Jacob sipped his coffee, and shook his head. Two months earlier, his life was in the Rat’s hands. A month before that, the Rat had killed his little brother. Now … well, now … we’ll see. Jacob looked at the hotel door.
Jacob still didn’t have a real plan, but he had dreamed of this moment for so long he knew he’d work it out.
He turned his collar up. The day was gray with a biting south wind. Jacob pulled down his hat and, leaning back in his chair, eyes on the hotel door, he plotted …
Suite nine. Easy. I wait for Hans and his parents to go out. I go in, get the key somehow from Adolf, or just take it when he’s not looking, when he’s delivering a drink. What if Adolf notices the key is missing? He won’t. I’ll take another key and hang it on the Rat’s hook. Then I’ll leave the door open a bit and return the key when Adolf isn’t around, and go back upstairs and wait in suite nine. When he comes in I’ll shoot him in the face. I’ll need a gun. No problem on the black market. Too noisy, though. Smother the shot with two pillows? Find a silencer?
Or a knife. Wait behind the door and when he comes in cut his throat from behind. That may be tough, he’s much taller, I’d have to reach up and that would make me lose leverage. Hit him first with a hammer and then cut his throat?
Yes, a hammer to the head first. Knock him out. Or stab him in the back. Where? The kidney? Keep him quiet or I’ll be caught.
As he put his cup to his lips he noticed his hand was trembling. He held up his left hand and it held still. Strange, just the right one. The cup clattered as he put it back on the saucer. He steeled himself by thinking of Maxie when he was young, when they played together in the staircase. Maxie’s lifeless eyes when he closed them with his fingers. They looked like wet gray stones.
The Rat. What if he comes in with someone else? His mother? What if two people come into the room?
Could be best not to do it in the hotel. Too many people may hear, get caught.
Maybe in an alley at night. Follow him and beat him over the head with a club? Or stab him with a knife? When he’s alone. A gun would be best, in the head, two shots to be sure, but too loud, could be caught. Can’t walk through the streets with two pillows. Can I get a silencer?
Hit and run with a car? Too messy, uncertain, and anyway, no car. A hunting accident in the woods? Does he go hunting? Push him off a cliff? Drown him in the Neckar?
How about getting some help? Kidnapping him? Torturing him. But who? And where? Somebody with a car. In the woods, outside town.
What will the Rat do, anyway? Stay inside? Go out with old friends?
Or will he leave, go somewhere else? But where? There’s nowhere to go. No, there’s time, thought Jacob, he’s not going anywhere.
So here’s the plan. Wait. Follow him. Decide. Do it in his room or in an alley. In the meantime, get a gun, maybe a silencer, and a knife. And a hammer.
Jacob knew where to go for a knife. The Amis loved German bayonets, commando knives, hunting knives, SS daggers and swords. On the road to the castle Germans sold dozens of them to American soldiers looking for souvenirs. These were the support troops. American combat soldiers had captured more weapons than they could carry but the cooks, the drivers, and the cable layers paid through the nose for anything warlike. Jacob had seen an Ami pay twenty-three dollars for a ceremonial SS fighting knife with the words “Blut und Ehre” engraved on the blade—Blood and Honor. It didn’t even have its sheaf. Germans weren’t allowed to sell guns but everyone knew they were for sale too. They’d sell their sisters if they could, and many did.
After three hours waiting for Hans and a quick purchase in a general hardware store, Jacob walked to the castle, where he bought a seven-inch Wehrmacht fighting knife with original sheaf for a hundred Reichsmarks. “It’s a TS-136-A,” the seller had begun, hoping to get top dollar from Jacob, “it’s worth more than the 137 because—” But Jacob interrupted, “I couldn’t care less, no dollars, a hundred marks, take it or leave it.”
Jacob was almost home when it suddenly occurred to him that Sarah might ask why he had bought a fighting knife, so he took off his jacket and hid it carefully in the sleeve.
Sarah, who was chopping vegetables, looked over her shoulder as he came in. “It’s freezing outside, why aren’t you wearing your jacket?” she said. “And what’s that you’ve got wrapped up in it?”
Jacob looked at his jacket in surprise. “Oh, nothing. Just something I got cheap, I can make ten dollars on this.”
