The Marble Steps

1. Prolog.

V. There are countless barber shops in Vilno, Yet none of them have a name. They all have numbers. There was only one shop that everyone referred to by a name. It also had a number and the sign did not include a name, nevertheless it did exist. It existed, if you will, through the word of the mouth. Everyone would refer to this barber shop as the “Road To Happiness” and would only pronounce it in Polish, naturally with their own cultural accent.
Reason being, that back in the now-forgotten 1956, in front of this tiny barber shop, on the first floor of a grand old house, leading to the entrance were three steps, from the genuine white marble. Each one engraved with granite, and each one bearing one word.
At the base – Road
Middle – To
At the top – Happiness
And that’s how people would enter the barber shop. Enter to tell stories that were a dazzling mixture of tears and laughter. I would come there to listen.

You missed a lot if you never visited that barber shop. I, for example, found something there. What, you may ask me? I will tell you.
I found everything that I want to pass on to you under the title of Road To Happiness

2. Reb Arn.

R Reb Arn was respected here as the oldest, and every Sunday, the conversation wouldn’t start until his arrival.
What for?
O Smoking is bad for you
R What I respect Germans for it’s their punctuality.
When we incurred the last Action, which happened about half year after all the women and children were executed, us, men, were working on the road construction. And the “soul taker”, gazwagon, would approach us exactly from the side of the road that was already completed. It was an iron covered wagon, sort of the ones that are being used nowadays to deliver bread. Metal door at the end and a few steps. It would calmly approach us, turn around, solders would open the door, and the officer would tally about 10-12 people closest to the wagon, tell them to accurately stack their tools and invite them to enter the wagon one by one. They enter, solders would close the doors, and we would continue working as if nothing happened. Until an empty gazwagon would return.
We are working, the gazwagon comes and goes, and fewer and fewer of us are left. I see that I am almost at the end, there are 5 or 6 men in front of me. Meaning that I am up with the next group. A pretty simple math. So be it. Of course I could switch places and quietly move down the line, so to postpone the inevitable by one more trip and to work the shovel a while longer. Who needs that?
I see it’s coming.
The officer counted the next group, including me, I put my shovel with the rest, and got in line.
O- You must enter the wagon one by one, accurately following the men in front of you. We Germans, like order.
R – I think I was number 6 or 7, and I must admit the odor coming from the door was very unpleasant, and I could not think of anything besides that. The officer was standing on the bottom step, kept the count of the incoming men and glancing at his watch.
O – Twelve o’clock. Lunch time.
R - What I respect Germans for, is their punctuality.

