The Fourth Estate (4 page)

THE TIMES

6 July 1923

C
ommunist Forces
at Work THERE ARE SOME advantages and many disadvantages in being born a
Ruthenian Jew, but it was to be a long time before Lubji Hoch discovered any of
the advantages.

Lubji was born
in a small stone cottage on the outskirts of Douski, a town that nestled on the
Czech, Romanian and Polish borders, He could never be certain of the exact date
of his birth, as the family kept no records, but he was roughly a year older
than his brother and a year younger than his sister.

As his mother
held the child in her arms she smiled. He was perfect, right down to the bright
red birthmark below his right shoulder blade-just like his father’s.

The tiny cottage
in which they lived was owned by his great-uncle, a rabbi. The rabbi had
repeatedly begged Zelta not to marry Sergei Hoch, the son of a local cattle
trader. The young girl had been too ashamed to admit to her uncle that she was
pregnant with Sergei’s child. Although she went against his wishes, the rabbi
gave the newly married couple the little cottage as a wedding gift.

When Lubji
entered the world the four rooms were already overcrowded; by the time he could
walk, he had been joined by another brother and a second sister.

His father, of
whom the family saw little, left the house soon after the sun had risen every
morning and did not return until nightfall.

Lubji’s mother
explained that he was going about his work.

“And what is
that work?” asked Lubji.

“He is tending
the cattle left to him by your grandfather.” His mother made no pretense that a
few cows and their calves constituted a herd.

“And where does
Father work?” asked Lubji.

“In the fields
on the other side of town.”

“What is a
town?” asked Lubji.

Zelta went on
answering his questions until the child finally fell asleep in her arms.

The rabbi never
spoke to Lubji about his father, but he did tell him on many occasions that in
her youth his mother had been courted by numerous admirers, as she was
considered not only the most beautiful, but also the brightest girl in the
town. With such a start in life she should have become a teacher in the local
school, the rabbi told him, but now she had to be satisfied with passing on her
knowledge to her ever-increasing family.

But of all her
children, only Lubji responded to her efforts, sitting at his mother’s feet,
devouring her every word and the answers to any question he posed. As the years
passed, the rabbi began to show interest in Lubji’s progress-and to worry about
which side of the family would gain dominance in the boy’s character.

His fears had
first been aroused when Lubji began to crawl, and had discovered the front
door: from that moment his attention had been diverted from his mother, chained
to the stove, and had focused on his father and on where he went when he left
the house every morning.

Once Lubji could
stand up, he turned the door handle, and the moment he could walk he stepped
out onto the path and into the larger world occupied by his father. For a few
weeks he was quite content to hold his hand as they walked through the cobbled
streets of the sleeping town until they reached the fields where Papa tended
the cattle.

But Lubji
quickly became bored by the cows that just stood around, waiting first to be milked
and later to give birth. He wanted to find out what went on in the town that
was just waking as they passed through it every morning ...

To describe
Douski as a town might in truth be to exaggerate its importance, for it
consisted of only a few rows of stone houses, half a dozen shops, an inn, a
small synagogue-where Lubji’s mother took the whole family every Saturday-and a
town hall he had never once entered.

But for Lubji it
was the most exciting place on earth.

One morning,
without explanation, his father tied up two cows and began to lead them back
toward the town. Lubji trotted happily by his side, firing off question after
question about what he intended to do with the cattle. But unlike the questions
he asked his mother, answers were not always forthcoming, and were rarely
illuminating.

Lubji gave up
asking any more questions, as the answer was always “Wait and see.” When they
reached the outskirts of Douski the cattle were coaxed through the streets
toward the market.

Suddenly his
father stopped at a less than crowded corner. Lubji decided that there was no
purpose in asking him why he had chosen that particular spot, because he knew
he was unlikely to get an answer. Father and son stood in silence. It was some
time before anyone showed any interest in the two cows.

Lubji watched
with fascination as people began to circle the cattle, some prodding them,
others simply offering opinions as to their worth, in tongues he had never
heard before. He became aware of the disadvantage his father labored under in
speaking only one language in a town on the borders of three countries. He
looked vacantly at most of those who offered an opinion after examining the
scrawny beasts.

When his father
finally received an offer in the one tongue he understood, he immediately
accepted it without attempting to bargain.

Several pieces
of colored paper changed hands, the cows were handed to their new owner, and
his father marched off into the market, where he purchased a sack of grain, a
box of potatoes, some gefilte fish, various items of clothing, a pair of
secondhand shoes which badly needed repairing and a few other items, including
a sleigh and a large brass buckle that he must have felt someone in the family
needed. It struck Lubji as strange that while others bargained with the
stallholders, Papa always handed over the sum demanded without question.

On the way home
his father dropped into the town’s only inn, leaving Lubji sitting on the
ground outside, guarding their purchases. It was not until the sun had
disappeared behind the town hall that his father, having downed several bottles
of slivovice, emerged swaying from the inn, happy to allow Lubji to struggle
with the sleigh full of goods with one hand and to guide him with the other.

When his mother
opened the front door, Papa staggered past her and collapsed onto the mattress.
Within moments he was snoring.

Lubji helped his
mother drag their purchases into the cottage. But however warmly her eldest son
spoke about them, she didn’t seem at all pleased with the results of a year’s
labor. She shook her head as she decided what needed to be done with each of
the items.

