Jacob's Oath (24 page)

“A what?”

“A demure maiden. A coy damsel. A bashful maid.”

“Exactly. So?”

“So? What?”

“So, will you marry me?”

Jacob lay naked on the bed, propped up against the pillow. He considered Sarah through
half-closed eyes. He was thinking, There’s a slight stirring, please, please, God
in heaven, give me an erection this time. “Isn’t the man supposed to ask?”

“What man?”

Jacob closed his eyes and half-smiled. He nodded, as if all had been revealed. He
turned onto his side and slid under the blanket and with a sigh laid his head on the
pillow.

Sarah undressed and got into bed. “Jacob, you’ve gone all silent. What is it? Are
you all right?”

Jacob wriggled away from her.

“Jacob. What is it? You don’t want to marry me? It’s all right, I was only joking.
Come here.” She snuggled against his back. “I’m cold,” she said, hugging him. “Do
you just want to go to sleep?”

No, he didn’t. He wanted to make love. But he felt nothing, the brain’s message had
gone AWOL. It didn’t reach its destination. They lay there, Sarah hugging Jacob from
behind. Finally he murmured, “Why do you want to marry me?”

Sarah smiled and whispered into his ear. “My mother always wanted me to marry a Jew.”

“But why me?”

She couldn’t help herself. “Because you’re the only Jew.”

Jacob laughed out loud and turned around suddenly. “Now that’s a good one,” he said,
“I like your mom.” Now Sarah went quiet, and Jacob said, “Sorry. I’m sure I would
have. Tell me about her. Would you?”

Sarah sighed. “Or later,” Jacob said. “It doesn’t matter.” They lay face-to-face,
holding each other’s naked body, and they kissed, and with his index finger Jacob
traced the tear that traveled down Sarah’s cheek, following the curve, and dripping
to the pillow, and another one that followed. He smiled gently and kissed the corner
of her eye. “Salty,” he whispered. Sarah nodded and tried to smile. She kissed the
tip of his nose and his lips and he kissed her back. Jacob’s hand followed the line
of her back to the silky down of her bottom and caressed it until Sarah gently pulled
his hand away.

“She loved to knit and embroider,” she said. “Every evening after dinner she sat by
the window. Socks, gloves, pullovers. Tiny ones in bright colors, with little animals
on the collars, deer, ducks, or roses. She always said to me and Ruth, it’s for your
babies. She always said, ‘B’zrat ha Shem,’ with God’s help, that’s about as religious
as she was. She wanted so much for us to be married and happy, to be a grandma. And
now she’s gone. And Ruth, too. And Daddy. Maybe it’s better that way. She would be
so disappointed.”

Sarah began to weep and Jacob held her to him. He whispered into her ear, “Disappointed?
Why? She would never be disappointed. Sarah … I love you. Of course I want to marry
you. Will you marry me? Please? I love you, my baby Sarah, I love you,” and he stroked
her hair and caressed her body as she wept in his arms and she cried out loud, “You
don’t understand,” and Jacob said he did and she cried, “No, you don’t, you really
don’t.” Jacob hugged her and kissed her and as they were folded into each other he
felt himself stir and harden and he pressed and moved against her until she opened
her legs and he probed and pushed inside her, all the way, as far as he could, and
they rocked slowly together as she sobbed in his arms, until the sobs turned to moans
that merged with his.

“Sorry,” Sarah said.

“No, no. That was beautiful, the most beautiful ever.” Jacob was lying on his back,
Sarah on her side, snuggling against him as he held her close, his hand cupping her
breast. They lay in silence, as their breathing quieted and the heaving of their chests
slowed until the sheet barely rose, and even the rhythm of their breathing was as
one and they fell into the deepest of sleeps.

It was dark when Jacob jolted awake. One arm was numb, under Sarah’s body. He extricated
himself and wiped his brow. He was sweating. He breathed in deeply and blew out all
the air, as if trying to banish the thoughts that had awoken him so harshly: What
was that in his dream? It left him feeling ashamed of himself, humiliated. The Rat?
Maxie. Outside … he was helping Maxie carry something, the Rat was shouting, he said
to Jacob, If you’re so strong, you carry it. He’d flicked his whip at Maxie, who screamed
and fell to the ground, and Jacob took the full weight of the bag of earth. Yes, that’s
it. Hans was making the two of them carry a bag of earth up and down in the snow,
from the trees to the first line of huts. For no reason, the bastard, the filthy scumbag.
Maxie collapsed. Naked, that’s it. He was naked. Hans had made Jacob strip naked in
the snow too and carry the huge bag of earth alone, there and back, sinking into the
snow to his knees, stumbling and clawing at the ground until he, too, had collapsed,
barely able to breathe, gasping for every breath, rasping and croaking, his lungs
exploding, sweating like a pig in the ice, with Hans cursing him and lashing out with
his lethal leather whip and missing him by centimeters.

