The Fifth Servant (52 page)

           
They saw the fire, and charged the mob with butcher knives and torches held high, raising a fierce battle cry.

           
The no-goodniks looked upon their foes and froze.

           
The moment had arrived.

           
While our enemies readied themselves for the frontal assault, my four comrades and I belted out a war cry and attacked from the side.

           
Torches blazed and smoked, blades swished and slashed, hooks caught slivers of bleeding flesh, and the invaders soon decided that they didn’t want to die for a handful of melted silver.

           
The
Judenschläger
taunted us as they retreated, saying that they had taught us a lesson so we wouldn’t hold up our heads so high the next time we saw them coming.

           
We used the hooks to pull down the bonfire, then we kicked the logs around in the mud and smothered the flames with the oxhides.

           
The
Judenschläger
withdrew through the shattered door, but said they’d be back tomorrow with a hundred men for every man who was here with them today. Right after Easter Mass at Our Lady of Terezín, which ends at midday.

           
I said that the municipal authorities had given us until sundown on Easter Day.

           
And they said that
they
were giving us until midday.

           
I asked the sergeant if we could at least recover the body of our friend.

           
“No. He had illegal weapons on him. He was a lawbreaker, so we will leave him for the birds.”

           
And that’s exactly what they did.

           
Rabbi Loew stepped out of the narrow confines of the stairwell that had served as his refuge during the mayhem and surveyed the damage. The mob had completely gutted a couple of shops and torn up a couple more, going through them for what ever they could scavenge, not exactly working with a fine-toothed comb.

           
“What should we do, Rabbi?” I asked.

           
“We do as Rabbi Hillel said. We close the gates, and we do not rely on a miracle.”

CHAPTER 27

           
ERIKA’S HEART WAS TWITTERING like a hummingbird’s as she hurried down the Langergasse with the name of her beloved clutched in her fist. She could feel the force of the magic writing surging through her palm, as if the ink itself were pulsating with power.

           
Why wasn’t that butcher girl working for a rich and influential burgher?
she wondered. With all her knowledge of word writing and such, why was Anya Cervenka still working for Meisel, that Jew? How could she stand being that
close
to them? Of course, the master’s wife always looked very kindly upon the Jews, but she was an ignorant cow who obviously didn’t know any better. Anya was
smart
.

           
Master Kopecky’s private chambers were growing cold, so he was receiving visitors while propped up in his large ceremonial bed in the sitting room, wrapped in a velvet gown and several layers of soft woolen blankets. The two
Reiters
paced around in their muddy boots, describing some street fight they had witnessed with great passion and glee, laughing and swearing and punching the air with their fists to punctuate their story.

           
“But in all fairness, those Jews put up a pretty good fight.”

           
“They did all right.”

           
“I think they defended themselves bravely.”

           
“Ha! We’ll see how brave they are tomorrow.”

           
Erika rolled her eyes at the thought of the Jews distinguishing themselves at anything besides devilry and theft.

           
She stole into the larder at her first opportunity, set a candle on the table, and finally let her fingers open like the petals of a newborn daisy. Her palms were a little moist, so the paper stuck to her skin and she had to peel it away. She hoped that it would still burn the way it was supposed to. She smoothed the paper, caressing it with her fingertips as if it were her lover’s skin, then held it up before the flame so the light would pass through and bathe the name of her beloved with a golden glow. She could feel her pulse pounding between her thumb and forefinger, but the bit of paper barely trembled as she moved it closer and finally let it dip into the white-hot center of the flame. The paper went up in a flash, and stuck to her fingers as she tried to shake it loose.

           
The door swung open as the last stubborn bit of the paper flew from her fingers and fluttered to the floor in a swirl of smoke and ash.

           
The other maids laughed at her, and told her to get busy churning the cream for the master’s supper.

           
She followed the maids back to the kitchen and poured the cream into a big porcelain bowl. She found a whisk and started stirring the cream with it. But when the cook sent her back to the larder for some more sugar, she took the long way around so she could peek into the master’s sitting room. And on the way back, the long-awaited miracle occurred.

           
“Who’s puttering around out there?” said Master Kopecky.

           
She stepped into the doorway, turning slightly to show off her profile. “It is I, my lord. How may I be of service?”

           
The master needed a moment to think about that. “What have you got in your hand?”

           
“Sugar, my lord. For the whipped cream.”

           
“Is that what you’re supposed to be doing now?”

           
“Yes, my lord.”

           
He told her to go to the kitchen, get the bowl of cream, and bring it back with her. He said his wife wouldn’t be back from church for at least another hour and he wanted someone to keep him company while he read.

           
Some wife
, she thought. Erika could hear everything through the walls, and she knew that the master and his lady’s conjugalities were so infrequent that their marriage was barely valid under German common law as far as she was concerned. Now, if
she
were in her lady’s place, well, things would be a lot different.

