The Accidental Bigamist and Other Incredible Stories

By M.M. Rumberg

An immigrant to the United States at the turn of the 20th century, Samuel Garden has to make his way during the turbulent times of the early 1900s. Along the way, he meets a woman he marries. When he learns of her death, he remarries but finds out his first wife is alive and well. What happens next is hilarious.

A murderer tries to disappear, but his psychological nature is compelling, overwhelming, and forces him to repeat his crimes.

A woman will only eat Chinese food. What happens when she inadvertently eats Italian food thinking it is Chinese food?

A man moves to an adult, over 55 community. His female neighbors welcome him to the neighborhood with chocolate chip cookies - hundreds of them - and lots of love. And the love never stops as his house fills with cookies.

These, and other intriguing and imaginative short stories explore the human condition and will entertain and delight you.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Aug 13, 2020
• ISBN: 9781664123168

M.M. Rumberg

Mort is a retired U.S. Air Force Officer who served as a Rescue and Survival technician teaching escape and evasion and survival techniques to aircrew members. He survived a tour of duty in Vietnam and barely survived two tours in the Pentagon as a computer systems action officer. He was also an information technology consultant and a manager with a large international health care insurance company. He earned a Doctorate in Education and has been an adjunct professor of computer sciences for several universities and community colleges in the Washington, DC, area. Mort was a volunteer with the Alexandria, Virginia, Police Department and the Animal Welfare League of Alexandria. His novel, CodeName: Snake, The Evil We Kill, won a national award and several of his short stories have won national recognition. Now residing in California, he is busy working on several new novels and many short stories. Visit the author’s website: mmrumberg.com

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THE ACCIDENTAL

BIGAMIST

and Other Incredible Stories

M.M. RUMBERG

Copyright © 2020 by M.m. Rumberg.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 08/13/2020

Xlibris

844-714-8691

www.Xlibris.com

800895

CONTENTS

Acknowledgements

The Accidental Bigamist

Chinese Food

Chocolate Chip Cookies

Charity

Doctor Visit

Be Careful What You Wish For

Smooth

Obsession

An Ugly Future

Makeup Artist

Infection

Dog Walking

Hidden

Sunset Cruise

About The Author

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

With grateful appreciation to a dedicated group of fellow writers who made important contributions to this book: MaryLou Anderson, Westley Turner, Eva Wise, and Ronald Smith. I also am thankful to Robinn Magid, Victoria Fisch, Jeremy Frankel, Mark Heckman, and Eric Bloch for their suggestions, ideas, and research. It should be noted that since they did so much research for The Accidental Bigamist, any errors are theirs – blame them.

Special appreciation to my wife, Susan, for her extraordinary help, and a big Thank You to the Sacramento Suburban Writers Club for their continued support and encouragement throughout the years.

M. M. Rumberg

July 2020

THE ACCIDENTAL BIGAMIST

CHAPTER 1

I grew up near a place called Kiev, a big city in a province of Russia or Ukraine…I couldn’t tell for sure since the border always seemed to change. Every day there were different soldiers occupying the area. For all I knew it was Austria-Hungary or Poland or Germany or who knows where, but we always called it Ukraine. When my parents died in 1917 during the worldwide influenza outbreak, I was 16 and had to leave school.

Life is hard, and then you die. That’s what my friend’s father told me, and everyone I knew in Kiev said it was true. I sensed there was not much of a bright future before me if I stayed here.

My home was in a shtetl, on the outskirts of Kiev. It was a small village with many Jews, all of us trying to live from day to day. It was a bare existence. I don’t know when times in Kiev had ever been easy, but right now, they were not good. Actually, life was always hard. I’d heard about the good times when the village elders talked about the good old days long ago. I can’t imagine what they were like. What good old days? As far as I could see, they’ve always been miserable.

And the taxes…don’t get me started on that. My father used to argue with God about the taxes—he didn’t dare argue with the tax collector since he always had half a dozen soldiers with him, besides, God was the only one who’d listen. The Jews were taxed more than everyone else. You had to pay the taxes even if you didn’t work, and if you couldn’t pay, they’d put you in jail.