The sack of
grain was propped tip in a corner of the kitchen, the potatoes left in their
wooden box and the fish placed by the window. The clothes were then checked for
size before Zelta decided which of her children they should be allocated to.
The shoes were left by the door for whoever needed them. Finally, the buckle
was deposited in a small cardboard box which Lubji watched his mother hide
below a loose floorboard on his father’s side of the bed.

That night,
while the rest of the family slept, Lubji decided that he had followed his
father into the fields for the last time. The next morning, when Papa rose,
Lubji slipped into the shoes left by the door, only to discover that they were
too large for him. He followed his father out of the house, but this time he
went only as far as the outskirts of the town, where he hid behind a tree. He
watched as Papa disappeared out of sight, never once looking back to see if the
heir to his kingdom was following.

Lubji turned and
ran back toward the market. He spent the rest of the day walking around the
stalls, finding out what each of them had to offer. Some sold fruit and
vegetables, while others specialized in furniture or household necessities. But
most of them were willing to trade anything if they thought they could make a
profit. He enjoyed watching the different techniques the traders used when
bargaining with their customers: some bullying, some cajoling, almost all lying
about the provenance of their wares. What made it more exciting for Lubji was
the different languages they conversed in. He quickly discovered that most of
the customers, like his father, ended up with a poor bargain. During the
afternoon he listened more carefully, and began to pick up a few words in
languages other than his own.

By the time he
returned home that night, he had a hundred questions to ask his mother, and for
the first time he discovered that there were some even she couldn’t answer. Her
final comment that night to yet another unanswered question was simply, “It’s
time you went to school, little one.” The only problem was that there wasn’t a
school in Douski for anyone so young. Zelta resolved to speak to her uncle
about the problem as soon as the opportunity arose. After all, with a brain as
good as Lubji’s, her son might even end up as a rabbi.

The following
morning Lubji rose even before his father had stirred, slipped into the one
pair of shoes, and crept out of the house without waking his brothers or
sisters. He ran all the way to the market, and once again began to walk around
the stalls, watching the traders as they set out their wares in preparation for
the day ahead. He listened as they bartered, and he began to understand more
and more of what they were saying. He also started to realize what his mother
had meant when she had told him that he had a God-given gift for languages.
What she couldn’t have known was that he had a genius for bartering.

Lubji stood
mesmerized as he watched someone trade a dozen candles for a chicken, while
another parted with a chest of drawers in exchange for two sacks of potatoes.
He moved on to see a goat being offered in exchange for a worn-out carpet and a
cartful of logs being handed over for a mattress. How he wished he could have
afforded the mattress, which was wider and thicker than the one his entire
family slept on.

Every morning he
would return to the marketplace. He learned that a barterer’s skill depended
not only on the goods you had to sell, but in your ability to convince the
customer of his need for them. It took him only a few days to realize that
those who dealt in colored notes were not only better dressed, but
unquestionably in a stronger position to strike a good bargain.

When his father
decided the time had come to drag the next two cows to market, the six-year-old
boy was more than ready to take over the haggling. That evening the young
trader once again guided his father home.

But after the
drunken man had collapsed on the mattress, his mother just stood staring at the
large pile of wares her son placed in front of her.

Lubji spent over
an hour helping her distribute the goods among the rest of the family, but
didn’t tell her that he still had a piece of colored paper with a “ten” marked
on it. He wanted to find out what else he could purchase with it.

The following
morning, Lubji did not head straight for the market, but for the first time he
ventured into Schull Street to study what was being sold in the shops his
great-uncle occasionally visited. He stopped outside a baker, a butcher, a
potter, a clothes shop, and finally a jeweler Mr. Lekski – the only
establishment that had a name printed in gold above the door. He stared at a
brooch displayed in the center of the window. It was even more beautiful than
the one his mother wore once a year at Rosh Hashanah, and which she had once
told him was a family heirloom. When he returned home that night, he stood by
the fire while his mother prepared their one-course meal. He informed her that
shops were nothing more than stationary stalls with windows in front of them,
and that when he had Pushed his nose up against the pane of glass, he had seen
that nearly all of the customers inside traded with pieces of paper, and made
no attempt to bargain with the shopkeeper.

The next day,
Lubji returned to Schull Street. He took the piece of paper out of his pocket
and studied it for some time. He still had no idea what anyone would give him
in exchange for it. After an hour of staring through windows, he marched
confidently into the bakers shop and handed the note to the man behind the
counter. The baker took it and shrugged his shoulders.

Lubji pointed
hopefully to a loaf of bread on the shelf behind him, which the shop-keeper
passed over. Satisfied with the transaction, the boy turned to leave, but the
shopkeeper shouted after him, “Don’t forget your change.”

Lubji turned
back, unsure what he meant. He then watched as the shopkeeper deposited the
note in a tin box and extracted some coins, which he handed across the counter.

Once he was back
on the street, the six-year-old studied the coins with great interest. They had
numbers stamped on one side, and the head of a man he didn’t recognize on the
other.

Encouraged by
this transaction, he moved on to the potter’s shop, where he purchased a bowl
which he hoped his mother would find some use for in exchange for half his
coins.

Lubji’s next
stop was at Mr. Lekski’s, the jeweler, where his eyes settled on the beautiful brooch
displayed in the center of the window.