The Mezuzah With No Home

August 12, 1901

Petrodvorets, Russia

“Frieda, Frieda,” the girl yelled across the crowd.

Frieda turned even though she did not want to. She was in conversation with Hymie Schwartz, a perspective customer, and did not want to be interrupted. Business trumps everything. But she had turned and recognized Rodion, “What the hell does she want,” she thought. She secretly hoped that no one recognized this girl for she was employed by her cousin, Anichka who owned the whore house. Frieda did not want everyone to know her business and that she was being sought by a member of a house of prostitution. That was especially true to her potential customer Hymie. A man she was trying to convince to allow her to be his yenta and negotiate a marriage contract between him and a prospective bride. Frieda was a matchmaker and in the village of Petrodvorets, prospects were limited.

“Excuse me Hymie, I must see what this child wants, but let’s get together later to discuss prospects for you.” Frieda said hastily to Hymie. Hymie was a butcher and lost his wife six months ago. He was a catch because he was a butcher but with four children he had some drawbacks. Also, he was not the best-looking man and at fifty-three he was no stallion. He nodded and went back to shopping for some vegetables.

Frieda now gave attention to Rodion, an employee of her cousin. She was a Polish orphan who Anichka had taken under her wing. She was no beauty but young and full of life.

Frieda turned and signaled for the young girl to come with her. “Let’s go over there to the park and talk.”

“But, your cousin needs you now, an emergency!” Rodion sputtered quite out of breath.

“The park now,” Freida said firmly. She did not need prying eyes or ears to know her business. The fact that her cousin ran a whore house sometimes was beneficial for her matchmaking business and sometimes not.

Once they crossed to the park, Frieda asked, “Okay, vus tzach​?” (What is happening?) “Your cousin said to come immediately, and I am not to say another word.”

Frieda’s cousin, Anichka was a matronly woman who ran the whore house. She was related to Freida but in truth they were not close. But they did help each other in business enterprises. Anichka could discreetly send information to her cousin concerning men who wished to employ her services as a yenta. Yenta services were basically match making. Now most arrangements were family oriented with one family putting up a boy and the other a girl. But some of the older men tended to be a little on the shy side concerning a yenta. Shy was a strange word, for these men felt more comfortable around a whore but tongue tied around a virtuous girl that they would consider for marriage.

And they certainly would not want the young girl or her family to know their exploits at the whore house.

Anichka had expanded and had a relationship with a whore house in a village just south of St. Petersburg, Strelna, was a nice suburb of St. Petersburg. The distance from Strelna to St Petersburg was 9.4 kms (5.84 miles.) Living in Strelna were many of the men of the Duma, the Russian government equivalent to the House of Representatives. The whore house of Strelna had a verbal agreement with the whore house of Petrodvorets, to interchange whores on special occasions.

In silence both ladies quickly walked a quarter of a mile out of town to a two-structured building on top of a hill. The building they went to was made of wood and although old was sturdy enough. The building stood separated from other structures. Its color was a worn red. For some reason red was the color which indicated prostitution. Prostitution was an almost accepted profession in the world at the turn of the century. It was an evil but an evil which could exist.

It was a normal set up for the house. Inside was the parlor where the girls sat with prospective customers until they had made their choices. Once the selection process was over with the girl and the man would go upstairs to a room for the specified half hour to an hour. The décor of the parlor was made up of bright colors with splashes of red and pink. But age had dulled the colors and they were not as bright as they used to be. A brown sofa and a few large chairs were the decorations. The furniture was worn and faded. This whore house had been around for a while and had a clientele that included some of the more prominent men of the village. In the back and behind a curtain was the kitchen. Upstairs were six rooms. Four on the left side where the most active and were the most frequented. On the right was two rooms double sized for the better customers. More space cost more. The two rooms were assigned to the two best girls who had the most requests.