Father used to joke, Going to jail wasn’t that bad, at least then you’d have a place to live and some food, although you had to share the food with the rats. And then it was always a contest to see who won.

Most of the time we ate thin soup and potatoes. Sometimes…Ha!—most of the time—I went to bed hungry. It was rare, but occasionally we ate well if we managed to poach a deer or trap a hare or a few squirrels. Sometimes I even stole chicken eggs from a neighbor’s coop when our chickens weren’t producing. Now that I think about it, maybe they were stealing from us! Problem was, if you were caught poaching, you died early.

Another problem was the draft. In 1920, I turned 19 and was eligible for the army—actually, it was mandatory. I had avoided it so far, hiding from the government agents. My parents had somehow kept my name from the government rolls, but I knew sooner or later they would eventually get me. If I had to go, I preferred it to be later. I wanted to escape this miserable place but I couldn’t get away without official travel documents. This meant getting government approval from the same government wanting me for the army.

I’d come to the conclusion it was time to seek a better life elsewhere, since I didn’t think this one would get better any time soon…if ever. When the war ended in 1918, I hoped things would improve, but they didn’t. If anything, they continued getting worse. I wanted to go where things were better, but where was it better? Certainly not in Russia or Ukraine for the Jews. It was always bad for the Jews.

The pogroms hadn’t yet hit my shtetl, but everyone knew they someday would. Jews everywhere were being killed or beaten and run out of town and the women raped. Rumors about a pogrom nearby spread like a wildfire. Everyone was scared but didn’t know what to do except pray that it didn’t happen to them. Many people hid their Jewishness hoping to be spared.

People whispered about America. The streets are paved with gold over there, they said, but no one ever came back with any—none that I ever saw, and they never sent any back, either. Actually, no one who left ever came back. Maybe they were enjoying the gold so much that they forgot about us, or maybe not everything was made of gold, but maybe life there was a little better than here where the streets were a muddy mess even when it didn’t rain.

Over the past two years I had saved enough money for a steamship ticket, but what would I do when I got there? Was there truly work for everyone?

Don’t worry, I had heard, there’s lots of work for everyone.

How did they know? I didn’t think it made much sense, there being so much work available over there and nothing much here. Where did all the gold come from? Someone had to work to get it, right? So why didn’t everyone go there? Oy! Who knows? But it certainly sounded good. Better than here.

After Mother and Father passed away, the Kiev Jewish community helped me since I had no living relatives. Actually, in my shtetl almost everyone needed help from the Jewish community—so many people had died from the influenza. No family was untouched, and my whole family was gone. Now, three years later, I was anxious about traveling. I had never traveled farther than the northern part of Kiev. When I was younger, Father took me there once to see if we could find work, but there was nothing there, either.

When I was 14, Father finally found me a job at his second cousin’s mink farm out in the country, on the outskirts of Kiev. Ivan and Boris, my uncles, owned the farm and I worked there part time for a couple of years while I was going to school, but after my parents died I quit school and began working full time. Maybe that’s why the influenza didn’t get me. Almost everyone in the city got sick, but most of us in the country didn’t.

On the farm, I learned a lot about the animals. Mostly I learned I hated them, but it was work. I wondered if the work I did at the farm would mean anything in America. Do they have mink farms in America? That question bothered me. Did people need mink coats in America? Everyone in Kiev needed them. We needed warm clothes in the winter and summer…God forbid, it was so furshlingering* cold here even during the summer, but who could afford them? Certainly not us Bolsheviks. Bolsheviks were peasants who wore rags and castoffs—deprived of everything. Only the rich, upper class—the royalty, the nobility, and the clergy—could afford anything, but how many fur coats does one need even if you could afford to buy a whole bunch of them?

Even so, the Bolsheviks went on a rampage to throw the upper class out. My uncles kept me hidden on the farm. Let the others do it. If they find out you’re of age, you’ll be drafted, they said. "Actually, you’re not even registered as being alive, you were listed as dead from the influenza, so keep your tusch out of sight."

