No Time for Tears (47 page)

“They also say that truth is stranger than fiction.” With that he got up and stopped resisting himself. He took her in his arms. “Yes, Julie Kahn, as I said, I think I love you.”

When he kissed her, she wasn’t at all sure she didn’t feel precisely the same. He was right… a lifetime of familiarity could breed nothing, even contempt. She ought to know. An instant could make a lifetime … take advantage of it, Julie. Let it
happen
…

That night Moishe got back to his apartment very late. Both he and Julie were astonished by the quickness, and the
naturalness
, of the intimacy that had happened between them. It was as though, he thought later, they had somehow telescoped time … minutes, hours had literally developed the force of months and years. Their lovemaking had had the excitement of newness, of course, but also the most mystical depth of familiarity. Both knew, without a lecture, that this was indeed something special. And both were determined to take hold of it, nurture it and be grateful for it.

They saw each other every night after that first, except when Julie had to visit her mother, who lived on East End Avenue, across town. A few times Moishe went to dinner at her mother’s, and Julie cooked, which was not her greatest talent—she still majored in Chinese, ordered in—but, as she said and Moishe more than agreed, nobody was perfect. He’d take her and be damned glad for what she was. And she felt precisely the same about him. Moishe was a new phenomenon to her—not only as a man, and she’d been so right about that early feeling about him, but in terms of his remarkable background. Here was a man who had fought for the Jews, fought and been wounded and almost killed to help make a homeland. They didn’t grow them like Moishe Rabinsky in Philadelphia, or at N.Y.U. either, for that matter. And God knew, the men who occasionally accompanied the ladies who came into her shop were on another planet from the likes of Moishe. She loved this man, face it, she told herself. And what was miraculous, he felt the same about her. Chemistry was working overtime in their case, and they were both deeply grateful for it….

When Chavala arrived back from Palestine and found Moishe in his new and welcome condition, her happiness for him was almost … even for her… beyond expression. And here she’d been so worried about the absence of romance and marriage in not only Moishe’s life but in Chia’s. Well … the Rabinsky family could use a new infusion of love, she thought wryly.

Julie was everything that Chavala had ever hoped Moishe would have the good fortune to find and marry, although their coming together had altered the plan she’d devised all during her journey back to America. Well, she would think about that later, but there was no doubt in her mind now that Moishe could not, would not, continue to spend his life in a pawnshop. Not after Julie…

She was sitting in the darkened living room, thinking about the alternatives, when she heard the door open and Moishe walk in.

She called out to him. “I’m in here.”

He turned on the lamp. “What are you doing sitting here in the dark?”

“Thinking.”

He sat down. “When Chavala thinks, it’s usually serious business. What’s it this time?”

“It’s you, and one or two other things. How does Julie feel about the shop?”

“She hasn’t said anything. I doubt she would.”

“Well, I wouldn’t blame her if she did. A pause. “Moishe, are you getting married?”

“Yes, I think I told you that. And soon. Julie knows a good thing when she sees one—”

“Stop the jokes, please … Moishe, I was thinking that maybe I would have to take a little trip. Not for long. Now with your getting married, well, I’m not thinking, I’m knowing—”

“What do you mean, a trip? You just came back a few months ago.”

“Moishe, we have to expand our business. And upgrade it This family is growing, obligations, needs …”

“So how do you plan to expand, upgrade?”

“I plan to open a very fine jewelry store—”

“And what are you going to use for money to buy stock?”

“Well, that brings us to the little trip … While I was crossing that big Atlantic Ocean a lot of thoughts occurred to me, and one of them was that the best buys in stones are in Europe. I’ve always heard that…”

“Europe? This is a little complicated, Chavala, and maybe I’ve missed something, but since you haven’t the money to buy from the wholesalers here, and we’ve been getting the goods from your friend the
landsman
, I ask you, what are you going to use for money to bring merchandise in from Europe?”

“I’ll find a way … please trust me, Moishe. Now, the only detail left for you is to get somebody to fill in at the Harlem store while I’m gone. It will only be for a short time. I’m sure you can handle that.”

