Misha's Journey and Other Stories

By Rachel Landes

Twenty-two wildly different stories that tell of people meeting great challenges in their lives. Author Landes clearly finds that the ability of her character to overcome adversity is of great interest and she address the subject in a most readable way in these small narratives: Misha's flight from the Gulag, Mottie leaves the Yeshiva, teacher Cal is unfairly accused of molesting a student, and others. Any one of these would make a movie. Most, but not all have a happy ending.  She can't seem to resist that.

Throughout the book are Landes' original paintings featuring some pithy and succinct folk sayings, mainly from the Yiddish.

Rachel is a long-time Bay Area artist who has exhibited extensively.  Her work is mainly abstract expressionist and she did several projects using word and image. Now retired, she lives in Walnut Creek.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Simcha Books
• Release date: Apr 14, 2019
• ISBN: 9781386827993

Book preview

MISHA’S JOURNEY

In St. Petersburg Russia, the Rabinowitz family, had earlier lived in a spacious four-bedroom family home,—that is, spacious for well-off Jewish merchants in the Russia of 1916. But now it was 1933.

After the revolution and under communism, the State had confiscated their house and turned it into four apartments. The Rabinowitz’s now occupied only their front room and dining room and that became the entire apartment. The parents bed space was curtained off, and their son David, 22, and daughter Talia, 19, had the remaining space of what was their former dining room. The kitchen was now, of course, communal. Their son David was quite tall, over six feet, muscular, but not fat. He had dark hair and wore a full black beard. He had dark eyes, a hook nose, but not too hooked. A nice mouth, however his teeth were somewhat crooked and discolored. Many years later, in San Francisco, a dentist would cap them, and he would be quite good-looking indeed. David was a third-year engineering student at the University.

The tenants in his father’s house were an assorted lot—some decent people, but one family in particular was very coarse and rough. Their son was Dmitri, a big, tough fellow. But the worst part was that Dimitri liked Talia and pursued her. She evaded him constantly, hiding around street corners when she saw him coming, and waiting until he left the house so as not to pass him in the street.

On this unfortunate day, Dimitri, who knew the parents were not at home, knocked on the Rabinowitz’ door. Talia answered, He said,

Open the door Talia. I want to talk to you.

She said, Go away. I’m busy.

Again he said, Aw come on, Talia. I just want to talk.

Talia said, Just leave, Dimitri. I’m busy.

But Dimitri pressed hard against the door, and it gave way. He entered, came toward her and put his arm around her. She screamed, and said, Leave me alone. He held onto her even harder and pushed her down on the floor.

David was on his way home and on the street outside when he heard his sister screaming. When he came in and saw Dimitri attempting to rape her, he grabbed him from the back and pulled him off. Dimitri swung around and punched David. The two big men were exchanging blows, and lurching about the room, smashing furniture. A neighbor called the police; they burst into the apartment. Then Dimitri pulled a gun out of his coat and aimed at David. David grabbed it. A policeman pushed in and in the scuffle the gun went off, hitting a policeman in the stomach. David was seized by the other cop, handcuffed and he was led out to the cop’s car. Dimitri, too, was arrested.

David was held in prison for about a week. For shooting a cop, he was sentenced to 10 years hard labor at a camp in Siberia. This was the time of Stalin and harsh punishments were common. He was devastated at hearing the sentence and felt his life was over. David was herded onto a prison train with other prisoners and was taken east to a Gulag in Siberia. The Gulag he went to wasn’t one of the death camps that were known about, where the prisoners were simply worked to death. This one was a logging camp where trees were felled and sent to the saw mill. The prisoners were useful labor in cutting trees. They were housed in two large barracks. Every day crews of ten men each were loaded onto a tractor conveyance and driven out to the logging site. Usually there were two men to a large tree, each holding one end of a big four-foot saw. One pulled and one pushed. After the trunk was cut almost through, a great shout would go up, and the big tree would come crashing down. Then the men would go to work on the fallen log and prepare it for the mill.

The head of this camp was somewhat protective of the convict workers and provided some amenities for them. They issued heavy leather gloves, sturdy leather boots, and leather hats with ear covers. But the rest of the prisoners clothes was theirs to provide. Most of them were in terrible rags and struggled to cover themselves against the bitter cold.

Altogether it was a dreadful life. Besides the freezing weather which sometimes went down to 20 below there was vermin .David had lice. The food was plentiful but awful. The men had all kinds of painful bodily issues. Tooth aches, stomach disorders, infections and injuries from work. Lumbering is known for having many work injuries. And then there was the matter of David’s being Jewish. The men often called him zhid and punched and hit him.

It was two years now that David had endured this wretched place. He suffered bouts of depression and struggled to stay sane. He became friendly with a fellow in the next bunk named Mikhail Voloshin, a political prisoner. Mikhail, or Misha as he was called, was rather frail and weak, and David feared for his future in the camp. One night, Misha caught a cold and was coughing a lot.

