The Book of Fathers (13 page)

The course of my life has taken a new turn. Leaving behind the parental home, the famed five-pointed turret, perhaps for ever, in order to find here, in the hilly country, a wife and happiness. Though I am not without fears, I am bold enough to put them to one side, as I believe the Almighty guards my steps
. Omnis dies, omnis hora, quam nihil simus ostendit.

Aaron Stern sent word to Borbála, assuring her that her son was hale and hearty. “I am humbly at your disposal!” he added at the foot of the letter. The reply was addressed not to him but to István Sternovszky. “Return at once or I shall disinherit you!” Whereupon he replied: “Let your will be done!” and stayed. Chaperoned by Aaron Stern, he was able briefly to meet Éva every evening. They exchanged awkward, hesitant words. Once Éva spoke of her mother, whom she had lost at an early age. István Sternovszky nodded: “Yes … tuberculosis.”

The girl’s jaw fell. “Have you been making inquiries about our family?”

“Suffice it to say that I know.”

Or Aaron Stern would reminisce about their long years on the road and the difficult times in Vienna and Prague.

“On the highway of hardships,” added István Sternovszky.

“Where did you hear that?”

“I … well … you won’t believe this … but sometimes I can see into the past.”

Aaron Stern bombarded him with questions about their history and every answer proved absolutely right. As if the young man had had them investigated by the secret police. Aaron Stern scratched his head. “Would you mind if I took you to see our Rabbi?”

“Not in the least.”

Rabbi Ben Loew had arrived from Prague a year and a half earlier. His destination was Odessa, but he had not taken the most direct route. He lodged for a few nights at the Sonntag hostel, in the bend of the stream. He asked after his co-religionists in somewhat broken Hungarian—with soft
h’
s behind his
t
-sounds. He was pointed in the direction of Hegyhát. There the first house he knocked at happened to be the Sterns’. He was made to feel very much at home and asked to stay for the meal. The Rabbi, however, wanted to see only the local house of Jewish prayer and was much astonished to learn from Aaron Stern that there was not one in this neck of the woods.

“No-o? Then where do our people gather for Shabbos?”

“Well … here, in the garden.” Aaron Stern was reluctant to admit that they did not gather at all. The Jews here are just glad they have a hole in their arse and can work hard; they have no wish to antagonize the nobility by building a synagogue.

Rabbi Ben Loew could read between his lines. “I tell you there is synagogue here. Today.”

“How do you mean?”

“We shall build one, all of us together. Just meet me all of you this afternoon, by the bank of the stream.”

The Sterns alerted their friends and acquaintances. As they reached the site, Rabbi Ben Loew was already stripping
the eight acacias he had felled with a handsaw and tying their ends together. The eight-cornered shape thus obtained had then to be covered with wattle and daub. Only above the ark of the covenant did they hammer together a roof when—as Rabbi Ben Loew’s generous gift—the ark was unloaded from his cart and put in its place. Later the members of the community raised the building a little higher and added a layer of thatch.

The service that first night was somewhat protracted, as the congregation’s grasp of the Hebrew language and ritual was rather uncertain. Rabbi Ben Loew was tense and tore at his beard: “Not ever I have seen such a thing! You are not knowing anything!”

“Don’t screech! Teach!” hissed Aaron Stern.

And so it came to pass that the Rabbi stayed longer than planned on the banks of the Hegyhát stream, where his congregation soon built him a house so that he would always remain there. News of his wisdom spread rapidly, and Jews from far afield came to him for advice, for teaching, or even simply to touch the fringes of his caftan, which was widely thought to ensure a life of plenty. It became the custom for couples about to wed to make his house their first port of call before the wedding ceremony. The nobility of the county tried more than once to have the synagogue closed down and to withdraw the right of assembly, but the Rabbi managed to frustrate their plans every time, by persuasion or guile or courage. Nor was it a disadvantage that one of the two landowners in the area, Baroness Sigray, took the Jews under her wing: “What harm does it do to anyone if the Jews praise their god? Especially if they make such excellent wine!”

