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«Thank you!» Leonid firmly shook Miron's hand. «If it hadn't been for your help…»
«You'll be just fine,» the duty officer grinned and winked at Olga. «Your student is quite the fighter! Hold on to him, girl!»
The train's horn sounded.
«Hurry up!»
Only when the train gained momentum could Olga finally exhale. She was still frightened, but now she looked at her fiance in a completely different light. He appeared calm again, even smiling. That smile dispelled her fear and uncertainty…
Yet, despite calming his beloved, Mirachevsky couldn't sleep for a long time. He found comfort in contemplating the sound of the wheels. Now, Leonid realized that Miron's help had played a crucial role in their escape.
If it hadn't been for the intervention of the head of the department… It was fortunate that he had obviously been stationed in Lazirky for a considerable time and perhaps had personally apprehended criminals here. If the other officers were like Peter, their sympathies would not be in favor of the student – he was a stranger to them. And perhaps an even more estranged element than the understandable miller-kulak (wealthy or prosperous peasant). «What about the international proletariat anthem? Where is the justice?» The realization of this fact tormented his soul terribly. While the first part of the incident, the scuffle with the rival, was even somewhat satisfying to recall («how he stood up for her!»), the aftermath was something he wished to forget as soon as possible.
* * *
Indeed, Olga Gurko departed Lazirky just in the nick of time. The age-old village was undergoing transformations in its long-established way of life… Subsequently, an artel with the evocative name «Nezamozhnyk,» meaning «Poor Man,» was founded there.
However, fate beckoned the young men onward, leading them through Kharkov and onward by rail to Moscow.
Chapter 6: For a Better Share
In those years, Moscow warmly welcomed all who sought a new beginning. Young and old, rich and poor, from the «former» or «present,» people from all walks of life tried to establish themselves in the Red Capital and forge a fresh destiny. They settled in its alleys, cramped rooms, and barracks, clustering in the suburbs, yet persistently clinging to hope for a change in their fortunes.
Yakov Maretsky's decision to relocate from the Taurida Governorate to Moscow was a well-considered and arduous one. His wife, Maria, had been suffering from a prolonged illness, necessitating the attention of capable doctors. Moreover, the future of their children demanded attention, especially their eldest, Mark, who was already sixteen!
Nonetheless, parting with their beloved hometown of Henichesk was no easy task. It had experienced a literal blossoming just before the revolution, becoming an official city only in 1903. The construction of the port had transformed the landscape: mudbrick houses in the center were replaced by sturdy stone structures, streets were paved, and even the main square, which once rivaled a swamp in inclement weather, now looked quite decent. Various trading offices, including foreign ones, hotels, restaurants, coffee houses, and taverns had sprung up. Yakov himself was engaged in his own business, buying goods from villagers and reselling them at the city market or port.
Yakov had married a treasure of a wife: beautiful, thrifty, and from a reputable family – the daughter of a wealthy shopkeeper (the Bersovs' store was located near the market in the city center). As fate would have it, she bore him two children – first, a son to assist the father, and then a daughter to support the mother. It seemed that Yakov's love for Maria only grew stronger after the birth of their children.
Yakov cherished his offspring: Anna, a delicate flower with captivating green eyes, and Mark, a spirited force whose energy needed channeling from an early age. At the tender age of five, the responsible duty of looking after his one-year-old sister was entrusted to the eldest son, Mark. It quickly became evident that responsibility was the boy's second most prominent trait, following his boundless curiosity, for which there seemed to be no end. Mark was intrigued by everything, and who better than his father to explain the unfathomable!
It became apparent to Yakov that his son needed an education beyond the Talmud alone. «Perhaps grammar school would suit him better. He should attend a cheder and should strive for greater things.»
* * *
«Maria,» the father, feeling both fatigued from the continuous questions and genuinely delighted, called out to his wife, «how did you manage to give birth to my son just in time for the opening of the library! That must be it; that's why he has this insatiable thirst for knowledge!»
The establishment of the opulent Public Library, the first in Henichesk, became a noteworthy event that drew both approval and discontent from the local press and bazaar-goers alike. Some questioned the abundance of books, arguing that the Torah was enough.