3 - Blacksmith

V – Let me tell you now what happened in our shtatle. Occurrence as they say, quite uncommon, and I would not believe it myself if it was not for live witnesses who saw it with their own eyes. Obviously gentiles. A Jew can only be called to the witness stand from a common grave.
So here it is, listen, and don’t interrupt. I was once telling this story somewhere else, and there was one, claiming to be a doctor, he said this could not be, hence it’s nothing but a pure fantasy.
I only know one thing, life can be richer then any fantasy. So don’t be like that doctor and don’t interrupt me. So what was I going to tell you… Ah yes. There was a Jew living in our shtatle. Who else lives in shtatle but a Jew? But this Jew was quite different from all the Jews. Although nowadays only God can tell for sure who’s a Jew and who is not. And this Jew’s name was Moshe and he was…
M – A blacksmith. Making horseshoes, nails, cart wheels, As any other blacksmith. What other work is there in shtatle?
V. What can I say? A darn good blacksmith. As they say – master class. They’d bring him a stallion with the worst attitude. The owner himself is afraid of the horse. But Moshe will glance at the horse, will…
The stud is standing as quiet and calm as a pony as Moshe is nailing his horseshoes. And why was his voice so roaring? There is no secret there. Moshe would never open up his shop until he’d down a giant glass of vodka.
M – At the dinner table…
V – straight up. He’ll just wipe his lips with a sleeve.
What kind of Jew can allow himself a stunt like that?
I am telling you, he was different from the others. And the Jews would stay away from him. Pure gentile. Wild horses could not drag him into the synagogue. And between us he was no older and no younger then seventy years old. He would not say much, but if he opens his mouth, not only people, horses would run away.
M – I was a soldier in the zar’s army during the Japanese campaign and there I’ve…
Learned…
Russian…
Language…
V – He so….
He knew such…
That the elders were saying sailors seemed like children from respectable families next to him.
I am telling you he was not like any other Jew, and normal people would not even talk to him unless they had to. Black, bearded, dark as a cloud, the smell of the charcoal and vodka would carry away from him for a mile. To live with him in the same house is not a great pleasure. Even if you pay someone a lot of money.
But there was one creature that would quietly accept all that. His wife – Toyba.
V – Toyba is Idish for Dove. A dove I’ll tell you in every sense of the word. Little, quiet, kind. Wouldn’t hurt a fly. Is nice to everyone. And always with a smile. She lived with him her whole life.
T – and gave him seven sons.
V – As huge as him. But to be honest much smarter. All seven grew up and flew away to settle throughout the world. Some to America, others to Russia, one of them all the way to Brasil.
T - Their house had seven portraits, and as much emptiness and loneliness as a beggars pocket.
V – And only when Moshe would have an extra glass of vodka…
T – You wont believe it, but this woman would never complain, would never tell him off, would not, god forbid, curse him. Just the opposite, she only had the best to say about him as if he was saint.
T – But in all honesty, Moshe would never even raise his hand on his Toyba. Thank god, for he could kill a horse with his fist.
V – Something from a Jew must’ve remained in him. And this is how they lived. People were afraid of Moshe and felt sorry for Toyba. Obviously they were happy by the fact that at least their husbands were not as awful and they can live without fear, and once in a while even yell at them. You know our women, don’t feed them but allow them to yell at their husbands. Otherwise what kind of life is it?
Toyba would calmly endure everything that god sent on her head, but a human heart is not made of stone. There is a limit to everything. And one beautiful afternoon she became paralyzed.
T – Can you imagine lying in bed, not being able to move day after day, for three whole years? And Toyba would lie alone in an empty house looking at the portraits of her sons and begged the lord for death.
V – Moshe would bang with a hammer at the shop the whole day and…
his heart out.
He would come home late, cook some food-like substance, down a glass of vodka and start feeding his Toyba with a spoon. You know, you’d wish your eyes could not see this feeding. The most affectionate word he had for her would be
M - Witch
V - Forgive me but I am telling the truth. What can I do? That’s the kind of person he was.
May be he wanted to say something nice. Couldn’t.
It just wasn’t in him.
At times he’d finish working on a horse, smack it on the neck, so it would shudder, and say:
M - That’s it… time to go home and feed my Witch
V – A year goes by, another, and Toyba still can not die.
Whole day long Moshe bangs away in the shop, in the mornings and evenings feeds her with the spoon. Curses his heart out but washes the dirty clothes and even cleans his old lady. Nobody saw it, but women visiting their house always saw her neat and freshly dressed. And the house is spotless, not a single smudge of dust.
And that is when the important part begins. The War. On the second day Germans are already approaching our shtatle. Jews are running. Far away from the Germans.
V – Moshe, what about you?
M – And who would I leave my Witch with?
V – Do you understand? He did not leave. Staid behind with Toyba.
M – When the action started Germans searched every Jewish house, including ours.
T – Wait. Don’t take him alone. I am coming with.