Rabbi Ben Loew was able to continue to preach his faith unmolested.

Aaron Stern knew that he would not find it easy to gain access to the Rabbi’s person; the queue wound its way from
the garden all the way down to the willows on the bank. Aaron Stern had helped to build the Rabbi’s house and knew the layout well: he led István Sternovszky directly to the back door. He made as if he were heading for the tiny servant hut but at the last minute veered right into the kitchen of the big house. István Sternovszky followed him hesitantly. In the kitchen the Rabbi’s Polish servant Igor was making coffee on the stove. He shook his head, but motioned with his eyes that Aaron Stern should go ahead. Inside the Rabbi had just completed a session with his visitor, a small, plump, doddery old fellow.

“I don’t understand either,” whispered Aaron Stern. “It’s Yiddish.”

István Sternovszky nodded; in his excitement he had not even noticed that they were speaking another tongue. As soon as the old man bowed and left, Rabbi Ben Loew offered them a seat. Turning his face towards Aaron Stern, he asked: “And what can I do for you?”

“Rabbi, this young man can see into the caverns of the past; he knows things that he cannot have learned from us, either in whole or in part. I would be glad to know what you think of him.”

Rabbi Ben Loew looked István Sternovszky up and down with great thoroughness. Finally he said: “Is it as Mr. Stern said?”

“In essence, yes.”

“Well then, tell me how I came to live in this part of the world.”

“I would not know. I can only see the past of those who are close to me.”

Rabbi Ben Loew looked even more closely at the young man. István Sternovszky stood his ground unblinkingly. The Rabbi gave a nod. “That’s fair enough. And are the Sterns close enough to you?”

“As close as can be, almost.”

“Would you be aware of a contract that they might hold particularly dear?”

István Sternovszky nodded and began to recite: “
On the sixteenth day of January in the year of our Lord 1759 the general store of the lord of the manor in Hegyhát is hereby leased to the Jew Aaron Smorakh in accordance with the points of the contract agreed as stated hereunder
—”

“
Stimmt!
Word-perfect!” said Aaron Stern.

“Right.” This interpellation disturbed Rabbi Ben Loew. He placed a hand on Aaron Stern’s shoulder. “It does not matter if there are those who know more than you do about your past. There is no cause for concern. You may believe this fine young man. But do not shout it from the rooftops that he has such extraordinary powers.” With these words and a determined shake of their hands he bade them farewell. They were outside the house when he called after them: “Next time you have a question for me, use the main entrance and wait your turn.”

“Yes, Rabbi,” said Aaron Stern bowing low from the waist. Arm in arm with István Sternovszky they walked home. “A real wonder rabbi,” he said in a low voice.

It was thus decided that István Sternovszky could marry into the family. But the negotiations concerning which house of God was to be the venue took a great deal longer. Aaron Stern insisted on the synagogue, but István Sternovszky was Calvinist and wished to employ the rites of his faith; moreover, he intended that his future offspring also be brought up in that faith and therefore sought from his intended as part of their nuptial vows the usual
reversalis
to this effect. While Éva was inclined to sign a
reversalis
, her father threatened to disinherit her if she did.

“Now that truly is excellent,” István Sternovszky exclaimed. “This wedding will mean that both families disown us.” He had not seen or heard from his mother and younger brother since he had taken himself off to Hegyhát.

They might have argued for years if the Calvinist minister of Tokay had not declared that not for all the gold in the Erzgebirge would he marry a Jewish girl to such a fine upstanding Christian as István Sternovszky.

“All right, reverend sir, you will not have to do any such thing!” István Sternovszky said, leaving the minister standing. He galloped back to Hegyhát. Bursting in once again through the back door on Rabbi Ben Loew, who was in the middle of his evening meal, a batiste napkin tucked under his chin, he exclaimed: “Rabbi, how can you make me a Jew?”

“This second? Or can you wait until I have taken my dinner?”

