Israel Book Shop presents Chapter 41 of a new online serial novel, Nine A.M., by Esther Rapaport. Check back for a new chapter every week. Click here for previous chapters.
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To the honorable Mr. Josef Wangel,
About half a year ago, I purchased a fur coat produced by your factory, ahead of a trip to London. It should be noted that throughout my stay there, I received countless compliments on the coat, which is unmatched in beauty and quality, and especially for its elegant finishing touches. I wish to offer you my blessings for this. I told all my acquaintances, both in London and in Austria, where I purchased the coat, and how satisfied I am with your exceptional work. There is no doubt that many years of family knowledge cannot be disputed.
Of course, going forward, I will purchase such items only from your unique factory.
Signed,
Victor Nissel, Head of the Social Democratic Party, Austria
The workers in the office read the letter with interest, smiled, as was expected of them, and complimented the Hauptmann standing at the door—also as was expected of them, even though the “family knowledge” mentioned in the letter was more their own than that of the Hauptmann, who was nevertheless glowing proudly and with satisfaction.
“I think all the factory workers will get a nice bonus for this,” he said. “I hope I’ll be able to get this letter published in the media. A bit of popularity among consumers won’t hurt us now. As you know,” he scowled suddenly, “people turned against us when we chased away curious eclipse tourists from the hillsides. And because neither I, nor you, want our sales to decline, we should all be working full force to ensure that such letters become a matter of course.”
He pointed to the letter. “This will hang here on the wall,” he noted, “so that everyone should remember what kind of output you are able to reach. Now, I want the young man Schvirtz here.”
“Can I ask why?” Leo Sherer asked submissively, but not before he motioned to one of the office boys to go call Binyamin from the factory.
“Nissel’s coat was a private custom order, and Binyamin is the one who did the finishing work on it. I assume that is one of the things that made it such a quality garment.” Wangel stopped, leaving no place for any more questions.
Binyamin arrived a few moments later, pale and confused. Wangel’s broad smile did little to calm him; if anything, it scared him even more. “Yes, Herr Wangel?” he said quietly. “I understand you called for me.”
“That’s right,” the Nazi said. He pointed to the letter still lying on Leo’s desk. “Read this, please.”
Binyamin walked over and silently read the words. Then he nodded and raised his head. “I’m glad that he liked it so much,” he said.
“I would like to reward you.” Wangel did not think about the ears all around them, listening closely. “Aside for the royalties that all the workers of the factory—including you—will get, I want to raise your salary by five marks a month and, if you want, to give you a short break every day on work time. I understand you haven’t been so well recently.” Again, he smiled his dry smile. “And we need you at your best.”
“I thank the Hauptmann for all these privileges,” Binyamin replied solemnly. “They really make me very happy.”
“What about them makes you happy?” the other man probed.
“The breaks.”
“The breaks? You’re really so exhausted?”
“I’m recovering, thank G-d,” Binyamin whispered. “But sometimes, I want a bit…of time to myself.”
“To yourself. And what will you do with that time?” Wangel’s eyebrows were knitted together.
“I’ll walk around outside a bit, breathe some fresh air.”
“Highly recommended, to be sure. What else?”
Binyamin thought it over for a moment. They might come and check what he was doing during his breaks. “I’d like to read the Talmud,” he admitted truthfully.
“Talmud.”
“Yes.” He took a deep breath. “The Torah that the Creator gave us is a wondrous thing, and it also adds wisdom to those who study it.”
“If so, I’m in favor.” Wangel laughed. “Okay, you can go. It’s now 3:25; be back at work at the four o’clock bell. But if these breaks will negatively affect your output quota, then the privilege will be revoked, yes?”
“Yes, that’s clear.”
Leo murmured something from the side, and Wangel added, “And if you don’t get back in time, that will also make me cancel the breaks.”
“Of course.” Binyamin nodded, struggling to contain his excitement.
“Go.” Wangel laughed and patted him on the shoulder. Binyamin murmured a few last words of thanks and left. He would run to the factory to reassure his friends that everything was alright. They had been alarmed together with him, when they heard that he had been summoned to Wangel at the office.
But maybe it was a shame to waste the time to go to the shul afterward, to his grandfather. It was better to find a place here in the area, someplace clear of the odors of the leather and the fur, where he could learn a bit by heart.
A few moments later, he was out of the factory. He turned right, toward the wall. Between the factory and the wall were the fox kennels, and there were children wandering around there. Binyamin recognized the older Elkovitz boy, David’s son. The thirteen-year-old looked very much like his father. The boy waved in greeting, and even that motion reminded Binyamin of his father.
