vain about it. His hair was rather long by London standards, and I suspect the headmaster may have wanted him to cut it, aside from the side curls, of course. Louis was very orthodox, otherwise.'
'Were there any women in his life?' Barker continued.
'He was a handsome fellow, and there were always intrigues around him. The matchmakers and prospective mothers-in-law were hounding his steps. He was asked to dinner by so many families, he was the best-fed man in the East End. I don't know if he had a sweetheart, but I doubt he led a monk's existence, if you'll forgive the expression, sholem aleichem.'
'Aleichem sholem,' Barker responded automatically.
'You know your Yiddish, Mr. Barker. Anyway, I believe he was the sort of fellow to keep his private life private, which is generally a good idea, murders notwithstanding.'
'Where are his rooms?'
'Number forty-three, Wilkes Street. First floor, back.'
'Ah, yes. The chevra in Whitechapel. Not the best address.'
'You're telling me. I was born in the area. For a Jew, ghettoes are the same everywhere.'
'What more can you tell us, Mr. Zangwill? We're trying to understand what sort of fellow he was.'
Zangwill took in a deep breath and blew it out, his dark, expressive eyes searching for words. 'Serious. He didn't have much of a sense of humor. Mystical. He read the Kabala, and the Talmud, of course. He was a first- rate debater on points of law. He had a passion for Maimonides and quoted him often. He was not really one of the fellows, a bit of a stuffed shirt, if you'll forgive the expression.'
'Did he talk about his youth and how he came to England?'
'Not a word. We knew about his impressive escape from the pogroms in Russia, but he didn't like to talk about his personal affairs. He was something of a mystery. His own roommate, Ira Moskowitz, once told me he couldn't make head nor tails of him.'
'Tell me more about the chevra.'
'We met in a boardinghouse that used to be a private home. It is cheap, and Mrs. Silverman, the landlady, has been so far unsuccessful in killing us with her cooking.'
'It is not my intention to sully the reputation of any daughter of Zion,' Barker asked, 'but could you possibly give me the names of some of the women Louis Pokrzywa knew, or some of the families he visited?'
Zangwill looked a little uncomfortable. 'I don't knowЕ'
'We merely wish to speak with any young woman who knew Louis, to get a woman's perspective.'
'I suppose it wouldn't hurt, but I only know the one,' the teacher said, reluctantly. 'Her name is Rebecca Mocatta.'
'Is she Rabbi Mocatta's daughter?'
'Yes, his younger.'
'Capital. We won't take up any more of your time. Thank you for answering our questions.'
'Certainly. Come back any day you like, if you have more questions. But be sure it's during first period!'
We came out into the hall just as every door in the place opened and spewed forth children, all determined to get to their next class immediately, and talking at the top of their lungs in the process. In the midst of the sea of children, like a lone island, Barker stood, rooted to the spot. It was the first time I'd seen him unsettled. His brows must have been a full inch above the top of his spectacles. Discomfort, almost panic, was written on his face. I deduced he was uncomfortable around children. He stood, immobile, as they poured around him on all sides, occasionally buffeting him. Within a few moments they were reduced to a trickle. Barker resettled his jacket and tie and shot his cuffs. He cleared his throat.
'Mmm. Yes, well. Shall we go, Mr. Llewelyn? What are you smiling about?'
'Nothing, sir. I'm ready to go.'
The boardinghouse was only a few blocks away. I was beginning to know the area better now. Just north of the school was the cemetery, and two streets east was the Romanian restaurant where we had met the rabbi.
By daylight, Whitechapel looked bedraggled. She was sooty, and the fine rain that was beginning to fall made the red brick look like glowing embers. Windows were boarded up, and conversely, fences were denuded of planks for firewood. I thought of the glory of Whitehall, and the comfortable urban prosperity of Newington. I doubted much money was spent by the mayor of London on repairs in this district.
At the door to the building, Barker put an arm out and began removing his shoes, according to shiva custom. It felt strange being out in a public street in one's stockinged feet, but as we stepped in, we set our footwear down at the end of a long line of shoes.
Inside the house, to the left of the front door, was a sitting-room parlor. There was nothing initially to show that this was a boardinghouse for Jewish scholars. The furniture was overstuffed and dated in a style popular several decades before. In honor of the deceased, all mirrors had been covered, and the room was full of low stools. The students of the yeshiva were all there, sitting on the stools and talking; presumably they had been released from their studies by Jewish custom. Nobody, I noticed, sat in any of the normal chairs.
Barker spoke to the fellow who had supplied our skullcaps and ribbons the day before. He was about thirty, and clean-shaven save for a black square of dense hair from his lips to his chin. He introduced himself.
'I'm Simon Ben Loew, head of this chevra. So, you have returned.'
'I have. I assume these gentlemen were the closest acquaintances of Louis Pokrzywa.'
'We were,' one of them spoke up, almost querulously. 'Who are you?'
'My name is Barker. I have been retained by Sir Moses and the Board of Deputies to investigate the death of your friend.'
'But you are a goy,' the fellow protested. 'They couldn't find one of our own to investigate?'
'I believe your race has looked down upon the office of 'spy' since they first arrived in Canaan. I have done work for the Board before. They were satisfied with my performance. Perhaps you feel reticent speaking about Mr. Pokrzywa around two Gentiles, but let me say that any information you withhold may be the one clue necessary to finding your fellow teacher's killer.'
'But this is shiva!' the fellow persisted. 'It is unseemly.'
'How unseemly?' countered Barker. 'Is not the purpose of shiva to discuss and remember the deceased?'
'I'm being lectured on Jewish law now by a goy,' the student complained.
'Now, with your permission, gentlemen, I would like to ask you a few questions, and I'd prefer that my associate, Mr. Llewelyn, take notes, so that I can remember everything. Mr. Ben Loew has given us his name. May I have yours as well?'
The first was Arthur Weinberg, a student of about twenty. Levi Rosenthal was next, a very heavyset fellow. Ira Moskowitz, Pokrzywa's roommate, came after him. Then Theodore Ben Judah, the little firebrand who had argued with Barker. Isaiah Birnbaum and Ferd Kosminski were the final two. Most had beards and wore the funereal black. It required all my wits to tell them apart and take everything down accurately.
'What sort of fellow was Louis Pokrzywa?'
'A decent sort,' Mr. Kosminski said, and they all agreed. Yes, yes, a very decent sort.
'But was he a scholar, an athlete, a zealot? What were his interests?' Barker had already received some of these answers from Zangwill, but he was keeping that a secret. Or perhaps he was testing the other teacher's answers for their veracity.
'A scholar,' Ben Loew responded. 'An excellent scholar. Better than any of us.' The others agreed, though Ben Judah looked prepared to argue the last point.
'Did he get along well with all of you?' Barker continued. 'He was several years older than most.'
'No, he didn't always get along with the rest of us. I think he thought we were frivolous at times,' Rosenthal responded.
'We made sport of him a little,' Birnbaum added. 'He could be such a granny. He didn't understand practical jokes, or a fellow's need to relax after a hard day's study. Off he would run to some charity or the other. He was always on some committee or joining a league.'
'Did he spend Shabbat here?'
'Yes, he did,' Moskowitz, the roommate, answered. 'He'd received a box of books from a bookseller in Prague, and he went through them one by one after we got back from the synagogue.'