They called it a revolution and everyone listened to Lenin’s speeches fire the people up to rebel and throw off the blood-sucking upper class who were taxing us to death. I wondered which was worse, the taxes we were forced to pay or having to listen to Lenin’s constant speeches.

I was awed by the revolution, with armed troops all over the place and people shooting at everyone. I was thankful they left Ivan, Boris, and me alone for the most part, probably because we were way out in the country and they stayed mostly in the cities.

Then, one day the army came to the farm, and Boris hid me under one of the mink cages just in time. If he hadn’t, I would’ve been taken away for the army and they would have severely punished Ivan and Boris for keeping me hidden on the farm and out of the army and off the tax rolls. They probably would have been jailed and lost the farm.

Let me tell you, being underneath a mink cage was not my idea of a hiding place. Talk about a mess and a stink. I had to take a bath and scrub my clothes after the soldiers left. The stink stayed with me for a week.

Boris and Ivan argued with the troops. The troops wanted to kill the animals for the meat not caring that the minks weren’t old enough yet. It would cost Ivan and Boris a fortune and ruin their business. They compromised on a few, but the soldiers agreed to let the minks be skinned first, so their coats could be salvaged. The soldiers really didn’t care. All they wanted was for Ivan and Boris to hurry up because they were hungry. I don’t know why they wanted the meat, since it tastes so bad…tough and stringy. Maybe that’s why they didn’t come back for more.

After the soldiers left, my uncles decided to hide a bunch of breeders in the forest just in case the soldiers returned for more meat. They kept the best ones hidden so only the scraggly and sickly minks were on the farm.

I’d been living and working on the farm for two years, and when my parents died from the influenza, Ivan and Boris took me fully under their wing because I was just a kid and was family. They looked after me, but they sometimes paid me only with food and a room to live in—if you can call it a room. It was originally a couple of large mink cages attached together. And believe me, the minks really do stink. And they’re not friendly. It took me a while to clean the room, but the smell lingered.

Still, I was one of the lucky ones. I had a place to sleep, which many peasants didn’t, especially during these revolutionary times with all the fighting and shooting and explosions, or when it rained, which seemed to be several times a day in the summer. Even the sun didn’t shine much here—everything was gray.

When we lived in Kiev my parents and I would go to shul every Friday to pray. I used to wonder what we were praying for. I don’t think God heard us. He seemed to only hear prayers from the rich, and they didn’t bother going to shul or church. When I was at the mink farm Ivan and Boris never went to shul but their wives lit candles on Friday evenings, and that was as close as we got to religion. They also celebrated Chanukah, Yom Kippur, and Rosh Hashanah, but had to be careful that the government didn’t find out they were Jewish. If the army or government came to the farm there was nothing to indicate we were Jewish. If there were, there’d be hell to pay.

In the winter, I lived in the main house with my uncles and their fat, grumpy wives. Boy, were they fat. Their wives didn’t like me and I didn’t care for them. We gave each other a lot of space—mostly, I’m sure, because I smelled so much from the minks. In a way, the revolution was a good thing—I couldn’t spend any money and was forced to save for the steamship ticket to America.

The Great War ended in 1918, but things never improved. Many people didn’t come home from the war. Food was scarce, jobs were scarce, warm clothes were scarce. Ivan told me I was lucky to have this job and a place to stay, and I knew it.

My job on the mink farms was to keep the nasty critters fed and clean…not an easy job. They ate frogs, fish, snakes, and birds, so catching their food occupied most of my time. The damn things also had ticks and fleas, and it was my job to keep the minks clean. They also didn’t like each other and had to be kept in separate cages except when they were breeding. It seemed like they were always breeding. I liked the little kits, though. They were cute and fun, but the adults were another matter. Nasty devils.

