“Yes. As God made Adam. From the earth.”
Liebermann took off his skullcap and handed it back to the caretaker along with a silver coin.
“Thank you,” he said. “You have been most helpful”
Pray for enlightenment. Go to the cemetery and pray for your ancestors to be merciful. Perhaps they will pity you and guide you back to your faith, and then-only then-will you understand, fully understand, what is happening.
Liebermann had not prayed for enlightenment, but he had drawn a little closer to his roots, and Barash had proved himself to be an impressive prophet: either that, or a zealot capable of monstrous violence.
51
“He was a disgusting man,” said Anna. “A vile creature.”
Gabriel Kusevitsky could see that Anna was distressed; however, he did not offer her solicitous platitudes. Instead, he watched her closely and listened. There was something about his posture that betrayed his medical training, a certain detachment and ease in the presence of anguish. But his composure was never in any danger of being misconstrued as boredom or lack of interest, for Kusevitsky’s eyes-dark, perceptive, and penetrating-showed intense mental engagement.
“What he did was unforgivable,” Anna continued. “That poor girl. That poor, poor girl. How she must have suffered.” For a moment Anna’s gaze became glassy with incipient tears, but she set her jaw and did not let herself cry. “Olga and I reported the incident to the police, but they weren’t very helpful. We were told that Kadia would have to make a statement herself. But this isn’t possible. Kadia is as frightened of constables as she is of Sachs. She has no papers and thinks she will be thrown into prison. Moreover, she is still in terrible pain-her internal injuries were appalling. We felt so frustrated, so angry that we decided to pay Herr Sachs a visit ourselves. He’ll soon run out of money, and when he does, he’ll be scouring the streets looking for another girl like Kadia-a replacement-and, believe me, he’ll have no difficulty finding one. All he’s got to do is wait outside any of the warmestuben. There are so many girls like her. We thought that if he knew Kadia was being looked after-and that we were trying to get the police involved-he might think again. We were wrong, of course. He didn’t take our threats seriously. He was confident that the police wouldn’t care very much about Kadia’s fate, whatever evidence we produced. And now I suspect the villain may be right. I could see what the police were thinking: ‘If a woman chooses to live such a life, then what does she expect?’ But it is the police’s indifference, their lack of compassion, that permits wicked men like Sachs to evade justice. It is so very wrong.”
“You shouldn’t have gone to see Sachs on your own, you know,” said Kusevitsky.
“I don’t think we were in any real danger,” Anna replied. “I am not a psychiatrist, Gabriel, but I believe that men who abuse women are, without exception, cowards. He wouldn’t dare harm us; although that isn’t quite true. He did…” Anna looked at the floor guiltily. “Push me.”
“He did what?”
“I was holding the door open, and he shoved me out of the way in order to close it.”
“The swine!”
“It was nothing. Honestly.”
“Where does he live? I’ve a good mind to-”
“No, Gabriel.”
“Asher is an excellent swordsman.”
“We must be patient and hope that in due course our efforts with the police will be rewarded. Olga and I can be very persistent.”
Kusevitsky recovered his professional calm.
“Where is Fraulein Pinski now?”
“Actually we managed to get her admitted into your hospital.”
“Really?”
“Dr. Janosi is a friend of Professor Kraus’s.”
“I will visit her.”
“That is kind of you. But you must not ask Kadia about her dreams.” Anna smiled sadly. “We must suppose she only ever has nightmares.”
“And when she is recovered from her injuries? Where will she go?”
“I have no idea.”
“I will mention her case to Professor Priel. He might be able to provide her with pecuniary assistance from one of the Rothenstein contingency funds. It won’t be much, but it should be enough to keep her in lodgings until she finds respectable employment.”
Anna reached out and covered Gabriel’s hand with her own.
“Thank you, Gabriel.”
Kusevitsky, somewhat embarrassed, withdrew and stood up. He paced over to the window.
“Jeheil Sachs,” he muttered.
“What a pig,” said Anna. “Wallowing in his own filth.”
“No, not a pig-more a parasite. A parasite living off the misfortune of others. These procurers… they shame us all. They are a scourge. A plague!”
Anna reached out. “Come. Sit down.”
She had never seen Gabriel looking quite so troubled.
Kusevitsky crossed the room and sat down beside her. She took his face in her hands, kissed him, and stroked his forehead.
“It’s all right,” Anna said. He was hot, and his eyes were glazed-like a child with a fever.
52
From the journal of Dr. Max Liebermann
I spent the remainder of the afternoon browsing in the secondhand bookshops of the Jewish quarter. The booksellers-shriveled old men with white beards, all of whom were almost blind from reading too much-were as erudite (and eccentric) as university professors.
The legend is an old one. Golem stories have been told for centuries. Even Jacob Grimm mentions the Polish Jews making a man from clay and mud; however, since the sixteenth century, the golem has become particularly associated with the name of Rabbi Loew. Orthodox Jews have many tales about the Maharal of Prague, which typically involve him outwitting a vindictive Christian adversary (most notably an evil priest called Thaddeus). In most of these, his supernatural assistant, the golem, ensures that the enemies of Jewry are punished.
Mankind has always been preoccupied with the idea of aping the creator, stealing fire from the gods. In literature the tradition extends from ancient times to the present. (I am reminded of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, a work that I have discussed with Miss Lydgate.) It is a didactic tradition that alerts mankind to the dangers of hubris. A golem can be created, but not necessarily controlled. When men act like gods, danger follows.
Prague is a dark place, a city that has always welcomed astrologers, kabbalists, and animators. One has only to stroll around the Stare Mysto and Mala Strana, looking up at the relief door signs-numbers, stars, devils, compasses, and occult symbols-to see evidence of Prague’s magical past. There is even a narrow lane called the Street of the Alchemists up by the castle.
But now, it seems, the golem is no longer confined to the Prague ghetto: neither the physical ghetto nor the imaginary ghetto of Hasidic folktales. It has broken free of its own myth and now haunts the broad avenues of Vienna. Prague! I have already been here too long. These archaic places, which make an appeal to the deepest levels of the unconscious, corrode reason. I find it all too easy now to imagine a monstrous hulk lurking in the shadows, the magic holding its form against the laws of nature, the spell occasionally weakening, and the supernatural flesh transmuting back into mud. The great expenditure of energy as it rips the head off its victim
