marriage, he reprimanded himself.
Hypocrite!
He might not be a righteous man, exactly, but he was nevertheless a man of honor. He had an example to set. And as much as he would enjoy the company of Frau Meyer at the opera, it was probably better that he continued to go alone. He would give her the envelope, have a cup of tea, and leave.
31
Nahum Nagel placed the small weights on one side of his scale and a large weight on the other. The equipoise was so perfect that even his breath caused the left side to dip lower than the right. His friend Yudl Berger was sitting on the other side of the shop counter on a three-legged stool.
“My cousin knows about these things,” said Yudl, winding around his fingers the knotted tassles that hung from his waist. “And in his opinion Faust would have caused us a lot of grief, had he lived. He wanted to introduce special taxes and special police.”
Upstairs, Nahum’s father began coughing. It sounded like someone sawing wood, a horrible double rasp. Yudl glanced upward. “Has he seen a doctor?”
“Zingler came a few weeks ago. He said we should consider moving so as to get away from the damp.” Nahum made a hopeless gesture with his hands. “How could we possibly manage that?”
Yudl nodded sympathetically but returned to his original theme. “You know Pinhas the draper? He was delivering some curtains up to the big hotel in Hietzing, where the body was found. He actually saw it, by the plague column.” Yudl raised his eyebrows and in a melodramatic stage whisper added, “Mud everywhere.”
Nahum looked up from his weights. “You don’t really believe…”
“Doubrovsky knows the shoeblack who sits outside the theatre in Josefstadt. When the police were getting ready to leave, several of them walked up to have their shoes cleaned. The shoeblack said they were filthy. Covered in thick mud. Like clay. Josefstadt and Hietzing.” Nahum shook his head. He was evidently unconvinced.
“Our rebbe Barash says that things are going to change,” Yudl continued. “For the better.”
“Ach! He said the same thing to my father, and look at us!”
The look in Nahum’s eyes was desperate, his voice angry.
“He was right about the priest, wasn’t he?” Yudl responded, defending their spiritual master. “He said the priest would never make trouble here again-and he won’t, that’s for sure! And did you hear what he said to old man Robak? He promised him justice, vengeance. Two weeks before!”
The expression of sulky resentment on Nahum’s face was replaced by curiosity.
“Who told you that?”
“My wife. Old Robak’s eldest daughter is a friend of my wife’s aunt.”
Nahum tapped the pyramid of small weights on the scale. He wanted to believe, but his faith in the zaddik had been weakened. It was only a matter of time before the two men came again, making impossible demands. He and his father were close to ruin.
“Mud,” he said pensively. “In both places?”
“Yes,” said Yudl. “It can mean only one thing.”
32
Liebermann made his way to the old ghetto district and Rebbe Barash’s residence. He was received by a sullen maid who ushered him into a sparsely furnished parlor: two armchairs, a stove, and an old sideboard. The walls were a dreary buff color, as were the curtains and the faded rug. Indeed, the whole room seemed to have been drained of vitality: everything in it was of an anemic, indefinite hue.
The young doctor sat down and waited. Time passed, and he occupied himself by performing some of the Klammer Method exercises. First wrist rotations, and then, holding his hands out in front of his body, he repeatedly touched the proximal phalanx of his little fingers with the tips of his thumbs. This movement, Professor Klammer suggested, was invaluable for development of the abductor pollicis brevis, opponens pollicis, and flexor pollicis brevis muscles. Liebermann continued his regimen until he reached exercise eleven, at which point the door opened and the zaddik entered.
In his general appearance, Barash conformed to Liebermann’s expectations, a Hasidic jew with a shaven head, skullcap, coiled sideburns, and heavy frock coat. He was, however, astonishingly large, a man whose dimensions demanded nothing less than comparison with features of the natural world. He was positively mountainous, possessing broad, peaked shoulders, and a face that resembled a serendipitously anthropomorphic arrangement of rocks. His scowl was evocative of the darkness that precedes a thunderstorm.
Barash sat directly opposite Liebermann, resting his big sculpted hands on the arms of his chair.
“My name is Dr. Max Liebermann. I am an associate of Detective Inspector Oskar Rheinhardt of the security office.” Liebermann produced his official papers, but the zaddik showed no interest. “You were informed in advance of my visit?”
The zaddik nodded.
After some preliminary remarks, it was clear to Liebermann that Barash did not want to prolong their meeting with inconsequential courtesies. Indeed, after only a few polite exchanges Barash said curtly, “Herr Doctor, your business?”
“Rebbe Barash,” said Liebermann, “were you acquainted with Chaim Robak?”
“Yes,” Barash replied. “He used to attend one of my study groups.”
“A good student?”
“Exceptional.”
After a little prompting, Barash talked freely about his former pupil. He remembered a virtuous young man- quiet, bookish, but not shy, a young man with many friends, respectful of his father, and loved by his sisters. Barash delivered his obituary in a steady monotone, his features set fast. Nevertheless, his eyes betrayed him, revealing genuine sorrow in their moist, reflective glaze.
“Who do you believe was responsible for his murder?” Liebermann asked.
“You know what happened that day, the day his body was found?”
“Yes.”
“Well, then,” said the zaddik. “It must have been one of the agitators.”
“Where were you when the trouble started?”
“I was right here, sitting in this very room, reading. I could hear them, though. They had gathered for their rally in the market square. At first, I thought it would be wise to stay inside; however, the noise-the shouting and shrieking-became very loud, and I decided that I should go out after all. I thought I might be able to assist if anyone got hurt. I told my wife to go down into the cellar with the children. They were very frightened.”
“What did you see?”
“People running around-confused, trying to get away from the fracas. When I got to the market square, there was fighting, but it wasn’t long before the police arrived and the crowd dispersed. In actuality, there wasn’t much I could do. A few young men had been hurt and were sitting on the cobbles, holding bloodied handkerchiefs to their faces. But no one had been seriously injured.”
“Did you see the monk, Stanislav?”
“Yes, I did. As a matter of fact, we came face-to-face. He was marching away from the square, surrounded by henchmen. We almost bumped into each other.”
“Did he say anything to you?”
“No. He didn’t notice me. He seemed eager to make a quick departure.”
Liebermann paused.
“Rebbe Barash, has anyone told you about the articles that Brother Stanislav wrote for the Catholic newspaper Das Vaterland?”
