One Fine Day the Rabbi Bought a Cross (24 page)

Curiously, they did not appear to be concerned as to whether or not the young man was guilty. The feeling seemed to be that it could not be terribly reprehensible because “we know his parents.” Perhaps the general picture they had evolved was that there had been a fracas of some sort in which the students of the yeshiva—and, of course, Goodman—had been involved. They had heard that yeshiva students did become rowdy on occasion in spite of or even because of their religious dedication. Something serious had resulted, and the police had latched onto Goodman because—because he was an American and a foreigner. “But most of the other boys are American. It's the American Yeshiva.”

“Yes, well, I'm sure his being an American has something to do with it, and the rabbi as a fellow American should do something about it. At least he knows the language and can talk to the authorities.”

They trailed after the guide, clustering around him whenever he stopped to point out something of special interest. They nodded to show their approval, or that they understood, as he took them from the Tower of David through the streets of the Old City to the Western Wall and up through the Jewish Quarter to Mount Zion, where the bus was waiting to take them back to the hotel. They came abreast of a couple of Arab masons sitting on the ground patiently trimming blocks of stone, occasionally getting up to fit the stone in its intended place, removing it to break off another chip, and then inserting it once again.

“I don't get it,” said one of the group.

“What don't you get?” asked the guide.

“The whole business. Here you've been showing us a whole bunch of buildings and each one was built on top of another, and that one was built on top of another.”

“So?”

“So how come if someone is planning on putting up a building in a special place and there's already a broken-down building there, or part of a building, and say he doesn't want to use the walls that are left, so wouldn't he just knock them down and at least use the old cellar? I mean, why would he fill the cellar with all kinds of junk and build on top of that?”

“Oh, I see what you mean. You're wondering how a city can be built on top of another, older city. Well, it doesn't usually follow immediately after. What happens is that a city, or a section of a city, is destroyed by an earthquake, or by an invading army, or it may be a series of floods. The inhabitants escape or move away, and the place lies neglected for years, perhaps centuries. Sand and dust from the desert blow in and cover the area, and by the time someone comes along and decides it's a good location to build, there's very little showing except that it seems to be a little higher than the surrounding territory, which usually is regarded as an advantage. So they lay their foundation on the new surface and—”

“Wouldn't they go down to bedrock?”

“Sure, they put down a footing, and if they strike part of an old wall, so much the better.”

“But why wouldn't they excavate?”

“What for? It's easier to build from the ground up. We don't run to cellars much here, and when I was in the States, I noticed that a lot of houses there were being built without cellars.”

“Yeah, but the government or whoever is running these digs, they dig out cellars.”

The guide laughed. “Oh, you mean archaeological excavations. But that's a new science. To the archaeologist, a potsherd, an old copper coin, a bit of broken glass can be of enormous significance, but to the man building a house it's just junk, like a broken soda bottle or rusty tin can would be to you.”

“Yeah, I suppose.”

“There's the bus,” Bergson called out, and to the rabbi, “You coming along?”

“The bus? Oh, you mean to take you back to the hotel.” He seemed to be curiously abstracted. “No, I think I'll walk back.”

“It's a long walk, David.”

“Well, if I get tired, I can always take a bus.”

“Okay. Hey, but look, we go to Eilat tomorrow. How about you and Miriam and your aunt if she wants, coming to dinner at the King David, or someplace else if you'd rather, tomorrow night?”

“No, Al, I'm more or less a resident, and you are a visitor. You come to us for dinner.”

“Okay.”

“Around seven.”

“Fine.”

The rabbi set out briskly, but no sooner had the bus passed him, the group on his side waving to him, than he slowed down to a leisurely stroll, his eyes focused on the sidewalk, deep in thought. He made the sharp descent from the Old City and the long upward walk toward the Rehavia section. It was only when he reached the top of the rise that he realized he was tired.

Just ahead was the Hotel Excelsior. It occurred to him that he might stop off there, and perhaps if Perlmutter was free, he might have a cold drink with him. He entered the lobby, looked around, and approached the front desk.

