The Library Paradox (20 page)

‘There goes the policeman,’ I said, only half-smiling.

‘And why exactly are you looking for this man’s widow?’

‘I have a feeling there might be some connection with the Ralston case,’ I said a little reluctantly. ‘But I could be wrong.’

He whistled slowly. ‘I won’t ask how you dug that out; I expect you wouldn’t say it if you didn’t have good reasons. I haven’t heard a whisper of anything about that old case here.’

‘I might be mistaken,’ I said quickly. ‘It’s just a faint lead.’

‘So the wife and child have disappeared from view?’

‘Well, they do not seem to be in London; not under the same names, at any rate.’

‘That doesn’t mean much; they could easily have changed their names. They could have done anything, couldn’t they? Even gone to live in a foreign country. What did you say the woman’s maiden name was?’

‘Rubinstein. But I haven’t been able to locate her even under that name.’

‘Rubinstein; she may have been foreign herself. Perhaps she went back to Poland or Russia or wherever they all come from. There isn’t going to be too much I can do to help you. I can send someone to check that there is no criminal record under those names,’ and he scribbled a short note which he delivered to a young man who answered a bell.

‘What would the police do in a case like this?’ I asked.

‘Well, we’d be methodical. We’d start with all the bureaus of public information in the country; we’d tackle the nearest family members we could find, and failing specific information, we’d cover everyone in the area bearing the same family name, both maiden and married. Rubinstein is common among the Jews. There was someone else in the family involved in the Gad case, wasn’t there? Wasn’t it a trial of brothers?’

‘Yes. The other brother is in Dartmoor.’

‘Well, then, that’s the person to start with.’

‘I would like to! But how could I obtain the authorisation to visit him? Only family members can visit a prisoner, in general.’

‘Well, the police can certainly visit a prisoner if we judge it necessary,’ he began. ‘Ah, you’re back,’ he added, as the young man he had sent out with the note returned and thrust his head around the edge of the door.

‘Yes sir, but nothing to report. No criminal record associated with either of the names you wrote down.’

‘Thank you, Johnson. Well, that was to be expected. Still, as we were saying, there is still the brother in Dartmoor. Let me handle this for you, Mrs Weatherburn. I should be able to arrange visiting rights. Coming from Scotland Yard, that should not be a problem, even though you do not have official status. But we’ll brush that under the rug – you’ve been helpful in the past, so I’m happy to be able to do you a good turn now. I’ll communicate with the governor of the prison and fix a time for your visit. I suppose it’s rather urgent?’

‘Oh, yes.’

‘Come back and see me tomorrow after midday,’ he said. ‘I’ll send a telegram or two and see what I can do before then.’

I contained my enthusiasm with difficulty. Finally, a ray of light in the darkness?

‘Don’t be too optimistic,’ he cautioned me. ‘The prisoner might refuse to talk to you, or he might know nothing about their whereabouts.’

‘I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it,’ I replied.

‘Well, if you believe in this thing, you had better work as fast as you can, because as I told you, an arrest is imminent.’

‘Oh, yes! Who can it be? I almost forgot – you were going to show me the article that caused such a stir.’

He reached over to a chair near his desk, upon which he had laid his coat, hat and stick in a precarious pile. They all fell off as he unceremoniously dug the newspaper out from underneath them.

‘Bother,’ he said, handing it to me.

The article leapt to the eye. A blaring headline entitled it:

Interviewing a logician? Why, this must be the article written by the very journalist that Bertrand Russell mentioned yesterday. What had he suddenly understood? Was it Russell who had indicated the solution to him? What could it be? I read the description of the crime and its discovery once again, and tried to apply a fresh eye and logical reasoning. But my mind remained perfectly blank.

‘Do you understand what the famous loophole is?’ I asked the inspector, feeling a little envious of the anonymous journalist whose boasts – or whose prowess – I was not able to match.

‘No, but I haven’t thought about it. The fellows on the case saw what he meant right away, I believe,’ he replied. ‘At least, I assume they did, since they’ve been talking about an arrest. But they’re not telling details at this point.’

