Murder in Grub Street (18 page)

“To preach thus is no crime, of course,” said Sir John. “Yet if coercion was used upon the congregation to force their attention …”

“Exactly,” said Mr. Martinez, “or the exits blocked to prevent their departure … ?”

“Yes, and then there is the matter of trespass. Surely these Ranters were not invited in.”

“Certainly not.”

“I should like to know more of this. We may have a whole list of charges to lodge against them.”

“Sir John, I should like you to know more of this,” said Mr. Martinez, with a great smile. “Perhaps you might go to the synagogue a little later, and hear all this for yourself.”

“Why not now? I am quite willing to go this moment.”

To demonstrate this, Sir John rose to his feet and began searching the surface of the table for his tricorn and stick.

Mr. Martinez rose less certainly. “This may not be the most opportune moment,” said he.

“Oh? How is that?”

“Until the sun goes down, it is still the Sabbath. The rabbi will be conducting services until then.”

“The rabbi? He is the priest? The preacher?”

“On the order of a preacher, I would say.”

“And it is to him I should speak?”

“Just so, Sir John. Let me call for you just before sundown. I would deem it an honor to accompany you, and I think I may be of some help to you.”

“I think, sir that you can provide a great deal of help, and I shall be glad for all you give.”

As good as his word, Moses Martinez called for Sir John at some time about half past six. When we two emerged from Number 4 Bow Street, he was there standing at the door to his closed carriage, ready to play lootman to the magistrate. If he was surprised at seeing me beside him, he gave no sign of it. Sir John had extended an invitation to me on the spur of the moment, saving this was sure to be an educational experience for both of us. And indeed it proved to be so.

“I was so taken by your report,” said he to Mr. Martinez, “that I failed to introduce you to my young assistant, Jeremy Proctor. Let me present him to you now.”

I shook hands solemnly with the bearded gentleman and noted that he seemed to make a favorable assessment of me as he murmured his pleasure at making my acquaintance.

Then into the carriage — I first, then Sir John with a hand up, and Mr. Martinez last of all. With three across, it was a bit tight, but we had only a short distance to go.

Sir John remarked upon that: “We could have walked, you know.”

“Perhaps so,” said Mr. Martinez, “yet even with your Runners, the streets are dangerous — perhaps even for you, certainly for me.”

We rode along without further conversation between them until the carriage turned up Maiden Lane. As it did so, Mr. Martinez spoke up, engaging both Sir John and myself with certain words of explanation.

“Have you ever before been to a synagogue, Sir John?”

“In truth, I have not.”

“Nor you, young Jeremy?”

“No, sir.”

“Then I should probably say that the one we are about to visit is in no wise typical. Were you to visit my Sephardic temple, you would find it not greatly different from your own church services. Prayers are said and sung in Hebrew, which you, Jeremy, would no doubt find a strange-sounding language, but much of the service, perhaps most of it, is conducted in English. And the conduct of the congregation is, as you might expect, dignified and quiet.

“Things are much different at the synagogue, Beth El, which we are about to visit.”

“Because they are of that other persuasion, the Ash … ?”

“The Ashkenazi—yes, partly. Because they are newcomers to this countrv thev hold their services in Hebrew and Yiddish, which is the language of the Jews of eastern Europe. But this particular congregation is of a movement among the Ashkenazim called the Hasidim.”

(So many dtrange words, thought I.)

“Their behavior is thought scandalous by many. They are said to be rowdy. They sing, they even dance, and they rely greatly upon the wisdom of their rabbi, Gershon, who is at heart not so much a preacher, but a storyteller.”

“And it is with him we shall speak?” asked Sir John.

“Yes, indeed,” said Mr. Martinez.

“In plain English, or must you translate?”

“Oh, he speaks English very well, one of many languages he has mastered. I find him a remarkable man. As I say, these Ha-sidic Jews have scandalized many, yet I have had many conversations with him and each time have come away well nourished. I think you will like him.”

“That concerns me less than the question of whether he will make a good and willing witness.”

“As you say, Sir John.”