4. Litovka

W – I came to you as a Jew.
M – What, what? Imagine just for a second my reaction when I’ve heard those words. That’s exactly what I need. I am barely hanging on here by a thread. Every morning I am expecting to be fired. You see, I am in management. Managing a group of disabled craftsman. You understand. It’s not a production line it’s a curse. Making toothbrushes from pig stubble. The workers… god have mercy. Some missing an eye, others a hand, a leg… But all with a tongue. You tell them one word, they’ll reply with ten.
V – I have a concussion. So I am very capable of throwing a crutch…
M – Production line! Only in a name. The quota is increased every month. And we meet it. How?
I have no idea. Somehow. What else can we do? My workers are holding on to me. I give them livelihood - they give me quota. If I am gone, they might as well go homeless. As well as me. What else can I do without my right arm. Only manage. And where else will you find a Jew in management nowadays? Exactly. In other words, I am seating as quiet as a mouse, giving quota, and staying out of sight. My nose nowadays is not fashionable. So I am keeping it low.
And now a Lithuanian woman comes into my office, And utters the sentence that raises the temperature in the room:
W – I came to you as a Jew.
M – I even wondered if she is Jewish herself.
W – No. One hundred percent Lithuanian. I lived with my husband and children near a little shtatle by Zhemantii. Barely made the ends meet. But we owned a house, a cow. So life went on. Until one day, Germans were convoying a large group of Jews to an execution. Everyone else hid in their homes. But I forgot to lock the gate and 2 Jewish kids hid in our yard. At first I wanted to take the children to the Germans, even took them by their hands, but when I felt their little hands in mine, my heart tore apart. I am a mother myself, and could not do anything. I firmly instructed my own kids not to tell anyone and, scared to death, were waiting for my husband to come home from work. How am I going to explain this to him? What if he won’t agree? I knew that I brought an awful risk into my house. Because of these children my own could be executed.
Hardship came to our house. Now we have to feed not two but four children.
M – I started working nights
W – I was doing odd jobs for the neighbors.
M - But worst of all – constant fear. What if Germans find out. Or if somebody rats on us? Children are children. We could not keep them in the cellar. Not to forget about our own, who are still immature, what if they accidentally blab something out. Nightmare, not a life.
W – And so it happened. Someone found out. A rumor spread. What else would you expect in a small village?
M – So we ran.
W – And everything was quiet until the same thing happened in the new place. We ran again. Started anew in another village. Only God knows how we made it to the day the Red Army arrived. But we made it. Survived. And the children survived too.
M – The nightmare was over. We were not expecting any gratitude. We were simply doing the right thing. And now we can start living again.
W – Or so we thought. We are simple people. Don’t understand politics and we did what our hearts told us to do. Officially registered children as Jews. Brought back their real names. We thought that may be their relatives were looking for them. We meant well. But the outcome was asinine for both us and the children.
M – Children grew up. Have to find their place in life. But how? They are Jews. Who will take them? Who?
W – That is why I came to you as a Jew. Please help them.
M – Seems like the boy is more or less set for now. He has joined the army.
W – But what are we going to do with the girl? No one will employ her. Please help her. You are a Jew. You have to help.
Help her….
Help her please…
Please…

5. Yasha

Y – Listen to me Jews. While there are no clients and Mirra is not here I am going to tell you a story. You will laugh and loose that boring look off your faces. Look around – is Mirra coming? If I am not mistaken, there is not a person here that served in the 16th division. Cause otherwise his chest would be covered with medals. First of all, to make it through alive in the 16th division and not to have any medals is impossible. Second of all. I would know this man personally because I knew all the Jews in 16th division and 16th division was consisting of nothing but Jews. And the most important thing… everyone from that division, as I have noticed, has a slightly cocky look on their face. Not because he is actually arrogant, but rather because he made it out alive and he can hardly believe it still.
You are going to ask me if all Lithuanian Jews wanted to go into battle? The truth is much simpler. Lithuanians themselves were not running away from Germans, Lithuanian Jews did. And when the time came to form a Lithuanian division… The notorious 16th division…
Yep. They searched all over Russia and besides the Lithuanian Jews could hardly find anyone else. So they gathered us ashore of Volga river in the town of Balahan. Ever been there? You are better off. Very little pleasure. The only thing that was worth mentioning there was…
Look around - Is Mirra coming?
Yes. So as I was saying, full of life…But only officers could get a real appreciation of that. We were spending every waking moment in training. From dusk to dawn. By the time we would crawl back into the barracks there was only one thing on our mind. Eventually we were transferred to the front lines. Under the command of Russian officers, a couple of Jews and one and a half Lithuanian. From Siberia.
Officially in all papers our division was called 16th Lithuanian. But we called it Jewish division of Lithuania. And when we would march toward the front lines, we would all sing Jewish songs. And although there were no Jewish military songs we simply did not know any others. In Russia, it’s almost a law – when you march you have to sing. To keep your spirits up as well as your pants. So we sang.
Yes it’s true. Our songs are easier to dance to then to march, that is why when a general would approach we’d all startup a song (made up by God knows who) that sounded a little more appropriate. I think I might still remember how it goes.