«Oh, Yakov, do you want your son to be a nar (fool) like Moysha, who only knows how to chase pigeons and cats?» His wife reminded him of the foolish offspring of the Winklevich family, adding with a chuckle, «And besides, with the streets being paved that year, would you also say our son has a heart of stone?»
Before Yakov could respond to his wife, young Mark had another question. «What is a library?» he inquired. And then, without pause, he asked, «Is there really such a thing as a heart of stone?»
«A library is a place filled with many books,» Father tried to be patient, eager to bring the never-ending conversation to a close. «And a heart of stone is an expression used for children who lack empathy and torment their parents with incessant questions.»
Little Anna, the younger sister, stood up for her beloved brother. «Mark is good!» she declared, not fully grasping the nuances of the conversation but sensing the changes in her father's tone. Mark, the restless and inventive elder brother, was her hero. He was the best in the world to her, and in return, he cherished his little sister tenderly.
* * *
In general, everything was going well for the Maretsky family. They lived harmoniously, not wealthy but not impoverished either. In a port city, only the indolent or inebriated would become destitute, but Yakov was diligent, astute, healthy, and robust – qualities essential in his line of work.
However, the Civil War did not merely sweep through Henichesk – it nearly obliterated it. The small port in the Melitopol district, situated on the outskirts of Crimea, faced attacks from all sides: shelled by armored trains on the railroad, visited by every faction fighting in Ukraine. The destruction inflicted gaping wounds on its streets, and sorrow and fear permeated the homes of its inhabitants.
Of course, the residents were resourceful people; they sought refuge in local catacombs and stockpiled food to outwit Germans, Whites, Reds, Greens, and other punitive detachments. These ancient dungeons concealed secret passages that baffled outsiders, but the boys, forbidden from going near the catacombs due to their former use by smugglers, still managed to learn and explore a lot. Mark, naturally curious, couldn't resist involvement in such significant matters, yet attentive parents promptly put an end to his attempts, ensuring he didn't partake in unsafe underground exploration. Disobeying was out of the question.
However, strangely enough, the real catastrophe struck in 1921, after the Civil War in the South had already ended. Henichesk seemed destined to never recover: plagued by typhus, subject to shootings by the Cheka, and plunged into a terrible famine. A famine in a land known for its abundance of bread, a place that had grown into a city thanks to its flourishing grain trade…
* * *
No one believed it, even though gradually the townspeople were transitioning back to peaceful life. But the prospects had dried up here, and supplies were depleting after enduring so many pogroms and requisitions…
Recalling the horrors he had endured, Yakov suspected that his wife's sudden and puzzling illness was a result of the endless searches and threats they had faced. The walls of their once-reliable house now seemed inadequate to protect the family.
Perhaps, that's why he found himself agreeing with his daughter when she spoke about leaving. Anna observed with eagerness as those who had held the town together departed Henichesk, one by one.
«Daddy, everyone is leaving from here,» her voice trembled, «I wish we could go to Kharkov, too. There's a new Ukrainian capital and real life there now.»
«Eh, what kind of life is real, daughter?»
«I don't know. It's just… there, not here.»
A lump formed in his throat. Amid the daily struggles for survival and Maria's health, he had overlooked this despair. He glanced at his son – serious and silent. Understanding his father's unspoken question, he simply nodded. And who could doubt it? These two were always on the same page.
Yes, I should have made up my mind long ago. He pulled Anna closer, rubbed his son's shoulder.
«Well, if we're going to the capital, we're going to the main one!»
«Daddy!»
«Oh, tsores…» Maria sighed.
«Why the distress, Mom?» Mark asserted confidently. «There are good doctors there too.»
* * *
Mark adored Henichesk, just as children hold dear everything associated with the earliest and brightest years of their lives. It was astonishing how much this small town encompassed! The bustling, colorful bazaar gave way to the tranquility of the new embankment, where composed locals strolled, and the hush of a narrow street with soft dust underfoot abruptly yielded to the lively bustle of the central «avenue.» The port's incessant hum, where carts rattled on the flooring day and night, barges rumbled, and movers shouted, retreated before the serene calm of the deserted Arabat Arrow.
