The Fifth Servant (16 page)

           
“Yes, I understand. But it won’t be easy. The city is crawling with soldiers on leave from the Turkish front—imperial soldiers, I might add—and all the farm girls coming to the city to work as maids for the rich burghers are getting fleeced by robbers, rapists,
banditi
, you name it. Hand-held pistols are starting to get more popular with the cutpurses and highwaymen, too, and I don’t like it one bit.”

           
“Sounds like you could use a little help from the imperial guards, maybe with cracking down on dissident religious sects?”

           
“We can keep order among the regular citizens just fine. Most of the religious hatred comes from outsiders.”

           
Like you
, the sheriff’s tone implied.

           
“See that no atrocities occur, Zizka. Keep a lid on this madness, or it’s your head.”

           
And that wasn’t just a figure of speech.

           
BACK ON THE STREET, Rabbi Loew said, “We need to visit one more place. Viktor Janek’s house.”

           
“In this rain?” said a guard.

           
“Why should I allow you to disturb the family in their time of grief?” said Zizka.

           
“It’s on our way.”

           
“Don’t push your luck, Jew.”

           
I said, “Yeah, I was wondering when this fabulous streak of luck was going to end.”

           
“What is the matter with you, you smart-mouthed Jew? Have you got a damned death wish or something?” Zizka seized the hilt of his weapon. And before he knew it, every eye in the square was upon him. Some of the devotees even stopped reciting their Good Friday prayers, and for a moment, the only sound I heard was the bleating of Paschal Lambs.

           
I saw the sheriff vacillating, trying to decide whether to issue a stern reprimand or simply run me through. I had never seen such hesitation from an authority figure determined to save face.

           
A man tugging on a couple of stubborn sheep mocked us by asking, “Tell me, Jews, if you’re so smart, what is this sheep saying?”

           
I listened to the animal’s drawn-out bleating and said, “Help, I’m being pulled along by an idiot.”

           
Some of the women hid their faces and giggled. Even the sheriff shook his head and chuckled.

           
And the whole thing was defused by laughter. The craftsmen went back to work, and the pious citizens who had stepped out of line rejoined the procession.

           
It is better to be ridiculed than shamed
, the saying goes. But I was starting to wonder when the luck would run out.

           
Rabbi Loew laid a hand on my shoulder. “The next time we’re surrounded by hostile Christians, we won’t be able to break it up with a laugh.”

           
A cold wetness was seeping into my cloak as we plodded through the rain to Janek’s apothecary shop on
Kozí Street
.

           
The shop was closed and shuttered, but smoke was rising from the chimney.

           
“You sure you know what you’re doing?” asked Zizka.

           
“I’m afraid that I have a great deal of experience consoling the grieving parents of murdered children,” Rabbi Loew said, stepping under the eaves out of the rain.

           
Zizka said nothing as he pounded on the door with a chain-mailed fist.

           
But when Marie Janek opened the door, her eyes grew wide and she screamed at us, calling us shameless murderers for daring to show our faces. Then Viktor Janek came toward us with a heavy iron poker straight from the fire.

           
Rabbi Loew spoke quickly. “I realize that you can’t help hating the people you believe are responsible for the death of your child, but you must understand that we are trying to find the guilty one because your loss is being turned into a rallying cry for more blood. May God punish us for our sins, but violence always begets more violence, and no amount of bloodshed will bring her back.”

           
I waited to see what effect the rabbi’s words would have.

           
Then Viktor Janek swung the poker at our heads. I threw myself between the rabbi and the impaler’s edge, as the guards deflected the blow with their pikes. Rain sizzled on the hot metal tip of the weapon as they grappled with Janek and kept him from branding any Jews with it.

           
“I ought to shove this down your throats!” Janek shouted. Some of the neighbors egged him on.

           
“Take it easy, big fellow,” said Zizka, restraining the vengeful man with both hands.

           
“Thanks for protecting us in the name of your city,” I said.

           
“Stuff it, Jew,” said one of the guards.

           
“I told you this was a lousy idea. Let’s get out of here,” Zizka complained.

           
“No, let them stay.”

           
The men stopped struggling. Marie Janek stood in the doorway, her face streaked with tears.

           
“Marie—”

           
“Why have you come here? What do you want from us?”

           
Rabbi Loew said, “We are here because we are your cousins and brothers in blood. And we grieve for you, as we would grieve for any parent who has lost a son or daughter. But you should take comfort in the fact that the soul of this innocent will shine a light upon the darkness.”

           
“How can that be?” she asked, desperate to find comfort anywhere in the wide, empty world.

           
Janek said, “Don’t listen to this garbage—”

           
But she stepped inside, and left the door open for her rain-soaked visitors.

