‘I thought he was having an affair. We even fought about it but he never told me.’
Without warning she burst into tears and Saul knew these were the tears of a woman who never cried. He put his hand on hers and she stopped abruptly removing her hand from his. Saul watched as her expression hardened, overcompensating for the emotional outburst. He left his hand on the table, gaining reassurance from the feel of the wood.
‘I knew everything about my husband, but he became a stranger to me. And then Mark was murdered. He went crazy. Ranting and raving all the time about conspiracies. Money was missing from our accounts. I didn’t know what to do. It was me that suggested he find you, and he said: “Yes, the professor will know how to handle this”’.
Saul was perplexed. He certainly had not expected so much information. It was clear that she wanted his help and Saul still wanted the proof that Isaac had talked about, but he doubted that she had it or the police or he would know by now.
‘Do you mind if I look around his things?’
‘The police already did.’
‘Yes, but what do they care about Jews,’ he answered in the form of a statement rather than a question.
‘His office is upstairs,’ she said nodding. ‘I’ll go for a walk.’
‘No, please stay. It’s your house.’
‘Three days of Shiva, I need some air.’ She wiped her cheeks and stood composing herself for the outside world. ‘Saul, promise me if you find something you’ll tell the police.’
‘I will,’ he lied.
After she had left Saul found himself alone in his old friend’s house and a familiar yet alien feeling crept over his skin. He had not been here since his children were still children and although it had been superficially redecorated, he still knew the house but the death of Isaac had lent the place a cavernous touch. Making his way up the stairs of this shell he presently stood on the threshold of Isaac’s home office and scanned the scene.
Light streamed in through a large window and opposite the window was a double bed. The walls were adorned with posters of movies that Isaac had never seen and pop stars that he would not have known: A half converted bedroom. The kind of thing you do when the children still threaten to come back. One such poster showed a man who wore too much make up, a hat and elaborately braided multi-coloured hair, while holding a microphone to his red lips. Another showed a younger looking man looking at his watch while raising his sunglasses, this poster told the world he was going Back to the Future. Saul spent a moment studying the posters almost like he was trying to uncover some hidden meaning. There was a dresser, large bookshelf and a desk strewn with papers.
Saul moved around the space not sure of what to do or where to start.
A great detective I would make.
He sat on the bed and bounced a little testing the mattress. Then an idea hit him and an instant later he was on his hands and knees - knees popping as he bent -looking under the bed: nothing but dust and some old shoes. He reprimanded himself for the attempt. Who left clues under the bed? He was not looking for a five-year-old playing hide and seek. The dust was surprising though, for it meant that the police didn’t look under the bed or didn’t tidy up. Probably the latter he thought as he stood and lifted the mattress. Seeing nothing of interest he let it drop and dusted down his trousers.
He opened a few cupboards to find clothes that also did not belong to his generation but again there was nothing noteworthy.
Letting his fingers slide along a row of books he stopped at random, pulled the book out and flicked through the pages: a travel guide to Italy. He replaced the book despondently.
Sitting at the wooden desk he began to rifle through the papers that consisted of bills, personal correspondence and some work related memos. Giving up he sat back in the chair. What did you expect to find, he told himself, a gun?
On the corner of the desk was an old jam jar filled with pens and pencils and he observed them for perhaps three seconds before he sprang up and grabbed it. He had found what he was looking for. He tipped the jar out onto the desk. He then started unscrewing the pens and looking inside their cavities. At number four he struck gold. Tapping the pen hard enough on the desk to get enough of the paper out for his fingers to latch onto he slowly pulled out the note and unraveled it. Recognising Isaac’s writing he read the note.
‘My God.’ He was reeling from the message and needed to reread it several times just in case he had misread the first time or to make sure the letters had not somehow rearranged themselves to make a new sentence.
He pocketed the note and picked up an ink pot. A shake confirmed that it was full. Pot still in hand Saul headed for the bathroom.
