by Jurek Becker
From some way off, Kowalski points at Jacob; the young stranger follows the finger with his eyes, as if Kowalski were explaining, That’s the man, the one in the dark gray jacket.
Jacob comes up to them, they shake hands, and all three walk on; there have been no introductions yet. “You’re late today,” Kowalski says. “We’ve been waiting quite a while for you.”
“Had we arranged to meet?” Jacob asks. He looks out of the corner of his eye at the young man, who doesn’t say a word and seems a bit awkward and embarrassed, staring straight ahead. A blind man would be aware that there is some special significance to his presence. Kowalski has said, “We’ve been waiting,” so the young man is not here by chance. Kowalski has a hand in this; he must have told him to come.
“Won’t you introduce us?” says Jacob.
“You’ve never met?” asks Kowalski with a show of surprise.
“This is Josef Neidorf.”
“I’m Jacob Heym.”
“I know,” says the shy young man. So his name is Neidorf. His first words convey nothing.
“You don’t work at the freight yard?” asks Jacob.
“No.”
“Where, then?”
“At the tool factory.”
“But then you’re heading the wrong way. You should be going in exactly the opposite direction.”
“We start later than you do,” Neidorf says, and it is obvious that he is not comfortable with his explanation.
“I see. And since you have some time to spare, you choose to accompany us all the way to the freight yard. Stands to reason.”
Neidorf suddenly stops, the way one does before running away; he looks haunted and says in a low voice to Kowalski, “Can’t you really manage without me? You see, I don’t want to have anything to do with this whole business. I’m scared, you see.”
“Oh, don’t start that again! Didn’t I already explain it all to you till I was blue in the face?” Kowalski says impatiently, taking him by the arm before he can get away. “Can’t you get it into your head? He won’t say a word, I won’t say a word, and you won’t say a word. Apart from us three, not a soul will ever find out about it. So what can happen?”
Neidorf still looks most unhappy, but he stays when Kowalski cautiously lets go of him.
“What won’t I say a word about?” asks Jacob, who by now has become curious.
Kowalski gestures to him to be patient. The gesture means many things: that you can see what a state the boy’s in, that we must allow him a moment or two to come to terms with himself and his fear, for Kowalski’s gestures can be highly expressive. He gives Neidorf an encouraging wink, which with his swollen eyes isn’t easy, and says, “Now you can tell him what you are.”
Neidorf still hesitates. Jacob is quite intrigued, a surprise early in the morning that makes a young man afraid and about which they must — although so far for unknown reasons — keep silent: Kowalski can’t bring off one like that every day.
“Actually I’m a radio repairman,” Neidorf finally says in an agonized voice.
A radio repairman.
There is no chair waiting for Jacob: looks fly back and forth, pleased ones and withering ones. An insane rage toward Kowalski almost chokes Jacob. Trying to play God, this cretin of a friend arranges for repairs without the vaguest idea of their extent and, what’s more, undoubtedly expects you to feel grateful to him for his enterprising efforts. It couldn’t have been easy, after all, in a single short evening that is already over by eight o’clock, to dig up someone who knows something about radios, but not too difficult for a friend like Kowalski. There he stands, beaming expectantly: Haven’t I done a good job? Magnificent of course. Any more help like that and you might as well go and hang yourself right away. And it is for him that you have just helped to win the battle of the Rudna; you’re tempted to burn the radio after all. Right after they parted yesterday evening, he must have dashed off and driven the whole ghetto frantic. He hadn’t known this Neidorf before, you would have known if he had, for unfortunately Kowalski’s friends are also your own. He must have sidled up to one person after another, asking confidently in his penetrating voice, “Do you happen to know anybody who can repair a radio?” “A radio? Why on earth do you need someone to repair a radio?” “Why do you think?”
Someone or other must have then put him on to this poor fellow Neidorf, who has more intelligence in his little finger than Kowalski has in his whole head; the boy’s fear is the best proof. Kowalski has told him God knows what to reassure him, then dragged him here and contrived this highly embarrassing situation, and now you’re confronted with a radio repairman in the flesh.