‘I do wish I knew,’ I said.

‘You’ll find out very soon,’ he assured me, handing me the paper and guiding me kindly to the exit. ‘But one never knows – this doesn’t mean you should stop your own work, not yet. Go on and follow up your lead.’

I reached home, worried and harassed, to find Amy waiting for me in a state of great excitement.

‘Look – we must go back to Settles Street tonight!’ she
exclaimed the moment I came in. ‘Can you? We received this note from David. Do you think he’s found something out?’

The note read:
Come down tonight if you can – urgent.

‘Of course we shall go. When do we leave?’ I said reassuringly, taken aback by her excitement almost verging on panic, as she unconsciously crushed the little note into a ball.

‘Right now, if you will. I’ve sent to Jonathan to tell him to go directly there.’

‘And what about Emily?’

‘Oh, Emily!’ A look of intense annoyance crossed her face briefly, then she shrugged and smiled. ‘She won’t be in this evening – she won’t come with us. She’s busy. She’s at the Hudsons’ again. It’s for the best.’

‘For the best? What do you mean?’

‘Oh – nothing. I wasn’t talking about tonight – I was talking about Emily and Roland Hudson. But it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter whether she comes with us or not, or what she does. You see, she isn’t really one of us. Emily is a dear friend and I love sharing the flat with her, but when it comes to questions of life or death or one’s whole future, then …’

She did not finish her sentence, and I did not take her up on it. I thought I understood that when she spoke of ‘life or death or one’s whole future’, she was not referring to our investigation, but to something else, something I had also noticed. However, as it seemed to be no business of mine, I did not comment, but merely took up my shawl, which I had only just put off, and prepared to depart.

The aspect of the sordid, tumbledown tenement in Settles Street seemed more depressing than ever, and the contrast with the radiant warmth and liveliness within was all the more striking. Already before Rivka opened the door for us, a great racket of shouting and playing and tumbling about was to be heard. I do believe I have never seen a woman happier in her interior than Rivka Mendel, as she rose like an angel from amidst a medley of scattered toys, spoons, rolling balls, half-eaten children’s meals and mending, to say nothing of what appeared to be an unbroken sea of boys, complete with crashing waves. Her own two were directly in the process of riding on the back of a youth whom I immediately recognised as cheerful little Ephraim. He was galloping about on all fours, knocking into the furniture, while a second, somewhat older youth galumphed after them, holding the littlest one in place to prevent him from tumbling off, and generally aiding the whole pyramid in its endeavour to remain upright.

‘You know Ephraim already, and this is Yakov, David’s other brother,’ said Rivka, tranquilly indicating the thumping, bumping four-headed beast. ‘David is not home yet; he is still in
shul
. But it is Ephraim who says he really has something to tell you.’

‘Did you succeed in the project I gave you?’ I said eagerly, addressing the red-headed youngster. He looked up from his activities and smiled.

‘Yes! We did it! And we worked hard, I can tell you,’ he answered. ‘I told Yakov about it – I hope that’s all right – and we sleuthed together. We kept on asking everybody
where they had heard the rebbe story, and we talked to everybody – I mean everybody! We talked to boys from five different
shuls!
And we found out something.’

It was at this precise moment that Jonathan and David arrived together, having met each other in the street outside. Unlike his younger brothers, David looked serious. He glared at me.

‘The boys say they have found out something important that they want to tell you,’ he said severely.

‘Yes,’ I said meekly.

‘You put them up to this, didn’t you, Vanessa? You know that I didn’t want them mixed up in it,’ he began.

‘Oh, David, don’t start!’ shouted both his brothers in chorus. ‘We had fun! We loved it! And it’s silly to think it was dangerous. It was just a test!’

He said some scolding words to them in Yiddish, but they were undaunted and answered back loudly, without losing their cheerfulness. Finally, David shrugged and turned to me.

‘Well, they haven’t told me what it’s all about, so I don’t know,’ he said. ‘Do I have the right to find out, or is this for your ears only?’

‘No, I think we should all hear it. Ephraim, tell us what you have discovered,’ I said.