           
She sat down by his bedside and stirred the cream until it started to thicken. She stuck her finger in the bowl and licked the cream off it. It still needed more sugar. She poured some in and kept stirring.

           
The master read to her from an old book of pious stories, choosing a cautionary tale in verse about a group of villainous Jews who lived off foul usury and villainy.

           
“Our first foe, the serpent Satanas, That hath in Jews’ hearts his wasp’s nest,” he began, as she beat the cream harder.

           
These Jews conspired to stamp out the world’s innocence, one child at a time.

           
“This cursed Jew seized a child and held him fast, And cut his throat and in a pit him cast.”

           
She stuck her finger in the bowl and licked the cream off again. It still needed more whipping.

           
“I say that in a privy they him threw—”

           
She drew in a breath and felt herself blush.

           
“What’s the matter?” he asked. “The word
privy
?”

           
“Ooh, my virgin ears,” she said, playing at being bashful.

           
He smiled at her little game.

           
“Interesting,” he said, leaning in for a closer look. “Tell me, what other virgin orifices do you have?”

           
She stopped stirring the cream, stuck in her finger and slowly licked off the sweet, heavy cream. It was ready to eat.

           
A few moments later, the master opened a small drawer in the bedside table and took out a shiny silver band. He offered it to her and promised that there would be more.

           
Then his voice became a bit earthier, as if his tongue had thickened, and he said, “And now, as they say in the Good Book, the wolf shall lie down with the lamb.”

CHAPTER 28

           
“I’M GOING TO HELL, aren’t I?” said Anya.

           
“There are worse places,” I said.

           
“Like where Yankev is right now?”

           
“Don’t worry. I’m sure that we’ll be able to bail out your boyfriend one way or another.”

           
She sucked in her breath with an audible
huh!

           
“How did you know?” she whispered.

           
“Some things can’t be hidden.”

           
She lowered her eyes. The paving stones had been torn up to build the barricades, leaving the street full of mud puddles.

           
“I can’t go back home now,” she said. “You know that, right?”

           
I nodded. I was well aware of what she had given up for us, and I saw the despair in her face reflected in the puddles. I needed to ask what she had learned about the Janeks, but that could wait another minute. My heart was telling me to put my hand on her shoulder, but I had to draw it back again.

           
I said, “I want you to know that God will reward you for this, and that He will love you more than the rest of the nation of Israel.”

           
“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

           
“No, it’s in the Midrash. It says the Jews had to witness the parting of the Red Sea and the thunder and lightning at Mount Sinai in order to accept the Torah. But the convert who saw none of these things, yet chooses to accept the Torah, is dearer to God than His own Chosen People.”

           
“Do you really think there’s room in this world for two people like Yankev and me?”

           
“Of course there is. Maybe deep in the Ukraine somewhere, but there’s got to be a place for you out there. You didn’t…uh…?”

           
“No, we didn’t.”

           
“Good. That makes it easier.”

           
“He said I was forbidden fruit.”

           
“Right. And we all remember what happened the last time.”

           
She rewarded me with a smile, then she gathered a handful of material from my mud-spattered cloak and rolled it between her thumb and forefinger. “Why don’t you come with me to Meisel’s house and we’ll get all this mud washed off your clothes?”

           
“And what am I supposed to wear while waiting for them to dry? I don’t have anything else—”

           
Someone was knocking on the East Gate.

           
“Who goes there?” barked the watchman. But he took one look through the peephole and rushed to unbar the small door, which creaked open to let in two broken women. Freyde and Julie Federn barely had the strength to step over the sill and limp through the door, clutching each other for support. They looked like the emaciated figures in a Christian painting of the Last Judgment.

           
Something else was odd about their appearance, and it took me a moment to realize that Julie’s eyebrows were missing, and that the outline of her head beneath her kerchief was far too smooth, which meant that it must have been shaved completely bald.

           
We rushed over to help. Anya took Julie’s arm and swung it over her shoulder like a girl who was used to carry ing heavy cuts of meat, and Freyde practically collapsed in my arms.

           
Since their home had been looted and burned, we brought Freyde and Julie to Rabbi Loew’s house, where the remaining servants took them in. I followed close behind, but Rabbi Loew pulled me aside and told me to go out and call the people to shul for the
minkhe
services.

           
“But I need to hear what the women have to say.”

           
“It is better for them to be with other women right now. Besides, your duties as shammes are more important.”

           
He said that because the afternoon service on Shabbes is the holiest moment of the week, when the
Riboyne shel Oylem
pays the closest attention to our prayers. So I made my rounds as fast as I could, going from door to door and knocking only twice instead of three times to let people know that there had been a death—Acosta’s death. And behind all those closed doors, I heard tears and comforting voices, prayers for salvation, and parents making hasty marriage arrangements for their young children in case they didn’t live to see the day themselves.