Binyamin waved back. “Hi there.”
The younger boy stopped. “Thanks for the tefillin,” he said quietly. “It was I who noticed that the retzuos weren’t good anymore, and I told my father.”
“Good eye,” Binyamin complimented him. “They really were very old. I understand that you once learned the halachos of tefillin?”
“Not really,” the youth replied. “But my grandfather, zichrono l’vrachah, left my father a paper with rules, and I read it before my bar mitzvah.”
“A paper,” Binyamin echoed.
“Yes, with all the rules relating to tefillin.”
“That’s what we call halachos.” Binyamin smiled. “So you did learn.”
“Fine, if that’s what you want to call it…” The boy smiled, his breath swirling upward in the cold air before dissipating. “Thanks for the help. I’m Yanku.”
“Pleasure to meet you. You’re in charge here, right?”
“Yes.”
“Until?”
“I don’t know, I guess until one of the younger ones grows up…” He waved a hand to the children running around, some of whom had still been part of the school until just a few months earlier. Binyamin looked at them, wanting to say something, but then fell silent.
A figure near the kennels suddenly caught his attention. “Who’s that walking there, near the foxes?”
Yanku turned to look. “Him? That’s Kush, Mottel Kush. He pops in here sometimes to take the old bread.”
“The old bread?”
“Yes, from whatever is left from the bakery at the end of the week. It’s usually given to the foxes and sheep.”
“So don’t the animals eat that bread?”
“Not always. The Wangels provide large amounts of animal food and meat, and the sheep get straw, which they like. Sometimes the animals don’t even look at the bread, and it sits there until it gets moldy.”
“Moldy…”
“My parents also can’t think about moldy bread,” Yanku said when he saw Binyamin’s expression. “Baruch Hashem we were born in this generation, and not those terrible camps of fifty years ago. We don’t lack for bread, so moldy bread is almost like the end of the world.”
“But…why does Mottel take it?”
“I don’t know. He said something about birds near his house. Maybe this is how he wants to catch them, and slaughter them.”
“He didn’t learn shechitah,” Binyamin replied mechanically.
“I don’t know.” The boy wrinkled his nose. “We don’t need this bread. So I really don’t mind that he takes it. If anything, it helps me keep the place clean.”
Binyamin shook himself. He glanced for along moment at Mottel’s receding back, and then turned away from the kennels.
“Why did you come here now?” Yanku asked curiously.
“I got a break and I wanted to go there.” He pointed to the wall.
The boy looked at the white rectangles scattered at its base. “To the cemetery?”
“Not really. I wanted to learn a bit, in an open, clean place. But…I think that I have something more important to do right now.” He turned around to the sloping path. “Goodbye, Yanku!” he said.
He almost ran to the residential area, with the wind pushing him on all sides. He estimated that he had less than twenty minutes left to his break. His legs were aching when he stopped at the doorway of the preschool, knocked at the door, and pushed it open. Naomi stood there, her back to him.
“Naomi?” Binyamin asked breathlessly, taking off the scarf that covered his mouth.
She turned, and her jaw dropped. The children flocked over to them like small, curious birds. “It’s your brother, Naomi!” one boy declared knowingly. “Right?”
Naomi smiled at him and turned to her brother, looking worried. “Is everything okay?”
“With me, baruch Hashem, yes. Wangel was even very happy with some work that I did, and because of that, he so kindly granted me a daily break.”
“A daily break!” Her eyes sparkled. “How nice! So listen, I think—”
“We’ll talk about my break another time, Naomi. I just saw Mottel Kush. Tell me, did you deal with that issue?”
“I didn’t get to it yet.”
“Naomi, it really can’t be pushed off. He was near the kennels just now, collecting old bread.”
“How did he get there in the middle of work time? Did he also get a break?”
“I don’t know,” Binyamin said. “Maybe he slipped away for a few minutes. The cutting work that he does is not something you do all day, so instead of sitting and not doing anything, he might have gone out for a few minutes. It’s not terrible. But Naomi…”
“I’ll take care of it,” she said. “Tonight, bli neder. But now, I have no way to leave. I just let the other teacher and Katy go, because I owed them a few hours already—you know, for all the times I kept having to leave…”
“How about I’ll watch the kids now, and you can run over to Kush?”
“Now? When she’s in the office? Or do you mean that I should break into their house when she’s not around? Come on, Binyamin—I said I’ll take care of it tonight, and b’ezras Hashem, I will.”
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