Mendelssohn is on the Roof (7 page)

Overwhelmed by the din, they pulled away from the crowd and escaped to an unfamiliar cafe. As they walked into the large room, they were struck by something decidedly strange about the place, but they didn’t know what it was at first. It seemed to be an ordinary cafe with marble tables and mirrors. Only after a few moments did they realise that what struck them was the quiet, the preternatural quiet. Not the usual familiar quiet of regular cafes where people are reading and you can hear the rustling of papers and muffled conversations. Though all the tables were occupied, not a single person uttered a sound.

When they sat down and ordered two cups of coffee, their voices rang out as if they had shouted in an empty room. They didn’t dare talk to each other after that and
just drank their coffee in silence. Then they looked around the room. People were moving their fingers rapidly,
communicating
in this way across great distances, from one end of the cafe to the other. The waiter who was serving them also knew sign language and brought them everything they ordered. Suddenly they realised that the cafe was occupied by deaf-mutes and that they were the only people there who could speak, apart from the waiter, and even he didn’t speak. They were unable to enjoy themselves. They were afraid of making the smallest movement, afraid that the deaf-mutes might misinterpret it and take it as some sort of insult. They sat there silently, like uninvited guests, and only after they walked out into the street did they find their own voices again.

One day Jan appeared at the hospital and told him that he needn’t worry. Adela and Greta were doing well. They were in the hands of reliable people. They didn’t have ration cards, but he was managing to get food for them – it wasn’t that hard to arrange, because there were always good people to be found. Even in hiding the children found ways to amuse themselves. And they sent him greetings.

He thanked Jan. The disease prevented him from talking much, but there was no need for many words. Jan
understood
him.

And now the time of peace is beginning. Now all motion is about to end and things will stay fixed in their places. Now everything will turn to stone. The memories and images will fade and the river will cease to flow. Even its waves will turn to stone, even the sky will remain suspended above, its clouds frozen in place.

R
OTTENFÜHRER Schulze II hurried Dr Rabinovich along the street. Schulze II was in a rage, and would have preferred to beat the Jew to a pulp and then finish him off with his service revolver as he lay there. That was the way he used to do things in Poland. But he had to bring him back alive, since Wancke had given him an order to do so. Still, all this had caused him considerable unpleasantness. The Chief Elder of the Community hadn’t been afraid of him at all and had spoken to him in a way that no other Jew had ever dared before. Yes, that one must have some powerful protection. Still, he should have slapped him in the face at the very least. Somehow he had forgotten to do it while the Jew was in his office, or else he had allowed himself to be muddled by the highest Jew’s self-confidence.

‘Los, los, schnell, schnell,
’ shrieked Schulze II at Rabinovich hurrying ahead of him. The street emptied out. Everyone disappeared into building doorways. It was a strange spectacle, the uniformed SS man pursuing the cowering man with the red beard. Terrible things were happening everywhere, but everyone was astonished to see this happening to Dr Rabinovich, who had never been harmed before, who always behaved so high-handedly because he was aware of how important and irreplaceable he was. Why, distinguished visitors were sent all the way from Berlin to have him show them his museum and explain Jewish customs. The head of the Central Bureau himself called Rabinovich in to Stresovice for consultations. And
now things had taken this turn – an SS man was taking him away, who knows where. Dr Rabinovich would surely come to a bad end, because once you fell into the hands of those people, you never escaped unharmed. You considered
yourself
lucky to get away with your life.

Dr Rabinovich was hurrying, trying to follow the SS man’s command, but he couldn’t walk as fast as the
well-nourished
Schulze II. Rabinovich’s body was twisted and misshapen from poring over books endlessly. His head, stuffed with knowledge, overpowered his body, which was just a bothersome appendage. Now he had to make it jump in accordance with the wishes of one of the murderers. There is a time to weep and a time to kill, as it says in the Bible. In the end, even he had become a victim. But more than Schulze II he blamed the Chief Elder: to deliver him defenceless to the mercies of his enemies and to call it an expert opinion! The Chief Elder had claimed that nothing would happen to him, but how can anyone know what those mad murderers might dream up, especially when one doesn’t even know what they actually want from one? Maybe they’d drag him off into the barracks and make him entertain the troops during their carousing. Maybe they’d force him to eat forbidden foods so they could laugh at his suffering. There was no suffering on earth they might not think of.

