One Fine Day the Rabbi Bought a Cross (20 page)

“Prof? Ah, professor. You mean he was your teacher? And where was that?”

“Northhaven. It's a small college not far from Barnard's Crossing, about twenty miles north.”

“And you knew him, you knew him to talk to?”

“Yeah, I knew him, all right. Hey, what's this all about?”

“We need to establish his identity—”

“And he says he's somebody else?”

“He doesn't say. He's dead.”

“Dead? You mean here in Jerusalem? What was he doing here?”

“His presence here surprises you?”

“Yeah, kind of. See, he was Jewish, but you know, like pro-Arab. Unless he came to see some—”

“Some of his Arab friends?” Adoumi suggested.

“Well …”

Adoumi smiled. “Something tells me you didn't like him.”

Ish-Tov, now relaxed, said, “Well, I wouldn't call him one of my favorite people. In fact, I had a little run-in with him. See, I was on a scholarship and he was chairman of the Scholarship Committee. He took away my scholarship and I had to leave school. I think it was because I was Jewish.”

“I see. Well, if you'll come down to police headquarters at the Russian Compound tomorrow—”

“What for?”

“You'll be taken to the morgue to identify this Professor Grenish.”

“Oh, no, you don't. I'm not going looking at dead bodies.”

“Mr. Goodman,” said Adoumi firmly, “the State requires it.” His tone softened. “There's nothing frightening about it. The body is covered with a sheet. The top will be lifted. You will look, and then say if it is or is not Professor Grenish. That's all there is to it.”

“Well, if you say it's important …”

“I assure you it's most important. So tomorrow you will present yourself to police headquarters at nine. If I am not there, ask for Captain Luria. Oh, and bring your passport.”

“Why do I have to bring my passport?”

“To prove that you're you, of course.”

“What did he want?” Yitzchak whispered. “Was it about filling in the trench?”

They were standing at a small pulpitlike table with the large volume of the Talmud they were sharing. There were more than a dozen such pairs at similar tables in the room, swaying back and forth, gyrating as they read the text aloud.

“Naw, he just wanted me to identify some guy from my hometown. He showed me a picture—you know, a photograph of the guy. I got to go to police headquarters tomorrow to make like a formal statement. Hey, Yossi is looking at us.”

“So what? He can't hear what we're saying with all these guys yammering away.”

“You're wrong. He's like an orchestra conductor who can tell just which violin is playing flat.”

“Okay, so later.”

Later, in response to his friend's question, he said, “They had me look at the body. I guess, for official purposes, you can't just look at a photograph.”

“Gee, wasn't it scary? What did he look like?”

“Like—like he was asleep. He was covered, see? So they just pulled this sheet off his face and asked me if I recognized him. And I said yes, that it was Professor Grenish, and then they covered him again.”

“Gee, I wouldn't have, if it had been me. I wouldn't even have gone into the room where he was on account of I'm a Kohane and I'm not supposed to be in the presence of a dead body.”

“They could make you.”

“Oh, yeah? If they tried it, every rabbi in the country and all the religious, too, would be up in arms. That kind of thing could overthrow the government.”

“Sure, and maybe they'd make you prime minister. Anyway, they asked me a lot of questions, and then they typed it up and asked me to sign it.”

“Was it this same Adoumi guy?”

“No, it was a cop in a uniform. Then they took my passport—”

“They took your passport? What did they do that for? What's your passport got to do with identifying somebody?”

“Oh, he said they'd send it along in a day or two. And kind of jokingly, that they might need to ask some more questions, and they wanted to make sure I didn't decide on taking a trip to America just then.”

“You know, Yehoshua, I don't like it. Without a passport, you're nothing. If you should want to leave the country—say, you want to go home—”

“I'm not planning to leave the country.”

“Yes, but even if you were to go to Tel Aviv or Haifa and wanted to stay over, you might have trouble getting a room in a hotel. This guy Adoumi, how'd he get on to you in the first place? How'd he know you were from Barnard's Crossing and could identify this guy?”