When I turned 20 in 1921, I made the decision to go to America. I was tired of hiding from the army and having only minks for companions. I’d heard if you were in the army you had to stay for 25 years. That’s the last thing I wanted. I wanted to escape. Maybe some of the gold would still be there when I arrived in America, but to leave here, I had to get government-approved travel documents and pay a departure tax. I discussed my plans with my uncles, and they agreed.

Ivan took me into town to the government office, and told me to act dumb, Dumber than usual, he said. You know, stupid, so they don’t draft you.

Like a retarded man?

He nodded. Exactly like that. Shouldn’t be too difficult for you.

We stood in line for an hour and finally reached the counter. Ivan told the agent he wanted to send his grandson to Warsaw to a home where they would look after him.

I can’t handle him anymore. He’s too much for me. He leaned in and whispered, but loud enough for me to hear, We need internal and external travel documents to send him to Poland, to get him out of Russia. Let him be someone else’s problem. Besides, I think he’s sick.

Ivan and Boris weren’t old men, perhaps in their forties, a year or two older than my parents were before they died. They each had white beards down to their chests, and moved pretty slowly. I called them my grandfathers, and they seemed to like that although they really were my uncles.

The agent looked at me. I was standing there drooling, a stupid smile on my face.

The agent seemed hesitant, perhaps negatively inclined to let me go out of the country, thinking I should be conscripted for the army. That’s when I sneezed, but I didn’t cover my mouth or wipe my nose. Ivan yelled at me. Cover your mouth, you idiot.

The agent’s eyes widened, he screamed and almost ran from the room in a panic. With a handkerchief over his mouth and nose, he quickly stamped the papers and shoved them at Ivan.

Ivan was trying to prevent me from sneezing again, and offered two pelts to the clerk as payment. I didn’t know the ruble equivalent of a pelt, but everyone said the ruble was worthless. The clerk looked at the pelts and demanded one more, so Ivan quibbled for a minute and gave him another one. All three were poor quality, but pelts were good barter since the ruble’s value seemed to get worse every day, although I didn’t see how its value could decrease any more than it already had.

The agent quickly stuffed the pelts under the counter. Don’t say anything to anyone about this, he told Ivan, and get him out of here.

I won’t, he said, and I wondered who’d we possibly want to tell. Mink skins were a great substitute for money. Ivan had brought five pelts with him but was lucky and kept the other two. Maybe he’d let me take them to America.

I made as if I was going to sneeze again and Ivan quickly hustled me out.

Very good acting, he said, as we walked outside.

On the way back to the farm, a policeman stopped us and wanted to see my papers. Why aren’t you in the army? Are you a deserter? He started to remove his pistol.

He’s retarded, said Ivan.

I stood there, drooling, the same as I did in the government office, a stupid smile on my face, the drool bubbling on my lips.

The policeman’s eyes narrowed. I could see he might not believe I was like that, so I sneezed right in his face.

The policeman screamed and jumped back wiping his face.

Schmuel, I told you not to do that, yelled Ivan.

I smiled and let my nose drip.

Ivan shook his head. I told you, he’s retarded, and also a little sick.

Get out of here! he managed to scream. He let loose a deluge of curse words, some of which I’d never heard before. I was grateful he didn’t shoot me.

Ivan put his arm around my shoulder and hustled me away.

CHAPTER 2

I didn’t have much to pack, and said my goodbyes to Ivan and Boris and their fat wives, and to the 100 or so minks that I cared for, including the ones they kept hidden in the forest from the army. I would miss the little critters more than I’d miss my uncles and their wives. The minks didn’t yell at me as much, although they tended to bite more.

I threw my bundle over my shoulder along with some food, and caught a wagon ride to the train station to catch a train from Kiev to Hamburg where the steamship was. Everyone told me the journey would be a long one…at least five days by train, followed by two weeks on the ocean to America. I’d wrapped the government papers carefully in heavy paper for protection as I headed out, my hopes high but cautious. I was told there were many thieves that wanted to rob unsuspecting people, taking their money and tickets, so I put all my money in my underwear since it was the only place that was secure—all my pockets