In this place, the feeling of crowdedness and confined space, so often found in many provincial towns, simply dissolved, for on all sides lay vast expanses! On one hand, the boundless water surface, and on the other, an endless steppe. The air carried not just scents but also tastes, where the salty sea freshness mingled with the aroma of steppe grasses. Mark, naturally observant, had ample time to notice all the subtleties and nuances, the shifting moods and ever-changing aspects of nature as he ran errands for his parents or wandered with his friends.
Perhaps, it was the diversity of Henichesk that had a significant impact on shaping his character. However, it also meant that he was destined to outgrow his hometown, feeling the urge to explore beyond its limits.
* * *
Of course, Mark supported his sister's desire to leave Henichesk. What prospects awaited him in this town? The grueling toil at the port, assisting his father on commercial trips, or, in the best case, working for the Bersovs – his grandfather Zeide wouldn't refuse his only daughter's son – with the potential of becoming a storekeeper. However, firstly, these options held little appeal for the inquisitive young man. Secondly, they seemed to fade away on their own. Despite the bright memories of his childhood, the impressions of the harsh years weighed heavily on his future.
Mark couldn't yet precisely articulate what he aspired to do. Initially, he entertained the idea of joining the navy, but he had witnessed its less glamorous aspects since childhood and realized that there was little romance in the navy. Then, a completely different realm captured his imagination.
Over the years, Mark had repeatedly observed airplanes circling above the city and the sea, sailing gracefully through the sky with their engines moderately humming or pouncing fiercely like hungry seagulls, dropping deadly cargo. Sometimes, he received reprimands for his hesitance, being told to hurry to the basement for safety. Instead of hiding, he tried to watch each aircraft closely. Those were remarkable days, as various models soared through the sky: Voisins, Farmans, Nieuports, Sopwiths, and more.
Once, Mark had the extraordinary luck of witnessing an airplane with a truly enormous wingspan. At the time, he didn't know its name, Ilya Muromets, but it left a lasting impression on his imagination. Excitedly describing it to his friend Sergei, Mark exclaimed, «It's huge! The wings! The rumble it made was so loud, I could feel the vibrations inside me!» He gestured vigorously, trying to imitate the roar of a four-cylinder engine, and then ran around the yard with arms outstretched, reveling in his delight.
Even earlier, he had observed Lebed hydroplanes taking off and circling over the sea from the northeastern Azov coast. The airplane factory built in Taganrog in 1916 tested its new machines over the water, and sometimes they ventured beyond Taganrog Bay, much to the delight of the boys. When they heard the distant murmur of the engine, they would rush to the embankment to catch a better glimpse of the marvelous aircraft gliding in the clouds above the sea surface.
However, it was during the war that Mark truly witnessed the beauty and power of these winged machines, as they demonstrated their capabilities in combat conditions (if only his parents didn't interfere with watching these battles!).
By the time he turned fifteen, it had become clear to Mark that if he were to choose a profession, it must be connected with this new technology, with the sky. But in Henichesk, with its limited opportunities, and for a boy like Mark, the sky seemed so distant and unattainable…
The unexpected decision of his father to move to Moscow brought new opportunities. However, Yakov embarked on a reconnaissance trip to Moscow himself. In the city, the new economic policy, as insiders claimed, had already begun to work miracles, reviving the seemingly impossible with a life-giving elixir.
Chapter 7: Hopes and Losses
A couple of months later, Yakov returned to fetch his family. He had departed with a heavy heart, venturing into the unknown, but he returned with confidence that everything would fall into place as it should.
In the mid-1920s, as new societies, artels, and trusts emerged almost daily, there arose a need not just for laborers – there was plenty of that – but for people who were savvy and resourceful. Fortunately, Yakov managed to find a job rather swiftly. As a citizen of Jewish origin in a new place, the natural course was to approach the synagogue – they always offered help to their own people.
They advised him to seek out a certain Baruch Berkovich, the headman of a construction artel. Fortunately for Yakov, but to the dismay of Baruch, the artel's foreman had gone rogue and was expelled in disgrace. This was the perfect opportunity for Maretsky senior to utilize his experience as a traveling salesman, his negotiation skills, and, of course, his imposing appearance. «Schtark vl a ferd – strong as a horse,» his father used to say about him. The short, stocky Baruch gave Yakov a shrewd look but sternly inquired:
«Where are you from? What can you do?»