“Whenever you say it’s nothing, it’s something. What is it?”
“Oh, just a military souvenir, Amis collect them.”
“But what is it?”
“Just a little knife.”
Sarah stretched out her hand. “Can I see it? This one is so blunt.”
With a sigh, Jacob unfurled the sleeve and pulled the seven-inch dagger from the sheaf.
“Goodness,” Sarah said. “What is it?”
“Just a knife, what does it look like?”
“It’s like a razor,” she said. “And the point, be careful, you can kill someone with that. Take it back. I don’t want to touch it.”
Jacob slid the knife back into the sheaf and put it under the bed. He waited for the right moment when Sarah wasn’t looking to take the hammer from the other sleeve and hide it next to the knife.
He smiled as Sarah placed two plates of hot food on the table. “It smells so good,” he said, slapping her bottom. “The perfect Hausfrau.”
They had fried potatoes and onions, two fried eggs, and cucumbers, and drank ice-cold water. They ate in silence until Sarah said, “Jacob?”
“Yes?”
“Why did you buy a hammer? And why did you hide it with the knife?”
“I didn’t hide it.”
“Yes, you did.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Then why did you look so guilty and wait till I wasn’t looking to put it under the bed with the knife?”
“What do you mean? I wasn’t hiding anything.”
“You were, I’ve never seen a man look so guilty.”
“Anyway, if you weren’t looking, how do you know I looked guilty?”
“I saw you in the mirror.”
“Oh.”
“So?”
“I honestly wasn’t hiding it. I just forgot I had it and then had to put it somewhere so I put it under the bed too, that’s all. Is there any pudding?”
“Rice pudding. With milk, or rather, milk powder. And there are more breadcrumbs than rice. Rice pudding sounds so much better than breadcrumb powder. But it’s really good.”
And it was. By now it was three o’clock in the afternoon.
“Bedtime,” said Jacob. “I’ll do the dishes later.”
“Oh, thank you. The dish.”
“Did anyone tell you that you are quite a cheeky girl?”
“No, never.”
“Well, come here and let me whisper it into your ear.” Jacob took off his shirt and sat on the bed to remove his trousers and underpants. “Don’t look.”
Sarah placed her hand over her eyes with her fingers wide apart.
“I’m not looking,” she said.
“Oh, good. Because we’re not married.”
“That reminds me. Will you marry me?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Nothing.”
“You did. Did you ask me to marry you?”
“No, of course not. I would never say that, a girl never says such a thing. That would make me a very forward girl.”
“Oh, right, of course, I forgot, you are a shrinking violet.”
“A what?”
“A demure maiden. A coy damsel. A bashful maid.”
“Exactly. So?”
“So? What?”
“So, will you marry me?”
Jacob lay naked on the bed, propped up against the pillow. He considered Sarah through half-closed eyes. He was thinking, There’s a slight stirring, please, please, God in heaven, give me an erection
this time. “Isn’t the man supposed to ask?”
“What man?”
Jacob closed his eyes and half-smiled. He nodded, as if all had been revealed. He turned onto his side and slid under the blanket and with a sigh laid his head on the pillow.
Sarah undressed and got into bed. “Jacob, you’ve gone all silent. What is it? Are you all right?”
Jacob wriggled away from her.
“Jacob. What is it? You don’t want to marry me? It’s all right, I was only joking. Come here.” She snuggled against his back. “I’m cold,” she said, hugging him. “Do you just want to go to sleep?”
No, he didn’t. He wanted to make love. But he felt nothing, the brain’s message had gone AWOL. It didn’t reach its destination. They lay there, Sarah hugging Jacob from behind. Finally he murmured, “Why do you want to marry me?”
Sarah smiled and whispered into his ear. “My mother always wanted me to marry a Jew.”
“But why me?”
She couldn’t help herself. “Because you’re the only Jew.”
Jacob laughed out loud and turned around suddenly. “Now that’s a good one,” he said, “I like your mom.” Now Sarah went quiet, and Jacob said, “Sorry. I’m sure I would have. Tell me about her. Would you?”
