had been assassinated, and Jews were being blamed for everything. The situation worsened, threats were made, and the boys were told to flee to their uncle’s house. It was November, and their uncle lived some twenty-five miles away. Can you imagine what it must have been like for them? The freezing cold? The darkness? Two frightened children, running for their lives? Gabriel was five, Asher six. And there were evil forces abroad. Cossacks.” Priel shook his head. “One shudders to think of what might have happened, what sport their discovery would have afforded those wicked barbarians. The boys must have been protected by angels, because somehow-it is little short of a miracle-they managed to cross the frozen steppe and reach their destination.”
The professor paused. The room had become unnaturally quiet.
“Asher was carrying a note. The boys’ parents had expected to die. They begged the uncle to abandon his home and escape with their children to the relative safety of Austria-Hungary. He was a simple, hardworking man- but wily. He knew what lawlessness meant for the Jews. They set off immediately.”
Professor Priel leaned back and stroked his beard.
“In due course, they settled in Leopoldstadt and the boys were educated at a humble burgerschule; however, Asher and Gabriel were conspicuously intelligent. A kindly teacher advised the uncle to apply for two charity places at the gymnasium, funded by Rothenstein. I had some modest involvement with the scheme and subsequently made their acquaintance.”
“Is their uncle still alive?”
“He died three years ago. Scarlet fever.”
“How sad.”
“Yes. But he lived long enough to see his nephews become students at the university. He died contented, his labors thus rewarded.”
“An extraordinary story,” said Anna. “I had no idea. And how terrible that they should have suffered so.”
“Indeed. Still, I am of the opinion that some good has come from their tribulations. They have a rare bond, a degree of closeness that I have observed otherwise only in identical twins. Perhaps I am being fanciful, but I believe that this special bond was forged on their miraculous journey. It drew them together. Sometimes they seem to be party to the same thoughts and feelings. Have you noticed how they complete each other’s sentences? Or answer a question simultaneously with the very same words? And although they have different specialisms, I cannot rid myself of a curious impression that they are like the scientific and artistic faculties of a single mind.”
Anna detected a certain uneasiness in Priel’s expression.
“Professor,” she ventured hesitantly, “why are you telling me these things?”
He made an appeasing gesture.
“I wanted to give you some advice, which I trust you will accept in good faith. I promise you it is well- intentioned, and it is this: never come between them. Never come between these two brothers. In a way, if you choose to marry Gabriel, you also marry Asher.” The professor’s expression suddenly lightened. “This friend of yours, Fraulein Olga. She’s met Asher, hasn’t she?”
Anna’s eyes widened.
“Well?” asked the professor. “Did she not like him?”
70
From the journal of Dr. Max Liebermann
Wheels, gears, pulleys, levers! All have the power to confer mechanical advantage, the factor by which a mechanism multiplies the force put into it. Brunelleschi raised the great dome in Florence with the assistance of an ox-marble and masonry, weighing millions of pounds, lifted hundreds of feet! I wonder whether the golem’s strength is attributable to mechanical advantage? With the right apparatus a weakling could tear the head off an elephant! Use of a device is also suggested by the fact that all three decapitations were remarkably uniform: clockwise cranial rotation, matching displacements of cervical structures. An identical force, utilized in exactly the same way, is likely to produce the same results. Would a golem-or a group of human beings attempting to perform a golem’s task- produce such consistent results?
Stanislav, Faust, Sachs. Three men, each in his own way a threat to Viennese Jewry, are murdered. Their bodies are found near plague columns. In the case of the first two murders, the plague column embodies the prejudice of the victims (Jews are a plague). In the case of the third murder, the plague column fulfills a somewhat different cautionary purpose. It declares that those who would exploit and harm their own people are vermin.
All three men are decapitated, but in such a way as to suggest the exercise of great force (an illusion probably achieved through the use of a mechanical instrument). Mud distributed around the bodies, and the kabbalist’s lair discovered above the Alois Gasse Temple, are clearly intended to revive memories of the Prague golem. But to what end? Why must we believe that Stanislav, Faust, and Sachs were killed by a “fairy-tale” creature? Answer: to make Jews-or their enemies (even consanguineous enemies)-believe in the return of a supernatural retributive agency. But again, why? Answer: to deter anti-Semites from violence. No. There is more to it than that. Much more. Schiller once wrote that deeper meanings can be found in fairy tales than in all the lessons we learn from real life. Fairy tales contain knowledge and lessons distilled from many lives.
I suspect that the key to this mystery is to be found in the fundamental meaning of the golem legend, its essence. What, then, does it teach us? What lies at its heart? Empowerment! Empowerment! It is a tale about empowerment. By “enacting” the golem legend, the perpetrators remind us of the need of a beleaguered community to defend itself and of Rabbi Loew’s triumph. They are making an appeal, the potency of which might be multiplied tenfold if theories of a collective racial memory have any legitimacy. Their macabre theatricality is less a warning and more a call to arms. And if that is their intention-to radicalize Jewry-then they must be stopped. Vienna is already too divided. Rheinhardt should continue to monitor the Hasidim closely. But he should also cast his net wider. Jewish political societies, dueling fraternities such as Kadimah-even B’nai B’rith.
I am reminded of something I overheard Kusevitsky’s brother saying in the Cafe Central. He was referring to
71
There was a knock on the door. Liebermann stopped writing, closed his journal, and placed it in his desk drawer.
“Come in,” he called out.
The door opened slowly, and a gentleman stepped into his office. He was carrying a homburg hat in his hand and wearing a long frock coat. Liebermann recognized him-bald head, long beard, pince-nez-a professor of philosophy whom he often saw around the university. He had also seen him somewhere else, but he couldn’t quite remember where.
“Herr Dr. Liebermann?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Priel. Professor Josef Priel. Do you have a moment? There is a matter I wish to discuss with you.”
“Concerning?”
“Concerning the death of the young Baron von Kortig.”
Liebermann assumed that the professor had some involvement with the hospital committee and offered him a chair. Priel bowed and sat down, crossing his long legs.
“I was informed by an associate of yours, Dr. Gabriel Kusevitsky-and his brother, the dramatist, Asher Kusevitsky-that your future here at the hospital is now uncertain on account of your conduct at the time of the young baron’s demise. But it is obvious to any right-thinking person that you acted in the best interests of your patient. Therefore one can only suppose that your present predicament owes much to the mischievous interference of politically motivated parties.”
“Indeed,” said Liebermann. “That is almost certainly so.”