Standing at the sink Saul carefully opened the lid of the ink pot: dark silky and impenetrable. Saul moved his fingers to the rim of the pot and was about to dip his index finger in when the shrill sound of the telephone startled him enough to drop it. It smashed in the sink splattering his trousers and shirt with ink. Ignoring the damage to his clothes Saul considered the plastic zip lock bag that now lay in the sink surrounded by bits of glass and blue ink. The phone stopped ringing. Not caring that his fingers were also being stained he picked up the bag and held it up to the light. Inside the bag he could make out a roll of undeveloped camera film.
Putting the bag to one side, Saul ran the tap water and splashed water around the sides of the basin watching the ink as it swirled down the drain. He rinsed off the bag and placed it on the side of the sink with several sheets of toilet paper wrapped around it serving to soak up the excess water. He then picked the glass out of the sink and binned it. Saul was ready to leave when he saw that ink had also splashed onto the brown tiled floor. Using more toilet paper he wiped it up and flushed it. Pocketing the camera film (still wrapped in toilet paper) he headed down the stairs eager to get the film developed as fast as possible.
Saul left the house at a pace. A fire burning deep inside his gut providing the fuel. If the film showed what Isaac said it showed then he would be vindicated. Saul could go to the police with proof and stop this madness. There would be justice. Projecting a set of future events he saw no reason why his family need ever know: he could tell the police he wanted to remain anonymous. The sweat stung his face where he had shaved and now the cool breeze acted like a balm. His legs felt rubbery and uncertain but there was no pain. He was excited.
As he crossed the road he noticed two heavy set men get out of a parked car and start to follow him. They were not at all subtle about it and as his mind rushed with hundreds of questions as to who, why and what to do next, he heard the motor of the car rev to life. Obviously having first failed they were taking no chances. Saul was unprepared for the escalation of events. How could he fight these men? They looked like they could punch through sheet metal.
The main road was not more than thirty seconds away; surely they would not be so bold to do anything in broad daylight. If he turned the corner and ran he could make it to the road. He couldn’t let them catch him now: he was so close to proving Isaac was right and if he failed now no one would ever know the truth. He turned the corner and was immediately set upon.
‘What-
CHAPTER 14
- happens now?’ said the young woman. She looked concerned and Saul, who was even younger than her, thought it was time to calm and placate her before she got out of hand.
‘After you have showered, there is coffee and cake and then you will be given your work assignments.’
‘But there are men here!’
Saul glanced into the parking lot to his right and witnessed that it was full of men, women and children all in various stages of undress. There were also about twenty men like him, whose job it was to help speed the process along. A few SS guards stood and watched the scene but did not directly interfere: this was not their domain. The Kapo stood by with his truncheon on display. Saul found him more detestable than the SS.
The young woman’s shock was not
hing new to him. There were often very conservative or orthodox Jews who had never undressed in front of strangers; but the system did not allow them their dignity, in fact it had been designed to reduce them to compliance, to humiliate and bewilder. Saul took her gently by the arm and led her back to the changing area.
‘Undress quickly, your food is getting cold and if the others get there first there won’t be any left for you,’ said Saul with gentle persuasion.
The young woman looked around at the others and took comfort in the group psychology, her stomach rumbled and she started to strip. Saul turned his back on her, affording her a modicum of privacy and got back to work. As he made his way down the isles he could hear many different languages being spoken: German; French; English; Yiddish and Greek. This was why he had been selected for this job. His fluency in many languages made him an asset as most of his colleagues could only speak their own language and struggled to pick up enough words in foreign tongues to lie to the victims.
