HS02 - Days of Atonement

by Michael Gregorio

  Lavedrine looked questioningly at me.

  ‘Lead on,’ I said.

  ‘We are not going far,’ Aaron Jacob replied, taking a hooked stick from the wall, turning towards the windows. ‘On that wall, there’—he pointed to the darkest corner of the room—‘I keep my specimens.’

  He reached up, caught the hook in a loop of string suspended from a shutter, and pulled. I blinked as light flooded in. What had seemed in the heavy gloom like a badly made wall full of unsightly lumps was transformed by light into an exhibition of a most curious sort. As the Jew pulled back the other shutter, I was oddly reminded of my own kitchen. Helena had made a habit of hanging bits of old crockery on the wall by way of decoration. But the objects on these walls were not blue-and-white pottery from the Low Countries. They might have been plain clay bowls, rather than pretty plates. Each one was facing the wall, as if to hide the design, the colour, and the glazing.

  Aaron Jacob turned to us like a university demonstrator, his long hooked stick in his hand. ‘Which of these belonged to the children who were massacred the other week, do you think?’

  I was bewildered by this question, my eyes flashing from one to another of the dozens of dull forms that were ranged upon the wall, searching for examples that were smaller.

  ‘What are they?’ I asked.

  ‘Cranial imprints,’ snapped Lavedrine, before Aaron Jacob could say a word. Then he turned to the Jew. ‘Did all of these come from Biswanger?’

  ‘Oh, no, sir.’ Aaron Jacob moved closer to the wall, like a cicerone in an Italian church, preparing to explain the mysteries of a fresco for a pittance. ‘Only four of these were made by him. The rest were in my baggage when I made my escape from Vilnius. I have friends in places where the Jews reside. Knowing of my research, they try to obtain impressions from a corpse whenever anything remarkable occurs. They send me a plaster cast, and a short history of the person who has died. Sometimes, of course, I pay. As you know, I am a man of adequate means. News of the local massacre spread to Judenstrasse. Biswanger mentioned that he had the bodies in his workshop. I knew what he was after. Geld is everything to that man.’

  ‘Why did you want them?’ I asked, trying to stifle my feelings of revulsion.

  The Jew turned to me. ‘Have you heard of Gottfried Treviranus, sir?’

  ‘Another gravedigger?’ I asked with a shudder.

  ‘Professor Treviranus recently invented the science of Biology,’ Aaron Jacob continued without batting an eye. ‘By careful observation of the human body, he says, we may make genial intuitions about its nature, and speculate intelligently about how it functions. A simple instance, the spleen. Does any man truly know what it is for?’

  ‘The seat of melancholy,’ I murmured automatically, like any man who has read a book of Renaissance poetry in his youth.

  ‘A genial intuition,’ the Jewish scholar of the macabre replied, ‘but poetry hardly leads to intelligent speculation about what the organ is for. That is what the medical researcher is interested in knowing. If one spleen, or a hundred, are left in water, the liquid will always turn black. Chemical analysis of the fluid tells us that various minerals have been deposited there, and nowhere else in the body. From this evidence, we can deduce that the spleen in every human body is a sort of chamber pot, though we still have no clear idea why certain substances gather there.’

  ‘I see that you are a scientist,’ Lavedrine praised him. ‘But let us limit our talk to heads. The heads of the Gottewald infants.’

  The Jew bowed his own head, as if to acquiesce, then raised his stick and pointed to the top row of plaster casts on the wall. ‘Science does not consist in merely cataloguing random facts, monsieur. It requires the formulation of a hypothesis that will explain them,’ he continued. ‘I began with these six Gentile casts. They are impressions taken from the skulls of persons who had led unexceptional lives. This one belonged to a boy of ten,’ he said, tapping the plate on the left. ‘They range in ten-year intervals—step by step—to this one over here, a man of sixty. Each one died of what might be called unexceptional causes, common illnesses: cold, hunger, congestion, fever, and so on. The sutures—the points of joining of the cranial plates, here and here—are quite regular. They are, I repeat, unexceptional in every way. These six became my template,’ he explained.