<song>

Understood? No?
Let me help you out:

March March I am going to the sauna
Could you scratch my back
No no, I don’t want to go
Thank you for your advise

The generals did not understand the words and were pleased. “Way to go!”
So we are singing and marching, singing and marching.
We were singing like that until the first bombing. Can you imagine? Earth and sky. The battle of Orlovsko-kurskaja duga. May be you’ve heard? At the heart of hell. Now even the books say that this was the worst battle of the war. Long story short. The whole division was obliterated down to may be one fifth. The newspapers were writing about heroism, bravery. May be so, it’s easier to judge from aside. That’s not what my story is about. We were sent into the second line of defense to rest and replenish personnel. And once again started looking for Lithuanian Jews. The old, the young, the disabled. In other words when I saw this replenishment I wanted to hang myself. I was a commander of a mortar unit. And the only one in my unit left alive. So they replenished my unit. There are all kind of Jews. But I got the cream of the crop. Shlemazl on top of shlemazl. Not from anywhere but from Panevezhis. You should’ve seen it. Unlucky shoemaker, tailor, barber. Forget a mortar, they never held a rifle in their life. All the tsorez I had with them. How I cursed them in Russian. Nothing helped. They would simply loose their mind. Holding the mortar with two fingers and loading it upside down. That’s when I understood that my end is near. If Germans did not get to me, my Jews would most certainly blow the whole unit up and I’d make it to heaven even before the first order to fire. But the lord is merciful. I don’t know how but we did not go up in the air before we made it to the front line and somehow I placed them on their positions and began the wait to see what’s going to happen when we are ordered to open fire. Naturally I am not expecting anything good. Simply hoping for an easy death. Fortunately, fortunately, fortunately Germans beat us to it. Covered my unit with heavy artillery. My Ponevezhits Jews are all alive and unharmed. The one thing they have learned well is how to dig into the ground. The only wounded was me. In my arm.
You know, when you are wounded at first you don’t even feel the pain, just see the blood. When I saw blood gashing from my arm I was so happy that I nearly cried. That’s it. I am saved. My Jews will not get a chance to blow me up. I am wounded and by law my place is in the hospital.
And so I went looking for the field hospital. Blood is gashing, around me mortars and bombs are blowing up, and I am smiling with happiness. From the side I must’ve resembled a lunatic. But only if you don’t know what I have escaped from, that only by a miracle I walked away from my Panavezhets Jews. Looking here, looking there, can’t find a hospital. Not even a single nurse. Not even close. I am walking for miles now, and all of a sudden I see a village. And there…
Has anyone ever been to Orlovskiy region? Look out the window. Do you see Mirra? Let me tell you. There are such… For the love of God. They treated my wound, fed me, like a child put me to bed. You honestly never been to Orlovskiy region? You missed out on a lot. I lived like nobility two or three days. What days they were. Is Mirra coming? What can I say… But I understand that I must end it and keep on looking for the hospital. So I continued my search. Where is the hospital? What hospital? Found another village. Trust me when I say – it’s a shame that you’ve never been to Orlovskiy region. There are such… Oops, I think Mirra is coming. No? Then we can talk a little more. Basically the second village was as bountiful as the first. I was cared for by one… Well it can not be described with words. Before I knew it a week flew by. But I still have to find a hospital. So I kept on walking. And walked into another village.
Let me tell you Jews. If you never been to Orlovskiy region, then we have nothing to talk about. When, after the third village I managed to find the hospital my wound was completely gone. Everything heeled like on a dog. Just a couple of scars. Where it entered and exited. They nearly declared me a deserter in the hospital and sent me to the front lines the same day. Where do you think?
In my native Lithuanian division. I arrived right after heavy battles and did not see a single familiar face. And from my mortar Panevezhits Jews unit there was not even a smell. And again waiting for replenishments. That’s when the fun began. But that’s a story for another time…

