Israel Book Shop presents Chapter 85 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.
Copyright © Israel Bookshop Publications.
Condolences on the passing of your loved one.
Hauptmann Katarina Wangel
Hauptmann Josef Wangel
Gefreiter Teresa Wangel
Gefreiter Helena Wangel
The note was accompanied by a red artificial flower that was passed from hand to hand among the people who had come to console the mourners.
“Who brought it here?” Yosef Posen asked. “They came themselves?”
“No,” Irwin, Leo’s son-in-law, replied. “Sol went to them after the funeral.”
“What for?” someone asked.
“Technical matters,” Irwin answered.
The widow and her three daughters were quiet, as they had been since they returned from the funeral.
“It’s interesting that Bernard is not signed on this,” the man continued, “and it’s also interesting that they signed with their military titles. When my mother passed away, they just signed their names.”
“Bernard should sign a condolence letter? Come on, really now,” David Elkovitz, who had been standing quietly until now, interjected. “And they probably want to remind us where we are… The situation is not simple.”
“Not simple at all.” Sol came into the room that same minute. “And I’m asking that this conversation end right now. My friends, I was at the manor house before, and I spoke to Wangel at length. They are very angry, and rightfully so. I want to make it clear that there are no more conversations behind their backs, because they and we are now focused on one thing only: continuing to maintain the secrecy of this place. Do I make myself clear?”
The people all nodded wordlessly. Most of them didn’t like his tone, but no one spoke up in protest.
“And another question: Does anyone know where Binyamin Schvirtz is right now?” He quickly scanned the faces of the people sitting there.
“Leo said—I mean, Leo alav hashalom, said yesterday that he turned himself in, didn’t he?”
“He did come to the manor house and turned himself in, but then he disappeared right away. Right now, they have no idea where he is, and it’s important to them to ask him a few crucial questions, to know who he contacted.”
“Enough with that already!” Elkovitz raised his voice a notch. “I’m sure that the rumors circulating in the camp got to you too, and you also realize that it was me, right? Schivrtz was playing around with an old communications device that he found, and it beeped to us in the office. I answered the call, I didn’t really understand who it was or what he wanted, and then the call got cut off. That’s all that happened!”
“Are you trying to say that you didn’t participate in Bilhah’s funeral?”
“Not the whole thing,” Elkovitz replied. “And you can tell them that, if you want.” There was a confrontational flash in his eyes. He knew: Sol Sherer would stop at nothing to ingratiate himself to the Wangels, but he would still be very careful about the dignity of the grieving family.
In any case, if it would do anything to calm the situation, he didn’t mind appearing before Wangel and lying for the sake of the safety and lives of everyone else. True, it was a risk, but the risk was very big as it was. And if he could save Binyamin’s life by doing so—then it was certainly worth taking the risk.
“Hey!” Iszak Zuretzky said suddenly; until then he’d been sitting quietly. “It was such a tumult here, we forgot about Bilhah! It’s hard to believe that her levayah was just a few days ago, and her family is sitting shivah now, too! Two funerals in half a week…wow! I just hope this is not a prelude to more funerals!”
People exchanged glances. Iszak never thought before he spoke, and there were not many people who were able to silence him.
Sol was one of the few who could. “Quiet, Iszak,” he cut him off sharply. “Please don’t cause alarm for no reason. There won’t be any more funerals here, if we act in a smart and careful manner, like we have all the years.”
He approached the front door to the house, and from there, he scanned the others. “I need a group of courageous people, who are not afraid to do the right thing,” he said suddenly, as if it had nothing to do with anything. “It’s for an important mission that will take place right after their lunch break. They will receive a two-hour work exemption, and the payment will be in cash, this evening. Anyone who thinks he’s the right man for the job is invited to the office right after the break to hear more details.” He studied everyone for another fraction of a second, nodded almost imperceptibly toward the low chairs in the corner of the room, and left.
“A mission,” Elkovitz muttered. “Rabbosai, think very well before you volunteer—”
The door, which had not yet closed behind Sol’s back, opened again. “David, I’m asking you,” he said, in a tone that didn’t sound like a request at all, “don’t be a snake, okay? It’s better for both of us not to get into a conflict.”
“Of course,” David said placidly. “I wouldn’t choose that either. I’m just wondering, Sol, what you’re thinking: that now you are going to be managing this place?”
“Who else should do it? You? The Orthodox will not manage all of our lives here. And the minute you placed yourself on that side—you don’t come into question anymore. Besides, your father was not a furrier, and my father—Leo’s older brother, Max, of blessed memory—certainly was. The fact that Leo became the work manager here even though my father was older is a question that disturbed a lot of people for many years. But maybe the time has come to rectify that wrong a bit, especially as Leo did not leave behind any sons.”
