Monday the Rabbi Took Off (20 page)

“You mean you were so sick?” the rabbi persisted.

“No. I mean that the Russians – may the sun stop shining on them – left me for dead. That the spark had not actually gone out is a minor detail that they overlooked. It’s a national characteristic with the Russians – may all their children be girls – to overlook minor details. Their machinery frequently doesn’t run because they cannot be concerned with minor details like oil or even small parts that drop off. As they say. it’s only a little part and it’s such a big machine. Officially. I was dead.”

“This was during the war?” Stedman asked, picking up the lead.

“World War Two. Because I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I found myself in a concentration camp. The rest of the camp was made up of Poles mostly and a few Russians. I was the only Jew.” His voice suddenly became dry and didactic like a professor lecturing a class. He spoke in Yiddish. “The Germans are efficient. When they are engaged in a sadistic cruelty, they do it efficiently.

But the Russian is inefficient. Much of the time, his cruelty comes from his negligence and inefficiency. He tends to forget minor details like food or the clothing and shelter needed to face a Russian winter.

“I was an educated man, and there weren’t many there. I was a mechanic, an engineer. Nevertheless. I was put to rough work, unskilled work out of doors. In the first month I lost fifty pounds. The only thing that sustained me was the knowledge that we were due for a visit from the district medical officer. He checked on the health of the prisoners, and it was on his decision that we were assigned to various details, inside or outside, or worst of all, the Forestry Detail. And he was a Jew.”

Memavet tilted his head back and closed his eyes. “I can see him now: Dr. Rasnikov of Pinsk. scientist and good party member, the new breed of Jew in the Socialist paradise. You wouldn’t believe what it cost me for the chance to see him, but I managed it. just long enough to tell him I was a Jew and that if I were continued at the outside work. I would be dead in a month. I was sick and running a fever, and the only shoes I had were a couple of pieces of cloth I had torn from my coat and wrapped around my feet. He didn’t answer me. only stared. And I withdrew. It was enough. I didn’t expect him to answer.

But he would remember my face. He could not answer because it was dangerous for him. too.

“The next day we were lined up5 and he walked along the line, putting a hand to a forehead of one. ordering another to open his mouth wide, taking the pulse of a third. That was the medical examination. An aide had a list and called off the names and then noted down his recommendation beside each name. He came to me. looked me over, and then said to the aide. ‘Forestry Detail.1

“This Forestry Detail was engaged in clearing a road through the forest by chopping down trees, clearing out brush, piling up logs. Because you were working in a forest where it was theoretically possible to escape, the discipline was brutal. Small groups worked in marked-off areas. If you stepped outside the line, you were shot. You were led out on the double before dawn, and you worked until after the sun set and then marched back to camp. Anyone who couldn’t keep up was beaten, and then if he still could not keep up, he was shot. Every day fewer came back than went out.

“I managed for three days, and then on the fourth when we were being marched back to camp, I slipped and fell. It had begun to snow, and they were racing us back against the storm when I fell. The guard kicked me and ordered me to get up. I tried. How I tried! I got to my knees only to collapse again. Another guard shouted back to the one who was standing over me to hurry up. Again he ordered me to get up, and when I could not. he pointed his rifle at me. Again the other guard shouted, and my man pulled the trigger of his rifle with as little concern as if I had been a rabbit scurrying across an open field.”

“He shot you?”

“He shot me, and I don’t suppose he wasted another glance at me. If the shot were not fatal. I would freeze to death – if the wolves didn’t get me first. He would report the matter back at camp, and the next day they would send out a burial detail to bring me in. It’s a curious thing, but do you know the last thought that ran through my mind before I lost consciousness? It was, now will Dr. Rasnikov think I was fit for the Forestry Detail?”

“But you obviously did not die.” said Stedman.

“It was a superficial wound, and maybe the cold congealed the blood. Anyway. I was found by an old peasant woman who was out gathering firewood. She kept me hidden and fed me until I was able to travel. It took me more than a year to get here, and believe me. many a time I regretted that the shot had not been fatal.”

“Then here, here it must be a paradise for you.” Stedman said with emotion.