Sarah sighed. “Or later,” Jacob said. “It doesn’t matter.” They lay face-to-face, holding each other’s naked body, and they kissed, and with his index finger Jacob traced the tear that traveled down Sarah’s cheek, following the curve, and dripping to the pillow, and another one that followed. He smiled gently and kissed the corner of her eye. “Salty,” he whispered. Sarah nodded and tried to smile. She kissed the tip of his nose and his lips and he kissed her back. Jacob’s hand followed the line of her back to the silky down of her bottom and caressed it until Sarah gently pulled his hand away.
“She loved to knit and embroider,” she said. “Every evening after dinner she sat by the window. Socks, gloves, pullovers. Tiny ones in bright colors, with little animals on the collars, deer, ducks, or roses. She always said to me and Ruth, it’s for your babies. She always said, ‘B’zrat ha Shem,’ with God’s help, that’s about as religious as she was. She wanted so much for us to be married and happy, to be a grandma. And now she’s gone. And Ruth, too. And Daddy. Maybe it’s better that way. She would be so disappointed.”
Sarah began to weep and Jacob held her to him. He whispered into her ear, “Disappointed? Why? She would never be disappointed. Sarah … I love you. Of course I want to marry you. Will you marry me? Please? I love you, my baby Sarah, I love you,” and he stroked her hair and caressed her body as she wept in his arms and she cried out loud, “You don’t understand,” and Jacob said he did and she cried, “No, you don’t, you really don’t.” Jacob hugged her and kissed her and as they were folded into each other he felt himself stir and harden and he pressed and moved against her until she opened her legs and he probed and pushed inside her, all the way, as far as he could, and they rocked slowly together as she sobbed in his arms, until the sobs turned to moans that merged with his.
“Sorry,” Sarah said.
“No, no. That was beautiful, the most beautiful ever.” Jacob was lying on his back, Sarah on her side, snuggling against him as he held her close, his hand cupping her breast. They lay in silence, as their breathing quieted and the heaving of their chests slowed until the sheet barely rose, and even the rhythm of their breathing was as one and they fell into the deepest of sleeps.
It was dark when Jacob jolted awake. One arm was numb, under Sarah’s body. He extricated himself and wiped his brow. He was sweating. He breathed in deeply and blew out all the air, as if trying to banish the thoughts that had awoken him so harshly: What was that in his dream? It left him feeling ashamed of himself, humiliated. The Rat? Maxie. Outside … he was helping Maxie carry something, the Rat was shouting, he said to Jacob, If you’re so strong, you carry it. He’d flicked his whip at Maxie, who screamed and fell to the ground, and Jacob took the full weight of the bag of earth. Yes, that’s it. Hans was making the two of them carry a bag of earth up and down in the snow, from the trees to the first line of huts. For no reason, the bastard, the filthy scumbag. Maxie collapsed. Naked, that’s it. He was naked. Hans had made Jacob strip naked in the snow too and carry the huge bag of earth alone, there and back, sinking into the snow to his knees, stumbling and clawing at the ground until he, too, had collapsed, barely able to breathe, gasping for every breath, rasping and croaking, his lungs exploding, sweating like a pig in the ice, with Hans cursing him and lashing out with his lethal leather whip and missing him by centimeters.
Maxie was lying in the snow, vomiting blood, watching his big brother, who was naked and screaming for mercy.
Was it a just a nightmare? Did it happen? Jacob tried to remember. It had all been so horrific it didn’t seem possible anymore. Did these things really happen? Oh yes. That was nothing. Nothing at all. Just one more day in the sick mind of the Rat. Yes, Jacob remembered now. Of course it happened, and worse things happened every day.
A wave of humiliation and shame and hatred washed over Jacob. He edged away from Sarah. If she knew. If she knew. It made him sick to think of her knowing what the Rat had done to him. I have to kill him, Jacob thought, I’ll go mad if I don’t.
He heard Sarah’s gentle, peaceful breathing, saw her chest rise and fall, looked at her relaxed face, her closed eyes. He had stroked her tears away. Kissed those eyes when they were clenched in ecstasy. And now she rested.
I’ll never tell her what happened there.
