, Rabbi. Speak to the men so we will have enough.”  Ten men were required
for this service to take place and for the family members to be permitted to
say the
Kaddish
prayer aloud.

The rabbi nodded
at Rebekah and her mother then started toward the men who had congregated in a
group.

“Rebekah,” she
called, “Please, my back. Wait for me. What has gotten into you?”

            “Nothing, Mama. I’m
sorry.  This has all been too much.  I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

When they got
home, Samuel came running. “Mama,” he yelled.

Rebekah scooped
him up and tousled his hair.

“Were you a good
boy for Lizzie?” she asked.

Lizzie replied for
him. “He’s always a good boy. It is a pleasure to spend time with him.”

Lizzie had been a
widow with no children for ten years. With her hair already graying, she looked
older than her thirty-odd years. Rebekah knew that watching Samuel was a
welcome diversion for her. She walked her to the door and thanked her.

“Build a castle,”
Samuel cried.

“As soon as I make
tea for me and Bubbe,” she told him.

As she sat on the
floor and absent-mindedly built the castle with him, she reflected on the past.
She looked around at the dreary kitchen. The walls needed painting and the same
faded curtains had been on the windows forever.  They had never had much of
anything.  After fifteen years of marriage, they lived in the same house that
had belonged to Michael’s father.   She tried to think about the future, but
all she could think about was the past.

She had never
wanted to marry Michael, but she was the oldest girl. The matchmaker had
brought Michael to the house. “This is Michael Brodsky.  He has his own home
and he will make a good living like his Papa as a cobbler.”

Rebekah had
protested, but at twenty, it was time for her to marry.  Her parents had saved
a small dowry out of the delicatessen. “You need to stop thinking about love
and romance," her mother had chided. “You’ll learn to love him like I did
your papa.”

            “But he’s not Papa,”
she had cried.  She adored her father, a gentle man who had doted on Rebekah
and her sister Rachael from the day each was born.

            “He’s nice looking,”
Rachael had said when she met him.  “And he seems really nice.  Can’t you see
the way he looks at you? He’s in love already.  You’ll be okay with him,
Rebekah.”

But she hadn’t
been okay.  From the very first night she couldn’t bear his making love to
her.  It didn’t take him long to realize that she would never love him.  When
they made love, he knew she was doing it because she was supposed to, not
because she wanted to.  After a few years, Michael demanded less and less of
her.  Then he started drinking.  At first, Rebekah didn’t care. “Good,” she
thought, “he’ll go to sleep and not bother me.”

            But soon he became
sullen and angry, yelling at her, blaming her for their not having a family. 
When they did have sex, he was either rough and angry or unable to perform at
all, having consumed too much alcohol.  They fought constantly, until one night
she told him she was going to have a baby.

            Michael stopped
drinking.  He put more hours in at the cobbler shop, and he never came near her
the entire time she was pregnant.  Rebekah had a terrible time having the
baby.  She was in labor thirty-six hours; the baby was breach; and the old
midwife had little patience for Rebekah’s screaming.  When her little boy was
finally put in her arms, she looked at her mother who was still sponging her
forehead.

            “We’ll call him Samuel
after Papa,” she said, calm now that the pain had stopped. “Samuel Misha.”

            “Misha? What kind of
name is that? And after whom, Rebekah? You know we name our children after the
deceased.”

            “After nobody.  Because
I like it,” Rebekah replied rebelliously.  And no matter what anyone said, she
would not change her mind.

            Samuel was a beautiful
boy.  Born with a mass of white-blond hair, his gray eyes were large and
wide-set; and his mouth was full like Rebekah’s.  People remarked constantly
about his eyes. “Who does he look like, Rebekah?” they would say. “Who has such
eyes in your family?”

            Rebekah would just
smile and shrug her shoulders, knowing all the while whose eyes he had: his
real father’s, Misha’s.

CHAPTER 10

Misha was a
soldier in the Russian army. She had met him when he was going house to house
asking about a Jewish soldier who had deserted.  When she opened the door, he announced
that a Jew had deserted his post and there was suspicion that he was in this
area. “Are you hiding anyone?” he asked gruffly.

