A Cobbler's Tale Page 8

  She took a brief look in the mirror and opened the door.

  “Leo, it’s so nice to see you. Were you watching the rehearsal?”

  “Yes, my dear, and you were amazing.”

  “Oh, thank you,” she said with a smile.

  Jakob heard what sounded like a kiss. Who is this Leo? Is he Nita’s lover? He stuck his head in between a burgundy velour gown and red sequined dress. The small gap he created allowed him to see Nita’s back and the man she called Leo. She moved slightly to her left and Jakob could see his face. I know this man, Jakob realized. I know this red beard. This is Mr. Gorpatsch, the man I met on the train from Warsaw with his family. He told me that he does business in America, but what are the chances that I would ever see him again?

  “Leo, please, you can’t stay. I need to be back on stage in a few minutes.”

  “Okay, Nita, but I must see you tonight, after your performance,” he said.

  “Yes, that would be nice. Now please go. I need to change.”

  “I’m going, but kiss me first,” he said, grabbing her at her waist.

  Jakob watched his hands slide down to her back as he pulled her close for the kiss.

  “I’ll see you tonight, Leo,” she said as the door closed.

  Jakob emerged from the rack of costumes. “I know that man. That’s Mr. Gorpatsch. I met him on my way to Hamburg,” Jakob said.

  “Yes, that’s Leo Gorpatsch. He is my benefactor.”

  “Benefactor. Does that mean lover?”

  “No, it doesn’t mean lover,” she said sarcastically. “He helps me with my expenses. I need to maintain a certain lifestyle to support my career. He provides me with a nice monthly stipend that supplements what I make from these performances.”

  “Does that include being his lover as well?”

  “That’s not your concern,” she said, turning her back to him and sitting in a chair facing the large mirror.

  Jakob stood behind her, looking down at her reflection. He placed his hands on her shoulders. “Nita, I don’t want you to see him.”

  Her eyes expressed outrage as she rose from her chair. “How dare you? Get out now,” she said, pushing Jakob toward the door.

  Instead of leaving, Jakob embraced Nita. They paused for a slight moment looking at each other, and then Jakob kissed her. Her mouth opened to accept his lips and tongue. Her hands reached up, her delicate fingers fondling the curls of his chestnut hair. Jakob responded, pulling her tight against his body.

  “You must go,” she said, breaking the embrace.

  “When will I see you?”

  “I’ll come find you. Tell me where.”

  “Come to the cobbler shop on 95 Ludlow. It’s where I work with Pincus. I’m there every day.”

  “Okay, Jakob. Now leave, please.”

  CHAPTER 18

  NITA NALDI’S STORY

  Leo took the elevator down from his office in the Flatiron Building. He was running late, and trouble at one of his establishments needed attending to. He knew that Nita would be waiting, but he had no choice. Business always comes first, he reminded himself.

  His mustachioed chauffeur was waiting by his motorcar and opened the back door the moment he stepped out onto Fifth Avenue. He nodded his thanks and climbed in. As the motorcar pulled away from the curb, he thought about the first time he’d met Nita.

  It had been nearly two years since he’d first heard Nita sing, at McSorley’s Ale House. Although the venue was a hole in the wall, he had always found its grittiness and musical acts amusing—until Nita came onstage and showed him real magic.

  He had never seen such a beautiful woman. Her red hair transfixed him, like a crown amplifying her bright blue eyes. Leo was not the only one mesmerized by her looks and her voice. The other patrons in this men-only establishment were transformed from a subdued buzz of lowlifes into a rowdy drunken mob at the sight and sound of Nita singing and dancing on the small wooden platform. Soon, Leo couldn’t even hear her beautiful voice over the catcalls.

  Only minutes into her performance, the men wanted more from Nita.

  “Take something off,” someone yelled.

  “Yeah, show your tits,” another patron barked.

  Nita stopped singing and stepped off the stage, looking for a way out, but a few of the aroused and inebriated rabble pushed her back to the platform.

  “Let me go,” she pleaded.

  Leo knew what these men were capable of. He pushed his way through to Nina, grabbed her wrist, and led her through the pack.