István Sternovszky was covered with embarrassment and began to back away, but the Rabbi cordially invited him to join him and share his stuffed neck of goose. By the time they had consumed the delicacy, they had agreed on how István Sternovszky might join the Jewish community of Hegyhát. For half a year he visited the Rabbi’s house three times a week to learn all that a good Jew must know. Of course, Ben Loew explained, he could not become a Jew in the eyes of the secular world, but the law was not everything.

The house on the hillside that was Aaron Stern’s gift to the young couple was readied in time for the wedding. In the garden of this building, furnished with every comfort, there was not only a pavilion suitable for concerts and other entertainments, as well as a fountain, but also a comfortable bathhouse. István Sternovszky’s eyes clouded over with tears when his father-in-law conducted them and the wedding party on a tour of their new residence—he had managed somehow to keep the building works secret from the couple. István Sternovszky could not think what he might offer in exchange. In a voice trembling with emotion he declared: “From today in your honor I shall shorten my name to Stern!”

This declaration was applauded by all the relatives present (all the Sterns, that is, since no one came from the family of the groom).

In the mornings István Stern always bade his wife farewell with the words: “Have a happy day, my darling!”

Éva planted a rose bower in the garden, and along the fence bushes of lavender. Their tickling fragrance penetrated the whole house and there was always a bunch or two in the vases on the table. István Stern put great effort into his work selling the white and red wines of his father-in-law. He managed to secure markets for them in places so far away that the Stern family had not even heard of them. He was masterly at talking the tradesmen into contracts, and when they had signed on the dotted line and drunk on it, they often remarked: “Huh! Never get involved with a Jew!” István Stern pretended not to hear such talk.

Once, as a substantial shipment was setting off for Lemberg, Aaron Stern shook his head incredulously: “How in the name of all that’s holy can this be? They hounded our people out of there and now they’ll pay a good price for our wine? It’s a crazy world we’re living in!”

István Stern was inordinately proud of the fact that the family wine business had prospered since he made himself useful in it. He wrote only one letter to his mother, most of it on this topic.

I have not, with the greatest respect, fulfilled my dear mother’s words of ill-omen, that I shall be a masterless man and will beg on bended knee to be taken back at home. With the work of my own two hands I have provided for my family. I hope that your anger will in time lessen and that you will kindly visit us. If my good fortune should hold, I expect that by then there will be three of us at least to welcome you.

After Lemberg it was the turn of palates in Tarnopol, Odessa, and Vitebsk to make the acquaintance of the Stern brand. In earlier times it had been difficult to carry wine of quality such distances, or only in barrels. István Stern had special crates made with thin wooden laths separating the twenty-four bottles and holding them secure. The crate lids had a huge S, for Stern, burned into them with an iron like those used for branding animals. To István Stern this was a glittering snake that haunted his dreams.

At the end of their first year of marriage Éva found herself with child. The birth was difficult and protracted, with the midwife as concerned for the life of the mother as for that of the child.

István Stern recorded the birth of his offspring in The Book of Fathers as elsewhere they might in the family Bible.

Our Richard was born on the seventh day of July in the year 1775, one month earlier than expected. He was very small at birth but proved to be a good child; even as an infant he cried only when racked by pain. His small body was well-proportioned and flawless, like a statue. His only weakness, perhaps, is his eyes, which were prescribed eyeglasses by Dr. Rákosfalvy as early as primary school …

Our Robert was born on the last day of the year 1777, much more easily than we had feared. My Éva is in bursting good health …

Our little Rudolf was born on the twenty-third day of March in the year 1779. Like Robert he perhaps takes more after me, at least with regard to build. My wife Éva had a particularly painful time with him. After the birth she recovered the slender figure that she had when I came to know her at the Debreczen ball. Those who do not know often take her for our sons’ older sister. I wish everyone the enormous joy that it has been my good fortune to
share. Truly, my cup runneth not over only because I have not secured my mother’s forgiveness, and would dearly like to see her and my younger brother. I think of them often. I wonder if they ever miss me
.

Twice István Stern rode over to the five-pointed turret, fondly imagining that he might simply knock on the door, but he shrank back each time, fearing Borbála would order him to leave. Around the turret lily-of-the-valley had burgeoned wildly. This caused him a special kind of pain.