Raisins and Almonds pf-9

by Kerry Greenwood

  'I love you,' she said obediently. 'And I'll take you to dinner at the Society again, and after that we will see.'

  'Lady,' began Chaim Abrahams. 'Hey, lady!'

  'Oh, did you want to say something?' Phryne's social manner was unassailable. 'Do please forgive me. I was just chatting to your charming nephew.'

  'He's a fool. So is his father. All fools.'

  'Oh? Tell us about it.'

  Phryne lit a gasper and exhaled the smoke, leaning back in the bench. There was a small cold lump in her stomach. She began to fancy that she could smell blood.

  'That compound is going to make me rich,' said Chaim. 'All my life I've been working, working, and always events were against me, even God was against me, gevalt! I toiled and I starved and I never got nowhere. Then, just when I've got a good shoe business going, comes my brother back from France, rich as Croesus, rich for life from just one deal, and what does he do? He takes it off me, he takes my shoe business for his own, and then what can I do? He's got the money. He's got the power.'

  'It wasn't like that,' protested Simon, and subsided as the knife nicked his throat.

  'A slave in his house, that's all I was.'

  Phryne watched in horror as a thin trickle of blood slid down the young man's smooth throat and puddled in his collarbone. Murder under the ground, the Rabbi Elijah had said. Death and weeping. Greed caused it. Here was murder and greed. But Phryne could have coped much better with being threatened herself. Watching this madman murder her lover was as terrible an ordeal as she could imagine. Such a beautiful boy. She had to keep Chaim Abrahams distracted and talking.

  'That must have been awful for you,' she prompted. 'Then what happened?'

  'I heard of Yossi's work. A clever boy, that Yossi. Clever and poor and mad about Zion, that pipe dream!

  Palestine, what is there in Palestine but dust and camels and pogroms? Yossi wanted to sell the compound for guns, such a fool, he didn't realise what it was worth. For this formula he could have bought the British Protectorate and everything in it. Artificial rubber? The whole world wants it. He could have owned every yard of his precious Palestine! And he came to me, Yossi. To ask me to arrange a sale.'

  'Why should he come to you?' asked Phryne, watching the trickle of blood overflow the collarbone and stain Simon's shirt.

  'He thought I was sympathetic to his aims, what a meshugennerl No use talking to my so-clever brother, no, it was well known he was no Zionist. So he came to me! Of all people!' Chaim Abrahams laughed, a deep pleasant chuckle.

  'I see,' encouraged Phryne.

  'I knew people, I told him. Bring me the formula and I'll put you in touch with those who can deliver your guns. But I had to get rid of the go-between, see?'

  'Not precisely,' said Phryne. 'Why didn't you just steal the formula?'

  'Look how much you know,' sneered Chaim. 'Yossi would know when the Chaim Abrahams Rubber Plant started production. I thought that it was Yossi who would make the exchange, putting the formula in one book and getting his reward from another. So I took the place of the carter and delivered the box to the bookshop. Then, when Miss Lee was busy, I put the razor blade into the book and sprinkled on the poison which is crystals in office paste. Simple. Yossi dead from unknown causes and all I have to do is buy the book.'

  'Except that it didn't work out like that, did it?' asked Phryne, sympathetically.

  Chaim scowled. 'Who would have thought that it would be Shimeon who put his finger in the wrong place?' he asked rhetorically. 'Then the bookshop is closed and I cannot get to it, but I think, soon the woman will be hanged and the goods sold, and I will get it then. So I just wait.'

  'You just wait?' asked Phryne. 'You don't go burgling houses?'

  'Me, do I have the figure for burglary?' asked Chaim. 'Stay still,' he warned Simon, who had shifted on his knees. He must, Phryne thought, be in considerable pain. The cold lump was getting colder. She was running out of things to say.

  Robinson rescued her. 'We've got men covering all the exits,' he informed Abrahams. 'You won't get away with this. Let the boy go. He hasn't done you any harm.'

  'No harm?' screamed Chaim suddenly. 'No harm he's done me? If he hadn't been born, I would be the sole heir of my brother. All his life, he's been in my way.'

  'Come on, Mr Abrahams, you can see you can't get away,' said Jack Robinson, almost kindly. 'You're not going to inherit now, are you? Let him go.'

  'Never!'