  “Don’t let go of me,” he said.

  Leo knocked away the hands trying to grope at Nita as they squeezed through the crowd. Moments later they were out on the street.

  “Thank you, sir,” she said.

  “Let me take you away from here. It’s still not safe,” Leo said.

  He stuck two fingers in his mouth and whistled for his motorcar.

  His driver stopped in front of the pub. Quickly he opened the door to the rear two seats of the vehicle.

  “Madam,” he said, offering his hand to assist Nita.

  “I’m not getting in. Thank you for rescuing me from that mob in there,” she said, pointing with her thumb over her shoulder. “But I don’t know you.”

  “Very wise, my dear. My name is Leo Gorpatsch,” he said, removing his elegant black felt hat. “I am a gentleman, Miss Naldi. Please allow me to escort you to a more elegant establishment for a drink before I have my driver take you home.”

  “Very well, Mr. Gorpatsch,” she said, lifting her skirt out of the way and exposing a long shapely leg in order to step into the motorcar.

  Once they were seated, the vehicle accelerated, startling Nita. “Oh, my!”

  “No need to worry, my dear; it’s perfectly safe, and Rocky is an excellent driver.”

  Rocky turned for a quick glance, tipped his hat, and said, “Ma’am.”

  Leo noticed Nita staring at him with a curious expression.

  “Is something wrong?” he asked.

  “Oh, quite the contrary. I don’t think I have ever seen such an elegant man before. You look like a model from a catalog.”

  Fifteen minutes later they pulled up to a building with a large black door adorned with polished brass hardware. The sign next to the door, also in shiny brass, read:

  THE PLAYER’S CLUB

  PRIVATE—MEMBERS ONLY

  Leo smiled as he watched Nita expose her leg once more as she stepped from the motorcar. Aha, he thought, she’s preening for me. My irresistible charm is working. A few other people turned their heads to admire the beautiful woman emerging from the 1910 Buick 10 Touring Sedan. He offered his arm, and Nita took it as they approached the front door. Leo pushed the large black door open, and they stepped inside.

  A maître d’ approached. “Good evening Mr. Gorpatsch, and welcome to the Player’s Club, madam. Right this way, sir, we have your table ready for you.”

  Nita smiled when he turned to look at her. The path to their table took them right down the center of the main salon floor. Groups of couples sat around small cocktail tables with white cloths and flickering candles. Cigar smoke filled the air. Nita and Leo made their way to a table right in front of center stage.

  “What is this place?” she leaned in to ask Leo the moment they took their seats.

  “It’s a private club—you know—members only,” he said.

  “And I assume you are a member?”

  “I’m a member, and I’m also the owner,” he said with a satisfied smile.

  “Is that so?”

  He nodded.

  “Tell me Leo, what brought you to McSorley’s tonight?” she asked.

  “I came to see you. A friend saw you perform and thought that I should come to see for myself. I’m glad I did.”

  The house lights dimmed, and the stage lights came up.

  “I’m going to make you a star,” he said, sitting back in his chair.

  CHAPTER 19

  MURDER IN THE FOREST<
br />
  Moshe couldn’t sit still. He didn’t like being squeezed in between his friends on the long bench listening to the teacher go on and on. But this was the daily torture of sitting in the cheder. Moshe knew that many of the other boys found the Torah lessons equally tedious.

  His thoughts wandered from running through the fields to exploring the back alleys of the village with his friends. Max, who sat next to him, gave him a few pokes with his elbow.

  “Moshe,” he said.

  “What?” Moshe asked his best friend.

  Max cocked his head to the front of the room. Moshe looked up to see the teacher staring at him.

  “Moshe, are you with us?” the tall lanky bearded man with yellow teeth asked.

  Moshe looked at the teacher and then at the classroom of boys staring at him.

  “Yes, I’m sorry,” he said, blushing. The other boys laughed.

  “Quiet,” demanded the teacher. “I was asking you, Moshe, if you know what a kohen is.”

  Moshe sat up straight, placed his hands on his lap and replied, “Kohen, yes, I am a kohen.”