‘Everybody was telling the rebbe story last week, because – there really
was
a rebbe who disappeared!’ he cried triumphantly. ‘For a whole afternoon! Nobody knows where he went! And then he came back and everything went on just the same as before. There’s a song about it, too, that they’re singing now.’

‘When did this happen?’ I said quickly.

‘It was
iom shishi
– the eve of the Shabbat,’ he said. ‘That means it was the Friday before last.’

‘It is the one!’ exclaimed Jonathan.

‘Have you simply heard about him,’ I said, ‘or have you actually found out his name?’

‘We’ve found out his name, of course,’ said Ephraim indignantly. ‘What do you take us for? It’s Reb Moyshe Avrom.’

‘Moyshe Avrom!’ said David. ‘I can’t believe it – Moyshe Avrom is one of our best-known and most revered rebbes. He is known far and wide for the extent of his knowledge and the depth of his interpretations.’

‘All I need to do is lay eyes on him,’ said Jonathan, unimpressed by the praise. ‘I would know him again at once. I
must
see him.’

There was a short silence at this remark, during which the two boys fixed us with large, astonished eyes.

‘Why do
you
need to see him?’ asked Yakov.

Nobody answered. Ephraim turned to Yakov with an air of utter delight, and said, ‘Why, it wasn’t a test after all! It was real detection, for the
murder mystery
! Wasn’t it?’ he added, turning to me for confirmation.

‘Well, it was,’ I admitted, feeling a little guilty. ‘But
keep the secret,
whatever you do.’

‘Be quiet, boys,’ said David severely. ‘I’m sorry you ever got into this at all, but since you did, just keep quiet about it. No more meddling.’

‘But we want to help!’ wailed Ephraim.

‘When can we see the man?’ asked Jonathan impatiently.

‘Well, I’ve told you this would not be so easy,’ said David thoughtfully. ‘I’ve explained to you already what the life of a rebbe is like here, I mean a real Hassidic rebbe like Moyshe Avrom. His time is not his own. There isn’t one moment when he isn’t surrounded by his pupils or his disciples or his family. His disciples live in his house, and follow his every movement, word and gesture, trying to learn something from them. He never has a casual conversation, because everything he says is taken to have tremendous meaning. In fact, for this rebbe to have left for an afternoon must have been quite difficult.’

‘We heard that he just told his students to stay in the
shul
and simply walked out the door, and none of them even thought of following him, because they always do as they are told,’ said Yakov. ‘They probably thought he went out to breathe the air, but in fact he did not return for several hours.’

‘Why can’t we just go and knock on his door?’ said Jonathan.

‘I’m afraid you wouldn’t get near him. His disciples would receive you, and never let you get near their holy man.’

‘Can we not get a message to him?’ I suggested.

‘But how would you deliver it? Even if you delivered it by hand, you’d still have to give it to one of the students. They probably take care of his mail for him as well,’ said Rivka.

‘I have an idea!’ said David suddenly. ‘What about the
Purim festival, Rivka? It starts Thursday. You probably don’t know what the Purim festival is, Vanessa; I’ll explain it to you later. But it’s the one day in the year in which all houses are open. People wear disguises, and mummers and musicians go in and out of the houses playing and dancing. Why, probably anyone will be able to enter the rebbe’s home that day!’

‘But entering his home is not enough,’ I said. ‘I am going to need to speak with this man in private.’

‘That seems practically impossible, Vanessa. I don’t mean this offensively, but he would not speak alone to a person like you; in fact, you would be expected to stay in the women’s section of the room. I don’t know how you can manage it, but at least I think I can get you inside.’

‘All I want right now is to
see
him – to see if it is the right man,’ said Jonathan. ‘I don’t need to talk to him – I wouldn’t even know what to say. Vanessa can do that afterwards, if he is the one.’