He had come to understand that there was no humiliation on earth that he wouldn’t endure. But now he knew that something much worse was awaiting him. He had come to understand that there was no sin on earth that he wouldn’t commit if he was forced to do so, even though he hadn’t had to eat forbidden foods yet. He knew that if they ordered him to do it he would submit, as he had
submitted before when they forced him to perform impure acts and desecrations. Yes, they brought important visitors to see him, and perhaps there were some people who envied him for having patronage in such high places. Those people were probably convinced that performing services for such guests would guarantee his life and protect him from the transports. And he thought so himself, why else would he do it? Of course, he liked life – even his religion
commanded
him not to give it up. If he had been alone, if he hadn’t had a family, he would not have accepted life at such a price. What about all those martyrs who joyously accept a terrible death and allow themselves to be burned alive or pierced by arrows rather than give up the true faith? They could have saved their lives if they had agreed to be christened like many others did. But they wanted to hold on to the faith of their forefathers. Why didn’t he do likewise? Perhaps because he lived among people who hadn’t preserved any religious laws, who didn’t go to synagogue, who ate forbidden foods with great pleasure, and who tried not to differ in any way from the others. No, that was not the real reason. After all, he had lived in this country for a long time without losing his faith, without ever giving in to impure impulses, without ever touching forbidden foods or ever lighting a cigarette on a Saturday even though cigarettes were his only pleasure. No, he had never renounced the faith of his fathers. Even his sons had to follow his example. He made sure that they weren’t seduced by the bad example of those wavering members of their religion. Only now, in this time of dying, had he allowed himself to be persuaded to spit on
everything
he had held sacred all his life.

No it wasn’t because his flesh was weak or because he
wanted to avoid suffering, but because he had chosen an earthly mission over a martyr’s crown. His mission in the world was his family. As long as he found safety for himself, his family was safe, too. Perhaps the others didn’t know what was waiting for them when they were called up for the transports and herded into the Radio Mart. But he suspected and even knew a little something. Because
sometimes
the head of the Central Bureau would loosen up a bit and he’d drop a hint, especially when he was in a good mood. Then he’d say, ‘Be glad I’m protecting you –
otherwise
you might go up the chimney in smoke.’ It sounded like a joke, and it was meant that way. Yet there was some truth behind it, though he didn’t want to think about it, though he denied it to himself. But fear forced him to believe it.

Rottenführer Schulze II finally got Dr Rabinovich into the barracks building and shoved him quickly up the steps to the second floor. There Wancke and his visitors were impatiently awaiting him. They were bored and had exhausted the various jokes they’d been whiling away the time telling each other, not political ones, of course, but dirty ones – that was allowed. Because they didn’t trust one another, they finally had to parrot news from command headquarters about success on the battlefield, about the perspicacity of the Leader and about the war which would certainly be won, just to keep the conversation going. That kind of conversation, however, only gives rise to a foul mood.

Rottenführer Schulze II clicked his heels and announced: ‘I’ve brought the learned Jew, as requested.’

Wancke exploded at him: ‘You certainly took your own good time about it, Schulze. What were you doing there so long with all those Jews?’

‘I smacked one of the Jews a few times.’

Wancke frowned. ‘That wasn’t what you were ordered to do. Just remember that if there are any consequences you’ll answer for it yourself. Out!’ he ordered. Schulze II clicked his heels and left.

Rabinovich stood in Wancke’s office and looked at the three men in uniform. The one who screamed at his
subordinate
was definitely from the barracks. But those two whose uniforms didn’t fit them well were probably from Municipal.

‘Come here,’ said Wancke. ‘So you’re the learned Jew. Go with those men and tell them everything they want to know. And remember, you’re not to breathe a word about this. You’d better not open your dirty mouth among your disgusting friends. This is a state secret and nobody is to hear about it. Take him away.’ He nodded to Krug and Schlesinger.

They were embarrassed to have to take a Jew with them. They didn’t know how they were supposed to address him. The Elite Guard was obviously more experienced in these matters. Krug decided to proceed as if he were communicating with a foreigner.

‘Go with us to German House of Art. Go up to roof, and find statue of Jew.’

Rabinovich knew that he had to walk in front of the others. They walked along rather slowly and Rabinovich was relieved that they weren’t rushing him the way Schulze II had done. These officials from Municipal didn’t seem so bad. He was happy that they hadn’t left him at the barracks, that the SS man had only threatened him and hadn’t forced him to do knee bends, as those killers were wont to do. But the task before him filled him with misgivings. What
statue? What did he know about statues? ‘Thou shalt make no graven images.’ Statues could only bring bad luck. It was one of the worst sins, the sin of false idolatry. Today, he remembered, the shop was supposed to deliver the model of a Passover seder. The human figures gathered around the table were made of papiermâché, to look like real people. The head of the Central Bureau had dreamed up this project himself and insisted on ordering it from the shop personally. And now some other statue was
persecuting
him. Who was he supposed to identify on the roof of a building about which he knows nothing except it was once the Czech parliament, which the Germans had fixed up as a concert hall?