“Oh, he said this Rabbi Small who came to see me told him.”

“So how did he get on to
him
? How did he know he was from Barnard's Crossing?”

“I don't know. I sort of gathered that he knew him.”

“You know what I'd do if I were you, Yehoshua? I'd call this Rabbi Small and I'd ask him what gives.”

“Yeah, maybe I will.”

“… So he said I had to look at the body itself, that identifying the photo was not enough.”

“That's reasonable,” said the rabbi. “And it was Professor Grenish?”

“Oh, it was him, all right. See, I had this fight with him—”

“Yes, I heard about that from your father.”

“Oh, yeah? Well, anyway, so I signed something that said he was Professor Grenish and that I recognized him. But then they took my passport.”

“Your passport? Why did you bring your passport?”

“On account of your friend Adoumi told me to. He said I had to have it to show I was me.”

“I see. Well, I suppose that's a kind of legalism that's required. In the court, everything has to be proved every step of the way.”

“Yeah, but they didn't give me back my passport.”

“Did you ask for it when you were leaving? It could have been a simple oversight—”

“Oh, I asked for it, all right, and they said they'd send it on in a day or two.”

“Hm. I suppose they want to check it.”

“Sure, but how long does it take to check a passport? I mean, what's involved?”

“It could mean nothing more than that the person who does the checking was away from his desk at the time.”

“Yeah, but my friend Yitzchak here who knows his way around, he says you're nothing without a passport. I mean, where I'm a foreigner—”

“There is something in that—”

“Like, suppose I want to leave tomorrow.”

“I understand. Were you thinking of it?”

“No, but even if I wanted to go up to Galilee, say, and stay in a hotel for a couple of days—”

“I see what you mean.”

“So I thought you could ask your friend Adoumi. He is your friend, isn't he?”

“I know him,” said the rabbi cautiously.

“So I thought you could ask him what gives.”

“All right, I'll try to see him and let you know what he says.”

29

When the Levinsons came to the yeshiva and asked to see Goodman, it was a subdued Joseph Kahn who asked, “And you are?”

“We are from his hometown, friends of his parents. The name is Levinson.”

No further questioning, no arguments, no objections, merely a polite “Just a minute” and he was gone, to return a moment later with, “If you will follow me. Our director, Rabbi Karpis, will see you.”

Rabbi Karpis did not rise but very graciously waved them to chairs. They were charmed by him, by his majestic presence, his patriarchal beard, his benevolent smile, his British accent.

“You are friends of Ish-Tov, Mr. Goodman?”

“Well, we know his parents,” said Mr. Levinson.

His wife amplified. “We don't really
know
him, but I trade with his folks.” She strove to make it plain that they were not friends in the social sense. “I drop in to their store several times a week, for a loaf of bread, or a can of something that I need for a recipe. And while waiting to be served, you know, one talks and becomes friendly.”

“I see. And they asked you to look him up and extend their greetings?”

“That's right,” said Ira Levinson. “And talk to him and see if he's, you know, comfortable, happy.”

“To inspect his sleeping quarters, perhaps, and to look over some sample menus?”

“Oh, no,” said Levinson quickly. “We had no idea of er—snooping. We just want to see him so that we can tell his parents that—er—er, we did, if you see what I mean.”

“Of course, Mr. Levinson, I understand. Unfortunately, the young man is not with us right now.”

“You mean he's left? He's gone somewhere else?”

“In a manner of speaking. He's been taken into custody by the police.”

“Good Lord! When? What for?”

“Quite early this morning. And I'm afraid it's in connection with a homicide.”

“You mean he killed someone? Someone here? A fellow student? Oh, his poor mother!”

Rabbi Karpis shook his head slowly. “No one here, Mrs. Levinson. I don't know the details, but it appears to have been a tourist, someone from your own town in the States, from Barnard's Crossing. A Rabbi Small—do you know him?—who was here to see the young man, notified the police—”

“You mean that Small fingered him?” demanded Ira Levinson.