The other men in the nearby bunks yelled, Shut up! One guy threw a shoe at Misha’s bed. David didn’t like the look in Misha’s eyes, and felt his forehead. It seemed too warm. David was pretty sure he had pneumonia. Misha pulled David close and then pressed a wad of bills into his hands. He said, I know I’m not going to make it, David. Here is my stash of savings, and my I.D. card. It’s your ticket out of this shithole. Take it. It’ll be bribe money.

David started to protest, but Misha insisted. Then the guard appeared at the door and began to come over. David quickly jumped back to his bunk. Misha was taken off to the infirmary and David never saw him again.

David did think to himself that this money could be his ticket out! It was 700 rubles. And with his friend’s I D. card, he could change his identity and he would become Mikhail Voloshin. Now, he had to think of how to hide the bills. He couldn’t take them to the work site. At last, he opened a seam in the mattress and pushed the bills in between the batting. Then he began to plot his getaway. It happened like this.

At the end of the next day, all the men trooped into the mess hall for the evening meal. David lingered and took his time at the table until he was the last person in the room eating. When no guards seemed to be nearby, he got up and took his used plate to the bins to deposit but dropped a spoon and fork. When he bent down to pick it up, he remained on all fours and crawled into the kitchen and around the cabinets to an open back door. Outside was Piotr’s waiting truck.

At this camp all the food was prepared in the nearby town and trucked out to the camp. Piotr was the driver. David had paid him handsomely for the escape. Piotr left the back doors open for him. David climbed in and lay against the back of the front seats. Piotr shoved in the empty large pots from the dinner against David so he couldn’t be seen by the guards at the gate if they looked. A head-count in the barracks wouldn’t be taken until 10 p.m., so his absence would not be noticed for a couple of hours.

Piotr slammed the doors shut, jumped in and began to drive toward town. Piotr had also sold him an old black raggedy coat, and an odd white baker’s hat. It took about twenty minutes to get to town. Piotr drove straight to the train station, where David got out and ran into the building.

David, who we will now call Misha, bought a ticket to Vladivostock. The Trans-Siberian Railway ran from Moscow all across southern Siberia to Vladivostock. Misha boarded in the town of Ekaterinaberg, which was halfway across Siberia. His plan was to go east to Vladivostock and get on a ship to the U.S. from there. He sat in the station waiting-room, terrified that at any moment the police would burst in and take him back to the Gulag. He was sitting on a bench next to an old man who appeared to be sleeping. However, he hadn’t moved for ten minutes. Misha realized he was dead. The man wore thick eyeglasses with black rims. They had slipped down on his chest. When nobody was looking Misha took them. Then he moved away. Finally, the whistle was heard, and the train pulled up to the platform. Misha entered the car with all the other passengers and the train pulled away and sped eastward.

Misha was constantly in terror that he would be caught and was almost surprised it hadn’t happened so far. He hoped the lag between the time he got out of the dining room and the bed check worked in his favor. He looked carefully about at every stop, studying the passengers and avoided ones he thought might be dangerous to him. Whenever he saw any person in a uniform, he hid behind the toilet doorways, or bent down under a seat’s windows. An observer walking down the aisle would see a big man in a black coat wearing an odd baker’s hat and thick glasses, who was rather stooped and hunched over. He hardly appeared to be an escaped convict.

The seats were hard wooden benches, so he had to sleep sitting up. If the bench seat was not occupied next to him, he bent over to sleep—but he could never stretch out, given how tall he was. And he itched constantly. The trip was utter misery.

After leaving the wooded areas, the scenery outside the windows was boring: endless fields of snow, white horizontal bands that stretched forever. The train pulled into Novosibirsk. There were police on the platform, patrolling. They didn’t seem to be looking for an escaped prisoner, but Misha hid from them anyway.

On to Krasnoyarsk. Misha longed to go out and get a little fresh air and stretch his legs. He looked around. Seeing no uniforms, he took a chance, left the train and walked up and down the platform. But suddenly two cops appeared. They strolled over to him and asked to see his identification. They studied the Mikhail Voloshin ID, and then looking intently at Misha, said, You better come with us.

Just as Misha started to walk with them, thinking about breaking away and making a run for it, a big commotion started at the other end of the platform. A woman screamed and shouted Thief, thief, and someone started to run away. The cops left Misha and hurried over to see to the problem. Misha wasted no time hopping back into the train car, and then hid behind the toilet doors so he couldn’t be seen from the platform. He was shaking from the whole encounter. He decided he wouldn’t be leaving the train on this trip again.