Only moments later, the carriage reined up at the synagogue on Maiden Lane. Mr. Martinez hopped out and, giving firm instructions to his driver to wait, helped Sir John down; he also offered a hand to me, yet I refused it, being of an age to require little assistance and want none of it.

I had recognized the small house on Maiden Lane as a synagogue because of the six-pointed star in the window, which my father had told me was the symbol of the Jews as the crucifix was the symbol of the Christians, and for the strange writing above the entrance in those curious vertical letters that puzzled me so. Other than to note its location here in the area of Covent Garden, I had not given it much thought. It served me only as a reminder of what a great and worldly place London was — and is still today.

Mr. Martinez knocked upon the door, and though he received no response, we heard the muffled sounds of a commotion beyond. With a shrug, he tried the door, and it opened to his touch.

“Well,” said Sir John, “we know how the Brethren of the Spirit accomplished their entrance.”

Mr. Martinez shrugged. “It is, after all, a house of worship. One cannot lock it to the worshipers.”

1 3 8 BRUCE A 1. E X A N I) E R

“True enough.”

“If you will but follow me.”

With that, he led the way — I in the rear — down a short hall and on to a large meeting room.

“It seems,” said Sir John over the increasing din, “that we interrupt the service.”

“They go on and on. They would keep Rabbi Gershon all night if he let them — and at times indeed he does.”

Upon reaching the meeting room, I stood quite overwhelmed by what I saw and heard. If this was a house of worship it was unlike any I had seen before, and the worshipers quite the most unrestrained. The room was simple enough. There were chairs, most of them pushed aside, and an elevated platform at the far end of the room upon which stood a curtained closet of small dimensions. All this I saw but with some difficulty, standing on tiptoe, looking this way and that, for the members of the congregation — all of them men—were on their feet, raising their voices in the most terrific hubbub, all of it in a language of a rough and guttural sound that hit hard upon the ears. They seemed to be arguing amongst themselves, paying little attention to the small, bearded man who stood in robes upon the platform. Once or twice a phrase was tossed at him, yet he simply smiled and spoke something in return.

Signaling us to wait, Mr. Martinez made his careful way forward to the platform and spoke to the little man in robes, who nodded and looked our way. Then he shouted out something to the contentious multitude—which was really not such a multitude but only about twenty or twenty-five — and they gave him their attention immediately. Then, slowly and rhythmically, he began clapping. And the rough, bearded men, some of them in boots and none in fancy clothes, began to raise their voices in a strange song. Some were caught unawares by the music, joining in late, so that the song, whatever it was, seemed to swell with each measure. Was this a hymn? No, the sound of it was happier than any I had ever heard in high church or low. It was sung to a heavy rhythm, so that soon the beat kept by the rabbi as he clapped his hands was picked up by the men, stamping their feet. As they stamped, they whirled in place, snapping their fingers in unison as I had once seen Gypsies do. Soon, singing, they were also dancing. It was quite the most remarkable thing ever I had seen — grown men dancing and singing, not in a show for the entertainment of some audience, but rather for the pure exuberant joy of it.

Was this not what Mr. Martinez had said they might do? Indeed, but it was one thing to be told and quite another to see it done. I glanced over at Sir John that I might see how this strange behavior affected him. He, it seemed, wore a fixed, puzzled smile upon his face, as if not quite sure that he could accept the evidence his ears provided.

Then, sudden as it had all begun, it ended. The rabbi left off his clapping. All fell silent and faced him. Raising his arm, extending his hand, he pronounced what seemed to be a blessing upon them in that same thick and throaty tongue which the others had spoken amongst themselves. Mr. Martinez then appeared, assuring us that it would be but a moment now, and they would all be gone but for the rabbi. They were milling now, preparing to depart. Then, from above, I heard similar sounds. I turned and looked up behind me and realized that there were women up there behind a latticework. Their voices sounded. I heard their feet upon stairs, and then they came, one and two at a time, to join their men, and departed together with them.

Soon the hall was empty. The rabbi stepped down from the platform and came over to where the three of us stood. Mr. Martinez presented him to Sir John as Rabbi Gershon of Kishinev, and the two men shook hands. The rabbi gestured to the empty chairs that had been pushed over to one side. I touched Sir John at the elbow and moved him over in that direction.