  ‘At that point, for the purposes of comparison, I began to collect the skulls of Jews and Gentiles who had died of exceptional causes. Accidents, acts of God, for the most part. Murder in some cases. Like the Gottewald children. Their heads are remarkable,’ he said. His brow creased into deep wrinkles. ‘But we must take one small step at a time.’

  ‘A mob is howling for blood,’ I urged. ‘How many steps will they allow us?’

  ‘As many as we need to understand,’ Lavedrine snapped. As if the subject truly interested him. As if he thought that it ought to interest me as well. ‘Please, go on, Herr Jacob.’

  Aaron Jacob bowed. ‘In 1791, Galvani discovered the existence of the neuro-muscular electrical impulse. This is the same spiritus vitalis, or “vital force” that Franz Anton Mesmer also describes. Magnetism is both terrestrial, as Newton suggests, and it is animal. That is to say, the human body is a battleground of conflicting electrical charges. I believe that the magnetic tension inside the head, the ebb and flow within the blood-paths of the brain, is the direct result of external stimuli, and I am trying to construct a theory based on the positive–negative poles of magnetic attraction. Some people appear to attract only positive energy. They live a long and a peaceful life. Others attract negative energy, which will eventually destroy them.’

  ‘Where do the Gottewald children fit into your scheme?’ Lavedrine enquired.

  The Jew tapped his stick against the last three plates on the bottom row. ‘I have examined their skulls with care. Biswanger swears that the casts he made were perfect. Yet there is something truly perplexing about them, and I am hesitant to explain it.’

  He set aside his stick, removed the three cranial casts from the wall, and laid them on a small table beneath the window.

  ‘You will see them better there,’ he said, taking up a candle, lighting three others that were resting on the table. ‘I suppose you are asking yourselves why I am so interested in phrenological science?’

  ‘I do not care,’ I snapped. ‘Just tell us why the children died.’

  I might have been alone in the vast Arctic wilderness for all the response I got. Aaron Jacob turned to Lavedrine, as if I had ceased to exist. ‘Do you know the history of the Jewish nation, sir?’ he asked with extreme gravity.

  ‘Everyone has heard tales from the Bible,’ the Frenchman conceded.

  ‘That is a start, I suppose.’ The Jew shrugged. ‘The Five Books of Moses inform us that the Jewish people have been plagued with misfortune from the dawn of time. We were God’s Chosen, but always—invariably, I might say—we made the wrong choice. We ignored the Voice from the Burning Bush. We worshipped graven images. We offended, we were punished, carried into exile, forced to wander forty years in the desert of Sinai. We have been adrift ever since. On our heads the weight of celestial judgement has fallen heavily, and our sufferings are by no means over. If I were to take down one of the Jewish casts, I could show you, trace for trace, the terrible persecutions we have suffered as a consequence of defying the holy words of the Torah.’

  ‘An interesting notion,’ Lavedrine said quietly.

  ‘It is not a question of the colour of our skin, or the peculiarity of our language,’ the Jew went on. ‘There are actual physical mutations! They may be caused by the way in which a people or a nation is forced to live and suffer, though I cannot swear to it. There may be other causes. God may mark out one people in a certain way, and mark all others differently, in a manner only He can see. But I repeatedly noted minute striations and some significant patterns in the way that the bones are knit together in Jewish skulls, and I have drawn certain conclusions from them. I have made comparison with Gentile sku
lls and never found a trace of these telltale signs. With one exception. The Gottewald children, but they, of course are Prussian . . .’

  ‘Which signs?’ I snapped. I believe in Practical Reason. I have no time for men who see the future written in the stars, or women who claim to read the lines of the hand for a Pfennig.

  ‘The human skull is a map,’ Aaron Jacob answered, his eyes gleaming with passion. ‘In Jewish skulls, there is evident fragility in the parietal suturing, a curious rotundity in the protuberantia occipitalis, a distinct porosity of the calcium . . .’

  ‘They are different,’ I interrupted again. ‘According to you.’

  ‘According to science,’ he countered, pointing to an almost imperceptible ridge that ran down the centre of the cranium on the left. ‘Here, do you see it? And here, again? In the case of the little girl, there seems to be a less dramatic suture, but it does not greatly alter the matter. What does this mean? The answer is as simple as it is inevitable. These three children were marked from birth as victims. Though Gentiles, Divine wrath was irresistibly attracted to them. They had committed no sin, but they have been punished. As certainly as a magnet attracts iron filings. As inevitably as a Jew calls forth Christian hatred. They have been struck down.’