            Rebekah laughed. “No,
there’s hardly enough room in this house for me and my husband.”

            She studied his
appearance.  He had blond hair and sharp features softened only by his large
gray eyes.  He stood very tall, almost six-foot-three, and looked exceptionally
handsome in his gray uniform with its shiny buttons.

            He relaxed his face and,
flashing a smile that revealed beautiful even white teeth, he joked back, “You
could have him under the bed.”

            “I don’t think so,” she
laughed. “The bed is on a platform.”

            He knew she was telling
the truth, but suddenly he didn’t want to leave this beautiful woman who,
unlike so many of the other Jews whose homes he had canvassed, showed no fear
of him. Her black hair was pulled back in a tight knot accentuating her high
cheekbones and delicately-shaped face.  A smooth, olive complexion served as
the backdrop for her unique, almost turquoise eyes with their thick black
lashes.  And her sensuous mouth made a statement of its own.  She had the full
bosom and tiny waist most women envied.

“I’d better check
that for myself,” he said and stepped inside.

            After a cursory search
of the small house, Rebekah offered him some tea.  She surprised herself when
she did this, but suddenly, she didn’t want this cheerful, handsome soldier to
leave.  She was so lonely.  Not long after her father had died, her sister
Rachael, her husband Jacob and their children had gone to America and deserted
her.  The five nieces and nephews she cherished, gone.  Suddenly here was this
handsome soldier who obviously was enjoying her company.  He stayed almost two
hours. 

            By the time he left,
Rebekah knew all about him.  He was originally from Kiev where his father had
been a music teacher.  Although he loved music, he had gone into the military
willingly because that was the only place he could have some kind of career. 
Before too long, he had married the daughter of a high-ranking government
official, which hadn’t hurt his advancement. Now they lived in St. Petersburg
where they hoped to raise a family, but the children never came.

It was easy
talking to him. They shared their love of music.  Rebekah told him of the music
boxes her father had gotten for her and brought out the one that played Brahms.
“That’s one of my favorites,” he told her.

            “There are musicians in
the village who put on little concerts from time to time,” she continued. “And
once my father took me to Kiev to hear the symphony.”  When he left, she was
sorry to see him go.

Two weeks later he
showed up again at her door.

            “We haven’t found him
yet,” he declared sheepishly. “And I thought you might have gotten a different
bed to hide him under.”

            Rebekah giggled. “Oh
no!” she exclaimed. “Someone has told on me.”

            “Yes,” he replied in
mock-seriousness, staring at her.  She looked beautiful.  Her dark black hair
hung in waves almost to the middle of her back.  The simple blue dress she wore
made her eyes stand out even more. “And, if you don’t give me some of your
delicious tea and cakes, I’ll have to turn you in.  Siberia is an awful place. 
There your beautiful hair will be shaved from your head.  And,” he added
solemnly, “There is no music.”

            “Come in then.  I can
do without my hair, but not without music.”

            He continued to come
about once a month for the next three months.  They would talk about
everything: music, the revolt, even the treatment of the Jews.  Rebekah found
herself waiting for his visits.  One afternoon he told her, “You are so
beautiful.  Other soldiers would have raped you the minute you opened the
door.  I want to make love to you, Rebekah.” She

rose and led him by the hand back
to the little bedroom where she and Michael had slept for fifteen years.  They
made love all afternoon.

            When she realized she
was pregnant, she knew at once it was probably not Michael’s.  He, however, was
not that astute.  They had had sex only twice in the last few months, and
Michael just assumed it was then that she had conceived.  She was about five
months pregnant when she told Misha.  He never asked if it could be his, but he
stopped coming.  She didn’t see him again until Samuel was fourteen months old.

            One afternoon she
answered the knocking on the door and opened it to find Misha standing there
with a bouquet of wild flowers in his hand.

            “For you,” he said
smiling. “I have missed you so.”