Memavet’s face relaxed in a horrible grimace of a smile. “After you’ve been dead, my friend, you just live from day to day.” His voice suddenly became brisk and businesslike, and he shifted to English. “Come here tonight at seven, and I’ll probably have a car for you. Don’t fail. A good buy doesn’t wait.”

Outside Roy asked. “What was that long rigmarole in Yiddish? Was he telling you the story of his life?”

“No, the story of his death,” said the rabbi.

“Oh, yeah?” He saw that the rabbi was smiling and assumed it was an example of rabbinic humor. “Well.” He was at a loss how to respond. He turned to his father. “Look, I got to split now. Do I meet you at the same place tonight?”

“Oh, I have no intention of coming back tonight,” said Stedman.

“But, Dad –”

“If I return tonight.” the elder Stedman went on. “he’ll see that we’re interested and I’ll pay through the nose.”

“But –”

“He has my name, and he knows where to reach me. If he gets something, you can be sure he’ll call.”

Seeing that Roy was obviously disappointed, the rabbi stepped into the breach.

“Your father is coming to Sabbath dinner Friday evening.” he said. “Mrs. Small and I would be pleased if you would also come. Roy.”

“Well, thanks. Sure. I guess I could make it.” he said.

As they strolled along after Roy had left, the rabbi remarked. “That was quite a story that Memavet told us.”

“It was.” said Dan. “and I have it all on tape.”

“You taped it? Then this expedition was not to buy a car?”

“Oh, I came for a car all right, but I thought it might make sense to have a record of our conversation. If there’s any hanky panky about the deal – if he’s peddling hot cars, for example – then the tape would show that my hands are clean.”

The rabbi nodded. They walked in silence for a while, and then the rabbi said reflectively. “It’s quite a story, but the man’s name suggests that it’s probably true.”

“Oh, I’m sure it’s true, at least he thinks it is. But it’s not as unusual as you seem to think. Rabbi. Here in Israel, everyone has a story. Either they fled from the Nazis, or they fought the Arabs. Practically everyone is alive as a result of a minor miracle. Miracles are part of the climate here.”

Dr. Ben Ami. a big. stocky bear of a man. parked his Volkswagen against the embankment, extricated himself from behind the wheel together with his bulky doctor’s bag in one fluid motion born of long practice, and then realized that the Adoumi apartment was dark. He stopped to consider for a moment and then walked up the street a few paces to check the area between 2 and 4 Kol Tov Street where Avner Adoumi usually parked his car. It was not there. He was quite sure that his patient. Sarah Adoumi. had not left the house. She had probably dozed off before dark, and her husband had not yet returned.

He could ring the bell, and that would awaken her. After all. he was expected, and perhaps she was not asleep but merely resting. On the other hand, he felt a certain reluctance about examining her when her husband was not present. It was almost seven, and Avner would no doubt be along in a few minutes. Perhaps it would be best to wait.

Then he remembered his other patient, a certain Memavet whom he had never treated before, only the next street over at 1 Mazel Tov Street. Probably a minor upper respiratory infection from what he had said over the telephone. Aspirin, rest, perhaps a cough syrup to relieve the throat irritation. He could be out of there in ten or fifteen minutes, and by that time Adoumi would be home. And he rather liked the idea of ending up his day at the Adoumis. He could take his time, have a glass of tea and some friendly talk before going on home.

Rather than get into his car and turn around in the narrow, muddy street, he set off down the alley between the embankment and the houses. It was dark and he swept his flashlight ahead of him to light his way.

Halfway down he stood quite still and thought hard. Then he retraced his steps. There was a public phone in the lobby of the apartment house, and he rang Adoumi’ s office number.

“Avner? Ben Ami. I’m here at your house, in the lobby. I mean, No. I haven’t seen Sarah yet. The house is dark, so I guess she dozed off… . No, I thought I’d wait until you got home. But there’s something important I have to tell you. No. I’d rather not over the phone.

How soon will you be home?… . Half an hour? That’s all right… No. it’s quite all right. I have another patient in the next block. I’ll see him first.”

