Israel Book Shop presents Chapter 89 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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Urgent message faxed to Vienna:
Hans,
Big Samson is going to fall, because its enemies have obtained weapons. If you don’t send help immediately—you will fall together with it!
—Katarina
“One minute, Teresa!” Katarina’s lips were pursed tightly. “Don’t go out yet.”
“Why, so that the lunch that Chani prepared for us shouldn’t get cold? It is rather a shame about it.”
“When did you last check your gun?”
“A few minutes ago.” The young woman studied her weapon. “It’s fine, but it really is a relic. You couldn’t arrange something better for me, huh? I mean, look where we are now!”
“Don’t be cheeky,” Katarina said. “Helena? Are you ready to go out, or are you also dreaming now about a delicious meal?”
Her second daughter turned slowly away from the window. “To go out where? To help Father?”
“What else?”
“I don’t think there’s any point,” she said with a long sigh, but still, she picked up her gun from the table.
“Why not?”
“Because if whoever it was stole Bernard’s good gun, then we have no chance against him.”
“But Bernard has my gun now. And aside for that, the Jew doesn’t know how to shoot,” her mother noted coldly.
“It’s not something you have to know how to do.”
“Yes, it is,” her mother argued. “And he is still just one person, and Father and Bernard are already facing off with him.”
“Why don’t we take Chani as a hostage in order to frighten him? She and her children—it will be easy.”
“What will that help us? Everyone here is in our hands, and still, Schvirtz is doing what he wants,” she spat. “We are only going to be there for cover—you don’t have to worry.”
“I think that we do need to worry. The fact is, you sent that fax to that snob, Hans Kafnika. If you wouldn’t be afraid of things getting worse, you wouldn’t have done that.”
“Helena, please! So, what’s with your gun?”
“And you also wouldn’t be asking me what’s with my gun. Here it is, but it’s empty. Maybe there are bullets upstairs, if Schvirtz didn’t take those too.”
“What are we going to do with bullets for a revolver, when he has our best Beretta?”
“The Glocks that you and Father have are better,” Teresa offered her opinion.
“The problem is…” Her mother sent a dark look toward the window. “I’m not sure that Father’s gun is loaded. Just before this all started, he told me that he has to load his gun, and then Bernard began to holler, and Father ran outside.”
“But Bernard took your Glock!” Helena said accusingly. “So you aren’t armed either!”
“That’s right.”
“So we’re going to confront a group of more than one hundred people empty-handed?”
“Why a group? It’s only Schvirtz! Sol Sherer works for us, and he claims that lots of his people say that Schvirtz needs to be caught and eliminated. Not that I believe the word of a Jew… But we’re going out,” she raised her voice sharply, “and we’re going now! Helena, you don’t want me to decide that your unwillingness is also a form of rebellion, do you? Because I will deal with it very severely.”
“How?” her daughter asked cynically, but at the same time, she hurriedly headed for the stairs. “Okay, okay, I’ll get some bullets.”
“Good,” her mother said in an icy tone, and grasped her second daughter’s arm. “Come, Teresa, we’re going out there. Helena—for your own good, hurry up and follow us.”
Helena wondered for a moment if she should peek into the kitchen to see if Chani had listened to them, but she decided not to. It was a needless effort. She went up to the third floor, studying the soot that covered the floor at certain points. There was no doubt about it: The Jewish youth had come in and out through the chimney.
The one box in the closet was full of all the old pistols—useless, the whole lot—while the other box had disappeared. Wonderful, just wonderful. So she had no bullets. That was also the fault of Laos Olendorf and Hans Kafnika, who did not meet their commitments, and only enjoyed the benefits of being involved.
She went downstairs, pondering if she should obey her mother and go out to fight against the Jews of the camp. A loud peal stopped her on the last step, and she turned her head to the square screen of their alarm system, on the side of the room. Who was it—Hans? It didn’t make sense that he had come just a few minutes after he got her mother’s warning letter… Unless he had already decided to set out a few hours ago.
The screen was off, and Helena ran and switched it on. Black-white-gray lines filled the screen, and after a too-long moment passed, it cleared, displaying six frames. In three of them—facing the northern side—everything looked normal. On the last three, she could see the trees and the old, potholed road, and a large, light-colored van driving along it. Was that Kafnika’s vehicle?
After a moment, the van disappeared from two pictures and appeared in a different one, from a different angle. No, it did not belong to Austria’s deputy police minister, nor to any of the other people in on the secret. It was getting closer, and she could see the driver’s bearded face. He didn’t continue toward the gate of the estate. Instead, he stopped about five hundred meters ahead of it. In horror, she watched people getting out of the van, all of them wearing work overalls and baseball caps. Her sharp eyes noticed immediately that at least one of them was armed. She had no idea who this group of workers actually was, but it didn’t look good.
