Requiem for Moses

“In a hurry,” she continued, “I have to tell you the story of Moses Green-or Wilhelm Bloom.”

Koesler’s mouth dropped open.

“It happened right after Kristallnacht. Do you know about that?”

Koesler nodded. “The Night of the Broken Glass … although I can’t give you an exact date.”

“November 9, 1938. Goebbels, the propagandist, ordered Nazis to get rough with German Jews. In twenty- four hours, more than thirty thousand Jews were arrested. Nearly one hundred were murdered on the spot. Seven thousand Jewish businesses were destroyed. And nearly three hundred synagogues were burned. In twenty-four hours! Some German Jews got the drift and some didn’t.

“My father, Nathan Greenberg, was a medical doctor and lecturer. Kristallnacht taught him that Hitler was determined to make life miserable for the Jews. I don’t think anybody then could have realized that the Nazis were going to try to wipe out an entire race.

“But, as I said, Father had a pretty good idea, at least partly, what was about to happen. He had prepared an escape route and put away all the money he could spare. He and his family would flee to America.

“We had a maid, a faithful woman named Erika. She had Catholic parents. But that didn’t stop her father from abusing her. Right around this time, early in ’38, Erika got pregnant by her father.

“With her mother’s consent-she wanted to get Erika away from her father-we took her in. Her father threatened to make trouble, but my father was a prominent man. Even though my father was Jewish, he could have made big trouble for him. So her father backed off.

“My father had a friend, an older man, Israel Bloom-a Jew, of course. He took pity on Erika and married her- to give the child a name. As it turned out, he didn’t do her any big favor. Not when, very soon, being a Jew in Nazi Germany carried a death penalty.

“Anyway, Erika had her baby, Wilhelm Bloom. In spite of his last name, the baby was as far away as you can get from being Jewish. His parents were Catholic.

“Then came Kristallnacht.” She was quiet, remembering. After a moment, she continued. “Even with a name like Bloom, Erika was sure she could weather this storm. But she wasn’t so sure about her baby. And in that she was correct. Some storm trooper probably would have picked up a baby named Bloom and bashed his head against a wall. Erika begged us to take Wilhelm with us.

Erika had been like one of our family. Father wanted to take both Erika and her baby with us. But Erika had family-an aged mother, and aunts and uncles. She decided she had to stay. It almost killed her to part with her son, but she knew it was the only way.

“We took Wilhelm with us. My parents adopted him and renamed him Moses Greenberg. Later, in this country, we dropped the ‘berg’ and became just Green.

“I was five years older than Moe. Even at that tender age, events were so traumatic that I knew and remembered what was going on.

“Father made a good living in this country. He was instrumental in getting Moe into medical school.

“Moe and I grew apart. There was something … dark … about Moe. I always thought it was due to his natural father, who could be and frequently was a vicious animal. Anyway, Erika died in a concentration camp. Even though she was Catholic, she couldn’t live down that name.”

“Then …” Koesler closed his mouth to get the saliva moving again. “Dr. Moses Green was not Jewish?”

Sophie shook her head. “His parents were Catholic, and he was baptized Catholic.”

Koesler thought another few moments. “He certainly seemed to think he was Jewish.”

“He did!” Sophie said. “He did think he was Jewish!”

Koesler tipped his head to one side, and once again his mouth hung loose. “You mean,” he said at length, “no one ever told him this story?”

“No one. It seemed best to try to give him as much stability as possible. Especially since he had spells, that grew more frequent, of that vicious streak he maybe inherited from his real father.”

“How many people were in on that secret?”

“As few as possible. My parents and me, of course. Some of our close relatives. It got to be a solemn pact. When he married the first time, it was to a Jewish girl. We all felt the marriage wouldn’t last. She didn’t have a clue as to how to handle Moe. And, just as we expected, it broke up before long.

“When he married Margie, it was like history coming full circle. She was Catholic-just like his birth parents. Our family disowned him, for all practical purposes. I couldn’t. I couldn’t do it. All his life I tried to protect him-as nasty as he could be.

“Anyway, this girl-Margie-looked like she could handle him. As time went by, I gave it a real good chance of lasting. So, eventually, I told her.”

“You told Margie about Moses! She knew he wasn’t Jewish! And still he didn’t know?”

Sophie sat further back in the chair and nodded more vigorously.

“This verges on the incredible.”

“Believe me,” Sophie said with utmost seriousness, “if I had known Margie as I do now, I would never have let her in on the secret. Oh, no!”

“What do you-”

But Koesler’s question was interrupted by the announcement that the memorial service was about to begin.

There was a shuffling of chairs, and Sophie rose to join the others. Her parting words to Koesler were, “Be careful.”

The memorial ceremony largely escaped Koesler’s awareness. Ordinarily he liked to compare liturgies of Catholic and non-Catholic denominations. Often he was able to pick up useful insights.

But this afternoon, his mind was numbed by Sophie’s revelations. All he could think of was Moses and Margie and all that had happened to them and their relationship.

Then, as if by magic-a magic that Koesler had experienced occasionally in the past, all the pieces seemed to fall into place.

He knew.

Chapter Thirty

The memorial service concluded. It had been conducted by a clergyman of some Protestant denomination. Koesler could not identify the denomination, nor could he have recounted what the service had been about.

There were only thirty-some mourners. Nowhere near the crowd that had gathered in St. Joseph’s Church for the first of these services. Nor, aside of the widow, were the principals here. Not David or Judith Green, or Bill Gray, or Jake Cameron. Claire McNern and Stan Lacki were dead.

Besides Sophie and Margie, Koesler knew no one else. He guessed that many of those attending were Moses Green’s medical colleagues and their spouses.

Koesler hung back as the guests began to leave the funeral home after a parting word with the widow.

As Sophie left, she gave Koesler a supportive wink.

At the end, Koesler and Margie were alone. There was no need to repair to the alcove for privacy. They had all the seclusion they needed here in the viewing room.

Margie seated herself in an upholstered chair at the front of the room. She gestured to a nearby chair and Koesler took it.

“Did you have a good visit with Sophie?”

“It was very revealing,” he said. “Do you know what she told me?”

“If I had three guesses, I think I would get it on the first try.” She looked completely washed out. It was understandable that she be exhausted.

“I do want to talk with you,” he said. “But if you’d rather not right now, I understand.”

She took a lace-fringed handkerchief from her bag and touched it to her forehead. If there was perspiration there, the makeup absorbed it. “To be perfectly frank, Father,” she said softly, “I would just as soon not go over