6. MAMA

He. I was born here, in Vilno, when it was part of Poland, I come back to find Lithuania. Mama and I used to live in Pogulyana, but our house in no longer there. And I could not find any neighbors. If anyone lived in Vilno prior to war while it was under polish jurisdiction, then, maybe he remembers my mama.
M. Madam Lapidus. I was well known in town as the owner of bakery “Hot bagels. Madam Lapidus and son.”
He. I was attending the lyceum, mama really wanted me to graduate the university and become…
M. An attorney! That’s why I worked day and night. All by myself. Kneaded the dough. And baked. And sold it.
He. And I studied. And in 1939 graduated with honors.
M. I cried from happiness for three days and three nights, all my work did not go in wane and my son lived up to my hopes. I loved him very much.
He. And I did love her too. It was just the two of us. I don’t remember my father. Just me and mama. And we always lived together and I didn’t know how I’d be able to move away to the university. How I would be without mama and she without me.
Anyway. I was taking the exams in Warsaw.
M. Passed all subjects.
He. I called her from Warsaw every other day long distance.
M. That was very expensive. But he missed me so much that he was afraid he’d fail his exams if he doesn’t hear my voice one more time.
He. On the first of September, I was supposed to attend the university for the first time as a student and I received a telegram from mama. That was the last telegram from her.
B. Germany attacked Poland and the war began.
He. I was very upset, because there is a war going on and I am in Warsaw.
M. And I am in Vilno. And during such a time, it’s better to be together.
He. But I was drafted to the Polish army. At that time, the Germans were bombing Warsaw and all the officers scattered so I went home. On foot. But I didn’t reach Vilno.
B. The red army attacked Poland from the rear.
He. And I was wearing a military uniform … so I was taken hostage. I cried, begged to be let go to Vilno, it was so very close, I wanted to see you, but no one wanted to listen to me … In Siberia, we were kept in the barracks behind a barbed wire without any right to correspond and forced to work. I didn’t know how to saw trees, I was bad at it and the guards were angry, and even the pols themselves mocked me, among them, there were anti-Semites. It was awful from all sides. And the worst thing, I had no news of you.
M. Did you know that Vilno is occupied by the Russians and annexed to Lithuania and is now called Vilnus
He. That’s the only thing we knew. I won’t go into details…
B. The Germans attacked Russia and we are now allies with the Russians. We’ll be forming a Polish army.
He. I was given a machine gun.
B. The machine gun is heavier than a rifle so let the Jew carry it. Move out!!!
He. We thought we were going to the Russian front but ended up with the British in Africa. The Brits cared about their soldiers, so they would throw us under the fire, into the scorching heat. It was very hard on us. Hot. Little water. Germans were bombing constantly. Once I went nearly deaf and could hardly hear.
B. Our battalion is given the order to take position under Tobrykom.
He. Bare dessert. No place to hide.
B. No one asked for your opinion.
He. Nothing but rocks, impossible to dig a trench.
B. Quiet!!! You see that crossroad? One road goes from the Germans to Tobryk, along the other one, perpendicularly, we’ll set up the line of defense.
He. No energy left to dig a trench, I placed my machine gun into a concrete pipe buried under the crossroad as a rain drain, and aimed my barrel outside.
B. To the right is our battalion, and to the left, from the other end of the pipe is another battalion. Also Polish.
He. I see that to the right, where I am positioned, the Germans are advancing toward us. I am thinking I need to start shooting. I can’t hear any orders, because I am deaf and if I don’t fire…
B. I’ll kick you in the face for being a coward!!!
He. So I opened fire. Aimed wherever, not even leaving the pipe. I see that Germans are retreating. Well, I think, now they will blanket this place with mortar and I began to crawl to the other side. I look. The Germans are advancing there. So I began to fire again. Mama, believe me, I didn’t kill a single person during the war. I fired into the white sky. But the management sees that you are trying hard, and that is considered good.
I look, no Germans. They are retreating.
I come out and don’t believe my eyes. All the trenches are empty. Both to the right and to the left. And where pan Boreisha was laying …
B. I always drank when the shooting began.
He. I don’t understand. Where are our guys? I don’t even see any casualties.
B. When the Germans began advancing from the right side, we were given the order to retreat. I was shouting to you.
He. But I didn’t hear, I became deaf right before and plus, I was seating inside a pipe. And maybe, he wasn’t even shouting.
B. Laugh if you want to, but it turned out that he, unknowingly, single-handedly held the whole line of defense.
He. The higher-ups labeled me a hero, as for me, when I finally realized that I was left alone in my pipe, I almost died.
B. Whatever it was, it became a big deal. It was important for us to show to the Brits what great lads the Polish are, and the British command in Africa gave him high honors and even I received a medal.
He. And starting from that award, which I received without even knowing what for, my misfortunes began. I was the only one in the whole regiment who was a cavalier of such an order. So you think it became easier for me? To the contrary. Our officers decided as follows: If Yan Lapidus is such a cavalier, then it makes the most sense to throw him onto the front line, into the heart of the heat, as an example to other soldiers.