Maxie was lying in the snow, vomiting blood, watching his big brother, who was naked
and screaming for mercy.

Was it a just a nightmare? Did it happen? Jacob tried to remember. It had all been
so horrific it didn’t seem possible anymore. Did these things really happen? Oh yes.
That was nothing. Nothing at all. Just one more day in the sick mind of the Rat. Yes,
Jacob remembered now. Of course it happened, and worse things happened every day.

A wave of humiliation and shame and hatred washed over Jacob. He edged away from Sarah.
If she knew. If she knew. It made him sick to think of her knowing what the Rat had
done to him. I have to kill him, Jacob thought, I’ll go mad if I don’t.

He heard Sarah’s gentle, peaceful breathing, saw her chest rise and fall, looked at
her relaxed face, her closed eyes. He had stroked her tears away. Kissed those eyes
when they were clenched in ecstasy. And now she rested.

I’ll never tell her what happened there.

He laughed to himself. She really did say it, didn’t she? She asked me to marry her.
He laughed aloud, and turned, hoping not to have awakened her. In his home, sleep
had been holy. If someone was sleeping, everyone had to tiptoe and whisper. And food.
No talking at mealtimes. That was holy too. Sleep and eat, work and study, that had
been the family rhythm, until Mutti died. Jacob tried to see her face. He couldn’t,
he had no memory of how his mother looked, and all the photos were gone, as far as
he knew. He would gladly have given everything, even his home, for some photos. He
had nothing left. Nothing. It was as if his family had been swallowed by the universe.
Gone. Where? If only he believed.

He should go to the Bergers, maybe they would have something.

He looked at Sarah again as she slept, and turned onto his side so that he could watch
her. She was facing him, her mouth slightly open. She was dribbling, there was a damp
spot on the pillow by her lips. What has happened to us? Damp spots from dribble;
from tears; from sex. He smiled, full of love. He hoped nothing would change, but
who knows, he thought. He had lost everything. She had lost everything. Now they had
found each other. And in a world where everything can change in an instant, you hold
on to what you have as hard as you can. Sarah wouldn’t even throw away a crust of
bread, let alone a paper bag. She hoarded everything. A phrase ran through his mind,
again and again: You have nothing, I have nothing, let’s have nothing together.

And then it occurred to him: If I kill Hans, will I lose Sarah? The thought left him
breathless.

Could he really kill him and get away with it? What could they do to him? They could
put him to death, that’s what. Who would look after Sarah? What would she do? Where
would she go? He snorted. Why would they catch him? He’d plan it properly, he’d be
careful, and if, God forbid, there was a chance of getting caught he’d go straight
to the Amis and confess. Better the Americans than getting beaten to death by German
prison guards, they’re all Nazis anyway. That’s it, any danger, straight to the Americans.
How can they punish a Jewish concentration camp survivor who killed his SS guard,
after they hear what he did to Maxie?

But for sure, he thought, don’t get caught by the Germans.

TWENTY-TWO

Heidelberg,
June 3, 1945

The next day, and the next, and the next, Jacob went to his café down the street from
the Schwartzer Bock hotel. He didn’t want to draw attention by sitting for hours,
so sometimes he walked slowly up and down, until the third morning, when the café
owner approached him. “Lost your wallet, have you?” he said. “Don’t worry, you can
sit here as long as you like, makes us look busy. Empty tables are bad for business.”
Jacob laughed and ordered a coffee. The owner joined him with a cup of tea and a plate
of cookies, “Baked by the gracious lady”—his wife. There was no German newspaper yet
but the owner didn’t need one, he knew all the gossip. “There’s a new tax on dogs,
can you believe it?” He shook his head as if to say, losing a war is bad enough, but
a dog tax? Two members of the Hitler Youth were shot for spying. Don’t they know it’s
all over? Thank God. He was short on rolls, there wasn’t enough coal for the bakeries
to bake bread. The good news was that the railway line to Frankfurt was running again,
two trains a day, there and back. The Maggi soup cubes factory had reopened and was
hiring. City hall was looking for garbage workers, cemetery staff, and kindergarten
teachers. “Do you need a job?” he asked Jacob.

