CHAPTER 4
That same evening, on the East Side of the city, in a working-class neighborhood where Americans who still thought of themselves as Eastern Europeans huddled in sturdy but paint-peeling two-story, two-family frame houses, a fifty-year-old Slovak laborer named August 'Gus' Kulovic, a tall but powerful man with a long horsey face and a pleasant manner, was saying what a wonderful place America was.
He was, after all, in the company of a government agent, Special Agent Sidney White, who was here to repay Gus the money the Depression had cost him. Uncle Sam cared about Gus Kulovic. So said Special Agent Sidney White.
At first Gus had been frightened. The knock at his door two nights before had been loud enough to wake the dead, even to wake Gus Kulovic, despite his bad hearing- which was getting worse and worse-a disability that dated back to the Great War. Yes, Gus had served his adopted country in the trenches overseas. He had not been wounded, but the shelling, the thunder of the shelling, had taken its toll on his poor ears.
Nonetheless, Gus had jumped from the sofa where he'd been napping after dinner, and his wife Marija, ten years younger than he, a plump plain woman who looked pretty to Gus, had come running from the kitchen, where she'd been doing dishes, apron flapping. The banging on the door had even summoned fourteen-year-old Mary, the youngest of their four children and the only one still at home.
'Do you owe money, Poppa?' the girl said sassily. She had her hair in braids and wore a calico dress. Cute as a button, Gus thought. A young skinny version of her mother. Despite her joking, the girl seemed a little frightened. The knocking was loud and insistent.
'We are not in debt, dumpling,' Gus said, patting her shoulder. 'Go back to your schoolbooks.'
She made a face and went, but truth be told, she liked school. Gus was proud of her-she would be the first of his brood to finish high school.
He opened the door and a thickset bulldog of a man in a gray overcoat and a dark blue hat was raising a formidable fist to knock again.
'Yes?' Gus said. He was irritated by this interruption, but he kept his expression neutral. The man was too well-dressed to be a salesman, so he might be someone important. No use offending.
'August Kulovic?' The man's voice was low and resonant, like a radio announcer. He seemed 'official' to Gus.
'August Kulovic is me.'
The man, whose complexion was gray, remained as expressionless as stone as he withdrew a billfold and flashed a gold badge, returning it to his suit pocket.
'Sidney White,' he said. 'Special Agent. Could I have a word with you?'
'Of course,' Gus said. He ushered the stranger into the modestly furnished flat, which took up the whole upper floor of this house on East Sixty-fourth Street. The most distinctive thing about the place, at the moment, was the good-sized Christmas tree with electric lights (Gus preferred candles, but Mary had cajoled him) over by the windows.
'Is there trouble?' Gus asked.
Agent White smiled. It was wide and white and reassuring, an odd smile to find in the midst of that round gray face with the dark eyes and bushy eyebrows.
'You're in no trouble, Mr. Kulovic. None at all. In fact, I'm here to help you.'
Marija had disappeared but now she returned, without her apron. She had obviously been listening. She said, smiling stiffly, 'Would you gentleman enjoy some tea and cookies?'
Agent White removed his hat and smiled again and said, 'Very much, ma'am. It's so kind of you.'
Marija's tentative smile relaxed some and she was gone again.
Gus took Agent White's coat and hung it on a rack near the door. He showed him to the couch, where they sat beneath a framed print of an East European landscape showing snow-capped mountains and a blue sky.
'It is kind of you, Mr. White, to offer to help me.'
'It's the government that wishes to help you, Mr. Kulovic. It's Uncle Sam who wants to help.'
'I see,' Gus said. But he didn't.
'You're a veteran, aren't you, Mr. Kulovic?'
'Yes,' Gus said, quiet pride in his voice.
'Uncle Sam hasn't forgotten that.'
'Neither has August Kulovic.'
'Nor should he. You've been steadily employed for some years now, haven't you?'
'Yes. Since I got home from the war, I work for East Side Rapid.' He worked maintenance on the train line. But his hearing loss was getting more and more severe, and he didn't know how much longer he would last.
Marija entered with a tray of china cups, a teapot, and a plate of rocliky, filled butter cookies, which she smilingly served. Before she departed, Agent White spoke to her, thanking her, but Gus couldn't hear the words.
It was at this point that Gus realized Agent White had from his first word been speaking up for him. Even the G-man's knock had rattled the rafters, as if he'd known before arriving of Gus' hearing problem.
But Agent White knew of many things where August Kulovic was concerned.
'You have money with the Bailey Building and Loan,' Agent White said, sipping his tea.
'Yes. How is it you know this?'
'I'm with the government, Mr. Kulovic.'
'What branch?'
'I'm not at liberty to divulge that. It must remain secret. National security. You understand.'
'Yes,' Gus said. But he didn't.
'What we are doing at my agency must be done confidentially. Not everyone qualifies. Someone like yourself, a veteran, is given special consideration. You understand?'
'Yes,' Gus said. And that he understood. That seemed only fair.
'It's a big country, and a lot of people have financial woes. This Depression has hit a lot of folks hard. Take yourself, for example. You put three thousand dollars into your building and loan society. And then hard times came, and your building and loan, like so many others, was forced to go on a restricted basis. The market value of your passbook was reduced to about fifteen hundred dollars.'
Gus put down his tea cup. He looked hard into the dark eyes of the agent. 'How do you know these things?'
The G-man smiled and shrugged. 'It's my business to, Mr. Kulovic.' Then the smile disappeared. 'These facts and figures are strictly confidential. You needn't worry.'
'I worry all the time about losing half my money.'
'How would you like to get your whole three thousand dollars back, dollar for dollar, in cash?'
'I would like it fine. I need that money. I want to buy a house for my old age.'
'And so you shall. You just give me that passbook and you'll have your money back in sixty days. Maybe sooner. Every penny of it.'
Gus scratched and shook his head. 'I want the money, all right, Mr. White. But how are you going to do it?'
'Don't you worry. That's our business.'
'Whose business?'
'The government. We are, in a limited, selected manner, aiding and assisting passbook owners in distress, by giving them dollar-for-dollar value in return for passbooks. And we give bonds as security for the passbooks.'
'Bonds?'
'Yes. You needn't turn over the passbook, now. I can come back in a few days with your security bonds, and you can sign some documents.'
Gus sighed, gestured with his palms up. 'Mr. White, I don't read or write good. I don't have education.'
'Can you sign your name?'
'Yes, but…'