“Leo became the work manager because he was the more talented of the two, prominently so,” someone blurted. “And that’s who the elder Heidrich and Wangel turned to when they came to the Matthausen camp to take Jews. In any case, please don’t start opening your personal family tensions right now. It’s not the place, nor the time, and both Max and Leo are no longer here anyway.”
Sol glared at him sharply and put his hand on the doorknob. “I’m just reminding everyone of what I said before, okay? Courageous men who are not afraid of public opinion are invited to my office in a few minutes, right after the break.”
***
Rechel leafed through the pages of the sewing journal, looking for page twenty, which Katarina had pointed to the week before. She could hardly see the clothes, let alone the page numbers.
She heard footsteps on the short flight of stairs leading to the sewing room. Sol Sherer was standing at the door, with two men behind him. “Excuse us for disturbing,” he said politely. “We’re looking for something here. Please go out to the yard. It will take only a few minutes.”
You mean, you’re looking for someone. Rechel mouthed the clarification to herself. And from the looks her fellow workers were stealing at her, she knew that they were thinking the same thing.
The seamstresses hurried outside, and there was a tense silence as they stood in the corner of the yard, wondering.
The search didn’t take long, because aside for one large closet, there were no hiding places in the sewing room, certainly not when you’re looking for something very different from a spool of black thread or a number eight needle.
As Rechel heavily climbed back up the stairs, Shifra Cohen-Sighet tugged at her arm. “Look!” she said, pointing behind them. “They are also going to our houses! I don’t believe it!”
Rechel turned. Sol Sherer and the two people with him had been joined by seven additional men. Yes, they were opening the door to one of the homes and entering.
Rechel’s breaths came quick and fast, and her lips moved as she turned around and walked briskly up to the sewing shop. She had no idea where Binyamin was right now; no one did. And even if she would have an idea, she would have no physical way to help him. Only the tefillos of a mother could.
***
“What were they looking for, Naomi? What were they looking for, Katy? What were they looking for, Rivku?” The children nagged over and over again after the men had interrupted the story about Rabi Shimon Ben Shetach finding a stone hanging on the neck of the donkey. Only Dror Elkovitz—who should have been the lead questioner—sat at the side, simply rubbing his eyes. Throughout the day, he just cried, with short intervals of reserved silence.
“What were they looking for? An apple,” Katy answered every child who asked.
“Maybe they lost something,” Rivku answered impatiently.
Only Naomi didn’t answer a thing.
“Are they looking for your brother, Naomi?” Katy whispered loudly. “Is that true?”
Naomi didn’t answer her either.
She gathered the children again, finished the story, and then they all went out to the sandbox to draw pictures in the sand. She sat on a small chair, staring into space, and that’s when she saw the little posse going from house to house.
“They’re totally overdoing it,” Rivku said, following Naomi’s gaze. “What is this violation of privacy? Entering people’s homes when people aren’t there? It’s not right.”
“I’m sure they won’t rummage around on small shelves or anything,” Katy reassured her. “Just in big places, where a person can hide, because they are looking for Naomi’s brother.”
“Naomi’s brother?” Dror, who had sat down on the ground next to Naomi’s chair, and until now had just been picking up fistfuls of sand and dropping them, looked up with large red eyes. “What does that have to do with my grand…my grandfather?”
“Who said it has anything to do with your grandfather?” Rivku asked.
“Because when they came, you told Naomi quietly that this man might be in place of my grandfather who passed away. And that can’t be!” The boy burst into tears again. “I don’t agree! I don’t like him at all! And why is he looking for your brother anyway, Naomi?”
Naomi stroked his cheek but didn’t answer. Squinting, she studied the people who were walking down the path to the next hut. Would they go into her house, too? She took a deep breath. It was a miracle Binyamin wasn’t there. But who knew where he was and what would happen if he’d be caught at the end of this manhunt, chalilah? These people were not making this effort for no good reason. They surely wanted to turn him in.
Her eyes filled with tears, and now she couldn’t see the sand pictures, nor the children, and not even Dror standing beside her and looking at her anxiously. Aryeh would tell her to try to think of the good, see the good. And so, there was one small thing she could think of: that the phone was no longer in her house.
The phone!
Naomi swallowed and, with a supreme effort, smiled at Dror. Then she went with the children back into the preschool, trying to talk to the kids, to give them compliments. But her thoughts were only one big babble of a few words: Telephone. Woods. Night. Hanter.
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