«From Henichesk…» And briefly, Yakov recounted what he had been doing since he was very young. He was immediately hired. The new occupation suited him perfectly, and he quickly became an indispensable assistant to the headman. Baruch even helped him with housing, introducing him to the right people.
* * *
Yakov shared all this with his family as they hurriedly packed up their rustic belongings. The journey was arduous, especially for Maria, but finally, they arrived in Moscow…
The capital immediately overwhelmed them with the clamor of the station square, the shouts of merchants, the clang of street – cars, and the rumble of wrought iron wheels on the sidewalk. In the evening, it dazzled them with bright shop windows and lights, astounding them with the abundance of advertising, especially in the main streets. Mark was enthralled. Since childhood, he had possessed the ability to marvel at even the smallest things and to find the extraordinary in the ordinary. Consequently, he immediately fell in love with the diverse and vibrant crowd, and with the seemingly endless streets that the streetcar carried them along from the station. The young provincial barely had enough time to turn his head, observing passers-by and reading the bright, promising signs: «Artel of Gastronomic Goods,» «Confectionery Cooperative,» «Metallotrest: Our Drills, Scythes, Axes – all Strong and Sharp.»
«Look at The Haberdashery Manufactories! It's not like the Bersov's store; have you seen their window?!» Mark marveled, familiar with the wisdom of trade from childhood, and astonished by the capital's grand scale.
«Anna, look, look, look! This is how the capital dresses!» Mark even leaned out of the window to catch a glimpse of the elegant girls – the kind he had only seen in movies – emerging from the arcade doors.
«Don't break your neck,» his father chuckled.
«Oh, the dresses are so beautiful…» Anna caught her brother's mood, and her apprehension towards passers-by transformed into curiosity.
«I'll get you a dress, don't worry.»
«You're boasting, son. Moscow has a temperament; it won't accept just anyone.»
In reality, Yakov, who himself had never been afraid to embark on a new venture, was pleased.
«We'll be kind to it, so why shouldn't it accept us!»
«You're quite the braggart, Mark!» The sarcastic tone held no malice; his sister trusted him wholeheartedly.
Only Maria did not share her family's optimism. Pale and exhausted from the journey she could barely bear the stifling heat in the crowded streetcar and tried not to sigh too loudly so as not to upset her husband and children. Only occasionally did she whisper to herself, «Meshuggah, meshuggah.» Yes, to newcomers, this city often seemed a little crazy.
* * *
They arrived at a rented apartment on 3rd Meshchanskaya Street, two cramped rooms without a kitchen – quite a fortune for those times. Yakov had deliberately chosen this neighborhood for its proximity to the former Sheremetev Hospital, now transformed into the Institute of Emergency Care, located on Bolshaya Sukharevskaya Square. Just in front of the hospital, standing like a fairy-tale palace at the foot of the renowned Sukharev Tower, was the bustling main market of the capital. The Moscow Soviet had closed down the market during the revolutionary turmoil, denouncing it as a «hotbed of speculation and crime.» However, with the advent of the New Economic Policy (NEP), trade had spontaneously revived, nearly matching its previous scale.
Thus, a new chapter in the family's history began. At home, Anna diligently cared for her mother, managed the household, and attended typing courses, while Mark found employment in his father's artel. The years of revolution and war communism had left many buildings dilapidated, necessitating not just repairs but restoration as well. Simultaneously, new constructions were unfolding, leading to numerous orders for their brigade. The team was friendly, and Baruch, the leader, meticulously selected personnel based on reliable recommendations, ensuring smooth holidays and the observance of the Sabbath.
In the evenings and on weekends, Mark took the opportunity to explore the unfamiliar cityscape. Following a self-imposed rule, he ventured from the center, the Kremlin, into different directions, acquainting himself with the city, its customs, and its habits – traversing on foot or aboard streetcars like a true Muscovite. Everything was new and surprising, but when he reached the Moskva River, the bustling wharves reminded him of his native port, and he felt at home.
His exploration initially centered on the neighborhoods of Sretenka and Meshchanskaya Sloboda, where intricate facades of revenue houses stood alongside sturdy stone buildings from the last century and wooden two-story shacks inhabited by a diverse and often unreliable population. The Sukharevsky market was a place to be cautious about, and Anna was strictly forbidden from going there alone. Yakov also warned his son, «Don't venture in there unless necessary; it's not a place for leisure. And keep a close eye on your pockets!»
