1. Anatoly

The following is taken from the novel “Koenigsberg,” a historical fiction account of love, murder and intrigue set in 20th Century Eastern Europe.

Anatoly skipped over the loose cobblestones that bordered the waterway and port of the sea town of Pillau.  The sun beat down on the late afternoon day and he was full of enthusiasm, as much a boy the age of eight could have.  He had under his arm several cold biers in a paper sack given to him from his employer for a job well done that day.   “Anatoly, you know you will some day make a nice man for a wife,” his supervisor told to him that day.  And that made him happy.

He slowed his pace somewhat as he came upon several tables of gentlemen playing chess, lined along the sea wall and each one more intent to calculate the possible moves of their foes than to consider the sparkling sunlight off the Baltic coast.   Anatoly came to the third table in the line and stopped just a few paces behind an older gentleman smoking an ivory pipe and crept quietly to the unmoving figures at the table.

“I know you are there,” the man spoke, softly yet with a hint of knowing.  “You can’t think you can surprise an old man each day of the week at the same time of the day, can you?”

“Uncle Daniel, why is it that some days you tell me I surprise you, and other days not?” Anatoly returned, waiting for the answer that was to come, the same answer that came each day.

Daniel Byzenius took the ivory pipe from his mouth.  “Some days I want you to feel like you can outwit your Uncle.  And other days not.  It’s good for a boy to not feel too comfortable, don’t you agree Peter?”  Uncle Daniel’s opponent, pulling slightly at his grey beard and more intent on the game half responded to his question, “Yes, well I suppose.”

“Anatoly, I will have Peter beat here in just a few moments.  Then I will join you and your family for dinner tonight.  I understand your Papa asked for you to find a few things for our meal, were you successful?”  Uncle Daniel smiled at Anatoly.

Not wanting to be completely outdone, Anatoly coyly turned to walk away, holding up the bag slightly and departed the match.  “You will just need to find out for yourself Uncle Daniel!”  And off he went with a trot.

Anatoly’s family lived along a small stream that fed many rivers in the oblast region and for this he was grateful.  While the winters could be harsh by some standards, the rest of the year was certainly enjoyable.  His two-kilometer long walk from home to the hotel and back again was filled with adventure, and he enjoyed these days in the summer.

As he turned from the cobblestone sea walk and made his way to the dirt road that moved along inland and scurried a river, Anatoly could see in the distance the factory chimneys that surrounded the largest city in the oblast, the city of Koenigsburg.  The year was 1897 and Prussia was vibrant with tourists, businessmen, and artists.  Anatoly recalled his first communion in the local church, and he was looking forward to his confirmation in the cathedral which sat as the heart of the city ofKoenigsburg.  The area thrilled with multi-cultural influences:  Germans, Lithuanians, Austrians, Hungarians, Italians, Czech, Latvians and the occasional American.  Anatoly liked the Americans, particularly since the businessmen found it a conversation piece to compliment the Prussians on their instruction of the American revolutionaries during the war even over 100 years before.

Although Anatoly’s family was of Russian decent by way of Vilnius the capital of Lithuania, his family used many German words as many of the other families did.  Anatoly’s determination was simple: finish work, make his daily chores at home and with errands, and to enjoy the longer summer days.  While the winters could be dreadful for enjoying with his friends, Anatoly’s parents made an effort to ensure he would find time in the day for just that during the summer.

As he was watching several small fishing boats making their way along the river, Anatoly slowed to watch one in particular.  Anja was a friend from his school, who enjoyed chasing butterflies and catching lizards as much as he, and it was often joked that had the two not shared different mothers that may be brother and sister.  Anja’s father was on one of the boats, some half distance across the river which was far too wide at this point for Anatoly to throw a stone across.  As he was known for his aim and accuracy in this way, it was by far the wider section of the river.  As Anatoly slowed, he could see Anja’s father fixing his lines and nets as the boat slowly made its way along the river.  As if on queue, the man on the boat looked up and, shielding his eyes from the late afternoon sun, gazed in Anatoly’s direction and waved.  Anatoly waved back, and then, tucking his packing under his arm, began to walk faster down the road.