Some children were crying as their mothers undressed them and why not? They were hungry, scared, tired and now in a completely alien environment. Saul wondered why more adults didn’t cry. Maybe they were on their way to becoming robots too. That train journey would numb the toughest into submission. Saul watched one of his team as he kindly helped an old couple undress. His days were full of acts of kindness that failed to move him anymore, failed to move any of them. Where did they come from? Vulnerable without the shield of their clothing most of them were scared and yet still shy of being naked among others. At sixteen Saul had seen enough nakedness in his life and it had ceased to be of interest to him: They were like doctors, except they knew that there was no hope for their patients. Alerting them to that fact would do nothing to make their last moments with their families peaceful.
On occasion people knew or guessed what was coming and sometimes they made a fuss or spat in his face or sympathised with his plight. Last week a woman had wanted to have sex with him in order not to die a virgin. The request was not uncommon.
‘I won’t do it,’ stated one victim belligerently.
‘Please, calm down-‘ started Saul.
‘Don’t tell me to calm down. I know what’s going on here!’
‘There are children here and your frightening them.’
The man stood defiant. Out of the corner of his eye Saul spotted the Kapo and the SS guard observing, applying the pressure. Saul struck the man across the face. It was the first and only time he had had to resort to violence.
‘Faster! Undress!’ hissed Saul instantly hating himself for the action.
The man’s face flashed with anger and he looked like he might hit back until his wife arrived by his side pleading for his life, looking between the SS guard and Saul.
‘Nopleasehewilldoit. Don’t hit him anymore.’
But now all the victims had seen what he had done and they crowded Saul and badgered him with questions: ‘What happens next?’ ‘What work will we do?’ ‘What’s it like here?’ ‘Can I join my family?’ ‘Will our food still be here when we come back?’ ‘Make love to me.’ Why did no-one help? Where was the Kapo? Where were the SS?
Overwhelmed, Saul raged, fighting all the victims, but they kept coming, pushing and shoving and clawing at him. Saul lashed out with all his strength.
‘FASTER! FASTER! UNDRESS! COFFEE AND CAKE!’
Saul spun around and was punched in the face by one of the heavies that had followed him from Edna’s. The hallucination vanished and two men bundled him into the back of the car, which promptly sped away.
The car journey was uneventful. The driver smoked adding to the ashtray smell of the upholstery. Saul used the time to calm down as best as he could manage, shaking off the waking nightmare he had just experienced. His hand trembling as he reached into his jacket pocket and took out the tin of mints. One of the heavies took an interest but did not object when Saul popped two into his mouth and swallowed hard.
Saul noticed that they were heading back into town and wondered if they would do it back at his place. He hoped that no one was home. However, they passed Charlottenburg, making their way along Ku’damm to Yorckstrasse heading into Kreuzberg.
Saul was not a big fan of Kreuzberg: the neighbourhood was rough and seedy and although the level of crime in Berlin could not be compared to the levels in London or New York, it remained a part of town that made one feel unsafe. The wide leafy streets of Chrlottenburg with its grand architecture was replaced by narrow streets with run down apartment blocks painted in graffiti. He decided he would not beg. He was too old for that: whatever came he would face it.
The car pulled up outside a windowless bar set in the ground floor of a brown apartment building. As Saul was dragged from the car he noticed the litter covering the streets and he thought it odd the insignificant things one noticed in times of stress. Looking up he just had time to catch the name of the bar before he was forced inside: Euphorium.
The heavies frog-marched Saul into a large bar that was centred around a stage with a pole on it. Euphorium, then, was a strip club, he thought. Right now it was all but empty and Saul could smell detergent and cheap perfume. He sneezed and the heavies let him go so that he could wipe his nose. There was no need to man handle him anyway, there was nowhere for him to run. The lights were up a little too high and Saul could see the place in all its cheapness.
Sitting at a table near the stage was a man who seemed to be all hair. He had a perm and a moustache and was counting money. Aside from the money there was a notepad, calculator and a brick of a mobile phone on display.