I will say it again, I have no sins on my consciousness. I didn’t kill a single person. I was afraid no less than others, and even more. I was simply hoping to find my mama and really didn’t want to die before then.
B. We then descended in Italy. We were formed into detachments of “komandos.” Cream of the crop. First to go into the battle, into the hottest spots.
He. And I, of course, as a cavalier of a high order, be it damned thrice, I was placed into “komandos.” How I suffered, can’t even tell you, I don’t understand how I came out alive. These two orders are for the Italian campaign. They were given to all komandos that were left alive including me. What for? I don’t know.
B. In Italy, there were also many Pols.
He. I was seeking people from Vilno, asking them about mama. No one knew.
B. We were loaded onto the boats and taken by sea to England.
He. There I met about twenty people from Vilno. And not a single one could tell me about the fate of my poor mama.
B. We land in Normandy. Who goes first. “komandos” of course
B. And for the liberation of France… whoever was left alive was given the order of Honorary Legion.
He. This one. After the war, I became a nobody. I was discharged from the army, and had no profession. I was very poor and often went starving. In France, I enlisted into the International Legion. All rift raft were welcome there. Even the ex-SS members. Can you imagine? I am sleeping next to an ss-man. There I met my pan Boreisha.
B. I also became a gun for hire, since I was left without money and nothing to pay for my booze. Our legion was called a black legion and we were sent to Indochina. And there I was killed.
He. I endured two years of Indochina. You’ll be surprised when I tell you that even in Indochina I met people from Vilno. One German told me that in Saigon, in one of the whore houses, there is a beautiful Polish girl named Karolina, and that she is possibly from Vilno. I went looking for her and paid money and they brought me to Karolina. I’ve never been to a whore house, and god willing, never will be again. But that time I went.
K. Karolina was indeed born in Vilno, but was only there as a child and couldn’t possibly know anything about mama.
He. Whole night long we sang and cried. Then we kissed, as a brother and sister. Then I left. I gave her all the money I had. Last year, finally, I was allowed to return to Poland. I returned as a person unknown to all and who no one cared about. I found out nothing about mama, and began petition for a visa to USSR, so as to finally, after all these years, to get to Vilno. And here I am.
Here in Vilno I finally found mama. I was officially informed that she was killed – with all the other Jews back in forty two. And her burial is unknown. Aside from Panar, there are two other common graves. No one knows who lays there. I went to all three graves. I sat at each one and cried. Because if my mama is not there, than other mothers are, and perhaps, there is no one to cry for them, because the kids are gone as well.
7. FRANNY
F. Listen boys to what happened in our shtatle, Don’t you look at me like that or I’ll start blushing and won’t be able to keep on going with my story. In our shtatle there was a couple. Husband and wife. Her name was Norma and his was...
S Sher. They called me Sher. For your information, Franny, Sher is not a name. It can only be a last name.
F. Who can tell the difference? Let it be a last name. But everyone called him that. Since it was shorter. But a name could have been longer. So that’s what everyone called them: Norma and Sher.
But God did not give them any children. Fifteen years together and no kids.
I. Didn’t try hard enough.
S You seem like a cultured individual. Yet interrupting a lady.
F. They really wanted to have a child.
And decided to adopt from the orphanage. There was no Jewish children available so they resolved to take a Christian one named Vanda. She was such a darling that anyone would have taken her. Norma and Sher were crazy about her. They dressed her as a barbi-doll and Sher ordered her toys all the way from the Warsaw. And she loved them as if they were her real parents. She called Norma “mommy”, and Sher “daddy”. And they were the happiest family in the shtatle. When they would stroll on Saturdays down the gatva, Norma would carry her, then Sher, and both would kiss her and she would embrace them with her arms and kiss them back. It was a pleasure to watch them.
F. And everything was great, until, when Vanda was ten, all of a sudden, Norma, who gave up even a slightest hope of mothering a child noticed, well, how can I say it …
S Pregnancy!
F. A lad.
S. A boy, Aavraim.
F. Abraham. A boy like all other boys. Except not from an orphanage. And they, Norma and Sher turned all their love onto him. Forgot all about Vanda completely. As if she did not exist. All Abraham and Abraham. They stopped dressing Vanda, forgot to feed her. She slept in the kitchen, like a servant, and at night had to cradle Abraham if he cried. And Vanda would be so unkempt that people couldn’t look at her without their heart breaking. Strangers would invite her over for dinner, gave her some old clothes. While Norma and Sher wouldn’t even look in her direction. They cursed and scolded and put all the housework on her.
V. To Abraham, Wanda became a nanny. And cradled him, and fed and loved him as no one else
F. And this is when the Germans came and began gathering all the Jews in the shtatle for the execution. They took Norma and Sher.
Go, go away. You are not Jewish…