  The classroom broke out in laughter at Moshe’s announcement.

  “Shtil,” shouted the teacher trying to restore order. “Yes, Moshe, you are a kohen. Do you know what that means?”

  Moshe shook his head. “No, not really. My Papa has told me, but I’m not sure what it means.”

  “It means, Moshe, that you, as a kohen, are a direct descendent of Aaron, the brother of Moses,” instructed the teacher.

  The fascinated students listened to the mysterious tale of the ancient priests known as the kohen who had presided over animal sacrifices in Jerusalem’s Holy Temple.

  “Moshe, I am a kohen too. My papa told me when I was little,” said Max as the boys ran from school and out into the market square.

  “We are kohen priests,” Moshe joyfully announced. “We need to perform a sacrifice, Max. Let’s go to the woods and catch a squirrel or a bird.”

  “Yeah, great idea,” Max agreed and off they bounded through the wagons, horses, and villagers, who were busy buying for tonight’s Shabbat meal.

  All the boys Moshe and Max’s age knew about the woods. A twenty-minute run from the center of town, the woods provided a secret place where the boys could escape the ever-watchful eyes of the townspeople.

  Beautiful silver fir trees spread across the lands northwest of Krzywcza. Moshe and Max found themselves chasing after squirrels without success.

  “We need to build a trap,” Max announced and dropped on all fours, pushing away the pine needles carpeting the forest floor as he looked for appropriate materials.

  “Aren’t you going to help?” Max asked Moshe.

  “I’m not feeling so good, Max,” Moshe said, as he felt himself breaking out into a sudden sweat. He sat down against a fallen tree.

  “You don’t look so good, Moshe,” said Max.

  “Did you hear that?” asked Moshe. “Quiet,” he said, putting a finger to his lips.

  Moments later a few more voices caught the wind. The boys slid down further to hide themselves.

  Max poked his head up for just a second before Moshe grabbed his coat collar and pulled him back. “Stay down,” he whispered.

  Nestled behind the log and completely out of sight, the boys could hear the voices draw near.

  “Keep him quiet,” said a man’s voice. “Tie him up to that tree.”

  “Okay, but you need to help me. Hold him while I bind his wrists,” said another.

  Max looked at Moshe with horror expressed in his eyes.

  “Let’s cut his throat,” whispered the first voice.

  A muffled yelping sound came from a third voice that Moshe figured was the man they’d tied to the tree.

  “Okay, let’s do it,” agreed the second voice.

  The boys could hear the desperation from the bound prisoner. Then they heard a sound of choking and gurgling.

  Before Moshe could stop Max, he’d leapt to his feet and shouted, “Don’t do it!” with his arms stretched out and fingers extended in all directions.

  Oh no, Moshe thought and rose to his feet alongside Max. There he could see two large men dressed in dirty old clothes, their faces unwashed. One man held a bloody knife, while the other had a grip on the nearly dead man’s hair. All three men stared at the two ten-year old-boys.

  “Grab them, Alex,” shouted one man, as he let go of the victim, whose head fell forward in death.

  Moshe overcame his nausea and pulled Max by his wrist. “Let’s go, Max,” he yelled.

  The boys took off through the woods as fast as their legs and fear could carry them. Moshe looked back and could see that the two men were in pursuit.

  “To the caves,” Max said breathlessly.

  Darting sharply to their right, they scampered down a sharp incline. They wove in and around the trees until they made it to the entry of the caves.

  Moshe knew they could lose their pursuers here. Many times the boys had played hide and seek in the labyrinth, and even his playmates, who knew the caves well, would eventually give up looking.

  Terrified for their lives, Moshe and Max ran into a cave barely visible through a scattering of large boulders and shaded by thirty-foot-tall pine trees.

  They knew exactly where to hide. They ran directly to a corner of the cave and, as expertly as mountain climbers, scaled the twelve-foot wall in seconds. The boys curled up, bringing their knees to their chests and fully disappearing in the darkness.

  CHAPTER 20

  MOSHE IS MISSING

  Clara smiled with relief at the sight of Mordecai the Shabbat knocker, banging his fist on the wooden shutters. Standing outside the front door of her home, she glanced to her left and saw the sun only moments away from setting in the western sky.