Anatoly liked Anja’s father, although her father spoke no Russian and, according to Anatoly’s mother, had no desire to learn.  Anatoly did not understand what that meant, he and Anja and many of their friends spoke a mixture of Russian and German creating almost a secret language that amused or frustrated every parent in the community.  But for him the day was most important, what they said and how they said it was the least of his worries.

Anatoly sped along to the road now leading to his family’s home.  It was modest by city standards but, as his father would say, it serves the purpose just fine.  Anatoly’s entire family stayed in this home and even his cousins where not that far away.  They farmed and fished in this area, planting rapeseed and thistle in some sections and wheat and barley in others.  As he approached the old home he could see the smoke rising from the fire cooking the evening meal.  As he reached even further along the path he could see his mother Marija pulling down the day’s wash from the lines.  “Anatoly, you are late.  Were you interrupting Uncle Daniel’s game again?” she asked him with a fake look of sternness.

“I don’t think Peter liked the game anyway, Mama.  He seemed to be losing very badly.”  Anatoly reached his mother and wrapped his boy arms around her mid-section as she kissed his head.  “Look Mama,” Daniel said as he handed the paper sack containing his bounty to his mother. “I think at least Uncle Daniel and Papa will enjoy this.”

“I think that you are right.  Particularly if they both feel like celebrating the day of your sister’s confirmation.  Now please help me bring in the wash and finish with the chores.”  Anatoly did as he was told and together he and his mother walked inside.

Their home opened into a common room with adjacent rooms from two sides and several lofts above.  In the center of the main room was a large carved wooden table that served multiple purposes above all else the site of the family meals.  Anatoly’s sister, Kristina, prepared the final elements of the evening’s supper.  At fifteen she was considered a woman suitable for Prussian marriage and several men had already expressed their interests to Anatoly’s father.  Anatoly whispered to his sister, “tonight maybe Papa will let you drink a bierí.” Kristina gave him the look of an older sister very fond of her younger brother but also very tired of his antics. “Maybe Papa will let you sleep in the barn,” at which Anatoly and Kristina exchanged laughter.

“Anatoly, please tell your father that it is time to clean-up for supper.  Uncle Daniel will be along shortly.”  Anatoly acknowledged his mother and headed outside to the fields to find his father.

Adam was a large man, his shoulders rising above the shoulders of his draft horses used to plow and turn the farm soil surrounding their home.  Anatoly darted through the fields and caught his father in a heated discussion with one of the horses who seemed to be listening to his words.

“Please next time let’s try to plow in a straight line.  I don’t like to look down from the roof and see crazy fields.”  The horse simply whinnied and the conversation was over upon Anatoly’s arrival.

“Papa, how are you?  How was your day?  What did the horse do now?”  Adam looked down at his son.  “Is there any way I can ask you these questions first, Anatoly?  I thought that was what a father was supposed to do.”

Anatoly reached his father with a last step and jumped full speed into his chest.  “I am too fast for you,” he said.  “No I am too fast for you!” And with that the word for supper was spread in a jostle in the dirt, which the horse approved with another whinny.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Family dinners were a time to discuss family and world events, and on the evening of special occasions such as the evening of Kristina’s confirmation where Uncle Daniel and other cousins joined, the home was full with the buzz of many discussions usually in Russian, some in Lithuanian.  When Adam embraced his brother Daniel it was only a matter of minutes before the discussion moved from the serving of the meal to the recent political conversations.   Halfway through the meal, Daniel’s son, William, and his fiancée, Amelia, joined the crowd apologizing for their tardiness and rewarded with supper kept for them.  It wasn’t long before the men were discussing world politics and the women were admiring Kristina’s confirmation dress.  Anatoly wanted desperately to join the men but felt not completely independent to do so.  So as he helped clear the supper dishes he moved from one conversation to the next, as if to turn one ear in one direction to hear one conversation and exactly in the same manner to the other conversation.  He had learned this working in the old hotel, finding the right acoustical position to hear simultaneously two or more conversations and in the small home with such inspiring discussion this was made even easier.