“What a splendid profession!” says Jacob.
“Yes, isn’t it?”
Kowalski is as pleased as Punch. There is simply no end to his deeds of friendship — the other day the miraculous rescue from the outhouse, today the second noble deed. He dares anyone to match it, in a place where there is so little room for kind actions. But he’s not looking for any special gratitude; among true friends such things are taken for granted: they don’t waste much time on talk, they act. And because time is getting on, and because so far no visible signs of joy or comprehension are noticeable in Jacob, Kowalski explains to him: “He’s going to fix your radio, you see. And don’t worry, the lad’s trustworthy.”
“I’m glad to know that,” says Jacob.
“Of course, I can’t guarantee anything,” Neidorf says with modest eagerness. “If, say, a tube’s gone, there’s nothing I can do about it. I have no spare parts — I told Mr. Kowalski that right away.”
“Just go there and have a look at it,” says Kowalski.
Jacob has only minutes to find a way out; one would imagine that it gets easier from one time to the next, seeing that practice makes perfect, but actually it always remains just as difficult. Ruefully he remembers all the decisions he reached last night, more easily made than carried out when obstacles of this kind show up, but Jacob pulls himself together. Happy news requires a happy face, but Jacob can’t manage one: the sight of Kowalski the demon helper precludes all possibility of a smile. With a great effort, Jacob stretches his lips from side to side and forces a look of grim affability into his eyes as he tries to convey that something of immense importance has just occurred to him.
“Of course, you couldn’t know!” he says. “You’ve gone to all that trouble for nothing. The radio is working again!”
“You don’t say!”
“But I appreciate your efforts all the same.”
“How did it happen? Did you fix it yourself?” Kowalski asks, and it’s impossible to tell whether he is genuinely glad or whether he is disappointed at his helpfulness having gone for nothing.
“It’s working again. Isn’t that enough?”
“But how?” asks Kowalski. “A radio can’t repair itself, can it?”
If Neidorf weren’t with them, Jacob could tell Kowalski anything — a tube had come loose, or he had banged it a few times with his fist and it came on again — Kowalski knows as little about radios as he does. But unfortunately this Neidorf with his expert knowledge is still there; not only does he look relieved because his help isn’t needed after all, but there is also a gleam of professional interest in his eye. And now it’s up to you to improvise a suitable explanation that will satisfy nitwit and expert alike. You must know, after all, how you repaired your radio: tell them quickly and look cheerful about it.
“It was one of the wires in the electrical cord. I just shortened it a bit.”
So everything has worked out splendidly, Jacob is quite proud of himself, all three parties are satisfied. As he leaves, Neidorf shakes hands with Jacob, many thanks again for your trouble, he walks off in the direction of the tool factory and doesn’t have to be scared anymore.
Kowalski and Jacob continue on their way to the freight yard: Jacob is thinking up a revenge for the ruined morning that had started out so well, namely, the battle of the Rudna will be withhel
d from Kowalski; let others bring him the joyful news. Friends who never miss a chance to torture a person nearly to death don’t deserve battles won during sleepless nights of torment. Even if no harm was intended. What Kowalski has inflicted on you today, the difficulties he lands you in with no harm intended, are getting alarmingly out of hand; you can’t stand idly by watching this trend. Two days ago Kowalski forced him to cope with Lina, today with Neidorf, and among all the questioners Kowalski is the most tireless, so the countermeasure of a single suppressed battle is surely appropriate.
“Was there any news last night?” asks Kowalski.
“Nothing.”
A few men they know say good morning as they pass, the street is the only one leading to the freight yard, and it gradually becomes crowded. Jacob notices people looking at him narrowly, at Kowalski too apparently. Kowalski is basking in Jacob’s glory and whispers to someone: “The radio is working again!” As if he had been instrumental, and the other fellow quickens his step and whispers it to others. Soon many are turning to look at Jacob and seem to perk up. Jacob nods imperceptibly — that’s right; you heard correctly — and the repaired radio will probably arrive at the freight yard before its owner.