            “Misha! What a
surprise.  I was just putting the baby in for his nap,” she responded, her mind
was racing.

            “I would love to see
the baby, Rebekah. May I come in?”

            She knew that the
minute he saw Samuel he would know he was his child, but she could not refuse
to let him in.  Regardless of their feelings for one another, he was a soldier
in the czar’s army.  He could do whatever he wanted.

            “Of course, Misha. Come
in.”

            She motioned for Misha
to sit down in the tiny living room and went to get Samuel.  He could hear the
music box playing Brahms in the baby’s room.  Misha rose and took Samuel from
her arms as she walked into the room. “My, what a nice big boy you are,” he
said, holding him out in front of him as he sat back down on the tattered
couch. “Your mama must be feeding you well!”  Then he fell silent, staring
intensely at Samuel.

            “Yes, he’s a wonderful
eater, Misha, and a very good baby,” Rebekah said to break the silence. “He is
walking now and doesn’t want you to hold his hand.  He is fourteen months old.
His name is Samuel, after my Papa.”

            “He has my eyes,” Misha
said softly.  “And my blond hair.  But he has your mouth, Rebekah, and your
high cheekbones.”

            Rebekah sat frozen. 
There was nothing to say.  If anyone were to walk in now and see the two of
them together, they would know they were father and son.

            “Does Michael know?”

“It doesn’t
matter, Misha.  We mustn’t discuss it.  You can’t come here anymore.  Why did
you come back?”

“Because I knew
when you told me about the baby that it could be mine.  All you said about
Michael and you, how you hated sex with him. I just had this feeling.  I had to
know if I had a son or daughter.”

“It doesn’t
matter.  His life has to be here with me, his mother.  You mustn’t come back
anymore, Misha.  You have to forget about him.”

She saw the pain
in his eyes.

“Forget about
him?” he said raising his voice. “How do I forget about my only son?  How do I
not wonder what his life is like? I want him, Rebekah.  Catherine and I can
give him a good home, an education.  He can be whatever he wants to be with the
influence of my father-in-law.  We’ll have him baptized in the church.  What
can you give him—a cobbler shop? He’ll have the opportunity for a much better
life as a Christian.  You know that.”

“But he’s a Jew,
Misha.  Because I had him, that makes him a Jew.  Do you think your
father-in-law wants a Jew for a grandson?  What will you tell Catherine—I found
this child that looks like me on the side of the road in Yelizavetgrad?  And
how will you explain that he has been circumcised?”

“No. I’ll tell her
it was a Russian girl in the country.  That like many soldiers away from home
for a long time, I had been tempted by her beauty. I’ll tell her that she
wanted me to take him so he could grow up in a good family and have an
education.  I’ll deal with the circumcision. His father is Christian, and that
will be enough.  You’re making this more difficult than it is.”

“I can’t give him
up, Misha. He is all I have. I have no life with Michael, you know that.  I’ll
have him educated.  There are schools here and the rabbi will help with his
studies. You can help get him into the university in Kiev when he is ready. 
From time to time you’ll come see him.  You’ll find a place I can send you
letters about him.  But I can’t give away my child.”

Misha stood
abruptly, hugging Samuel to his chest.  The pain in Misha’s eyes turned to anger. 
Rebekah thought for a moment that he was going to take him away.

“I will have him,
Rebekah,” he said in a deliberate tone. “I can’t have my son grow up as a Jew
and live like this.”

Samuel began to
cry and Rebekah took him from Misha’s arms. “He is a Jew, Misha.  As I said,
his mother is a Jew and in the Jewish religion that makes him one too.”

Just then the door
opened and her mother came in.  Startled at the sight of the soldier and at
Rebekah clutching Samuel to her, she hurried to her side, scenes of the pogroms
filling her head.

“I didn’t know
anyone was here,” she said, putting her arms out to Samuel who went to her
immediately.

“This soldier is
looking for a deserter, Mama.  He is a nice gentleman.  He was taken with
Samuel and stopped to visit.  He was just leaving.”

