Escape (25 page)

"She said, 'It's my kitchen, and I won't have a man lumbering around in it and breaking my china.' Don't worry, my friend, I've tried for more than fifty years, but she'll have none of it."

As Goldie left the room, Karp again noted how Moishe followed her with his eyes until he could no longer see her. "A wonderful woman, your wife," he said.

"The best," Moishe nodded, "meaning no disrespect to your lovely wife or anybody else's. But she has been through more than any person should have ever had to face, much less someone with such a gentle soul.... She was just a girl when she and her entire family—father, mother, two brothers, and sister—were taken to Auschwitz. They were all murdered, but she survived because the Nazi 'doctors' used her for experimental surgery they were trying on pre-pubescent girls."

Sobelman stopped a moment to gather himself. "It is the reason we could not have children. It is also the reason she does not speak. There is nothing physically wrong with her voice; she simply has chosen not to speak. She once told me with sign language that it was because, if she opened her mouth to speak, all she would be able to do is scream."

"Where did you meet?"

"Ah, this is where you and I could both say what a small world it is," he said. "As the war was ending, I joined up with Jewish partisans in Poland when we came upon right-wing Polish Nationalists who were preparing to murder a group of Jews, all former prisoners at Auschwitz. She was among them. We killed the murdering pigs and took the survivors who could walk with us. Goldie was young, and beautiful even though she weighed no more than a child half her age. For some reason, she refused to leave my side, though I assure you there was no physical relationship between us—that would take many years of gaining her trust and love."

Sobelman recalled how his band of resistance fighters and the people they'd saved had fled west, hoping to avoid the approaching Russians, who had no more love for Jews than the Nazis did. They made it to the American sector in Austria. However, there they were among the millions of other people displaced by the war. Some of the Jews they were with took the first opportunity to leave for Palestine, where, rumor had it, there was going to be a Jewish state. But as a boy growing up in Poland, he'd seen a photograph of the Statue of Liberty with the New York skyline in the background, and he dreamed of going to America, where even Jews were safe.

"We had no money, but we had hope," Sobelman recalled. "One day in the refugee camp I saw an important man—I could tell he was important because his clothes had no patches or holes and his shoes were new. He was looking for someone, and I was able to help. He asked me about myself and Goldie, who clung to me like a child. I told him our stories, and when I finished, he cried ... not much or loudly, but like a strong man cries when he hears of injustice. Then this man, this good man, put us on a boat to America, where we were given papers, and I was given a job working for the second-kindest man I ever met, Alfredo Turrisi, who owned this bakery. I believe, though, that you know the man who saved us, no?"

Karp was silent for a moment, feeling guilty about his earlier worries that this kind little baker might have been considering blackmail. "My guess is that he would be Vladimir Karchovski."

"Yes, your great-uncle, Mr. Karchovski," Sobelman confirmed. "I know that in your position, you must be careful regarding your association with a man like him, who has broken the law. But as someone who shares the same blood, you should be very proud of the man he really is. When I had some money, I happily offered to pay him for all he had done for us, but he wouldn't take a cent. He said the world owed us and he would not charge us until that debt was paid. I do not agree; the world doesn't owe me or Goldie. The ones responsible for what they did to us, yes, they owe a debt that cannot be repaid. But most of them are dead, so I give them little thought."

Vladimir Karchovski had also paid for the wedding of Goldie Klarsfeld and Moishe Sobelman, including the dress Karp had seen in the wedding photograph. "For that he has never asked one cent," Sobelman said. "Nor would he accept anything more than some of my cheese coffee-cakes—he prefers blueberry—which I have delivered to his home every Friday before the Shabbat for all these years. I am proud that he accepts even that much."

The two men sat quietly for a minute, sipping their coffee. Karp wanted to ask about the tattooed number on Moishe's forearm and how he came to be a partisan fighting in the woods of Poland. And about his experience with the bombing of the synagogue on Third Avenue. But he knew that there'd already been too much talk of dark things for the Sabbath. Sobelman seemed to sense this, too, and so for the rest of his visit they steered clear of anything troubling.