  Silence fell again. Time passed. Simon shifted from knee to knee, grimacing at the stinging of the blade in the little wound. The air grew almost solid with rotten fruit and static electricity. Phryne heard the crack of thunder overhead.

  Jack Robinson was taking Chaim through his actions again, and sympathizing with his troubles. Delay was all. Time was on their side. Chaim must get weary. The hand holding the knife must eventually cramp.

  Then, possibly, Simon would die because Chaim was too tired to stand.

  An hour, perhaps, had gone past. Bert had tried his hand at negotiation. Phryne could not think of anything to say, so she sent a constable for some water, which she intended to drink. Chaim must be thirsty by now. If he saw her drinking, he might be moved to bargain. A glass of water, for Simon's life?

  There was a flurry of feet on the steps and a woman's voice screamed 'Simon!'

  'Stay back, Julia,' warned Chaim. 'Don't come any closer.'

  'Simon, you're hurt ...' Julia came to a skidding halt next to Phryne. 'Chaim, what is this?'

  'Julia, you are in time to watch your son die,' said the murderer.

  'Why, Chaim, why?' she demanded, taking a step towards him. 'Bubelah, are you all right?'

  'I'm all right, Mama,' he said valiantly.

  'You chose the wrong man,' said Chaim. 'You know it now. When you had to choose, in Paris, between two poor men, me and my brother, you chose wrong, Julia.'

  'No,' she said faintly. 'I chose right.'

  'Wrong,' he snarled, and Julia jumped back from his contorted face.

  'All right, I was wrong, I was wrong, now let Simon go,' said Mrs Abrahams. 'You let him go, Chaim, and I'll go away with you, I'll do anything you want. I'll lie down on this floor for you, let my son go!'

  'Too late,' said Chaim. 'Once that would have made me happy, but not now. Come closer if you want him dead,' he added.

  'Phryne,' whispered Julia Abrahams, 'do something!'

  'I'm thinking,' said Phryne.

  The police marksman would be in position by now. If she could get Simon away for only a second he would have a clear target and would fire, and police marksmen seldom missed. But Chaim was strong on his legs, had Simon in what looked like an unbreakable grip, and had more grievances to air. She doubted that he would kill Simon while he had a captive audience and further envy, malice and all uncharitableness to spill. Phryne pushed Mr Abrahams forward.

  'You talk to him,' she urged. 'Get him to tell you how much he hates you.'

  'Chaim?' asked Mr Abrahams. 'What are you doing, brother?'

  'Brother?' snarled Chaim. 'What brother were you to me? You married the woman I loved, you stole my business, and you made me your slave. Find this, Chaim, fix this, Chaim, oh, Chaim will do it! He's got no head for business, Chaim, too visionary, a luftmensch, but good on the day-to-day details, keep the diary, arrange the appointments!' His mockery was merciless and instantly recognizable.

  'Chaim,' said Benjamin Abrahams, 'Chaim, please, we're mispocheh! We're family!'

  'Bennie, we're not related,' snapped Chaim.

  'Then give me a great gift, stranger.' Benjamin Abrahams sank down onto his knees, eye to eye with his son. 'Give me this life.'

  'I want you to mourn,' Chaim's voice was inhumanly gleeful and Phryne shivered. '"Oh, Absalom, my son, my son! Would that I had died for thee," that's what I want for you, Bennie, I want you to mourn.'

  'I will mourn,' agreed Benjamin Abrahams. 'I will mourn the loss of my son. I will also mourn the loss of my brother,' he said. 'You want me to
beg, Chaim? Here I am, begging. You want my wife to leave me and go to you? She's going right now. You want my business, every penny I own? It's yours. Only give me my son, Chaim. Give me Simon.'

  'No,' said Chaim. 'You don't mean it, brother. You mean to fool me. Don't you think I know that as soon as I let go of this boy, the policeman will seize me? They're out of sight but I know they're there. Get up, Bennie. Lead the way. We're going out of the market. Then you will drive me away in your big car.'

  He hauled Simon to his feet and Phryne followed a grotesque, horrible procession. Chaim kept his back to the shops and sidled along, using Simon as a shield. Benjamin Abrahams walked ahead, Phryne and Julia behind, and there was still not a thought of what to do in Miss Fisher's mind.

  Death under the ground, the Rabbi had said. Beware.

  It would be so much easier if it had been her. She would have kicked and fought and could have got away, far enough for a shot to find Chaim's black heart. But Simon was limp prey, going where he was pushed.