“Fingered? Oh, I see what you mean. As I understand, he told them that young Ish-Tov was from Barnard's Crossing.”

“Have you—are you going to notify his parents?”

“I wouldn't without the express permission of Ish-Tov, and only at his request. He's of age, you know. Of course, you can do as you like, or think best. When are you planning to return, by the way?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Ah, that's unfortunate.”

“Why is it unfortunate?”

“Because I have notified our attorney, who will be seeing the young man in a day or two. We should then have more information as to what took place and the degree of the young man's involvement. It may be that he is being held only as a material witness.”

“Well, that's a fine how do you do,” said Ira when they were out on the street. “Do we tell Rose and Louis?”

“We've got to. If our Jay were in the same trouble, wouldn't you want to know?”

“Yeah. We'll have to. Or maybe I'll call Small. Let him tell them. He's a rabbi. That's his job.”

“But the Smalls won't be coming back for quite a while.”

“So he can phone them. After all, he fingered him.”

“He probably just told that friend of his that Goodman was from Barnard's Crossing and was at the yeshiva. You mentioned it yourself when he showed us that photo,” she pointed out.

“Sure, but I wasn't talking to the police. And he was. I knew there was something fishy about that photo. If I hadn't stopped you, and you had gone on to say the face looked familiar, we'd be sitting in the pokey right now, waiting for the high muckamuck in charge of corpses to arrange for us to view the body. I'm calling the rabbi. The phone is probably in the name of that old lady they're living with. Do you remember her name?”

“Schlossberg. Gittel Schlossberg.”

“I'll have the people at the hotel switchboard look it up.”

“Oh, I have the number.”

“I must say you're taking this rather coolly, Rabbi,” said Levinson.

“Well, it doesn't come as a complete surprise,” said the rabbi.

“You knew there was something in the works when you fingered him?”

“Fingered him? That's a strange expression, Mr. Levinson. I gave the authorities Goodman's name as someone who was from Barnard's Crossing. I gave them your name as well, and Mrs. Small mentioned that in a few days there would be a busload of people from our town in Jerusalem.”

“So you gave them my name as well. I don't suppose you bothered to mention how many Israel Bonds I've bought, or that Sheila is secretary of the North Shore Friends of Israel?”

“I didn't think they were interested, Mr. Levinson.”

“And you're not surprised that they arrested Goodman?”

“No, because he called me yesterday to say that they had retained his passport. His arrest doesn't have the same significance that it would have in the States. Here it is a normal part of the investigative procedure. But I'll inquire and see what I can find out, and let you know.”

“We're leaving tomorrow morning early.”

“Oh, well—”

“And I'll have to tell the Goodmans. I promised them that I'd look up their son. So they'll ask me, and I'll have to tell them.”

“I suppose you will. I hope you won't alarm them unduly.”

“I can only tell them what I know, Rabbi.”

To Miriam's inquiry later, he said, “I think the Levinsons are planning to be troublesome.”

30

It was not easy for Rabbi Small to reach Uri Adoumi, and when he finally did make contact with him, Adoumi seemed reluctant to meet with him. Seemingly he was busy all during the day, and to the rabbi's suggestion that he come to his house in the evening, he explained, “I have one unbreakable rule, Rabbi. I see no one on business at my house. Sarah is very nervous, and it would upset her.”

“Then how about coming here to Gittel's?”

“No, I don't think I'd care for that. Gittel would be there and—look, I'll tell you what. I'm meeting someone at the King David Hotel. I'll be through in an hour. Suppose I meet you in Liberty Bell Park, near the entrance at one. That's not far from where you are. Or better still, I'll walk down King David Street. I'll start out from the hotel, and I'll stay on that side of the street. Then we can go into the park and sit on a bench and talk.”

“I'll be there.”

Rabbi Small was there a quarter of an hour early, and was impatient and worried until he saw Adoumi approaching—on time. They met as though by chance and then wandered about in the park until Adoumi found a bench to his liking. “So what can I do for you?” asked Adoumi abruptly.