At the corner of Shalom Avenue and Mazel Tov Street, Roy Stedman paused and looked at his watch. It was almost seven o’clock.

It was a cloudy, misty night, and now it began to rain. He turned up his coat collar and trudged down the street. He came to Memavet’s house. There was no car there, new or used; there was no car anywhere on the street. His watch still showed a few minutes before seven, so he waited.

By quarter past, there was still no car, and he was quite certain that none would come.

He crossed the street and was about to ring the bell when a man came out of the apartment and carefully closed the door behind him. He looked at Roy in surprise.

Roy saw the black bag. “Oh, you must be the doctor. I’ve got to see Mr. Memavet.”

“That’s right. I am his doctor. Mr. Memavet is not well. He’s in bed and I don’t want him disturbed. Besides, I’ve just put him to bed and given him a shot. He’d have to get out of bed to open the door.”

“Oh, yeah, well in that case, I guess I can come back tomorrow morning.”

“Yes.”

“Well, I guess I might as well go. Er – good night.”

“Good night.”

Roy started up the street. He looked back and saw the doctor standing there, watching him. Halfway up the street he looked back again, and this time the doctor was gone. Roy stopped and then turned and retraced his steps.

The explosion was not loud. Save for the gaping hole in the wall of the Memavet apartment and a few broken windows property damage was not great. But unlike the explosion in which Professor Carmi had lost his life a couple of months earlier, because it was early in the evening, a large crowd had gathered, drawn by the noise of the fire engines, if not by the sound of the explosion itself, and the police were hard put to cordon off the area.

Again, the reaction to the death of the old man was quite different from that to the death of the professor. After Carmi’s death, there had been speculation in the press about why he in particular had been selected. And after a few days, it had come out that he was engaged in important agricultural research which might have resulted in a remarkable increase in the yield of certain types of ground crops. The papers had been vague about the precise nature of his research, and while one paper had announced authoritatively that he was engaged in investigating a new miracle fertilizer, another announced equally authoritatively that his work involved using brackish water to open up for cultivation thousands of acres that were now considered useless. In any case, it was generally accepted that he was an important scientist whose death was a major blow to Israel.

But Memavet was not anyone important and was not engaged in anything that could either help or hurt Israel. And this was all the more infuriating because it meant that the bombing was a senseless and meaningless taking of life.

There were other reactions stemming from the irony of the situation as revealed by the statement of the doctor who had visited him just shortly before the explosion. Dr. Ben Ami’s statement to the police was widely quoted in the press:

“He was a new patient who had chosen me from the Kupat Cholim list because I lived nearby. I suppose. I had a full schedule of patients for the day even though it was the Sabbath. Sickness keeps no Sabbath, you know. But I was able to squeeze him in since I had another patient in the next street and I was early for my appointment. It was just luck that I was able to see him at all. I got there a little before seven. I rang the bell, and he called to me to come in. that the door was open. He had a bad cold and had been coughing a great deal. He had not slept, for several nights, he said. I gave him something to relieve the irritation in the throat and a hypodermic to let him get some much-needed sleep. I saw to it that he went to bed, and then I turned off the light, locked the door and left, planning to look in on him again in the morning. But evidently he did not fall asleep immediately. He must have got up a little later to get a glass of brandy from the bottle on the living-room shelf. Had he stayed in bed. he would have been alive today, I’m sure, since the main force of the explosion occurred in the living room and his bedroom window was not even broken.”

“Imagine, he calls the doctor, gets treated right then and there, and the doctor even sees to it that he goes to bed. Believe me. my doctor wouldn’t take the trouble. He looks at you and writes a prescription, and he’s gone. You want to talk to him. to ask him some questions? He’s too busy. Five minutes – that’s his limit. And where you’re going to get a prescription filled on the Sabbath, or any night after seven, that’s no concern of his. So after all that, the poor devil gets up to pour a drink for himself – and bang!”

“How do they know he got up to get a drink?”

“That was in the papers. I saw it in Hamaariv. He still had the bottle in his hand when they found him. The way they figured it, the force of the explosion knocked him against this marble shelf he had in the living room. So he must have been standing near it. Smashed his skull.”