“Is your congregation always so demonstrative?” he asked as he eased down into the chair I had set behind him.

“Always,” said the rabbi.

“They sang as lustily as drunken men.”

“Drunk with the love of the Almighty.” .

“And if my ears did not deceive me, they danced, as well. I’ve been to sea. Sailors dance just so in celebration.”

“As King David danced in celebration before the Ark of the Covenant. There is no sin in joy.”

“Simply a question of what it is that inspires that joy.”

“What is base or evil cannot inspire true joy.”

“Nor will it be celebrated by righteous men.”

“I see there is good ground between us,” said the rabbi, with a shy smile. “Let us explore it together.”

The two men leaned forward in their chairs, each toward the other. I noted that Mr. Martinez remained standing, as I had — he to one side of the rabbi. He watched both in a manner of expectation.

“Tell me of the visit made to you last night,” said Sir John.

The other man shrugged. “There is not much to tell,” said he. “It’s true, we had some visitors. We did not invite them in, but it’s not unknown that some enter from the street out of curiosity. We allow them, of course. This is the house of him who created us all. What would we be if we barred some of his people? Most who come are Jews. Moishe Martinez has been here often. Our visitors last evening were not Jews.”

“How many were there?”

“Not so many. Four or five — five, I believe.”

“Your congregation could easily have overpowered them — that is, if your visitors were not armed. Were they armed?”

“Not with sword or pistol, no.”

“Which implies they were otherwise equipped.”

“Four of the five carried stout clubs.”

“And the fifth?”

“He had come to preach to us.”

“Ah, Brother Abraham, I’ll hazard.”

“He gave it as his name, yes. He thought it gave him a certain claim upon our attention, as if he were our new patriarch.”

“I daresay you did not accept his claim?”

“No, but we have had experience of such men before in other lands. If they wish to talk, then we listen, always respectfully. That is the counsel I gave the congregation—to be respectful.”

“You gave this counsel to them in your own language, the one which I heard tonight?”

“Yes, it was odd, but this man who calls himself Abraham seemed not to realize that many there would not understand if he spoke in English to them. And so he asked that I translate his words so they might be better understood by all. This fellow, this Abraham, he was not so worldly, but he was not so stupid, either. He knew his Torah, and he quoted well, but with the prophets, he was not so good. Them he quoted to his own purposes, and I translated with commentary — a word of caution here, a wink there; they understood.”

“And what was the purpose of his preaching?” asked Sir John.

“One known to all Jews — to Moishe Martinez just as to me. His people heard it in Spain from the Franciscans two centuries ago, and I — “

The rabbi broke off of a sudden thought but a moment, then smiled and said, “Let me tell you a story.”

“I understand,” said Sir John, “that you are a good storyteller.”

“I try, for all important truths are in stories. This one is not so new, in fact very old, for I have borrowed it from an old book called the Haggadah. But I shall alter it to better answer your question on the purpose of the preaching.”

“Proceed,” said Sir John, and therewith settled back in his chair.

“Once,” said the rabbi, “there was a kingdom ruled by a very just king who wished his subjects not only to prosper, but above all to be just and generous to one another. In this kingdom there were two farmers, landowners both, who lived one beside the other. One, the older of the two, had many sons who helped him work his land, but one left to seek his fortune in the city and another to follow a life on the sea. This left him with a piece of good land and no one to work it. But the older farmer had other sons and more land and was still prosperous, so he decided to sell that particular piece to the younger farmer next to him. That he did, for a good and fair price. Both landowners were happy with the bargain they had struck.

“But while digging a well on the piece of land he had just acquired, the second farmer found deep in the earth a coffer filled with gold coins — a buried treasure. He knew from the age of the chest and the coins that they were ancient and could not possibly have been buried by the man from whom he bought the land. Nevertheless, the second farmer went to the first and said, ‘Take this coffer filled with gold coins, for I found it buried on the land which I bought from you.’ Now, we must stop and ask why the second farmer would do such a thing? He had a plan. His intention was that the just king who encouraged good works among his subjects should hear of his generosity and hold him in special favor, probably reward him with greater pieces of land, perhaps elevate him to the nobility.