The Family Moskat (78 page)

-513-"

Masha Margolis."

" Masha Margolis. Hadassah Bannet. Asa Heshel. Gina Genendel. There's only one thing to do. Get rid of all of them. Like rats. Into the Vistula with the whole lot of 'em!"

DAY after long day passed, and still Hertz Yanovar was kept in

the prison cell. From moistened crumbs of bread he had fashioned a set of chessmen and with the end of a spoon had scratched out a chessboard on the surface of the bench. He had smeared the pieces that were supposed to be black with dirt and dust. He sat for hours moving the figures around the board. He bit his lips and tugged at the beard that had sprouted during his imprisonment, muttering to himself in a singsong: "If the king moves here, then I give it the finishing blow. And if, on the other hand, the queen butts in, then I threaten them both with the knight. . . ."

When he got tired of this game, Hertz applied himself to mathematics. He scrawled all sorts of algebraic symbols on the wall and made an attempt to solve Fermat's last theorem. He knew that his efforts were useless, especially as the best mathematical minds had been unable to find a solution, but anything was better than burying himself in the darkness of his own thoughts.

Hertz clambered up on the bench and looked through the barred window. There was no view of the street to be had. From the city there came a muffled roar. Roofs, chimneys, and columns of smoke heaved up under the winter sky. Weathervanes turned in the wind. A cat crawled along a roof gutter. It snowed for a while, and then a wintry sun shimmered down. Yes, Hertz Yanovar thought, they had him cooped up here like an animal in a cage, while the outside world went about its business. Who could know? Maybe Gina, too, had already made her peace with the situation, just as if she had become a widow.

-514-As he stood

so, there was the sound of a key in the cell lock. He got down from the bench and sat on it. The pockmarked police officer came in. " Yanovar? Come with me. Bring your things with you."

"Where are you taking me?"

"To be hanged."

Yanovar had nothing to take with him. He followed the officer down the stairways and across the long courtyard. This time there was no sign of the patrol wagon. It was probably out rounding up suspects. It was refreshing to catch a few breaths of the sharp frosty air, to tread on flagstones and soft snow. His footsteps felt youthfully light. It seemed to him that he could smell the fragrance of forests, fields, and the coming spring.

There was a single tree in the courtyard, surrounded by an iron paling. The tiny snowflakes on its branches reminded him of blossoms. He was again led into the office, where he saw the same heavy-set officer with the wine-colored blotches on his face. The woman assistant was fussing about with an extinguished candle in a glass holder.

The officer threw an angry glance at Hertz Yanovar. "What's he doing here?"

"For Pan Katchinski."

The policeman carefully took Hertz Yanovar by the elbow and led him into a newly decorated room, where there was a bookcase, a sofa, woven cane chairs, and a writing-desk covered with green cloth, on which lay a single sheet of paper. At the desk sat a young man of about thirty, slender and clean-shaven, with a head of blond hair combed straight back, and with the high forehead of an intellectual. He wore a green blouse, unadorned by any decoration, the collar tightly buttoned around the throat. It was difficult to be sure whether this was military attire or civilian. There was an air of seriousness and relaxation about him, the aura of one who has divested himself of all ordinary cares. " Pan Yanovar? Please sit down."

"Many thanks."

"Will you smoke?"

"Thank you."

"Please. Maybe you'd like a glass of tea?"

Tears started from Hertz Yanovar's eyes. "No, yes, thank you.

Thank you with all my heart."

"Stach, have some tea brought in."

-515-The

policeman clicked his heels, turned, and went out. Katchinski lit a match and held it to the tip of Yanovar's cigarette, but no matter how fervently Hertz drew at the mouthpiece, the tobacco would not ignite. The match burned down almost to Katchinski's fingertips. Beads of perspiration stood out on Yanovar's forehead. He took another furious puff and drew in a mouthful of smoke. "Excuse me, I'm a bit nervous."

"It doesn't matter at all."

Katchinski's pale eyes looked now mildly, now searchingly, at Yanovar. It seemed that he was weighing carefully every word he spoke.

"Mr. Yanovar, we are sorry about this whole incident. You are the victim of a misunderstanding."