  “Shabbat shalom, Mordecai,” Clara said.

  “Shabbat shalom to you and your family,” replied Mordecai, moving on to remind the village of the pending day of rest. She smiled as she watched him continue his task of knocking on the shutters of all the Jewish homes.

  “Clara, where are you,” shouted her mother from inside the house.

  “I’m coming,” she replied.

  “Have you seen Moshe? He hasn’t come home,”

  Sadie said. Stepping inside, Clara saw Jennie and Anna fussing with Hymie, who refused to move his schoolbooks so the girls could set the kitchen table.

  “Girls, have you seen your brother?” Clara asked.

  “Not since this morning,” Jennie answered.

  “Mother, stay here with the children. I’ll go look for him.”

  “Why does he do this to me?” Clara muttered as she marched down toward the center of town. Perhaps she could find one of his friends still out before sunset that had seen him. She saw a few stragglers hurrying home and moments later she found herself alone in the middle of the square, as the dusk turned to darkness.

  “Moshe!” she yelled.

  Not knowing where to search for her son, she frantically looked behind wagons now emptied of their contents, their long handles resting on the ground. She looked down the alleyways and inside abandoned buildings. Then she saw Shmuel locking the front door of the cobbler shop.

  “Thanks to Hashem, Shmuel,” she said rushing toward him.

  “Clara, why are you out so late? It’s already Shabbat.”

  “Moshe never came home. We haven’t seen him since early this morning,” Clara said, as she clasped her hands together to prevent them from shaking.

  “Okay, Clara, calm down. We’ll find him.”

  They searched the entire marketplace, and then Clara suggested, “Let’s try his friend Max’s house. Maybe he is at the Gorens.”

  “Great idea, Clara,” Shmuel agreed.

  Walking down the street toward the Gorens’ home, they saw two people walking toward them.

  “It’s the Gorens,” she said, now running toward them. “Have you seen Moshe?”

  “No,” said Helena Goren. “Have you
seen Max?”

  Oh no, Clara thought. They’re together. Both boys had pushed the limits of getting home in time for Shabbat before, but they’d always made it.

  “We need to go to the police,” said Janusz, Max’s father.

  CHAPTER 21

  MENDEL TAKES CONTROL

  I cannot believe the difference in you, Pincus. You’re not the same man who left Krzywcza,” said Mendel.

  “What do you mean?” asked Pincus.

  “You just told Mrs. Schwartzman how lovely she looked.”

  “Oh right, I suppose some of Jakob’s charm is rubbing off on me,” Pincus said.

  “Maybe, but what about the fuss you just made with Mrs. Cohen’s boy Stanley, saying how he reminded you of Moshe?”

  “It’s good for business, that’s all.”

  “Oh, never mind. It’s good to see you like this,” Mendel said with a brief wave of his hand.

  Pincus shrugged his shoulders and said, “I’ve got work to do,” pointing to the boots and shoes that filled every shelf. Even the workspace in the back had footwear sitting in piles waiting their turn. Business was good. His shop in Krzywcza had provided an adequate living for Pincus and his family and continued to do so, even now with Shmuel running it. But the shop here on Ludlow Street did double or even triple the business.

  While Pincus worked, Mendel reported his progress on setting up the organizational structure of the Landsman Society of Krzywcza. Pincus listened as Mendel told him about his difficulties researching what needed to be done, until he’d found his answer: the shul.

  Unlike Pincus, who went to shul only on Shabbat and High Holidays, Mendel, a former Torah scholar, attended the Congregation Chasam Sopher every day. Pincus also knew that Mendel felt obligated to offer the Yizkor prayer for his beloved, recently deceased wife, Sara.

  Mendel told Pincus about some of the men he had met.

  “You know how, after services, the shul puts out a small snack?”

  Pincus looked up from his work and nodded.

  “So I was noshing on a piece of almond cake and chatting with a few of the men. Most come from villages just like ours, and they have started Landsman support groups,” Mendel said.