“It was she who called the priest in the first place.”
“Ahh… I see,” said the professor. After a lengthy pause, he took out his pocket watch, and his expression showed surprise.
“Forgive me, Herr Doctor. I must be brief.” He dropped the watch into his fob pocket. “You are without doubt being exploited by individuals with political objectives. If you are dismissed and the hospital committee is not challenged, others will suffer in due course. My brother-in-law is a very powerful man: Rothenstein, the banker.”
Liebermann suddenly remembered where else he had seen Priel. Not only strolling around the university, but also talking to the wealthy banker at his father’s lodge.
“Rothenstein is a very charitable man,” Priel continued. “He is always keen to support good causes. If you require funds to mount a legal challenge, they will be made available to you. Similarly, if you require legal advice, Herr Rothenstein will ensure that the very best lawyers are at your disposal. Moreover, we can introduce you to journalists who would be willing to promote your cause in the liberal press, should the need arise. Mayor Lueger is not the only one who appreciates the importance of newspapers! I trust you will give Herr Rothenstein’s offer very serious consideration. I can be contacted at the university.” The professor inclined his head. “Good day, Herr Doctor.”
Before Liebermann had the chance to say thank you, the professor had gone.
73
Mordecai Ben Judah Levi and Barash were seated opposite each other. The scholar, who had previously spoken out confidently, demonstrating his extensive knowledge of kabbalistic arcana, was now less sure of himself. Barash’s Spartan parlor, with its various dun and indefinite shades, had absorbed Levi’s charisma. He was curiously diminished, and Barash correspondingly enlarged.
Introductory remarks had been superseded by a lengthy silence, which, although discomforting for Levi, did not trouble Barash. He tolerated the hiatus with the infinite patience of a statue. Levi shifted in his seat, coughed into his hand, and ventured a question. “You said he would reveal himself. And the following week: Alois Gasse. How did you know?”
“It was inevitable,” said Barash.
Another silence.
“What transpired at the Ulrichskirche…,” Levi began again. “It was most unexpected.”
“Indeed,” Barash replied. “At first, I did not believe such a thing possible. But we live in interesting times, and the victim was, I am informed, a wicked man-a procurer.” Barash linked his fingers. “Let us suppose, then, that Jeheil Sachs met his end staring into the eyes of the kabbalist’s creation. What can this mean? Just one thing, surely, a signal-and a clear one at that: we must be united, or a great tragedy will befall us.”
Levi massaged his forehead. A feeling of pressure had begun to build up behind his eyes accompanied by a dull, aching pulse.
“Unity…” Levi’s voice faltered. “Unity, so that we are strong?”
“If he calls, my people will be ready. I hope that yours too will be sufficiently prepared.”
There were voices outside in the street. Shouting, good-humored banter. It sounded distant, almost from another world.
Levi said, “I heard that one of your students, the young shopkeeper who lives with his sick father-”
“The spirit of Prague,” Barash interrupted, “has returned to us. Our enemies will not find us so compliant now, so willing to submit.”
“Do you approve of what the boy did?”
“We must protect our interests.”
“I agree, but I am not convinced that violence is the answer.”
“Then why did Rabbi Loew make his golem? An eye for an eye!”
Barash stood up angrily and went to the sideboard. He opened a door and removed a scroll. Returning to his chair, he unrolled the thick parchment paper and laid the exposed page down on the floor. Levi leaned forward to examine it.
The page was a cosmological chart consisting of circles, constellations, and planetary symbols. In various places the letters of Hebrew phrases-quotes from religious works-had been converted into numbers. These products were then absorbed into what appeared to be an ongoing calculation, the overall structure of which resembled an inverted pyramid. The pinnacle was blunt and consisted of four digits executed in bright red ink: 1903.
“This year,” said Levi. “According to the Gregorian calendar.”
“Yes,” said Barash. “A new cycle-a new age.”
Levi pulled at his beard.
“With respect: a new age, yes. But are you sure that it will favor us, and not our enemies?”
Barash did not distinguish the question with a reply. As far as he was concerned, his gematria was faultless.
74
“Was it absolutely necessary to tell him about me?”
Gabriel Kusevitsky got up and paced around the room. He was extremely agitated.
Stopping abruptly, he turned to address Anna. “I had nothing to do with that dreadful man Sachs.”
“The inspector only asked you a few questions.”
“Anna, I don’t think you understand. I can’t have the police arriving at the hospital asking questions! How do you think that looks? Professor Kraus was furious. He was convinced I’d been up to no good.”
“Then Professor Kraus must be a rather silly man.”
“Professor Kraus is many things, Anna, but silly is not one of them.”
“Gabriel, what was I supposed to do? Lie?”
“You didn’t have to lie. But you could have been a little more thoughtful, a little more circumspect. You didn’t have to tell the inspector everything.”
Anna looked bemused.
“Inspector Rheinhardt asked me who I had spoken to about Sachs. I told him my parents, and you. I am sorry that the inspector’s arrival at the hospital caused you some embarrassment. But you seem to forget that Jeheil Sachs was murdered. This is a serious matter.”
“Exactly,” said Kusevitsky. “And I have been implicated!”
Anna shook her head. “Gabriel, that is an absurd thing to say.”
More exchanges followed, and their differences of opinion gradually became entrenched.
A silence ensued that possessed the lethal frigidity of a vacuum: the singular deadness that pervades a room after lovers have quarreled. Anna looked up, and her gaze met Gabriel’s; however, there was no softening of his expression, no sign of the expected reconciliatory half smile. In fact, the cast of his face suggested the very opposite. He was not so much looking at her as studying her. He had interposed a “professional” distance, and the narrowness of his stare suggested calculation.
“Anna,” he said coldly, “perhaps we have made a mistake.”
“What do you mean, a mistake?”
“We are both young, and I fear we may have been premature, impulsive”-Gabriel hesitated before adding clumsily-“in our relations.” He then nodded as if agreeing with a concordant response that she had not given. “I must admit, my work has suffered. And I must suppose that you too have neglected your causes.”
His statement seemed to repel Anna, physically. She rocked backward before slowly recovering her original position. Even though Professor Priel’s injunction to respect the Kusevitskys’ fraternal bond was sounding in her head-indeed, perhaps because of it-she found herself saying, “This has something to do with your brother, doesn’t