‘I hope so,’ said David, then glanced at me. ‘You think this is strange, don’t you? I understand that in a way it is absurd that it should be difficult just to get near enough to someone to speak to him about something important. The thing is, it isn’t a question of individuals. Life here is so different from life outside. The meaning of people’s lives is different. I mean, people’s lives have
meaning
. Rivka, for instance – she isn’t just a married woman raising a family like thousands of others, doing her best to get the children fed and to bed on time. Not here. Here, everything you do is for the glory of the Lord. Everything you do counts and
your time, your efforts and your words are not your own. You just have to trust me that it isn’t a simple matter. I can’t think of anything better than the Purim festival.’

‘To talk to him, maybe. But I just want to lay eyes on him from a distance,’ said Jonathan. ‘I can’t wait till Thursday. I need to see him
now
.’

‘We heard he walks home from
shul
at the same time every evening,’ said Ephraim helpfully. ‘Of course, he leaves together with the whole group of students, but perhaps if we go and stand near the
shul
, Jonathan can get a glimpse of him.’

‘What time does he go?’ I asked.

‘Seven o’clock exactly.’

‘Let’s go now,’ said Jonathan immediately, glancing at his watch, and David nodded and led the way outside. Amy remained to help Rivka with the small children, and David tried to forbid his brothers from joining us. Yakov complied with a shrug, but Ephraim attached himself to us irrepressibly, with the excuse of being the only one who knew exactly where the rabbi’s
shul
was situated.

‘If it is really the right man, we must make some kind of a plan for me to be able to do more than merely enter his house,’ I said to David as we walked.

‘Even if you did manage to approach him, and to talk to him directly about the murder, which seems almost as unlikely as flying to the moon, you almost certainly would not obtain a straight answer,’ he answered quietly. ‘Rebbes speak in parables and ask questions instead of answering them.’

‘Ugh,’ I said. ‘We’ll just have to cross each bridge as we come to it. First things first, then: let Jonathan identify him! Is the place far?’

‘No, it’s just off Brick Lane,’ said Ephraim. ‘It’s a good thing it’s not too dark yet.’

Although not dark, the light was dimming. Poor people hustled along the dirty streets in the chill, and comforting lights showed at a multitude of windows along the way. I tried to imagine many little homes all as snug as Rivka’s, but the task was impossible, so powerful was the impression of poverty and misery given by the cold, huddled people in their ragged coats and the half-naked, bare-legged children who ran about the streets. We crossed Whitechapel and turned down Old Montague Street and then up Brick Lane, Ephraim gambolling happily ahead of us, and reached the tumbledown little house that served as synagogue and
shul
for the rabbi’s community at a few minutes before seven.

‘That’s the place,’ said Ephraim in a whisper, pointing. We stopped, and peering at its dimly lighted windows with interest, we tried to find a place to post ourselves near enough to see, but not so near as to attract attention. It seemed strange to be standing there doing nothing. Several people passing stared at us with some hostility, and indeed, Jonathan and I in our city clothes fitted badly into the general atmosphere, even though Rivka had bound my hair up under one of her own kerchiefs before allowing me out of the house.

‘Where has Ephraim got to?’ I wondered, looking around for him.

‘Shhh!’ David admonished me. The door of the prayer house was opening.

In front of my fascinated eyes, there emerged a gaggle of young men wearing clothes and aspects so outlandish as to give David, by contrast, almost the air of a typical British man-about-town.

Dressed in black from head to toe, with long coats and big hats, they wore their hair in long curls falling on either side of their cheeks. Without exception, their faces were pale and wan. All of those faces were turned towards one exact point in the middle of their group; they surrounded their rabbi and had eyes only for him. Alas, he was rather short in stature, and it was impossible to see anything more of him than the large, wheel-shaped fur hat he wore on his head.

I glanced at Jonathan, who made a gesture of frustration. I was just wondering if we should not try to create some diversion to shake apart the tightly bound group, when we saw that Ephraim, who had moved right up to the door, had understood the situation and was in the process of taking this task upon himself. Throwing the merest twinkling glance in my direction, he burst suddenly forward, and running up to the tightly knit, slowly advancing knot, he called out a few names in a loud voice – ‘Hey, Shimon, Reuven!’ and began to babble something in his own language, in loud and excited tones. David shook his head in amazement.