It was all Hertz could do to restrain his tears.

"I am happy that the truth has come out at last. I was afraid that--" He could not finish the sentence.

"Someone has interceded on your behalf," Katchinski continued. "One of the most splendid personalities in the new Poland--ColonelJan Zazhitski."

"Really. That is very noble of him. I met the colonel when he was still a beginner--in a studio on Holy Cross Street."

"Yes, I know. It is to be regretted that you have to keep such lodgers as Broide and the others."

"I warned my wife many times. It's all a result of the bad conditions."

"Naturally. But just the same it's better to be careful. The usual detective does not go very deeply into things. If he happens to find subversive literature in a home, then everybody suffers."

"Yes, I can understand that. I'll see to it that no more of that sort is taken in."

"Quite right. The colonel spent an hour here with me last night.

All on your behalf. He told me many noteworthy facts. He knows Jewish life thoroughly."

The door slowly opened. The girl who had been fussing with the candle came in, carrying a glass of tea with a tin spoon.

On the saucer lay a single piece of sugar. Katchinski smiled.

" Panna Yadzha, it seems to be impossible for you ever to bring in a full glass."

The woman threw a sullen glance at Yanovar. "It spilled."

-516-"It's

an old woman's weakness, never to fill the glass."

The girl went out, her heavy feet clattering over the doorsill.

Katchinski's face resumed its former seriousness.

"Please drink your tea, Mr. Yanovar. Tell me, what sort of person is Asa Heshel Bannet? You know him, don't you?"

"Very well. He's a close friend of mine. He teaches in a girls'

school, Chavazeleth. He also was connected with a theological seminary."

"He's not a red?"

"By no means. He has a philosophy all his own. He argues that all social problems can be solved by means of birth-control. My own belief is that he puts entirely too much emphasis on these matters."

"How so? That is very interesting. It has been reported to me that he has something to do with a woman Communist, a certain Barbara Fishelsohn, a converted Jew."

"I know her, too. I would hardly call her a Communist."

"What would you call her, then?"

"A parlor radical. A fellow traveler. What she needs, if you'll pardon me, is a man."

"Quite possible. Mr. Yanovar, I should like to talk to you privately, man to man, with no relation to my official duties."

"Of course."

"Mr. Yanovar, the percentage of Jewish Communists is astonishingly large. The proportion is simply fantastic. Do the Jewish intellectuals know this? What do they think of it?"

"That, sir, is the unfortunate situation the Jew finds himself in.

We are not permitted in the civil service, nor are we permitted to take posts in factories. Anti-Semitism creates Communism."

"Well, assuming that it is so, do the Jewish leaders realize that Communism among the Jewish masses evokes an anti-Semitism tenfold, a hundredfold, more intense?"

"We know that, too. It's a vicious circle."

"Mr. Yanovar, I do not want to frighten you, but the situation is unbearable. Today the Jews are the spreaders of Bolshevism throughout the face of the earth. I'm not exaggerating. This puts the very existence of the Jewish race in danger."

"But what can we do about it? Here in Poland we are absolutely without power. The Jewish community has no in--517-fluence over the younger generation. The only salvation is for the powers to give us Palestine. In a country of our own we will be able to supply the necessary measures."

"You are a Zionist, I see."

"I see no other way out."

"I don't want to hurt you, but Zionism is a failure. Palestine cannot absorb the Jewish overpopulation in Poland. And I won't even mention the Jews of other countries."

"Nevertheless, without a home of our own we are a lost peo-ple."

"But just figure it out for yourself, my dear Mr. Yanovar. It is quite impossible to be a Polish citizen and at the same time make every effort to discard that citizenship and assume another one. Does that not, in the best case, put you in the position of temporary citizens?"

"The position we Jews are in is such that we have lost the initiative. We are powerless not only in relation to the Christians, but to our own brethren as well. If the peoples of the world want us to live, then they have to discover the way."

"What sort of way? From the purely democratic standpoint it is out of the question to take a country away from the Arabs and to establish a Jewish state."

"And what would be your advice?"