  They stumbled down the stairs and into the main hall of shops. Phryne heard twittering from the birdshop, and a sleepy voice demanding 'Polly wants ...' before it fell silent in its usual indecision. The stench of rotten oranges, Phryne knew, would forever call up this nightmare suspense, the sight of the boy's blood, and the miasma of hatred which surrounded Uncle Chaim like a rank mist.

  They had almost reached the door when it crashed open, and Chaim flung himself back against a wall with Simon in front of him.

  The knife was against his throat. Julia bit her knuckle to stop a scream. Benjamin Abrahams swore.

  'Don't come no closer,' screamed Chaim.

  A figure out of Talmudic story, preternaturally tall, bearded, his gaberdine slick with water so that he looked like he was wrapped in metal, raised one hand and pointed at Chaim.

  'Thou shalt do no murder!' he boomed, and the voice echoed in the empty market. Lightning flashed and thunder cracked like artillery behind him, and Chaim slashed wildly with the knife. Simon whispered 'Schma Yisroel.' Chaim faltered and missed. For a split second he was a little off balance, and Phryne saw her chance. She dived forward and tackled Simon, knocking him down and out of Chaim's grasp.

  They rolled across the floor and into a corner. Simon buried his head in Phryne's breast and shuddered and she held him tight, unable to look away from the Prophet Ezekiel in the doorway.

  Lightning flashes silvered his hair and made a carved stone of his face. He took another step, and cried again, 'Murderer! There is the mark of Cain upon you!'

  Chaim Abrahams screamed and stabbed with the knife, and this time he did not miss.

  Phryne saw both figures fall. The Rabbi Elijah collapsed into Yossi's arms, but Chaim Abrahams, who had stabbed himself unerringly through the heart, lay where he fell.

  Sixteen

  'I challenge you,' said the young man, 'to tell me the whole of the Torah while standing on one leg,' 'That which is hateful to you, do not do unto your neighbours,' snapped Rabbi Hillel. 'All the rest is commentary. So and learn!'

  Leo Rosten, The Joys of Yiddish

  It was a terrible argument.

  The Abrahams were forbidden celebration by the requirement to sit shivah for seven days to mourn the death of their brother and uncle Chaim. Equally Chaim had killed himself only after he had tried to kill Simon, and Simon was alive and Chaim was dead. A suicide was denied ordinary burial and mourning; the body was in any case being held by the police for post-mortem and a subsequent inquest. Then again and on the fourth hand, suicides were not condemned as murderers if the balance of their mind was disturbed, and there was no doubt that Chaim's mind had been disturbed, but also there was no doubt that he had murdered poor Shimeon. Confusion was becoming endemic.

  Rabbi Elijah was recovering in hospital from his heart attack, and was not available for comment. Phryne finally extracted herself from the argument and went to telephone the gentle and wise Rabbi Cohen, to whom she explained the whole situation in confidence.

  'Tell them that the law requires them to mourn a life lost, but it also requires them to rejoice in a life saved,' said the old man's voice, a little shocked and a little amused.

  'A party?' suggested Phryne.

  'Just a small one,' he agreed.

  So it was a small luncheon party. Simon was sitting next to his mother, who would not let him out of her sight. He trusted that this would wear off soon, because Phryne was taking him out to dinner and he had hopes. The only sign of his ordeal was a small cut on his throat which had required only two stitches, some scraped rings around his wrists, and a certain hollowness about the eyes, seen in those who have looked into the face of death and been saved by a miracle. Occasionally he could still feel the cold breath of the blade as it sliced past his face, and the strength of Phryne's body as she bore him across the floor.

  He was glad that he had not seen Chaim die. He was still puzzled about Chaim. No one had ever hated Simon before. Uncle Chaim? It seemed impossible.

  There were potato pancakes and a tasty boiled fish. There were little pies made of spinach and a multitude of interesting sandwiches. There was also excellent coffee in the big pot and endless supplies of tea.

  The students had occupied the sofa and were eating as though they did not expect to see a good meal until next year. Julia Abrahams was passing them more plates, and wondering if there was any real prospect of filling them up.