  There was a mad light shining in that man’s eyes as he raised his forefinger to the heavens.

  ‘A universal law of violence?’ I asked incredulously. ‘All who die cruelly bear the mark of Cain? That is absurd! Why should God’s retribution fall on the blameless heads of three Prussian children?’

  Suddenly, I saw the flaw in the man’s argument. Aaron Jacob was a Jew. He would tell us that the world was square if it explained the tragic history of his people. He was obsessed, desperate for an explanation. He thought to find it in his treasure trove of horrid objects.

  ‘Are you suggesting that murder is not the action of free will?’ I pressed him. ‘That it is simply a casual attraction of contrasting energies? I know the works of Mesmer and his followers, but your interpretation is without parallel, sir. You’ll be telling us next that all the victims of the guillotine were unlucky souls whose heads just happened to be the wrong shape!’

  ‘I would give my fortune to examine each and every one of them,’ Aaron Jacob replied defiantly. ‘Those skulls would provide definitive confirmation of my theory.’

  ‘Or reveal its total lunacy,’ I counter-attacked.

  Aaron Jacob stared at me in silence. I had the feeling he would have loved to run his fingers over the irregularities of my own head. ‘Does the idea disturb you, sir? God knows and sees all things. If He knows of injustice, why does He not prevent it? He could have saved those children, yet He did not. I repeat what I said to you before. They were born to die by violence.’

  He might have added Bruno Gottewald to his list. Sybille Gottewald, too, if the mangled corpse we had found that morning could be identified. He knew nothing about them, and I was glad of that. Aaron Jacob would only have twisted the information to suit his own ends.

  ‘We are looking for a more logical solution,’ I said plainly. ‘A solution that is supported by evidence.’

  Aaron Jacob took a step towards me. A light was burning in his eyes. His body seemed to quiver with determination. ‘Can you offer one single reason that explains the persistent tragedy of my people over the course of thousands of years?’

  ‘We are not here to investigate the vicissitudes of the Jews,’ I answered. ‘We are interested in three children murdered in Lotingen. We must learn why they died. And why their mother is missing.’

  Aaron Jacob considered this for a moment. His face grew dark and brooding.

  ‘When she is found, Herr Procurator, I would consider it a privilege if I might be allowed to examine her skull,’ he said. ‘If it conforms to the pattern of her children, she will have met a sudden and a terrible death.’

  I thought of the mutilated body of a woman we had found in Gummerstett’s warehouse, and a cold shiver ran tingling down my spine.

  Had this improbable wise man stumbled on a horrid truth?

  ‘The last report we have of Frau Gottewald places her in your rented cottage,’ Lavedrine interposed. ‘She was alive, then.’

  ‘Where and when a person dies is beyond the realms of scientific study, monsieur,’ Aaron Jacob replied. ‘God knows the answer. I can only examine the evidence after the fact. If the lady is living when she is found, examination of her skull will still . . .’

  ‘Thank you, Herr Jacob,’ I cut in sharply, glancing at Lavedrine. ‘We have learnt as much as we are ever likely to learn. We can consider this interview over.’

  But the Frenchman chose to ignore my signal.

  ‘Earlier you mentioned classifications, sir,’ he said. ‘As a criminologist this aspect of your studies interests me more than any other. “Victims” was the term that you used, as if some beings are born with no other purpose in life.’

  Aaron Jacob preened like a peacock over this unexpected compliment. ‘The Twelve Tribes of Israel were God’s ordained people. Now, we are obliged to suffer and pay for our sin. In the future we will be redeemed. Yom Kippur. This is the name that we give to the Day of Atonement. Is this predestination, or is it fate? In Jewish skulls, as I said before, I have seen the message of impending tragedy . . . No, excuse me’—he paused and laid his hand on his heart—‘tragedy is not the word I am looking for. Our history as a people is marked by tragedy. It is our birthmark. There is an even greater trial in store. All the signs point to it. A disaster of unimaginable proportions will fall upon us. The Kabbalah, our book of mysticism, indicates that the Devil’s time for harvesting is not yet ripe. Lilith will come, Time will cease . . . It will happen here in Prussia.’