All three of them mounted the steep steps. As before, Rabinovich had to go first. He was afraid he’d get vertigo, that his head would begin to reel. Never in his life had he done any climbing and he was mindful of the saying: Out of the depths we cry to thee, O Lord. Even tradition
forbade
high places, though not expressly. But he had to go up, were it the Babylonian tower itself. He had set out on this path and there was nothing he could do but continue on it. A small sin couldn’t make things worse.

Schlesinger didn’t want to go up on the roof either. But of course with Krug there, and what was worse, the Jew, he couldn’t avoid it. All of them stood on the roof.
Rabinovich’s
knees were shaking and he tried not to look into the abyss. He saw the statues. He couldn’t help seeing them, for they stood on the balustrade a small distance away. Whose statues they actually were he didn’t know. Krug gave him an order: ‘Walk around balustrade, look around well, tell us which is Mendelssohn statue. Surely you know which one Mendelssohn.’

They’re lunatics, Rabinovich said to himself, they want me to identify a statue. How can they know that Jews never carved any statues, that their religion forbids it. Only in recent times, but by then they had turned into pagans who had come to resemble the others. Of course, he knew the name Mendelssohn. Moses Mendelssohn, the founder of the Reform movement; all bad things began with him. He truly led the Jews astray with his enlightened ways, and it ended with violence, licence, and the slaughter of those whom he had led into a trap. He couldn’t understand why they should build him a memorial on a building that was dedicated to the cultivation of the arts. He wasn’t an artist, after all, but a religious reformer. He did have descendants, but they weren’t Jews. They had themselves christened and married Christians, and so nobody cared about those descendants. One of them was a composer and he had two names. Of course, he must be the one the Municipal officials were looking for. He turned respectfully to Krug, because he recognised that Krug was in charge.

‘Please excuse me, I cannot identify the statue because that composer you are looking for wasn’t a Jew.’

Krug and Schlesinger looked at him. They were stunned. The nerve! What kind of nonsense was this? Krug couldn’t control himself and began to scream: ‘How dare you, you filthy Jew! If the Acting Reich Protector says it’s a Jew, then it has to be a Jew!’

Rabinovich was sweating with fear. Maybe that other hoodlum would push him off the roof. These people were capable of anything. But he couldn’t answer any differently.

He apologised humbly: ‘That musician Mendelssohn was christened. In fact, I just remembered he was christened as a tiny baby. And so by our laws he can’t be a Jew.’

Rabinovich’s humility enraged Krug. He struck him so hard with his fist that Rabinovich reeled.

‘Shut up. Those explanations of yours don’t interest us. Just tell us: can you identify the statue or not?’

‘No,’ Rabinovich answered in a quaking voice.

‘So get out of here and crawl back to your lousy Jewish rat hole before I change my mind!’

Rabinovich quickly disappeared through the gate, as fast as his collapsing legs would allow him. Krug and Schlesinger remained on the roof alone.

‘What now?’ said Krug in a cold fury. ‘It was your brilliant idea to go to the Elite Guard. Meanwhile, Giesse is about to call. What am I supposed to tell him? That I have an idiot assistant who can’t do anything properly, and when he has any ideas at all they turn out to be so colossally stupid that even a Jew can’t believe his ears. What you need is a turn of duty at the front. You’ll meet real men there and you can prove your loyalty to the Reich and the Leader by dying a hero’s death. Nobody will ask for any of your ideas there. And as an SS candidate you’ll have to apply to the Elite Guard. They’ll certainly be glad to see you there, because the way things have turned out, I’m not going to give Wancke anything. Besides which, they’ll be very favourably disposed towards you, since the Central Bureau will surely go after them about the guest appearance of their Rottenführer at the Jewish Community.’

‘But Herr Scharführer, I really …’

‘I don’t want to hear another word out of you. Return to Municipal. Get your things together, and hand the whole business over to Dr Buch …’

Schlesinger ran quickly, as if afraid that Krug would dream up something even worse for him. He wasn’t even thinking
about the front. Bad enough to think about the hell facing him at the Elite Guard – they certainly knew how to make life miserable if they put their minds to it. And they’d put their minds to it, never fear, because Wancke would get nothing from Krug, and the Chief Elder of the Community had surely sent a report to Stresovice. He should have volunteered for the army long ago and then he wouldn’t have committed that mortal sin. Now he’d never get to Rome and the Pope would never give him absolution. All his hopes were dashed. He’d die a sinner and his body would rot somewhere on Russian soil.

Krug remained on the roof alone. Only after a few moments did he descend the stairs and return the keys to the guard. He was thinking furiously about what he should say to Giesse when he asked about the statue. There was nothing left but to ask his wife for help. Official regulations forbade him to confide official secrets even to his nearest and dearest, but not fulfilling an order was an even worse offence and he’d end up in Schlesinger’s boat. Meanwhile, his wife was a college graduate and knew a lot of people. Surely she’d come up with someone who could identify the statue. He’d go right home.