He shrugged. “I suppose, but I don’t think you’re telling me everything. I also can see you don’t intend to, so I’ll let it go. But please, Chavala, whatever it is, don’t get in over your head.”

Chavala forced a smile, thinking, what have I been over all my life… so what’s new?

Chavala walked into the dismal alley, scarcely aware of the debris around her, and knocked on the
landsman’s
door.

He looked through the peephole, then the door leading to the basement was opened. He was delighted to see her. In fact, of all the people he did business with, Chavala was his favorite. “
Nu,
Chavala, what can I do for you?”

As she sat across from him she prayed that God … her family … would forgive her for what she was about to ask. “I want to make a good deal of money … and quickly. I want you to tell me how to do that.”

He laughed. “That’s all you want? Better you should ask for the moon.”

“That
is
what I’m asking for,” she answered, thinking of Dovid, Reuven, Raizel and the rest.

“You could open up another operation … like the one you’ve got. I know just the location—”

“Another one like the one I have I don’t want…”

“So?”

“What do you mean, ‘so?’ That’s what I’m asking you. You’re the expert. Who knows more about what I’m looking for than you do?”

He hesitated, then: “All right, so I’ll tell you. It’s called smuggling.”

Chavala thought her heart would jump out of her throat “Please go on.”

The
landsman
shook his head knowingly. “I could sit here for hours and tell you how, but diamonds, gems are just about the easiest things in the world to hide.” He went on to regale her with a dozen different ways that, for example, a small diamond could be secreted. A fortune could be concealed in the knot of a tie. A ten carat diamond could be put inside a false molar. The naked body could conceal enough diamonds to live in a mansion in Miami for the rest of one’s life … How? “I don’t want to be vulgar, dear lady, but … the mouth, the navel, the rectum, an ear, an armpit, between the toes. And, if necessary, they
could
be swallowed. Toothpaste tubes were common carriers. A box of face powder, packets of tea, cans of coffee, the false bottom of a suitcase. One of the best was the hollowed-out heel of a shoe.” He sighed, gesturing with his hands. “Listen, I even knew someone who used the socket behind a false eye … What can I tell you? There’s no end to it.”

“Well,” she said, “I certainly came to the right party. But it sounds almost too easy—”

“It
is.
Take it from me … The
kosher
merchants puff out their chests and deny that the traffic goes on, and they keep their mouths shut about what they know, even though they hate the way what they call submarine goods cuts into their business. The diamond syndicate, people like the De Beers, would like the diamond world to feel that goods can only be bought from them.”

Chavala tried not to think about what she was asking. “So tell me, where do people get the stones from?”

“Different places. Amsterdam is one.”

“And where does Amsterdam get them from?”

“Russia.”

“
Russia?
A communist country deals in diamonds?”

“Of course. They pretend they’re only selling their revolution, but they’re competing in the world market in other commodities, believe me …” he laughed. “Like a regular democracy, they happen to like the decadence of money too. What do you think, the Kremlin doesn’t like money? Think again.”

“How do people get the stones out of Russia?”

“That’s not too hard. They have a license to sell, courtesy of the government—”

“From there, though, what countries do they do business with?”

“South America, Marseilles in France, but one of the biggest markets is Amsterdam.”

Chavala sat silent, almost afraid to ask the next question. “How do you get back into this country?”

“Well, sometimes that’s the tough part. Although diamonds are the easiest thing in the world to conceal, still the customs are smart and they eventually get to know the operators.”

“So, if I understand right, unknowns would be the answer?”

“Obviously, and without records.”

Chavala sat thinking it over. If she were going to be a smuggler, thief, what would she do? “What thief do you know that can be trusted?”

“Oh, Chavala,” he laughed out loud, “that’s what I like about you. No matter how serious, you have a sense of humor.”

“All right, so start laughing a whole lot. Who do you know?”

“I know plenty, as you might imagine, but I wouldn’t recommend them. They cheat you blind.”

“What about your Benny?” she said quickly.