Rose’s eyes met
Misha’s briefly.  “Good day, then,” she said stiffly as she headed to the
kitchen with Samuel in her arms.  She could tell by Rebekah’s face that
something was terribly wrong.

“I’ll be back for
him, Rebekah,” he said softly so her mother couldn’t hear. “I’ll be back soon.”

She stood
paralyzed with fear as he closed the door quietly behind him.

Rose was making
tea when Rebekah came into the kitchen.  Like the rest of the house it was
small with barely enough room for the old wood table and four chairs.  The wood
floor was scarred and dull.  There was one window that Rebekah had never even
put a curtain on because she wanted all the light possible in the kitchen.

For a few minutes
neither spoke. Rose sat staring at her cup and stirring her tea although she
never put anything in it.  She was in her mid-fifties, and her hair had turned
to white.  It was still long and pulled up on top of her head in a bun.  White
wisps fell around the back of her neck.  Her blue, deep set eyes and unusually
fair complexion hinted at the beauty she must have been.  After her husband
Samuel had died, she continued to run the small restaurant by herself.  When
her other daughter Rachael and her husband Jacob fled to America with their
five children to find a safer life, Rose felt an emptiness that she could never
fill.  The birth of Samuel, however, had brought her new joy.  She spent every
minute with him that she could.

Samuel sat on her
lap gnawing on a cookie.  When she finally looked up, she took a deep breath to
steady herself. “Misha?” she asked.

Rachael didn’t
answer.

Rose raised her
voice slightly. “Rebekah. This soldier. He is Misha?”

“Yes, Mama.”

“And Samuel is his
child?”

“Yes, Mama.”

“I knew that blond
hair and those eyes couldn’t come from any Jew in this town.  Tell me, Rebekah,
how?” Rose had always been a woman of few words.

“I was so lonely,
Mama. Everyone left me. Michael would drink. We hardly talked to each other.
Misha was so handsome and so kind,” she began.

When she had finished
telling her the story, she was crying. “He wants him, Mama.  Samuel is my whole
life. What will I do?”

Rose got up with
Samuel who had fallen asleep on her lap, the arthritis in her back causing her
to wince as she stood. “I’ll put Samuel in his crib; then we will talk.  Thank
God your papa isn’t here to see this.”

By the time Rose
came back from the bedroom, she had gotten some of the color back in her face. 
But her eyes had lost their luster, and she walked slowly like someone who had
been beaten down by years of hardship and struggle.  Having lived through two
pogroms and the reign of Alexander, she knew they were no match for this
Russian soldier and his well-connected father-in-law.  After pouring herself
another cup of tea, she sat down at the table.  Rebekah had not moved from her
chair.

“There is only one
solution,” Rose said, her voice cracking at first with emotion. “You must go to
America. In his letters Jacob says he has been saving money to bring your
family and me to America.  You will go first with Michael and Samuel.
Meanwhile, you must be nice to this Misha.  When he returns, tell him you know
he is more powerful than you and that you know he can give Samuel a better
life.  Tell him you love him, if you must, and you will continue to be his
mistress. You must convince him to let Samuel stay with you for a few more
months.  At least until he is two.  Explain that he’ll be trained and talking
and that he’ll have gotten to know him and won’t be afraid.  Whatever it takes,
Rebekah, you must make him believe you to buy time.  I’ll write to Jacob at
once to tell him to send the tickets.  I have money for the trains to Holland.
We can’t tell anyone.  After you have gone I will talk to Schmuel about the
cobbler shop.  Perhaps we can work out an arrangement for him to take it over
and get some money there.”  Schmuel was the young man who worked as an
apprentice to Michael.  Michael was very fond of him and had been giving him
more responsibility since Samuel was born so he could spend more time at home.

“How can I leave
you alone, Mama?”

By now Rose’s
voice was strong and unwavering.  She got up to leave.  “You just will,
Rebekah.  As a mother you surely understand that in a mother’s world there is
only one thing that matters and that is her children.  There is nothing else. 
Even the papa sometimes takes second seat.  Now I’ll check on Samuel and go
back to the restaurant.”