As understandable as his father's instructions were, they proved challenging to follow in practice, given that nearly all roads led through the market. The adjacent streets, filled with shops, stores, and inns, were essentially an extension of it. Yet, the newly minted Muscovite found this unusual place fascinating. He visited as if attending the movies, gaining experience from the sights and sounds. And when he sensed suspicious glances – «he's prowling around, seeking out a thief; there are plenty of hooligans now» – he would cautiously retreat, imagining himself as a protagonist of a detective story. There was something elusive that drew him to the market.
One Sunday, as he strolled along the rows, he heard a sudden commotion behind him – shouting, whistling, and cursing, as if a wave of chaos was approaching. From a distance, Mark had witnessed such occurrences before. As he turned around, he saw a boy emerging from the sea of people, pushing him, and then disappearing into the crowd. Mark could have apprehended the hoodlum, but for an instant, their eyes met, and he found himself frozen. Following closely behind was a policeman, shrilly whistling, and a short while later, a panting, bewildered, heavy-set citizen arrived.
The scene played out as a typical occurrence in the market. Mark noticed that no one else in the crowd seemed bothered, and life resumed its normal pace. Nevertheless, the weight in his pocket felt unusual, prompting him to reach for the source of the heaviness.
Once out of the crowd, he ducked into the first alley to examine the «foundling» – a costly cigarette case. «What should I do? Should I go to the authorities?» he pondered, feeling perplexed. He couldn't understand why he refrained from apprehending the thief, a blueeyed, attractive young man who appeared to be around his age. There was something in the thief's gaze that halted him – perhaps slyness, as if they were comrades sharing a secret, or an undeniable, composed seriousness. Mark was certain that he wasn't going to take any action. Was it compassion, a sense of camaraderie, or maybe fear of the consequences, knowing the ways of the local public? Whatever it was, fear wasn't what he felt.
«Discard it! Toss it away and forget it,» his self-preservation instinct whispered, urging him to make the sensible choice. But he couldn't bring himself to do it. Instead, he secretively stashed the cigarette case under the mattress at home. A surprising thought crossed his mind: «This is my first secret…» Strangely enough, within the friendly Maretsky family, secrets, even when they surfaced (mostly about the boys' mischief), had a tendency to be revealed swiftly.
He hadn't yet decided what to do with the stolen item, but from that day on, every time he passed through the market, he searched for the pickpocket. Mark couldn't help but wonder if the thief had been caught on that ill-fated morning. Nights were spent restlessly, cursing himself for unwittingly becoming an accomplice.
A week or two later, while leaving the house, Maretsky nearly collided with the blue-eyed pickpocket.
«Sacha,» the unpunished thief introduced himself briefly, extending his hand.
Mark introduced himself and shook the grubby, five-fingered hand. Surprisingly, a sense of relief washed over him – he saw a way out of the delicate situation.
«Why didn't you report me? I could've been caught,» the pickpocket inquired, studying Mark with unabashed interest.
«I had second thoughts,» Mark admitted, realizing that he indeed had.
«Well, I'm grateful,» the pickpocket remarked jokingly, extending his gratitude. «Where's the item? Did you get rid of it already?»
«You're insulting me! It's right there, waiting for you. Let me get it for you.»
When the item was returned to its rightful owner, Mark finally breathed a sigh of relief. Sacha inspected the cigarette case and expressed his dismay:
«Oh, what a waste of effort. And it was such a serious gentleman.»
«What's wrong?»
«I don't believe it's gold. Well, I might get a few pennies for it, at least.»
As they strolled together towards the square, Mark couldn't help but ponder how this newfound acquaintance defied the stereotypical image of a street thief. Sacha was a blond, well-built but notably thin young man with delicate features and an exceptionally smooth way of speaking. Something about him didn't quite add up.
Nevertheless, that day marked a significant turning point for Mark – unexpectedly, he had found a friend.
* * *
The more Maretsky got to know Sacha, who happened to be a year younger than him, the more he understood why he hadn't reported him. Sacha Voisky hailed from Tver, born to an officer in a destitute noble family and a former maid. He recounted his life with a subdued demeanor, devoid of any emotion.