8. THE COUNT
C. Who is last in line?
J. Come on in your highness.
C Impressive perception. I am indeed a count. Count Hadarkyavichus. Maybe, you’ve heard? I will sit down if I may. A little tired.
J. Cigarette?
C. My utmost gratitude. But I prefer a cheap tobacco. An old Siberian habit.
If I understand correctly, there are only Jews here? I thought after this war, there wouldn’t be any left. I am glad I was wrong. An irony of fates. Prior to the war, I’ve never been in a company of Jews. My house was inaccessible to them. With only one exception. The butcher was allowed in. Naturally from the back door. Just into the kitchen. That was probably the only Jew that would visit my house.
J. What are you trying to say?
C Absolutely nothing. Merely stating a fact.
B. Here you are count.
C. I used to be the Chief of Staff of the Lithuanian army Headquarters. I graduated from Cen-Sir in France in addition to the academy of Military Commanding Personnel in Berlin. And prior to that, in my youth, Jurisprudential Branch of St. Petersburg University, Magna Cum Laude.
B. Are you comfortable, your honor?
C. All in the past. It’s been a month since I came back from Siberia. Alone. Completely alone. All that is mine are these clothes. No relatives, no friends. No one knows me. But even if they knew me, would not shake my hand. I don’t even have a place to sleep.
B. A little lower count?
C. An irony of fate. The one person who was only allowed in my house through the back door - the Jewish butcher, acknowledged me on the street. Now, I am sleeping in his house. In the kitchen.
B. Which cologne would you prefer, count?
C. Keep the change.

B. What for, count?
C. Damn body. Needs to die yet it keeps on going.
B. Here is a someone with a class.
9. BORYHOVICH
B. Well you. Yea you. Who are you? Have you ever dealt with a classy person? Do you actually know the proper etiquette? For example, we had a count with us. Which was immediately obvious. He took pleasure in conversing with me and I with him. Because we both have class.