“You know the Kaiser is never going to allow for Prussia to be part of Poland, just as our family in Vilnius will never allow the Kaiser to march across Poland and find himself staring in the Czar’s face,” Uncle Daniel sighed as he lit another pipe full of tobacco.  “It is indeed a strange time.”

“Yes, strange for those of us sitting in between the two wolves of Europe.”  Adam had as well a pipe and was also enjoying an after-dinner smoke.  “What of this discussion of the Russians and the situation with the Jews?  I understand there are even areas inside Greater Russia where the Jews are encouraged to live and make good business.  Our cousins are even considering moving from Vilnius back to Moscow to investigate these possibilities.”

“I for one would like to see America,” stated William.  Anatoly nearly dropped his plates.  The women, so intent on discussing the morning’s last-minute errands before the confirmation, stopped in mid-sentence.  It appears that everyone in their own way had also been listening to the men.

Amelia looked at William.  “We agreed that we would discuss this after we were married.”  The words nearly trembled out of her lips, but William had already made the decision for both of them.  He came to her quickly and sat next to her, and took her hands in his.

“I for one cannot deny that we have our Jewish ancestry.  I am so torn by this yet so troubled that we go through the act of the Christian confirmation.  In America they do not judge you by what you are but by the hard work you perform.  Amelia and I want to raise our children there, not in this craziness of who we are or who we are not.”  Amelia’s tears ran down her face and she held William.

Uncle Daniel looked at them both.  “Well, I can’t imagine you have told her parents since you did not tell me.”  Daniel sighed.  “William, when your mother was alive she had all of the answers.  For me, and for you, and for your family with Amelia, the answers are yours to find.  So I will not tell you what to look for and how to find it.  That is up to both of you.  I do know this.  Not everything you read and hear about America is how it may seem.  No place ever is.  There is not one perfect place only some that are better than others for some people.”

Anatoly did not quite know what to make of this.  Was William in trouble?  Was he going away?  His head bobbed back and forth from his uncle to his cousin wondering what might happen next.  What happened next did not surprise him.

Uncle Daniel approached both William and Amelia and lifted his broad arms and hugged them both.  “If that is what you want to do then you have my blessings.”  That went better than I thought it would, Anatoly confided to himself.

“Then we have much to do and much to celebrate for all of us,” Adam said.  As he lifted his glass he toasted, “To all of us, may we never parish from hunger or thirst, may we always seek the best path life has to offer, finding happiness along the way.”  And with that the supper elapsed into the night.  But for Anatoly and his family, it was the beginning of a very long journey.

Prelude: May Day

The following is an abstract from the novel “Koenigsberg” a historical fiction account of love, murder and intrigue set in early 20th century Eastern Europe.

Asya looked at her worn, leather hands as she began to straighten the beds in the women’s dormitory.  Another spring arrived, she thought to herself as she began to unfold the day’s linens and sort them by bed and resident.  The sunrise peaked through the large room from the east, cascading shadows and colors from the large picture glass windows, across the ceramic laid floors, and reaching across the room to where Asya worked.  Towards the north and the west, waves crested against anchored boats in the harbor just below the hill where the old hotel stood.

She couldn’t explain why the tenancy at the hotel, now a retirement home for old war veterans fromRussia’s Great Wars, increased each May Day.  In the glorious days past, May Day was a day of inspiration and rejoicing the proud Soviet heritage that came along with being a global superpower.  On this day, it was again as it had been for several years an opportunity for the aging children of octogenarians to take their beloved parents for one more drive across the rolling hills and sparkling rivers leading to the old harbor town where the responsibilities of caring for the elderly easily transferred to the professionals at the retirement home.  Asya wondered how many new tenants would come and go this year, and this made her sad thinking about the changes the coming year would bring.