When Karp announced it was time for him to leave, Sobelman said, "I'll walk part of the way with you. I'm supposed to be resting after such a good meal, but I'm reluctant to part with such good company. Besides, God did not 'rest' on the seventh day of creation—that is a misinterpretation of the Torah. After all, why would an all-powerful God need to rest? The real translation is that on the seventh day, God 'ceased,' meaning He ceased His work and then stepped back to survey what He had done. Like any great artist who is pleased with a work and considers it finished, He stopped and enjoyed the accomplishment. So while I have ceased my work, a walk with a friend is something to be enjoyed."

Moishe kissed his wife and promised to return soon so that they could celebrate the end of Sabbath together. She then handed Karp a paper bag from which the smell of warm coffee cake emanated.
I can always diet
tomorrow, he thought after thanking her.

Sobelman locked the door of the bakery, and they set off down Third Avenue. They didn't say much for the first couple of blocks, just remarks about the meal and their respective wives. Then the baker glanced up at Karp and cleared his throat. "I'm sorry if this constitutes work, but something has been troubling me."

"What's that, Moishe?"

"I have been following this case of the woman who murdered her children. I do not understand these people who say she was not responsible for her actions. I was watching the
Off the Hook Show
the other night when the defense attorney, I believe her name was Lewis, was interviewed, and that's what she says. Did you see the show?"

"I saw some of it," Karp acknowledged.

In fact, he'd watched because it might give him an indication of Lewis's strategy at trial. The trial judge, Timothy Dermondy, had imposed a gag order, meaning neither side was supposed to discuss details of the case with the media, but Lewis had simply ignored it. Nothing unusual about that, but Karp had not expected Lewis to point at Charlie Campbell, who was also a guest, and blame him for the deaths of the children and her client's mental deterioration.

"If anybody should have been charged in this case, it is the man sitting right there," Lewis said as Campbell's mouth dropped open. He looked to someone off-screen in a silent but easily understood cry for help.

"What do you mean?" Barry Queen, the host of the show, asked.

Karp realized right away that it was a setup. He knew she was going to make the accusation before she did it.
Better step out of the batter's box, Charlie, they're about to throw one high and tight...
. A
little chin music,
he thought.

"What I mean is that shortly after the birth of their second child, Jessica Campbell considered killing her child and herself."

Queen looked shocked. "I don't understand."

"As a result, the Campbells consulted a psychiatrist."

"Any particular reason?"

There's the setup pitch,
Karp thought.

"I really must protest," Charlie stammered. "This was a family matter, and I'd appreciate it if you'd respect our privacy."

Steeee-rike One!

"I'm sure you would, Mr. Campbell, but I don't represent you," Lewis spat. "We have the sworn deposition of Dr. Harry Winkler, one of the most respected experts in postpartum depression in the world, who at that time diagnosed my client with severe postpartum depression. I will leave the details for the trial, but the long and short of it is that Dr. Winkler strongly advised the Campbells against having more children, as the condition could be expected to worsen after each childbirth. Charlie Campbell, in particular, was warned that another pregnancy posed a great risk to Jessica and the children."

"This really is a mischaracterization of the truth ..." Charlie squeaked, trying to recall some verbiage from his unused law degree.

Steeee-rike Two!

"Hardly," Lewis sneered. "But like I said, this will all come out at trial. I don't want to taint the jury pool by arguing the evidence on television."
Like hell you don't,
Karp scoffed.

"However, we'll be able to prove that Charlie Campbell, despite this dire warning, insisted that Jessica bear a third child. He wanted a boy in order to further his political career."

"Are you saying ...?" Queen ventured.

"... that he used his penis as a weapon that destroyed the mental health of Jessica Campbell until she actually believed that God was ordering her to kill their three children to save their souls.... In the state she was in, impregnating her was no different from putting a gun in her hands and telling her to pull the trigger."

Of course, the network had bleeped the word "penis," but the whole television world knew what she had said. The camera panned back so that it now included Charlie Campbell, who sat staring straight ahead, blinking like a windshield wiper set on intermittent.