Frieda was totally out of breath by the time she got there. Even at forty she was huffing because she was zaftig (overweight) side and out of shape. Widowed for the past two years and having no other way of putting food on the table and a roof over her head she capitalized on her social abilities of gab and techniques of matching to go into the yenta occupation. She wondered what her cousin wanted, and she had the gut feeling it had nothing to do with matchmaking. Frieda entered the house and was ushered up the stairs. There in front of the back room on the right side stood Dvora, a middle- aged whore who was one of the girls most men looked at only with a glance and then passed her up unless everyone else was occupied. She was white as a ghost and leaned against the door to hold her up. She signaled Frieda to go into the room but said nothing. Frieda went into the room fearing what she was getting into. It took a few moments for her eyes to adjust because there was little light in the room. Her cousin approached her,

“We did everything we could, but she lost too much blood.” She moved to the side and Frieda could see that on a bed lay a young girl. Her body was covered with a sheet, but the blood was seeping through. Then there was a baby cry and Frieda looked to the left and saw Anna, the other older whore, holding a newborn in her arms.

Oy gevalt (oh my god), what has happened? Frieda felt nausea in her throat.

Blanka came last night. She was about to burst with child. We tried to help but the baby was breeched and would not come out. She was screaming and bleeding and … finally I had no choice there was no time to get help. I cut open her stomach to remove the baby, but she bled so much. At least the baby seems okay.

“When did she die?”

“About an hour ago, thank God it is the Sabbath and only the girls were here.”

Frieda knew that the whore house was closed Friday night because the elders would not permit such sacrilegious actions on the holy night. Then her mind clicked. Blanca, her mind struggled to remember her.”.

“Didn’t Blanka use to work for you?”

“She was part of the exchange program we have with that whorehouse in Strelna. You remember you set up the transfer.”

Frieda had gotten her cousin involved in an exchange system with a counterpart in town a few miles down the road near St. Petersburg, in the town of Strelna which is on the Neva River. There was a matchmaker there who had a client who wished a woman for a wife. They did not want a prostitute from their city because everyone would talk, and the client would be compromised. I sent them one of our girls from here. The matchmakers had only had four occasions to do so but it seemed to work out. That is till now. The girl on the bed indicated something was wrong. Very wrong.

Frieda remembered back to when that deal was made. Her contact in Strelna needed a young girl for an older but wealthy man. He had never been married but needed a wife for social reasons.

Frieda did not meet him but the yenta in Strelna had said this man was rather on the tough side. He really needed a girl who he could show off to his contacts at the high level of the government (the duma). He also wanted an extremely lose girl who would be into kinky sexual practices. He certainly did not want kids because of his age. Frieda got the feeling from her contact that the girl should be willing to grant favors to this man’s higher ups. Nothing was said but in the courts of politics favors and power are swayed with the intrigues of the players. Blanca was chosen after she was given the facts. She chose to go there thinking that living in luxury would be better than the whore house. Hell, she was giving it out anyway. Better for silks and pearls and the chance for living well with this old man then staying at the whore house and not having the opportunities to advance.

Yet a little less than a year later and here she was dead on the bed. She had been brought to the house in the middle of the night by a stable boy on the back of a cart with hay on it. The stable boy left as soon as she was brought up stairs.

Frieda could see her cousin needed direction. “First things first,” she stated.

She took Anichka out of the room and down to the kitchen where they sat down at the wood table. “We have got to get rid of the body.” she said mater of factually. “Then we have to decide what to do with the baby.”

“Blanka made me promise her before she died that I was not to kill the kid. I promised her I would not let that happen.”

Frieda nodded. She was not into killing and the thought of killing a baby was not in her. “We need to get Leon to help us,” she said after reflecting on the next step.

Leon lived in a small cottage near the whore house. He was nearly sixty but strong like a mule. He did odd chores for the girls and they in turn paid him using their wares. If he wanted their wares he would have to keep his mouth shut. He was given the task of wrapping the body and burying it on top of the hill. He was not thrilled by this assignment, but losers could not be choosers.