“Is Mr. Perlmutter around?” he asked the clerk.

“Aharon? He went up to Haifa for the Shabbat. I took his morning duty for him.”

“Oh. Then he won't be coming in today?”

“Oh, sure. He should be in around one. Is there a message—”

“No, no. I'll be seeing him later in the day, I expect.”

35

The telephone call came just as the Rabbi finished the lunch that Miriam had left him. It was Rabbi Karpis.

“Rabbi Small? Er, Rabbi Karpis. Er, something has—er—just come to my attention concerning er—the matter we are both interested in. I have asked our attorney, whom you've met, to come and see me about it. I thought that perhaps you, too, might be interested.”

“When is he coming?”

“He should be here shortly.”

Although the day had been hot and he was tired from his long walk, he said, “I'll come right over.”

But he had to wait for a bus, and it was half an hour before he arrived. Shiah Goldberg was already there, and he greeted him with a wide wave of the arm. Rabbi Karpis brushed aside Rabbi Small's attempted explanation of why it had taken him so long.

“Sit down, Rabbi. Sit down. I can have coffee brought?” he suggested.

Both his guests shook their heads no.

“Well, I'll come to the point. I have heard through—well, no matter. Let's say it has come to my attention that the medical examiner has some rather startling new evidence. As I understand it, Dr. Shatz was away when the body was found, and the preliminary examination was made by a young and I gather inexperienced assistant. He attributed the death of the unfortunate Professor Grenish to a rupture of an aneurysm. He found no signs of—er—violence on the body. No marks of blows having been struck. That sort of thing. I gather that the public prosecutor was going to take the line that since the death had not been reported and the body had in fact been concealed, the rupture of the aneurysm had been due to a fight or that some kind of violence had been done to him. And our position was that since there were no signs of violence, death had been due to natural causes, but that our Ish-Tov had panicked and had buried the body for fear he might be accused of having killed the man.”

“That's right,” said Shiah.

“Well, then as I understand it, Dr. Shatz made a more thorough examination and found evidence that the man had been bound and gagged. A patch of adhesive tape had been put over the victim's mouth. There were microscopic traces of the adhesive substance, as I understand it. And also his hands and feet seem to have been bound with the same material.”

“Oh, the son-of-a-bitch,” Shiah exclaimed.

“Are you referring to Ish-Tov?” asked Rabbi Karpis, surprised at the attorney's vehemence.

“He may be one, too,” said Shiah, “but I was thinking of the prosecutor.” Then with a bitter laugh, he said to Rabbi Small, “You remember, I told you we lawyers always try to keep something back? Now I've got to rethink my strategy. This Shatz has a good reputation, but he's a nervous little man, and I might be able to tie him up on the witness stand. I'll see if I can get permission to have our own expert make an examination of the body. If the man was tied up, then Ish-Tov probably could not have done it by himself. I've felt all along that he wasn't alone in the business.”

“You mean you'll implicate others, other students in this?” asked Karpis. “I don't think that would help us very much.”

“No, of course not, but—look, if I don't put him on the stand, then if he had an accomplice, it wouldn't come out. I mean, the only way they could find out about an accomplice would be in cross-examining Ish-Tov. Right? So I don't put him on the stand. Then I argue that he couldn't tie him up single-handed unless the man was already dead, or at least unconscious.”

“But that in itself suggests that others are implicated, and that would broaden the affair,” said Karpis. “We've got to consider the political implications. The Labor Alignment has been putting out feelers to us for the next government, but if there were a suggestion that this might be anything other than an individual—”

Rabbi Small rose abruptly. “I think I should leave now,” he said.

Startled, Rabbi Karpis looked up. “Oh, I see. Yes, perhaps this part of our—er—discussion should be limited to—er—well, thank you very much, Rabbi Small, for coming over. I'm sorry I was the purveyor of bad news, but I thought you'd like to know.”

The lawyer favored Rabbi Small with a broad wink.