“Not yet. But I will soon.” He hoped the owner, Karl-Friedrich, wouldn’t ask any more
questions and he didn’t. He was too busy in his role as town crier. Former prisoners
of war had to register within two days or they wouldn’t get any ration cards, and
if men didn’t report for work they could be arrested. “We need every hand there is
to rebuild, especially the bridges. Jews, too,” he said, “if there are any. Not that
they know what work is.”

“Why, don’t Jews want to work?” Jacob asked.

Karl-Friedrich snorted. “Why, did they ever?”

Jacob laughed. What he wanted to say, but didn’t, was Fuck you. What Jews? First you
try to wipe us out, now you want us to rebuild your country. Build your own bloody
bridge. Instead, he changed the subject.

“What else is going on?”

“There’s a busload of Jews coming soon, from Theresienstadt.”

Jacob froze.

“Eighteen. Eighteen too many. And did you know there are six thousand Russian workers
here? Workers, that’s a joke. You know what the Russians say? A cigarette shortens
your life by two hours. A vodka by three hours. And a day’s work by eight hours. Ha!”
He slapped the table. “That’s a good one! They’re all going back home, not that they
want to. I wouldn’t either. Better off here, except there’s no room.”

Theresienstadt? Where’s that?

“There’s a new curfew time too, from tomorrow. At home by nine thirty instead of six
thirty. Better for business.” Karl-Friedrich drained his cup and stood. “Well, back
to the grindstone. Nice talking to you. What did you say your name was?”

Jacob’s jaw dropped, he went rigid.
There’s the Rat!
His neck hair stood, like a cat before a Doberman. As if in a trance, eyes fixed
on Hans, Jacob pulled a note from his pocket and held it above the table before putting
it down.
At last.
His heart raced. Three men, about the same age, had come out of the hotel door and
were walking up the street toward the café, on the other side of the road. The Rat
was in the middle, the tallest. They all wore hats. “Thank you,” Jacob said with a
wavering voice and started walking, slowly, allowing the three men across the street
to overtake him. The café owner looked after him and shook his head, as if he had
another good story to tell, about the man who saw a ghost.

Jacob kept thirty meters behind. He had stopped trembling, but although they were
just ambling along, now he was almost panting, short, shallow breaths, and when the
Rat turned to look at something Jacob looked away so sharply he felt his neck creak.
He realized: That bastard still scares the life out of me. Could he have his leather
whip under his coat? A pistol? He hadn’t considered that before. Of course, he’d have
a weapon, maybe a knife. Could the other two be bodyguards? No, he wasn’t that senior.
They all walked the same. Confident. Rolling along. Military? But then, what young
man isn’t these days? Friends? Maybe, he’ll find out soon enough. Just don’t be seen.

In Heidelberg all roads lead to Hauptstrasse. They entered the long main street but
took a left after two hundred meters. Jacob almost lost them. He’d heard somewhere
that people have a sixth sense and that if you look at them for a long time they’ll
feel it, even if you’re behind them. So don’t stare at them, keep them at the edge
of your vision and even then, not all of the time.

Also, when people walk on the long main street, the assumption is they’ll keep going
straight. After taking his eyes off their backs for twenty seconds, Jacob was shocked
not to see them. He scanned the people walking in both directions, disappearing behind
moving jeeps, going into shops and coming out. He quickened his steps, cursing himself,
looking into the shops, into the yards of the houses, until he came to the left turn
and there the three men were, fifty meters away, walking on the left hand side. It
was a quiet side street, so Jacob kept a greater distance, but this time he didn’t
take his eyes from them. When they turned onto another main street and followed it
for half a kilometer, Jacob had an idea where they were headed, and he was right.
That was why they were dressed so well. Coats, hats, proper trousers. They wanted
something.

The police station. A thought flashed into Jacob’s mind, to be dismissed as fast as
it came. Denounce them. Go into the station and shout, “He’s a Nazi, SS, a prison
guard, a murderer, arrest him now!” Yeah, right. When that didn’t work, go to city
hall, fill out a complaint form, and stick it up your ass.