John Nikolaus Like most other socially-esteemed European men in the early 1900’s, John Nikolaus dressed formally everywhere he went, as was the fashion in those days. Among his favorites was his navy blue dress suit, and of course his bulb-headed ebony cane which he carried always, for it matched with every outfit. He was a farmer and businessman, and in fact owned one of the most successful businesses in the town of Tsabona in the Republic of Hrvatska, more commonly known as Croatia. His beautiful wife and two children were the jewel on his crown. With a successful business comes plenty of stress, and John Nikolaus’s business was no exception. Like the rest of Tsabona, John found his way to the tavern most nights, where he spent time recuperating from a hard day’s work. He sat snugly on a barstool with his cane leaned against his left thigh as if it were a sabre on his belt, his hands embracing a giant, foaming mug. He talked and laughed with the other men there, his burly mustache dripping with beer after each swig of the mug. His bright blue eyes beamed. After even the first drink, he could not have known that on that night his life was going to change forever. At some time that night, a Serbian man arrived at the tavern and sat amidst the conversation at the bar. Apparently wanting to set aside political differences in favor of a good time, the Serb joined in on the lively conversation with the Croatian crowd around him. The subject somehow came to politics-never a good thing, and words became uncomfortable and aggravated. Uncomfortable words turned to tense grunts, and grunts turned to shouts. By this time the other men had backed out of the altercation, leaving just John and the Serb arguing about the proper way to run an empire. Fed up with the Serb’s foreign nonsense, John jumped from his stool and grasped his cane in one fluid motion, and within an instant had struck the Serb in the back of the head, loud Croatian curses shooting from his angry puce face. He continued to beat the man with his polished black cane, each blow striking painfully against the Serb’s tired bones. By this time all eyes were on John Nikolaus, and all mouths gaped in astonishment. Within moments a bloodied Serbian heap lay unconscious on the rotting wooden tavern floor. The alcohol from the broken mug beside him mixed with the blood, filling the tavern with a sickly smell. "I… I didn’t mean to kill the man," John stammered as he backed away from the Serb, grasped his cane, and bolted out the open door. The flames of the many candles in the tavern flickered as John Nikolaus left. The dirt road that ran through Tsabona was dark on any given night, but that night it seemed much darker as John sprinted down it. The black buildings at his flanks laughed wickedly at the panicked man as he ran by. I didn’t mean to kill the man, he thought to himself as he ran. He nearly broke down the door to his own home as he rushed in, startling his wife. "Goodness, John!" she exclaimed as color returned to her face. "I thought it was the Barun! What’s the matter?" He embraced her and kissed her on the cheek. "I don’t have time to explain now," he said as he hurried about, collecting scraps of food, clothes, and money in a burlap sack. "Everything will be okay… Take care of the kids… Love you… Talk to you soon…" "But-" she started. But he had already left. Not knowing quite what to say, she walked quietly to the doorway and watched her husband dash off into the night. The clouds released their grip on the moon, and the road took on a ghastly glow as the milky moonlight shone down. After two days of running westward across Austro-Hungary, dodging any sign of activity, John came upon at last the Swiss border, which he snuck through with relative ease; the guards on duty were playing cards, and the ground was littered with bottles. John found that in the shady streets and taverns of inner Switzerland lurked many crooks willing to create fake credentials. Over the two days that John stayed at the Dämmerung Inn, he met several times with a small and gangly man who called himself Snout. It had been arranged that Snout was to make a new set of documents-a passport, birth certificate, licenses, the works-for John Nikolaus, and in return would be paid handsomely, for John Nikolaus was a wealthy man. "Here you are, Mister Nikolaus, sir," Snout said softly. "I’ll be collectin’ my payment now…" John slid a tiny envelope stuffed with small bills across the table, at the same time taking hold of the larger envelope with his documents in it. They shook hands, and in a flash Snout had disappeared into the night. Now that John carried the "proper" documentation, he was free to travel in the open. Early the next morning, John Nikolaus, citizen of Switzerland, rode a train to the French coast, and then took a ferry across the twenty-mile channel to London. There he stayed at an inn contemplating his next move. He’d heard a lot about America, the land of opportunity, and even knew a few people who’d gone there. Of course, he’d never heard from them after that, but he liked to think that they were doing well. No sooner than he’d decided to go to America, John found himself on a wharf in Liverpool holding a steamship ticket to New York City, and before he knew it he was sitting on a pearly deck watching the mighty Atlantic waves hurl themselves into the ship. New York City showed John a new degree of filth. A layer of grime caked the roads and buildings, and even the people there were dark and unfriendly. Not quite the gilded city he had heard about. After getting lost twice and finding no sympathy from the residents, he lost taste in New York. Immediately he began searching for a better place to go. One day, while eating a sandwich at a crowded deli, John overheard a German family talking brightly about Milwaukee-a blooming industrial city in the wooded state of Wisconsin, and he knew that Milwaukee would be his next destination. He hurried to a train station, and spent the next few days admiring the landscape from his window seat, the white noise from the engine kept him in touch with reality; only weeks before he was halfway across the world. Milwaukee was a few steps up from New York, but still a dump compared to Tsabona. Albeit, John didn’t have a problem calling it home. After a few hours of wandering, he found a boarding house whose owner, quite fortunately, knew some Croatian, and for dirt-cheap rent, John could call it home. He ambled up the stairs and into room twelve, a small but homely little room equipped with a bed, desk, and dresser. There was enough room for a small family to live comfortably, and would certainly do for the moment. He set down his bag and the few clothed he’d collected on his journey, and lay down on his bed. His weary body was rejuvenated with a quick nap. Once rested, he sat hunched over for an hour or so at his desk, writing a letter to his wife, detailing the events of his life since that night at the tavern. Once it was done, he stuffed all seven pages into an envelope and gave it to the man downstairs to be mailed. Pack up your stuff and the children, he had written. Take a train to France, a boat to England, and then a ship to New York. Then take a train to Milwaukee, and meet me at Neues Haus Boarding House, room 12, on 50th, just west of the train station. I’ll be waiting. The next day he found a job at a bakery, where he made money while awaiting his beloved wife and children. Once they arrived, he’d find something else, but for the moment, he needed to pay rent, and buy food and clothes. One day after an especially tiring and busy day at work, John walked home, dragging his feet with fatigue. He had sent the letter a month-and-a-half prior, and was wondering if it had gotten lost somewhere. He pried open the boarding house door with three fingers, and walked up the familiar stairs to room twelve, where he would set his stuff down, change clothes, and probably go to sleep. But when he opened the door, the room wasn’t vacant as it had been all the other nights. On his bed lay two small sleeping forms, and on his desk chair sat a starry-eyed woman beaming at him. Tears began to roll down her face. It took a moment for him to recognize them, but once he did, it seemed as if someone had installed a hearth in the middle of the room. "John!" she exclaimed as she jumped upright and ran to him with opened arms, enclosing as they neared, giving a long, lively embrace. "I missed you." "I missed you too, dear. I’m so glad we’re all in the same place now… Sorry for having to run off like that… I hope you’ll forgive me." "Of course I do. Let’s get some sleep and then we can all talk in the morning." They both climbed into the bed, which was now crowded, and had the best night’s sleep in a long time.
Copyright © 2004 Tim Gorichanaz |