As he made his way out of the building, down the walk, and to the street, Rabbi Small wondered if he was being fair to Rabbi Karpis. After all, he was an administrator, and his first duty was to the yeshiva. From his point of view, if the Alignment was interested in associating the tiny segment of the religious establishment that ran the yeshiva with the formation of a new government, that had to take precedence over any sympathy he might feel for young Ish-Tov. It would mean additional funding for the yeshiva—expansion, perhaps; greater influence, in any case. And from his point of view, Ish-Tov was merely a wrong'un they had tried unsuccessfully to help.

When Rabbi Small reached the Skinner house on his way to the bus stop, he heard his name called. He stopped, looked back and then up, and saw Skinner waving to him from his second-floor window. He paused uncertainly, and a moment later Ismael came running out.

“Rabbi Small, Rabbi Small, Jeem wondered if you wouldn't like to have coffee with us!”

The rabbi considered and then said, “Why, yes, that would be very nice.” He followed Ismael up the staircase to Skinner's office.

“We were just about to have our coffee when I spotted you, Rabbi,” Skinner said. And to Ismael, “Do we have anything in the way of cake or—”

“Just those cookies Martha baked last week.”

“Those were pretty good. Why don't you see what you can rustle up to go with our coffee.” To the rabbi he explained, “Martha doesn't usually prepare anything for Sunday. And Ismael and I usually eat our meals out on Sunday.”

Ismael was not gone long, and when he reappeared, it was with a tray on which there was a thermos pot of coffee, cream, and sugar, and a plate of cookies as well as one of buttered toast. “It was all I could manage,” he said apologetically. He served Skinner and then set two cups down on the coffee table, one for the rabbi and one for himself. It occurred to the rabbi that relations between Skinner and Ismael had improved much since his last visit. There was no sign of the embarrassing servility he had noticed in Ismael before. He now addressed him as “Jeem” rather than as “Mr. James,” and he was not only joining them for coffee but also participating in the conversation.

They talked about the political situation in the country and of the fighting that was going on in Lebanon. Skinner asked about Miriam and Gittel, and when he suggested that he would like to see them again, the rabbi readily agreed and said he would talk to them and see if he couldn't arrange to have Skinner come to dinner some evening.

After an hour or so, when the rabbi rose and said he would have to be going, Skinner said, “Ismael, why don't you drive the rabbi home. It's awfully hot out and he might have to wait a good twenty minutes before that bus comes.” The rabbi made polite demurral but permitted himself to be persuaded.

Miriam had returned by the time the rabbi got back to the apartment. In response to her asking how he had spent the day, he told her about his visit to the yeshiva. He tried not to sound bitter as he explained the concerns of the yeshiva authorities. “I suppose it's natural for him to be concerned for his institution. When you consider the sort of person whom they are apt to attract, young men, many who have led rackety lives, one who gets in trouble with the law is not so unusual. But the fact is that their concern is not so much with Ish-Tov as with the reputation of the school. And the lawyer they engage will naturally have the same attitude.”

“Oh, dear, is there nothing that can be done for him? Isn't there anything you can do?”

“Like what? Hire a lawyer for him?”

“No, but—look here, all those people who came for Barney Berkowitz's Bar Mitzvah. I gather they were all concerned. Well, maybe they could make up a pool and—”

“And hire a lawyer for his defense?” He laughed. “They're not really concerned about Ish-Tov except as something to beat me over the head with. Al Bergson is coming here tonight. Why don't you ask him?”

“I will.”

“And if they got a lawyer, what could he do?”

“Isn't there anything, anything at all that could be built up into a defense, David?”

“Well, there is one thing. Perlmutter didn't recognize Grenish from the photo. That could be worked up. If I could get hold of Adoumi or whoever is handling the actual investigation, I might just possibly.”

“How about Gittel?”

“What about Gittel? What's she got to do with it?”

“I'll bet she could get Adoumi, and if he's not actually handling the case, she might be able to get him to get the one who is.”