He laughed to himself. She really did say it, didn’t she? She asked me to marry her. He laughed aloud, and turned, hoping not to have awakened her. In his home, sleep had been holy. If someone was sleeping, everyone had to tiptoe and whisper. And food. No talking at mealtimes. That was holy too. Sleep and eat, work and study, that had been the family rhythm, until Mutti died. Jacob tried to see her face. He couldn’t, he had no memory of how his mother looked, and all the photos were gone, as far as he knew. He would gladly have given everything, even his home, for some photos. He had nothing left. Nothing. It was as if his family had been swallowed by the universe. Gone. Where? If only he believed.
He should go to the Bergers, maybe they would have something.
He looked at Sarah again as she slept, and turned onto his side so that he could watch her. She was facing him, her mouth slightly open. She was dribbling, there was a damp spot on the pillow by her lips. What has happened to us? Damp spots from dribble; from tears; from sex. He smiled, full of love. He hoped nothing would change, but who knows, he thought. He had lost everything. She had lost everything. Now they had found each other. And in a world where everything can change in an instant, you hold on to what you have as hard as you can. Sarah wouldn’t even throw away a crust of bread, let alone a paper bag. She hoarded everything. A phrase ran through his mind, again and again: You have nothing, I have nothing, let’s have nothing together.
And then it occurred to him: If I kill Hans, will I lose Sarah? The thought left him breathless.
Could he really kill him and get away with it? What could they do to him? They could put him to death, that’s what. Who would look after Sarah? What would she do? Where would she go? He snorted. Why would they catch him? He’d plan it properly, he’d be careful, and if, God forbid, there was a chance of getting caught he’d go straight to the Amis and confess. Better the Americans than getting beaten to death by German prison guards, they’re all Nazis anyway. That’s it, any danger, straight to the Americans. How can they punish a Jewish concentration camp survivor who killed his SS guard, after they hear what he did to Maxie?
But for sure, he thought, don’t get caught by the Germans.
TWENTY-TWO
Heidelberg,
June 3, 1945
The next day, and the next, and the next, Jacob went to his café down the street from the Schwartzer Bock hotel. He didn’t want to draw attention by sitting for hours, so sometimes he walked slowly up
and down, until the third morning, when the café owner approached him. “Lost your wallet, have you?” he said. “Don’t worry, you can sit here as long as you like, makes us look busy. Empty tables are bad for business.” Jacob laughed and ordered a coffee. The owner joined him with a cup of tea and a plate of cookies, “Baked by the gracious lady”—his wife. There was no German newspaper yet but the owner didn’t need one, he knew all the gossip. “There’s a new tax on dogs, can you believe it?” He shook his head as if to say, losing a war is bad enough, but a dog tax? Two members of the Hitler Youth were shot for spying. Don’t they know it’s all over? Thank God. He was short on rolls, there wasn’t enough coal for the bakeries to bake bread. The good news was that the railway line to Frankfurt was running again, two trains a day, there and back. The Maggi soup cubes factory had reopened and was hiring. City hall was looking for garbage workers, cemetery staff, and kindergarten teachers. “Do you need a job?” he asked Jacob.
“Not yet. But I will soon.” He hoped the owner, Karl-Friedrich, wouldn’t ask any more questions and he didn’t. He was too busy in his role as town crier. Former prisoners of war had to register within two days or they wouldn’t get any ration cards, and if men didn’t report for work they could be arrested. “We need every hand there is to rebuild, especially the bridges. Jews, too,” he said, “if there are any. Not that they know what work is.”
“Why, don’t Jews want to work?” Jacob asked.
Karl-Friedrich snorted. “Why, did they ever?”
Jacob laughed. What he wanted to say, but didn’t, was Fuck you. What Jews? First you try to wipe us out, now you want us to rebuild your country. Build your own bloody bridge. Instead, he changed the subject.
“What else is going on?”
“There’s a busload of Jews coming soon, from Theresienstadt.”
Jacob froze.
“Eighteen. Eighteen too many. And did you know there are six thousand Russian workers here? Workers, that’s a joke. You know what the Russians say? A cigarette shortens your life by two hours. A vodka by three hours. And a day’s work by eight hours. Ha!” He slapped the table. “That’s a good one! They’re all going back home, not that they want to. I wouldn’t either. Better off here, except there’s no room.”
Jacob's Oath: A Novel Page 18