“I meant to ask you,” Kowalski says, “I’ve been wondering whether the time hasn’t come to think of some other things.”
“Such as?”
“Such as business.”
“Business? What kind of business?”
“I’m a businessman,” Kowalski says. “Isn’t this the best time to prepare at least mentally for the future?”
“What do you mean, business? And what do you want to prepare? Isn’t your barbershop standing there waiting for you?”
“That’s what I’m wondering about. I’ve been thinking for a long time that maybe I should try something different in the future.”
“Something different, at your age?”
“Why not? Just between ourselves, I’ve got some money tucked away. Not exactly a fortune, mind you, but maybe there’s some better way to invest it than in my old shop, which I never really liked, anyway. Any more than you did, if you’re honest. And if I go ahead with something like that, I want to be sure I’m not throwing my money away.”
“And where do I come in?”
“From time to time there must surely be some business news on the radio.”
“There is.”
“Hasn’t there been anything that could be taken as a guideline? Some hint or other?”
“I’m not interested in such things.”
“Not interested in such things — look who’s talking!” says Kowalski. “I’m sure you must have heard something!”
“What is it you want to know, then? So far I haven’t understood a single word.”
“I simply want to know which line of business has the best prospects.”
“Sometimes you’re positively childish, Kowalski. Do you seriously think that they announce over the radio: ‘We advise you to invest your money after the war in such and such businesses’?”
This makes sense to Kowalski, and he says: “Well, all right, then I’ll simply ask you as a friend. If you had some money, where would you be most likely to invest it?”
So Jacob considers it too; an investment like that deserves a lot of consideration: where would he be most likely to invest it? “Alcohol, or tobacco, perhaps? If you remember, after the last war no one could get enough of them. And David Gedalye, you must have known him too, built himself a magnificent house in those days from schnapps.”
“He did, he did,” says Kowalski, “but where to find the raw materials? Do you really think that, right after the war, there’ll be enough potatoes to make schnapps?”
“That’s not the way to look at it. There’ll be no raw materials for anything. What you need for postwar commerce is not logic but a good nose for business.”
Kowalski is still doubtful, his nose doesn’t favor schnapps, his money’s too good for that.
“Actually, textiles shouldn’t do too badly. There’s always a need for clothing,” he says.
“You may be right. For years they only made clothing for soldiers: soldiers’ trousers, soldiers’ socks, soldiers’ tunics, soldiers’ overcoats. Ordinary people went on wearing their old clothes. And what does that mean?”
“Well?”
“There’ll be a demand.”
“That’s only half the truth, Jacob. Don’t forget that during the same period a lot of clothing has been lying unused in cupboards — I mean, all the soldiers’ civilian clothes. And today they’re as good as new.”
“Hm,” Jacob says pensively.
And so on, while they consider two or three other possibilities, and Kowalski even toys with the idea of joining forces with Jacob and establishing a large restaurant with all the frills. But Jacob thinks this is too big a risk; besides, he is sure Kowalski isn’t really serious. Jacob reverts to his first suggestion, which is that Kowalski is to remain in his old shop, and if he doesn’t know what else to do with that bit of money tucked away, he can have the place modernized, and for heaven’s sake get some new chairs — demand or no demand, hair and beards will go on growing. By the time they reach the freight yard, Kowalski is almost back to being a barber again.
Lina wins her bet, for in the long run Jacob is no match in the unequal battle: he shows her the radio.