Saul stood and waited while the man finished counting his money. The man had not even acknowledged Saul’s presence as he entered the room and even the heavies seemed to know better than to interrupt. Being a businessman himself Saul knew that this was the count all self-employed establishment owners did at the end of the day and it occurred to him that this man must keep similar hours to himself. The man looked pale and had dark rings under his eyes. Examining the pile of cash Saul thought perhaps he had made a mistake opening a bakery. The man finished the count, scribbled something on the notepad and stuffed the cash into an envelope and held it aloft. At the same time he looked up and studied Saul, who was developing quite a nice shiner.
‘Here,’ said the man speaking with a thick Berlin accent. Saul knew at once this man called his bread rolls Schrippe and not Brötchen, that he said Icke and not Ich.
A woman who had been drinking behind the bar came forward, took the envelope and left the room without a word. The man scratched his chest through his light blue nylon tracksuit and addressed himself to the heavies:
‘Who the fuck is this?’
‘Isaac Blum,’ answered one of them. ‘You said to bring him here.’
‘I know everyone that owes me money and this is not Isaac Blum and what the fuck have you done to this poor man?’
‘He went crazy, Rudi,’ answered the other heavy.
‘I’m not fucking surprised. Get out.’
The heavies left.
‘Rudi Pascal,’ said Rudi standing and extending his hand. Saul took it. ‘Would you like a Rooibos tea?’
Saul shook his head.
‘Have a Roi tea,’ he insisted. ‘It’s very healthy.’
Rudi jogged behind the bar, his trainers, squeaking and poured two teas from a pot that was kept warm by means of being rested over a candle flame.
‘I must apologise. It’s hard to find types like that capable of thinking too.’
He returned with the tea and invited Saul to sit, which he did.
‘In any case, we made a mistake and I must stand by my men. I would appreciate it if you didn’t tell the bulls and of course I would be happy to compensate you in some way.’ He smiled. ‘Try the tea, it doesn’t taste good cold.’
Rudi encouraged him by lifting his own cup and only then did Saul join him, taking a cautious sip. Being a fervent coffee drinker Saul had never t
ried this tea and he found it surprisingly refreshing. Somehow Rudi must have picked up on this.
‘See! Coffee is a killer.’
‘Why were you looking for Isaac?,’ enquired Saul.
Rudi gave a wry smile. ‘I like to keep my business dealings confidential.’
‘Isaac is dead.’
‘Fuck no!’
‘He was murdered.’
‘Shhhhhit,’ he seemed to be mulling something over and came to a quick conclusion. ‘Oh well, I guess it’s up to the whore now.’
‘He owed you money?’
Rudi became all business, his eyes searching Saul’s, probing more malevolently this time.
Saul considered he had nothing to lose. This Rudi did not seem to want him dead – yet- and Saul did not think this was the murderer he was after. He turned up the heat:
‘I met a detective from the KRIPO who might want to talk to you.’
Rudi saw this clumsy attempted grab for information for exactly what it was and burst out laughing. He seemed to be almost manic in his display of emotions and this worried Saul. He had met men like this before.
‘Or he might not?’ Rudi calmed down. ‘Then again you don’t look like James Bond and maybe I don’t feel like explaining my master plan to you. In fact, maybe no one sees you again.’ He reached inside his tracksuit top, pulled out an automatic and pointed it at Saul.
Saul maintained his phlegmatic stance. He was not afraid of this man he was only afraid of his past.
‘Don’t flatter yourself. James Bond criminals don’t chase old women for money. I’ll buy her debt, but you leave Edna alone.’
‘Who the fuck is Edna?’
‘His wife.’
Rudi gave a sardonic smile and grunted through his nose. He tucked the gun back inside his top.
‘His wife don’t owe. I said his whore owes.’
The back door opened and another woman, this time in a matching tracksuit entered the club. Ignoring Saul, she kissed Rudi deeply; their perms melded into one ball of black and blonde. When it was over she walked out without a word. Rudi seemed to be in his own world for moment and then realising that Saul was still there he composed himself.
The White House Page 10