As she completed her rounds preparing for the new spring guests in the dormitory, the chief resident entered the room greeting Asya with a warm smile underneath his prominent czarist beard and moustache.  “He is waiting for you,” he spoke with a certain glimmer in his eye.  “You know what today is, and you know he doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

“Yes, I know what today is and, yes you are correct doctor.  He certainly does not like to be kept waiting.”  With that they both shared a small professional laugh, the kind that comes from years caring for certain people when, no matter what they may say they will intend to do or not do, their behavior is completely predictable.

Asya bid the chief resident a good day and left the women’s dormitory and walked briskly buoyed by the new day to the mens’ quarters.  Her favorite resident had been with the home for several years now and certainly it was no surprise that he had gravitated to Asya since this was both of their original homes, of course his many scores before her.  He claimed to know her family, but then he claimed to know everyone’s family, even to the point of creating fictitious stories about the various orderlies that identified with this area and even those in Poland and Germany where he was decorated in the Great Wars.  The residents and the orderlies weren’t quite sure at times if he really did know their families or whether he simply created fantasies to appear more entertaining to the other residents and workers in the home, or a combination of both.  Whatever the case, he was indeed one of the more charismatic residents of the home even with the Alzheimer’s disease reaching more intensive states as each day went by.

Recalling the day the decorated war hero returned to his hometown, Asya had to admit she felt a sense of pride to care for the seaside’s native son.  While it was no Soviet parade as those days were long past, it was nevertheless very touching and moving to have him return to this place that he loved so.  And while she wondered if he really did see and do all of the things that were told to her, she did not care.  At this moment Asya was happy to carryout another annual tradition that came with each May Day.

When she reached the men’s quarters the area orderlies were already at the station, talking and having small Turkish coffees.  One looked up at Asya, and without speaking a word held up his arm, pointed to his wristwatch, and shook his head.  “I know, I know,” Asya sighed and turned down the corridor to the man’s room.

He was perched near his east-facing window, eyes closed, lips pressed together, basking in the morning sunshine.  “Well there you are, trying to hide from me again aren’t you?” she half-scolded him as she entered the room.  Asya heard the man grunt from his wheelchair as if to mock her, and then begin to slowly drum his fingers across the right arm of the chair.  “You know what today is?” he whispered as a man can only whisper when that is all that his normal voice can be.  “No, you tell me what today is, I have forgotten.”  The daily ritual was played out to near-perfection every morning but May Day was always a bit different.  “I believe this is the day,” he replied.  “Oh, yes,  the day” she repeated to him, as she did every day.  “Of course today is the day.”

“No, I feel it today, I really do,” was his simple response.

Asya raised an eyebrow at the apparent deviation from his pattern as she adjusted his sweater and his shawl.  She stood for a moment wondering if she had really heard him correctly or if she was imagining the conversation.  After a few moments without a further response she decided to let it pass and, unlocking the wheelchair, turned the man and rolled him out of the room, into the corridor, and towards the south courtyard.

The courtyard was perhaps one of the more prominent features of the home, a remnant of the days it was a premier seaside resort hotel.  Several fountains adorned the many walkways and center section of the courtyard, with many bushes in early bloom surrounding the paths to create a shoulder-level illusion of a human maze.  Toward the west and north the archway of the courtyards brick walls yielded the day’s first glimpse of the harbor waters and boats.  She believed this setting was the best possible therapy for this resident that the home had to offer, and it was prescribed and administered daily without hesitation.

Asya navigated the short steps and exit into the courtyard from the home and she could hear the man take a deep breath of the early morning air.  He is breathing very well today, she thought to herself, proud of her regimen and its results.  The chief resident wasn’t quite sure of the age of the man but certainly it was as he put it “somewhere between 95 and 105” and suggested a daily diet of a teaspoon of vodka mixed with a cup of yogurt before the man’s arrival to the home was the key to his longevity.  She wheeled him through two curving walkways to the center of the corridor and set the locks on the wheels next to a carved wooden bench where she sat next to him.