Misha was able to buy food from vendors who came onto the trains at each stop. They sold meat patties and little sweet cakes. But he was constantly hungry. At the rear of one of the cars some men started a card game. Misha joined in, sometimes winning a little money, sometimes losing a little. Then two very tough-looking men got on the train. They looked at Misha with knowing eyes, sizing him up as probably being wanted by the law. When they joined the card game, Misha withdrew and moved far away.

At long last the train turned southward to make its way down the peninsula to Vladivostok, which sat at the very end. Misha got off at the station, went immediately to find a hotel and took a room. Then he went shopping. He went into a clothing store and bought a complete set of clothes. He also bought a razor and scissors. Back in his hotel room he took off all his old clothes. He shaved his entire body of all hair. He took the scissors and cut his hair off and then shaved his head, so he was bald. He went into the bathroom, took a hot shower and soaped himself all over, hoping this would remove all the vermin.

He found a restaurant with tablecloths and ordered a four-course meal, anticipating real food at last, and devoured it all with relish. Then he returned to his hotel room and slept for eight hours straight.

The next day he walked about the town. Convicts in the Gulag had developed a way of walking, hunched over, moving their heads from side to side with furtive eyes, as if expecting a blow at any minute. Misha saw himself reflected in a plate-glass store window walking just that way. He immediately straightened up tall and held his head still. From then on, he always practiced changing his posture as he walked.

His next task was to obtain a passport, since he couldn’t travel anywhere without one. Misha wandered into a couple of local bars and sat there looking at the people, wondering how to find the person who would make up a fake passport. In one bar he noticed a man seated at the rear who appeared to be a person of authority. Various men would come into the bar and talk to him briefly, (maybe exchanging money under the table) and then go out. He seemed to know everyone.

Misha went over and introduced himself and offered to buy him a drink. They chatted awhile, and then Misha said to the man: I am in need of traveling papers. Someone robbed me on the train. Would you know how I could obtain some?

The man studied Misha with very penetrating eyes, and probably knew exactly what he was—an escaped convict. However he agreed to help him, wrote out an address on a piece of paper and gave it to him. Misha thanked him and hurried out of the bar to look for the house number. He did find the person who prepared such passports—for which Misha had to pay handsomely. When he finally had it in his hand,—now in the name of Mikhail Voloshin,—he could look for passage on a ship. He went down to the port.

At this time, Russia and the U.S. were enemies, no regular U.S. visas were issued at all, and it was not something Misha could get in Vladivostock anyway. Misha went down to the docks and hung around for a few days to see if he could get work. He was thinking maybe he could get on as crew. He found a freighter headed for Oakland, California and after asking around, heard the loading crew was shorthanded. He got on as crew, but not without handing over a sizable amount of money as a bribe. He was given a short work visa to the U.S. At last, the cargo loading was complete, and the big ship moved away from the dock and started on its long passage across the Pacific toward the U.S.

The seas in that northern part, near Russia and Japan, were rough. The first few days out, Misha’s stomach was queasy, but the seas calmed as the ship continued on eastward. Misha spent the time working on his English, studying from an English language textbook he bought in Vlad. He buttonholed every English-speaking passenger and tried to engage him in conversation. Misha had taken some English while in college in St. Petersburg, so he had some grammar, but his conversational English was terrible. He could, at last, see newspapers, and learned that a man named Roosevelt was President, and that there was a bad depression in the United States.

It was a long crossing of the Pacific Ocean—a trip lasting twelve days. But it came to an end and the big ship approached the California coast. The passengers standing at the front of the boat all shouted and clapped. She made her way across the Bay and over to the docks in the Port of Oakland and finally tied up.

Misha happily walked off the ship. His destination was San Francisco, so he took the ferry across the Bay and debarked at the Embarcadero, saying to himself, This is the last boat trip I’m ever going to take.

He went looking for an inexpensive hotel room where he could stay. Then he set about learning the city. He took long walks downtown through the financial section, through North Beach. He took the No. 38 Geary street line and rode it out to the end, and then sat on the sand at Ocean Beach. He explored the Mission district. He walked a lot through Golden Gate Park. He fell in love with San Francisco.

On another walk downtown Misha passed a restaurant called Lafferty’s and noticed a sign in the window saying, Waiter wanted. Misha thought, I could do that. He needed a job now since his funds were getting dangerously low. He went in and said to the man behind the bar.

I can be waiter. You need waiter?

Have you ever waited tables before? Bob Lafferty asked him."

No, but I learn good.

Bob didn’t know why but he took a liking to the big guy, and on his gut feeling decided to take him on, even though his English was terrible.

"Well, we’re open for lunch and dinner. The hours are 11 to 2 and 5 to 9 p.m. The pay is $6 an hour plus tips, and its six days a week. You talk to Luigi here and he’ll give you a few pointers on being a waiter. Here’s the menu. Take it home and learn