  Mrs Katz, almost extinguished under her favourite hat, was delighted to be in such respected company. Her husband Max sat next to her. She slapped his wrist and told him, in a loud whisper, not to blow on his tea. Mrs Grossman, in an equally flowered hat, was enjoying the luxury of eating something which she had not cooked (though she privately considered that her gefillte fish was better). Detective Inspector Robinson, with a commendation from the Chief still echoing pleasantly in his ears, was eating little biscuits and thinking how uncommonly well Miss Fisher looked, considering the immense risk she had taken, diving across the floor under a madman's knife. Phryne had put on a violet dress with a black chiffon overlay: the colours of Victorian half-mourning. Jack Robinson wondered if she had done it on purpose and decided that she had. She was a woman who savoured nuances.

  'Well,' sighed Benjamin Abrahams, 'it is all over. It is not well over, and I will never forgive myself for not noticing how Chaim felt—for not noticing Chaim at all.'

  'To think of Chaim hating us so much for all those years,' sighed Julia. 'I should have seen. But he never touched me, never spoke to me, Bennie, so how could I know?'

  'Ai-ai-ai? said Mrs Katz. 'Such a sad thing.'

  'But now it is over,' continued Benjamin Abrahams. 'Chaim alav ha-sholom did it all.'

  'No,' said Phryne. 'Chaim didn't. Perhaps you weren't there, but I asked him about the other things. I asked him about Mrs Katz's robbery, the burglary of my house, the man who tried to steal my purse. No, said Chaim, all I had to do was wait until Miss Lee was hanged—-the bastard!—and I could buy the book. No, Chaim didn't do those things. And it is not proper to load him with all available sins just because he is dead. But the person who did them is in this room.'

  'Who?' demanded Robinson.

  'I shall ascertain. Mr Abrahams, if I may?' He made a gesture for her to continue. She walked to the middle of the room. 'I have three questions.' She held up three fingers. 'One. Mrs Katz, do you recognize any of the young men who tied you to a chair and robbed your house?'

  'I don't like to say,' said Mrs Katz. Her husband said, 'You tell them, if you know' Mrs Katz looked up from under the brim of the black hat and said, 'Maybe he looks a little like one of them. But I really didn't see them to know again. One of them had a scarf over his face.'

  'Yossi,' said Phryne, 'you really wanted your formula back, didn't you?'

  Yossi hung his head. 'I didn't mean to hurt you,' he muttered to Mrs Katz. 'I didn't know that he'd left you tied up. When I found out I went back, but Miss Williams was already there.'

  'Y
ou broke my plate,' said Mrs Katz sadly. 'And I can't get no other. If you had asked me, I would have told you that I didn't have your paper.'

  'What would the rabbi say about this situation?' asked Phryne.

  'He would say that Yossi should serve Mrs Katz in some way, to repair as far as possible the damage he has caused, the fear and the injury,' said David Kaplan.

  'Of course, we could just lock him up,' said Robinson.

  Phryne tsked. 'Hush, Jack, you are a spoil sport! I'll find your major offender for you, can't you let a few little fish through the net? Yossi has a great future as a chemist. He and Mr Abrahams are going into business and I expect them to be very successful.'

  'Well, since there was no official complaint made ...' temporized the Detective Inspector, and allowed Phryne to sit him down again. She perched on the arm of the chair.

  'I could make you a pair of shoes,' said Yossi suddenly. He knelt down and took up one of Mrs Katz's feet. 'I'm a good shoemaker. These look tight and they hurt, nu?'

  'I can't tell you how much,' said Mrs Katz. 'All day on my feet, cooking, washing. Agony,' she declared. And good shoes so expensive.'

  'I can make you a pair, you won't know you're wearing shoes,' said Yossi, and grinned. 'Like air on the feet.'

  Mrs Katz clipped him lightly across the ear and said, 'See that they are.'

  'Very nice,' approved Phryne. 'Will you make me shoes as well, or wasn't it you who climbed into my room and handled all my underwear?'

  'Me,' said Yossi. 'A pair of shoes, you'll want to stand all day to feel how nice they are.'

  'Good, and I don't need to clip your ears, either. Do I get a second pair for the attempted theft of my handbag?'

  'Not me,' said Yossi.

  'Who was your co-offender?' asked Phryne gently.

  Yossi's mouth, which had softened into a smile, shut like a trap.

  'You won't say, eh?' He shook his head, implacable. Phryne had a certain implacability herself. 'There are other ways of finding out. Second question, and the ladies present should pardon my lack of modesty. Yossi, Kaplans and Cohen. Think about your fellows. Are you sure that they are all circumcised?'