She calculated that they had roughly thirty minutes before the other residents found their way to the courtyard and she wished during this time that she had a Turkish coffee like her colleagues had been enjoying in the men’s quarters.  “You think too much,” the man said suddenly.  Asya turned to look at the man but he remained looking forward without expression.

“Perhaps I have much to think about,” she playfully replied hoping that the challenge would engage the man to spar with her further.  But this was not to be the case because, this was, of course, a very special day.

As if her request had been overheard, an orderly appeared with three Turkish coffees and handed one to Asya who accepted it graciously.  The orderly took a seat on the bench near Asya and smiled, setting the third coffee, the May Day coffee, on the bench for the man.  “How is he doing today?” he asked.

“Well, you know today is a special day,” Asya replied.  The orderly smiled and laughed a short laugh and sipped his hot coffee.  “How many years now has it been?” he asked Asya.

“Seventeen years and counting,” the man answered for Asya.  “And counting.”

Asya and the orderly exchanged glances and waited for more but more was not to come.  The shadows of a figure cast over them from the east of the courtyard in the form of a well-suited gentleman with a hat and cane.  Surely the new residents still check-in at the reception, Asya thought.

“Excuse me, I was told I might find your patient here,” the man inquired.  “I have strict instructions to only speak to him and to you if it is required to have a conversation with your patient.”

“Can I ask what this is regarding?” Asya responded.  Her colleague at that point, realizing he was not invited to this conversation, got up to move to a different part of the courtyard, out of earshot but certainly within reasonable distance.

“My client has asked that I speak to your patient and to make a delivery to him,” the man continued in near-perfect Russian.  “However, if it is required that you assist me in this undertaking I would appreciate your assistance.”

Asya in her many years of resident care had not encountered this form of situation and she was for a moment unable to decide what to do.  The man did speak sincerely and, certainly, he had the necessary permissions to be wandering the grounds.

“I will help you with this resident,” she finally answered and extended her hand to him.  “What can I assist you with?”

The man shook her had professionally and continued.  “Thank you.  I have instructions only to deliver this to Anatoly Zhupev.”  He looked at her carefully.  “Is your patient Mr. Anatoly Zhupev?”

Asya raised her back and spoke, “No, my resident is Colonel Zhupev.  What can I help you with?”

“Please sign this paper indicating that your resident, Colonel Zhupev, has received this article.”  He handed a small wooden box to Asya and produced a document produced in multiple copies.  He indicated where for Asya to sign and she did so.

“I appreciate your assistance.  Have a pleasant May Day.” And just as soon as the gentlemen entered the courtyard, he turned to leave.

Asya sat looking at the worn wooden box.  “You are certainly full of surprises,” she said without looking at Anatoly.  She took the box and sat it in his lap and slid the lid out from within the framed box.

She could hear the breath escaping Anatoly as the contents, one old leather-bound book and a small dusty bottle were produced.  As he closed his eyes and he began to roll slightly forward, Asya asked “Anatoly?  Is everything okay?”  The coffee sitting next to Asya on the bench fell to the ground and shattered into a hundred pieces.

Telling the Story

As a child and adult I was mesmerized by stories of my family and their migration from Eastern Europe to North America.  The people who came, why they left, and the stories of what was believed to have happened to those that were left behind before the outbreak of World War I. The stories were passed to me through the lips of my grandfather and his father and the family of his birth.

On vacation with my family in Oceanside, California in 2005 I awoke recounting a vivid dream of an Old Hotel and one of its residents who was being cared for by a dedicated and attentive nurse.  The hotel was sitting near a vast sea with many elements, both old and new, about the structure.  Capturing my computer I spent the next several hours channeling the scenes, pictures, and people from this living dream into words.  The result is the prelude of “Koenigsberg: the Novel” which has become a living project dedicated to not only my family but to all of the families who were torn apart by competing forces in the area once known as the Koenigsberg oblast in the early 20th century.