"So, Mr. Campbell, pretty heavy stuff. Do you have any comment?" Queen asked.

Blink. Blink. Blink.

At home in front of the television, Karp had to laugh.
Oooooh, beaned him with a pitch! He's out cold. Would somebody please pinch-run for Mr.
Campbell!

"So that's what I meant," Lewis said, as if she'd merely been answering an innocent question, "when I said that if the district attorney of New York wants to prosecute somebody for the deaths of the Campbell children, it should be the one who couldn't keep his
BLEEP
in his pants."

"Well, that's about all the time we have tonight. I'd like to thank my guests Linda Lewis and Charlie Campbell..." The lawyer dipped her head a smidge. Charlie's lower lip quivered; it appeared he might cry as soon as the camera went black.

Karp shed no tears for Charlie Campbell. But he'd picked up a few useful hints about Lewis's approach to the insanity defense.

Kenny Katz had also seen the show and called him at home. To counter the defense's psychiatric testimony, he wanted to bring in a psychiatrist he'd found who thought the whole "postpartum depression syndrome" was a bunch of bullshit.

"We're not going to need him," Karp responded.

"But they're going to be piling it on with this Winkler and that other shrink, Nickles," the younger man complained. "They'll spend hours telling the jury the same psychobabble."

"Let 'em. We'll counter with the facts."

"But we need someone who can speak the language and cut through the crap," Kenny contended.

"We don't if we don't get into it," Karp replied and left it at that.

It's driving Katz batty,
Karp thought as he and Sobelman reached 14th Street, where the old man pulled up and said that he needed to get back to Goldie.

"So do you think Mrs. Campbell should be prosecuted for a crime?" Sobelman looked troubled. "I'm not an expert on law. I suppose anyone who would murder another human being is crazy. But if I understand correctly, the legal issue is whether she knew what she was doing was wrong?

And do we differentiate between murder committed in a fit of rage, or for money, or because a person was told to kill by someone in a position of authority?"

"What if that someone was God or if they believed it to be God?" Karp asked.

Sobelman scoffed and brushed away the idea with a wave of his hand. "That's right. Blame it on God.... God is on their side ... God told them to commit murder in His name.... God hates non-believers and Jews and innocent children and wants them all dead. Can't people hear the voice of Evil and understand it's not God's fault?"

The little baker shook his head sadly. "I'm sorry, Mr. Karp, I've had quite enough of human beings blaming their own evil behavior on 'higher authorities,' whether it's God, or the Führer, or Osama bin Laden. We are each responsible for our actions. We can refuse to do evil in some other name, or we are just as guilty. Unless we are so incapable of reasoning that we are no more than a beast in the fields that does not know that killing the farmer's sheep is wrong, then we are responsible. And those of us who watch the slaughter are just as guilty if we do nothing to make them accountable."

"We are each guilty of the good we did not do," Karp said, recalling a similar conversation with his daughter.

"Voltaire," said Sobelman. He held out his hand to say goodbye, exposing the old tattoo on his forearm. He noticed Karp's eyes drift to the mark. "Do you know where your family came from ... in the old country?" he asked Karp.

Karp nodded. "Yes, Poland."

"Indeed, and have you ever heard of a place called Sobibor?"

"It sounds familiar," Karp replied, "but I couldn't tell you why."

"Perhaps, then, someday I will tell you why you should know the name," Sobelman said. "But it is a long story, and I've already disturbed the Sabbath."

"No, not at all," Karp replied. "You are kind and too generous. Please, give my thanks again to Goldie. We'll have to have you to our home when this trial is over."

"We'd enjoy that," Sobelman said. "Now, my bride awaits and I must be off."

Karp turned for his own home and, he hoped, his bride. He was disappointed that neither she nor the twins were home, the latter mostly because he wanted their help with the Internet.

An admitted computer caveman, and somewhat proud of the distinction, he at last located a search engine and looked up Sobibor. After reading for an hour, he glanced at the clock. He wanted to call Moishe Sobelman but knew he would not pick up the phone on the Sabbath until after sundown.