"I don't know, my dear Yanovar. Have you read the book
The
Twilight of Israel
?"

"No. I saw it in a bookshop window."

"A highly learned work--but pessimistic throughout. I was discussing it with the colonel. Well, good-by, Mr. Yanovar. I hope you will forgive us for the discomfort you have suffered. You are free now, you may go."

"I am very grateful to you. Yes, the situation is extremely sad."

"Time solves all problems. One way or another. Adieu."

Hertz Yanovar went out. At the other side of the door the policeman was waiting; Yanovar would still have to go through a few formalities. There was a paper he had to sign; then he had to receive back the money that had been taken from him, as well as his suspenders and shoelaces.

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DURING the winter vacation it was again possible for Asa Heshel to stay up late at night and to sleep through the morning.

For a while he returned to the habits of his bachelor days.

Hadassah would go to sleep, but he would sit in his study, leafing his manuscript. The pages were like his thoughts--a mixture of fantasy and metaphysical concepts. His notebooks were full of systems of conduct. From his earliest youth he had waged a losing war against laziness and diffusion of thought. He could never learn to stifle the emotions of pride, shame, regret.

His arguments with Hadassah had turned into a kind of madness; they screamed, cursed, even struck each other. Yadwiga, the servant, would cook their meals, but the food would become stale while they quarreled. The little girl would cry, but her mother would pay no heed. Hadassah took sedatives; she still could not sleep. Time after time Asa Heshel resolved to make an end of the constant disputes, but he found it impossible. She never stopped complaining; she accused him of visiting his son too often and spending too much time with Adele. She talked about his love affairs in Russia. She suspected that he was carrying on with the girls of the Chavazeleth, and was even jealous of Masha, Stepha, and Klonya. She began to dislike Hertz Yanovar and maintained that it was he who kept Asa Heshel from his home. She said cruel things about Asa Heshel's mother and sister. She was always taking Dacha to doctors, and spent their last pennies on all kinds of bargains. Every day brought new troubles. Asa Heshel began to fear that Hadassah was losing her mind.

Now Hadassah was asleep. Asa Heshel paced up and down in his study. He went to the window and looked out over the fields and lots of Mokotov, which lay covered with snow, -519-glimmering in

the lights of the scattered street lamps. He returned to his desk.

He had expected to do some work during his vacation, but the time was nearly all gone and he had accomplished nothing.

He was overcome with drowsiness and began to undress. He began to think about the women he had had. If time is an illusion, as Kant believed, he still had them. Somewhere, in a different sphere, he was living with Adele, with the daughter of the ritual slaughterer in Berne, the kindergarten teacher in Kiev, with Sonia on the estate near Ekaterinoslav. What nonsense! He thought about Barbara. Wasn't it strange? He hadn't wanted to go to that ball; Hadassah had forced him. She had actually led him to her rival. Another example of how casuality and teleology can go hand in hand. Hadassah herself had become frigid; a trick of the subconscious--punishing oneself and others for dreams that had not come true.

He went into the bedroom and lay down on his bed. He pricked up his ears. Was Hadassah sleeping? He covered himself and straightened his pillow. Thank God, he had a place to rest his head. He remembered a night he had spent on the roof of a train.

In order to prevent himself from falling, he had tied himself with his belt to a crossbar. A spark from the locomotive had fallen into his eye. He had been verminous and hungry. If somebody had told him then that he would have an apartment on Bagatella Street with Hadassah. . . . He curled up and tried autosuggestion, according to Coué's formula--"I will fall asleep, I will stop worrying; from day to day I will become more courageous, healthy, tranquil." Strange, but although he had been a teacher for years, he could never enter the classroom without fear.

He still blushed, sweated, trembled. Daydreams still consumed most of his free time.

He began to doze. He was both in Russia and in Warsaw. He was having an affair with one of his students. The police were after him. All this was somehow connected with algebra and a funeral.

"What's the matter with me?" he said to himself in his sleep. "Why have I become entangled in this net?"

Suddenly the telephone rang.

Asa Heshel thought it was the alarm clock. He heard Hadassah get out of bed and open the bedroom door.