  ‘We are wasting time,’ I said to Lavedrine. ‘Herr Jacob promised to tell us why the children were killed. We have our answer. Destiny. The best way to put an end to the unrest in Lotingen is to find the killer. We will not do so standing here.’

  Lavedrine seemed pointedly to ignore my urgency once again.

  ‘All is not so gloomy as you paint it,’ he said to Aaron Jacob. ‘You are no longer an underprivileged outcast. The Napoleonic Codes have granted civil rights to Jews, not just in Prussia, but throughout the continent of Europe. That includes the freedom to study, and improve your lot. We have turned the old world upside-down. Is it not a better place?’

  The Jew smiled uncertainly at Lavedrine, but he made no effort to reply.

  I could have answered for him. I had seen the fright in the eyes of my wife and children as the French were storming through the town. If his theory was correct, the irregularity of our skulls had brought violence crashing down upon us. If he was right, Napoleon Bonaparte had been given no choice but to hammer us.

  I kept this opinion to myself as we left the house.

  Outside it was night.

  The crowd of men who had brought us there had dispersed like evening mist. We found Judenstrasse equally deserted. It was as if the hand of God had swept down from the heavens and carried everyone off to the better place that Lavedrine had mentioned. When we reached the gate, we found no angry crowd on either side.

  The four militiamen were quietly smoking their pipes.

  ‘What happened?’ I asked the corporal of the Palisaders.

  ‘They hung around and shouted,’ he replied. ‘Then one by one they got tired of it, and drifted off.’

  ‘A propitious inversion of negative cosmic influences.’ Lavedrine laughed. ‘I have a scientific theory of my own.’

  ‘What is that?’ I asked.

  ‘It is dinnertime, Herr Procurator.’ A strange shy smile played at the corners of his mouth. ‘You’ll be going home to dine, I suppose.’

  ‘True,’ I answered.

  ‘I wonder, Stiffeniis, may I keep you company? I feel the need for warmth and fellowship after such a depressing day. Would your wife object if I asked her to set an extra plate for me at her table?’

  I felt a sudden stiffening in my
limbs, a tightening of the muscles in my face. What did this Frenchman want from me? What did he expect from my family?

  Warmth, he had said.

  Like a flea looking for a new host and fresh blood, thought I to myself, resentfully. If he came to dinner, he was bound to see Helena again. And meet my children. He would sit down at my table, and enjoy the fruits of our limited store.

  The curfew sounded as we turned into the cathedral square.

  I did not wish him to see the uneasiness that he had awakened in my breast.

  ‘You are most welcome,’ I said, but there was no enthusiasm in it.

  26

  HELENA COULD NOT have failed to notice our arrival.

  She must have told the maid to wait until we rang before opening the door, I decided. As one would do with strangers.

  My wife was avoiding me, as I had chosen to avoid her that morning.

  ‘Wait a moment, Stiffeniis.’

  Lavedrine laid his hand on my arm, preventing me from pulling the bell cord.

  Had he had second thoughts about inviting himself to dinner?

  ‘I do not think we should tell Helena about the body that we found this morning,’ he said, instead. ‘Not in her own home. What do you say if we leave her in peace for a while?’

  Not Frau Stiffeniis. Not your wife. Helena . . .

  I smiled weakly. ‘I have learnt to my cost,’ I said, ‘how difficult it is to keep anything secret from my wife. You realised the danger before I did. If we don’t tell her, somebody else will.’

  Lavedrine nodded thoughtfully. ‘I am a guest,’ he said. ‘It would be a sort of sacrilege to bring what we have seen today into your home. Do you not agree?’

  Here was another side of the man. He spoke without a trace of sarcasm. As a rule, it dripped from his lips as naturally as water from a spring. Now he wished to shun any mention of facts that might wound a frail female heart, though I had witnessed the speed with which he could cut a woman’s face with that spiked ring of his. Now, this genteel Frenchman would do anything to leave crude reality outside my house. As we were examining that crushed body in Gummerstett’s warehouse, he himself had proposed that Helena be dragged into the investigation. Now, this sudden change. What was going through his mind?