Where was Father? Busy with the fight with Schvirtz and his supporters? Because his two-way radio was also supposed to be buzzing now, in light of these uninvited guests, and he should have activated the siren that sent all the workers scurrying to their hiding places.
An inner voice whispered to Helena that this time, some of the Jews would not be obeying the order so fast, and perhaps that was also why Father was not taking any action. But where was Bernard? Where were Mother and Teresa? She glanced quickly toward the screen and saw a few of the overall-wearers carrying four long ladders, marching among the trees southward. Three of them placed a measuring device of some type on the old road, and one—with a clearly Slavic appearance—walked toward the north, to the path that led to the gate of the estate.
Maybe Mother had convinced herself that there was still something to do, but in Helena’s opinion, the game was up.
****
“She said that their cemetery is in the south, so we decided to head there,” Bentzy’s father said as he studied the wall. “A cemetery is a deserted place, and from there, we’ll try to get a look inside. The minute Shmulik and Boaz have something to update, they’ll let us know.”
“And meanwhile, we can climb up,” said Eliyahu Golomb, one of Bentzy’s friends, as he opened a ladder. The other ladders were quickly opened along the southern wall.
***
What was that noise in the distance? A gunshot?
But he was totally alive, and so were all those around him. Josef hadn’t shot. He was still standing across from them, in the same position, wearing his mocking smile and looking very pleased at how the work was being done for him.
“Leave me alone!” Binyamin tried to shake the grip off his hand. “And believe, Yidden, believe! It’s all deception—just open your eyes! Why do you think we have to hide every time strangers come here? Not so the Nazis shouldn’t see us, but so that good people shouldn’t see us. We are not being hidden here by the compassion of these people. We are their prisoners! We are prisoners to their lies!”
“Don’t force us to use force, boy,” Sol Sherer said in a pleasant voice. “I don’t want to pull that thing out of your hand—something terrible might happen. Put it on the ground, Schvirtz, and submit yourself to reality. The time has come.”
“But this is not the reality!” he screamed, tears filling his eyes. He didn’t see Wangel smiling calmly, nor any of the other faces that surrounded him. “The reality is different, and you are the ones denying it. Is there not a single person here who believes me and is ready to do anything to get out of this place?!”
A few voices responded to him, amidst a babble of voices.
“Don’t force us to use—” Sol repeated in a monotonous tone, grabbing Binyamin’s second hand, but someone cut him off.
“Don’t force us to use force, Sol.” David Elkovitz’s hand grabbed Sol’s arm. “Let go of Binyamin.”
“I won’t.” Sol pressed his lips together, and Wangel continued smiling smugly. “And keep a distance, David, okay? You’re already too involved in this whole thing, and I have no idea what we’re going to do with you when this story is over. Meanwhile, I’m asking you to be as decent as you can.”
“I will not keep a distance.” Elkovitz’s voice was restrained. “Get it into your head already that Josef Wangel has no weapons, and there’s no need to be afraid of him. We just have to think about what to do with Katarina and Bernard. Stop wasting time for all of us! Have they promised you something for cooperation, or is it only because you don’t know what Binyamin and I know, and you think it will be good for everyone to stay in this musty, moldy hole in the wall forever?”
Binyamin’s back was to the matzeivos and the wall behind him, and Sol didn’t allow him to move. But he suddenly saw that people were fixing their gazes somewhere above him. Some of the people looked panicked, and they suddenly ran the other way, toward the kennels, but others were very focused on whatever it was they were seeing. What was going on there?
“It’s true, Yidden!” someone yelled from behind him. Wait, that voice was familiar!
Binyamin choked up. Hanter! It had to be him!
“Don’t stay in this hole! You’ve been tricked! We are also Yidden, and we’ve come to get you out of here!”
“Hide, hide, it’s a trap!” one panicked woman shrieked. “They’re not even Jews!”
From the direction of the wall, someone began to sing Yossele Rosenblatt’s Shir Hama’alos, and the familiar voice called, “It’s not a trap. We’re good Jews. Is the gun that goy is holding fake? Are you sure? And where is Binyamin Schvirtz?”
B’shuv Hashem es shivas Tzion…
“I’m here!” Binyamin called, without turning around. He could sense Sol’s utter shock by the fact that the fingers clenching his arm loosened somewhat, and just a moment later, Binyamin was able to wrench his arm out of his grasp.
But then he noticed a figure running right toward them, and he heard shouts of fright. Taking advantage of the moment, Josef Wangel had leaped in their direction, with revenge in his eyes. His weapon wasn’t active; that was why he wasn’t shooting. But he was about to grab this gun, and he would quite possibly succeed!
The gap of five meters between them was shrinking with every passing second; Binyamin had no time to rethink things. With his hand that held the gun that was partially being clutched by Sol’s fingers, he pulled the trigger.
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