After some days of fruitless searching — there was nothing left she didn’t already know — she resorts to pleading. No one can plead like Lina, and she particularly knows how to plead with Jacob, with flattery, tears, hurt looks of a special kind, more tears, and all this with incredible perseverance. Jacob has held out for a few days, then his strength is exhausted: one predictable evening Lina wins her bet. For me, probably the only one who is still alive and able to reflect on the matter, that evening is the most incomprehensible of the whole story. Even when Jacob explained it to me, as best he could, I didn’t fully understand it; I asked him: “Didn’t you go a bit too far? Couldn’t she have betrayed you and everything would have been over?” “Of course not,” Jacob replied with a smile, “Lina would never betray me.” I said, “I mean without the slightest intention. Children so easily let fall a thoughtless remark, and someone or other picks it up and builds a whole house out of it.” “Lina is always very careful about what she says,” Jacob replied, and I had to believe him.
But there was also something else that I found almost impossible to understand. “There’s something else, Jacob. How could you be sure that she didn’t see through the whole thing? She could so easily have noticed what was actually going on — she’s a clever girl, you’ve said so yourself. Wasn’t it an outrageous stroke of luck that she didn’t see through it?” “She did see through it,” Jacob said, his eyes lighting up with pride. “You know, I really didn’t care whether she noticed or not. I simply wanted to give her pleasure, regardless of the consequences: that’s why I went down into the basement with her.” And after a pause, which was much too short to allow me to understand that evening, he added, “Or rather, I did care. I believe that at the time I wanted her to know about everything. I had reached a point where I simply had to show my radio to someone, and I would rather it was Lina than anyone else: with her it was like a game. Anyone else would have been horrified by the truth, but she was happy afterward. So that evening I said to her, ‘Come down now into the basement; we’ll listen to the radio together.’ “
And at this point I suddenly smiled and said: “If I’d known at the time all the things you’re capable of, I would have come to you and asked you to show me a tree.” Which in turn Jacob couldn’t understand. Let’s listen to that evening.
Considerable suspense, Lina hangs on to Jacob’s jacket, the basement corridor is long and dim. The metal doors that are passed on tiptoe are all locked, as if to hide riches of incalculable worth. The air is damp and cold, although it’s August outside. With anxious foresight, Jacob has insisted on a winter dress, stockings, and a scarf for Lina;
from ceiling and walls hang droplets that glisten like tiny, feeble lamps.
“Are you scared?”
“No,” she whispers firmly, and it’s not that much of a lie; her curiosity will make her forget everything else. After all, at the end of the passage waits the thing she has been searching for in vain for days and that she has almost given up as a lost cause, and who is she to say now, I’m scared, let’s go back?
At last Jacob stops, at almost the last locker in the long row. Taking the key from his pocket, he unlocks the door and turns on the light, which is only slightly brighter than no light at all.
The locker has to be described: twelve feet square with no window. Its most noticeable feature is a partition built right across it, making almost two out of it and leaving only a narrow passage: the builders must have had a coal bin in mind. The inventory is quickly listed: an iron bedstead with rusty springs, the remains of an old stove with some leftover tiles, green and brown, and a few stovepipes, including an elbow. And in the corner by the door, the only treasure worth locking up: a small, carefully stacked pile of firewood in which Piwowa, the demanding poacher, had been sleeping some months ago while it still represented a piece of furniture. Then a glance behind the partition: more stove debris, bricks, a spade, a bucket with holes in it, and an ax. That’s all: I’m being so accurate not because these items are of any significance but because later I was there, during my search for witnesses and traces and nonexistent trees. Just as I have measured the distance between the military office and the next corner with my tape measure, just as I went into Jacob’s room where by that time an old woman was living by herself who knew nothing about the fate of any former tenants — the housing authorities had allocated the room to her on a temporary basis — I have also been in this locker; it still belongs to that room. Mrs. Domnik handed me the key without question, saying merely that she had never been down there, she didn’t own anything that needed to be kept in the basement, so I mustn’t be surprised at the dust or at any mess I might find there, she wasn’t responsible for that. And indeed it was dusty, with cobwebs everywhere, that is the truth, but I didn’t notice any mess, I found everything just as Jacob had described it to me. The bedstead, stove debris, ax and bucket; even the chopped-up wood was still by the door.