           
We followed her in, and were greeted by the faint aroma of exotic herbs and spices. I removed my hat in deference to the Christian custom. Rabbi Loew faltered, then did the same. He must have felt naked without his fine velvet hat, but at the moment the Janeks did not need to be reminded how different we Jews were.

           
We sat near the fire, waiting for the mourners to speak first, even though this was not a place of
shiva
.

           
I got a glimpse of the barrels stacked inside Janek’s shop, and noted the jars of herbs and oils and powders before Janek slammed the connecting door shut.

           
Eventually, Marie Janek said, “One of you took my little girl away. They tell me she’s in a better place, but I will never stop seeing the emptiness all around me, her empty clothes, her empty bed. What can you possibly do about
that
?”

           
Rabbi Loew nodded, and let a moment of silence pass before saying, “Children are supposed to carry our memories with them into the future. We never really die, as long as someone is alive to remember us. For even when a mighty cedar is felled, there is always hope that if God sends the rain, fresh shoots will sprout up from the roots.”

           
“And now we have nothing.”

           
“You have more than you think,” I said.

           
“What do you mean?”

           
“They say that the less you have in this world, the more you shall have in the next.”

           
Marie nodded dully.

           
I spoke in Germanic Yiddish now, reversing my earlier emphasis on Hebrew words. “Doesn’t the Gospel of Saint Mark say that whoever is like a little child shall enter the
kingdom
of
God
? So you should take comfort in the knowledge that Gerta’s spotless and innocent soul is up there in heaven praying for you.”

           
“And for all of us,” said one of the guards, crossing himself.

           
Marie was shedding tears of thanks.

           
Rabbi Loew seemed surprised by my knowledge of Christian Scripture, but he must have felt compelled to complete the eulogy because he said, “The Lord gives, and the Lord takes away. Blessed is the name of the Lord. Amen.”

           
“Amen.” They all said it reflexively.

           
I let the echo of their words drift down and settle around our ankles like the ashes of a fire gone cold. Then I said I had to ask a few questions. Marie agreed.

           
“When did you notice she was missing?”

           
“Early this morning.”

           
“Didn’t you hear us calling her name all over town?” said Janek.

           
“As a matter of fact, I did,” I said. “How early?”

           
“Before sunrise.”

           
I didn’t want to press her, but I had to ask for specifics. “How much before sunrise?”

           
“She doesn’t have to answer that,” said Janek.

           
“No, she doesn’t. In fact, you can throw us out anytime you want. But we’ll get to the bottom of this one way or another, and it would go a lot quicker if you’d help us.”

           
“It’s all right, Viktor,” she said. “It was about an hour before sunrise. I got up to check on her and…”

           
“Had her bed been slept in?”

           
“Yes.”

           
“Where is it?”

           
Marie Janek glanced at her husband before answering. “She sleeps in our bedroom. We draw a curtain between us at night.”

           
Someone stole your child from your own bedroom and
neither of you woke up
? I couldn’t quite picture a pair of burly cutthroats tiptoeing up the stairs without making a sound. It was possible, of course, but something about it didn’t smell right.

           
“Did you leave her bed exactly the way you found it?”

           
I saw the pain in her face as she pictured her child’s empty bed.

           
“Yes, I did.”

           
“May we examine it?”

           
“All right, that’s enough.” Janek bristled. “I want you both out of here. Now!”

           
“Were any of your locks tampered with? Any windows broken?”

           
Marie looked like she was seriously considering the question, when Zizka said, “Let’s go, Jews.”

           
I asked Janek what he and Federn had been arguing about on Wednesday, just before Janek threw us out into the street.

           
“Nice work, Jew. We could have had another ten minutes in front of that nice warm fire,” one of the guards complained.

           
We tried to question Janek’s neighbors, but it was a waste of time, and we came away with nothing, the doors closing behind us with a heavy thud.

           
“Time’s up. Back to the ghetto, Jews,” said Zizka.

           
We trudged over the cobblestones toward the East Gate, and it seemed like Rabbi Loew questioned me the whole way.

           
“What did we learn from that experience?”

           
“I’d say that we need to look at the father’s motives more closely,” I said, keeping my voice low.

           
“How are we supposed to do that?”

           
“I know it sounds crazy, but we need to find a Christian who is willing to help us.”

           
“And how likely is that under the current conditions, Ben-Akiva?”

           
“What about one of the Rožmberks?”

           
“Hiring Jewish musicians to play at your cousin’s wedding is not the same as granting us equal rights before the law, but I’ll make some inquiries.”

           
He sighed with frustration.

           
“What is it, Rabbi?” I asked.

           
Rabbi Loew said, “How can we expect to solve the riddle of the universe if we can’t even solve this petty crime? The answer should be right in front of us, but we have to open our eyes to it. And unless we read the signs before the ultimatum comes due—”