“Benny? He was a sad kid I picked up off the streets, an orphan, penniless. And, God help him, a clubfoot. You’d have to be a stoneheart not to care about that kid. I’m still trying to find a doctor to fix his foot … He’s become like my son, you know that … A thief he’s not. Sure, he delivers goods … but that’s not being a thief—”

“So what am I? A hardened criminal?” What she didn’t say, though she was sure the
landsman
was aware of it, was that, sad as it was, Benny’s special shoe with its five-inch platform would be a likely place to hide diamonds … “But just suppose I took him to Amsterdam and he helped me bring in the stones, that wouldn’t be stealing. That would make him more like a helper.”

The
landsman
laughed again. “Benny? He’d be scared to death.”

“To tell the truth, so am I. We’d give each other support.”

“Suppose I let Benny go, how would you get through customs?”

“As Chasidim.”

Chavala’s imagination was working overtime, he thought. “Chasidim? How did you come up with
that
idea?”

“Because, what Chasid would smuggle? They still live with the teachings of Baal-Shem-Tov like two hundred years ago. They still live with the code of honor … God should only forgive me for even thinking about them like this. But what customs officer would have the
chutzpah
to search prayer books and
tallisim
going to Brooklyn? To say nothing of a woman who wore a
sheitel
… especially a pregnant woman with a
sheitel
.”

The
landsman
shook his head. “You know, Chavala, you have the mind of a thief, and by me that’s no criticism. And you’ve got more guts than anybody.”

She grimaced. “Thank you for the great compliment. But do you think it would work?”

He took a little time to think about it. He nodded. This woman was one of a kind, no question.

“So you think it will work?”

“It’s possible. Maybe sixty-forty. Not bad odds.”

She hoped he was right. “Now I have something that I find very difficult to ask you.”

“Ask.”

“All right … I need your help like I’ve never needed it before. Will you loan me the money?” she asked quickly, then hurried on to add, “I swear I’ll pay you back with whatever interest you want.”

That
he had to think about for a long time, not because he didn’t trust Chavala, but if it didn’t work Chavala could even end up in jail and he’d be out the money. Happy about that prospect he wasn’t, not only because of the loss, but for Chavala’s sake. On the other hand, the whole thing was just crazy enough to work, and, above all, he knew Chavala could talk her way in and out of anything she set her mind to. More than that, he truly liked this incredibly spunky woman. Admired her too. He knew, without all the details, what drove her on to take such crazy risks. Chavala Rabinsky, by God, believed in
family.
He liked that. He had no children, only a lot of money to leave to the State of New York and lawyers in the event of his demise, which he’d prefer not to think about, thank you. He was remembering now when Chavala had first come to him and pleaded for goods because she had to support her family. He thought about Palestine and the troubles they were having. Even a fence was a human being, never mind he hadn’t been exactly the most honorable person in the world. Not that he was taking himself to task … who did he hurt? … but life hadn’t treated him to a bed of roses … He’d been born in Siberia, where his mother and father had been exiled. They died when he was nine and he escaped when he was thirteen. During his wanderings he’d been starved and beaten. By the time he was sixteen he’d finally gotten out of Russia—mostly by walking—and managed to get to the Black Sea. He’d wanted to go to Palestine but the only ship he found available was headed for America, so that’s where he went, to the land of the free and the home of the brave, and the one place where it was possible even for a man like him to better himself … He considered himself one of the fortunate ones … So who the hell cared if Yussel Melnetsky lived or died? Sure, he stole… well, life had stolen from him and he only started to get even when he became the
landsman.
Then, finally, people respected him. Affection? Who cared about him? Who asked them? But somehow Chavala had touched him in a way nobody else had. In her case he wanted to be a
mensch.
He also wanted to do one thing in his life so that he wouldn’t have to stand in front of his Maker and say he hadn’t helped a living soul. “All right, Chavala. On you I’ll gamble.”

She smiled. “I don’t know how to thank you. The first day I met you I said to my brother Moishe that you looked like a
tzaddik
… I think you are.”

Funny, he thought, it felt good to do something nice … not for money, just to feel good … and this was the first time in his life he’d felt that way.