Listen to what I am going to tell you. How does one cultured person treat another? And the amount of respect he has. I am listening to you and I am in shock. Jews, Jews, Jews. And what from it? I am also a Jew but I am an intellectual, and that’s why I am always treated with outmost respect.
Listen, listen, it might do you some good.
When the Red Army entered Osventzim, I could no longer not only walk, but couldn’t even raise my arm. A skeleton. I was laying next to the crematorium, naked, wrapped in a blanket. Germans didn’t have time to burn me because they were running away too fast.
My wife and two children went into the gas chambers the year before. But I made it through, even though I hardly looked alive. But I survived and thank god for that.
Spent some time in the hospital, even gained a belly. And once again started resembling a cultured person.
The chief commander there was general Lelushenko, an extremely cultured person. As such he required a personal barber. So they started looking for one. Not just anyone but they were looking for a true master, one of a kind, in other words – top class. And whom do you think they found. Me of course.
So I started living with the general. Where he is, that’s where I am. Shaving twice a day. In the morning and in the evening. And not just his face, but his whole head. To a master such as myself, this is not even a job, a walk in the park. In Kovno, before the war, I used to perform fashion haircuts for the artists. And they were happy. And here, a simple shave… General was extremely satisfied with me, and while I would shave him, always talked to me. And laughed a lot. Because I am not some shmuck, but an intellectual person, and pretty witty at that. So people are laughing, and I am pretty happy.
The general had a servant. Kind of “help” in a military uniform. Shine shoes, sweep the floors… The servant’s name was Ivan. Just a simple village boy Not even a hint of class. And he’d talk as such, so that everyone would make fun of him.
So let me tell you how much general Lelushenko valued me. One evening, there was a number of generals and colonels gathered at his place and they drank and ate whole night long. Lelushenko, even when drunk, wouldn’t forget to shave.
A classy person.
So he sends the servant Ivan at the height of the party to fetch me. I take my instrument, a trophy, top notch Zollingen triple-crown, and together with Ivan come into the ballroom where the general Lelushenko was drinking with his guests. Ivan saluted: general Sir, the barber is here.
And everyone burst out laughing. The thing was that Ivan was an idiot, a simple village lad, and couldn’t say the letter “r”. He would say not “barber” but would say it with an “l” so that it’d come out as a balbel. And of course, everyone was dying from laughter.
So when everyone laughed themselves silly, general Lelushenko says: Mr. Boryhovich, you are an intellectual person, could you please teach Ivan the correct pronunciation of the word barber. Again everyone started laughing. Because they understand that it’s easier to teach a bear to dance than to teach Ivan the word barber. I join the laughter and then tell Ivan:
Listen, Ivan, it’s so easy. You just need to enunciate, draw it out. And I show him, balllllbellll.
Now the generals fell under the table. Because it’s clear to them that Ivan won’t be able to do it. And he does indeed repeat balllllbellll.
Then I tell him: Ivan, don’t worry. Just repeat after me, drawn out and enunciate: balllllbel.
What a laughter it brought. Everyone was making fun of Ivan. An adult and can’t say the letter “r”. General Lelushenko even turned red from laughter, I thought he’d have a heart attack. He calls me over and says: “thank you Mr. Boryhovich. Keep going in the same manner.” And shook my hand. I swear. And all the generals and colonels shook my hand. And they are laughing and can’t stop. Laughing at Ivan. He really made them laugh with his pronunciation. And I also laughed with them. And Ivan? Simple folk. It’s not even a sin to laugh at him.
10. THE FINALE
V: Recently, I visited Vilno for the last time. I did not find that barber shop. The entire first floor has been remodeled and was occupied by some pharmacy. But worst of all, the three steps have disappeared. Made from genuine white marble. Each engraved with a word in Polish: Road to happiness.
The entrance was located in a totally different spot, underneath it - awful gray cement steps. And the marble ones were no longer there.
For the longest time I wondered the streets of Vilno. I was hoping to see at least one familiar face. Which turned out to be an entirely useless endeavor. In a city of that size, after so many years.
And even if I met anyone, Reb Arn, Jacob the barber, or at least the count, what could they have told me? I am asking you. They would’ve shrugged their shoulders and look at me as if I was a little crazy. What’s the big deal? People were sitting in a barber shop and kept on babbling for they had nothing better to do. That’s all there was to it. And you know, I think they would have been right.