‘I’m afraid I’ll have to interpret,’ Rousso said. ‘Mrs Broudo knows no English or French.’
They sat round a table. Mrs Broudo immediately took Rachel’s hand and talked at speed. The rabbi struggled to cut her off, eventually taking her other hand. There was some rapid muttering and he imposed order, stopping the old woman after each lengthy sentence.
It transpired that the residents had been taken in a bus to the Monasterioton synagogue in the centre to attend a wedding a week earlier. It was as she was waiting to be helped up from her seat that Mrs Broudo had seen the man she was sure was Aron Samuel. He was on the other side of the street from the place of worship and his face was in profile. That was how she recognised him. He had what Rabbi Rousso translated as ‘imperious’ features and a long, completely straight nose.
Rachel pre-empted Mavros again. She asked how the old woman could be so sure it was her great-uncle after six decades. Ester Broudo smiled briefly when the rabbi translated. She said she had a crush on Aron when she was a teenager, even though she only ever saw him across the school playground. He never paid any attention to her. He had a reputation as a rebel who didn’t care about lessons. But she spent many intervals between classes staring at him and she wouldn’t be moved from the certainty that it was him she had seen. She added that he still had a fine head of hair, though it was pure white now.
‘Did she see anyone with him?’ Mavros asked, determined to play some part in the interview.
The answer was negative.
‘What was he wearing?’ Mavros continued.
A brown suit, very well fitted – Ester Broudo’s husband had been a tailor and she knew about male clothing – and a scarf with magenta and white stripes.
Rachel leaned forward. The old woman’s hand was still on hers. ‘Why did she insist that the rabbi urgently contact my father?’
There was a long silence after Rousso had translated the question. Mrs Broudo’s head dropped and she started to sob. After a while she started to speak, her croaking voice filled with what seemed to Mavros to be heartfelt passion.
The rabbi’s mouth hung open when she finished and Rachel had to prompt him to speak.
‘I’m sorry,’ he stuttered. ‘Ester … Ester says that your great-uncle was … a traitor in Auschwitz. She says he was a murderer. He was … he was responsible for the deaths of her grandfather, grandmothers, father, mother, sisters and brother. She wants your family to know that, even though she has nothing against you.’
‘Ask her what she means by responsible,’ Rachel demanded, extracting her hand from Mrs Broudo’s grip.
The rabbi did his best, but the old woman would not say any more. Eventually Rachel got up and nodded brusquely to Mavros, then turned and walked out of the room. He shrugged at the rabbi and smiled at Ester, but she took no notice of him.
Mavros found Rachel outside the entrance hall. She was very pale and had her phone in her hand. The rabbi arrived, panting.
‘I’m … I’m very sorry, Mademoiselle Samuel,’ he said.
‘Does Mrs Broudo have any history of mental illness?’ Rachel asked coldly.
‘Not that I’m aware of.’
‘Have you ever heard her talk about the Samuel family before?’ Mavros put in.
‘I asked the superintendent that very question. She said not. Ester has become frustrated by her physical decline, but she is a kindly soul.’
‘Did anyone else on the bus recognise my uncle?’
Rousso shook his head at Rachel. ‘Ester didn’t mention what she’d seen to anyone until she came to me as the group was leaving. I was very surprised. I knew nothing of your family’s past, but she was insistent that I call your father. I had his number, of course. Your family’s donations are much appreciated.’
Rachel thanked him, then started to walk down the drive. He and Mavros followed.
‘What’s your feeling, Rabbi?’ he asked. ‘An elderly lady – she must be around eighty – recognising a man who’s shown no sign of life since the end of the war. Do you believe her?’
‘Yes, I do,’ he said, with surprising certainty. ‘I’ve known Ester for over twenty years. She was a teacher and a very good one. Her mind is as sharp as it ever was and her eyesight is unusually good. Not only that, she’s changed since she saw him. It’s as if … I don’t know … as if she’d been waiting for him.’
‘Does she have any relatives or friends outside the home?’
‘None, I’m afraid. You heard what happened to her family, and her husband died in the 60s. They had no children.’ He lowered his voice. ‘We searched her room too. There were no letters or anything from Mr Samuel.’
Mavros was unimpressed by the intrusion into the old woman’s privacy, but he didn’t let it show. ‘What do you think she meant about Aron Samuel being responsible for her family’s deaths?’
‘I really can’t say. I’ve checked the records and memoirs. There is nothing to suggest any such thing. But …’
Mavros waited as his companion’s pace slowed.
‘But there were Jews who collaborated with the Nazis, both in Thessaloniki and in the camps.’
Rachel had her back to them, waiting for the gate to be opened.
‘Why would one of those come back?’ Mavros asked. ‘And why would he show himself in the vicinity of a synagogue, especially when people were arriving for a wedding?’
He got no answers to those questions.
EIGHT
As 1943 progressed, the Nazis got smarter – or rather, those in Greece started to use methods that had been successfully applied in other countries. There were Jewish police and they oversaw the removal of families from different parts of the city to ghettos. In February a curfew was imposed, then we had to wear the notorious yellow star. I got my mother to fit hooks on mine – ‘What are you thinking? They will punish you, foolish boy!’ I almost told her about my activities for the party, which were why I wanted to have freedom of movement, but that wouldn’t have been fair. The family shops and all the stock had been confiscated. My father was told he would be recompensed. Not even he believed that.
I gave up going to school and went about party business all day. There was some danger, as I could have been betrayed as a Jew who wasn’t wearing a star – enough people knew me. The law now said that Christians couldn’t even talk to us. I spoke to the cadre who allocated my jobs. He told me to leave the city and go to the mountains, where I would be welcomed by comrades in the resistance. I thought about it, thought about it hard. If Thessaloniki hadn’t been surrounded by relatively flat ground I might have gone, but it was a long trek to the heights in the west and there were enemy patrols and checkpoints. I asked Isaak for his opinion.
‘Go, brother, go while you can. Life here is only going to get worse.’ He looked around the almost empty room. We had been forced to sell furniture and ornaments at ridiculously low prices to buy food. At least we had a few things to sell; many Jews didn’t.
‘What about the others?’
‘I’ll look after Mother and Father, and Dario will be with Miriam and Golda.’
I stared at him. ‘You’ve only got one arm and Dario’s limp is getting worse.’
‘So what?’ Isaak said, with unusual spirit. ‘Do you think we’re going to have to do circus tricks for the Nazis?’
‘Nothing would surprise me.’ I’d heard stories from comrades about mass shootings in villages that had resisted and people being laughed at by their executioners.
‘See? That’s why you have to go.’
I slept on it and still couldn’t make my mind up. It was easier to go on dodging our enemies every day. There was no shortage of them now. Apart from the Germans – soldiers and SS men – there were the Greek police, the Jewish police (the worst of all for me, traitors and collaborators), vigilante groups of anti-Semites and ordinary citizens who had no love for us. I only occasionally heard of Jewish children being taken in by Christians. And I was busy. The few comrades left in the city who ha
d escaped arrest were resisting every way they could – disabling vehicles, stealing and redistributing food, printing and putting up posters and declarations. There were even attacks on the enemy, though they were restricted because the cost in innocent lives was high. I grew more and more angry, and decided to act on my own.
There was a Jewish policeman called Zakar, a heavily built former labourer who liked to throw his weight around. Several times I narrowly escaped being grabbed by him when I wasn’t wearing the star. I saw him savagely beat an old man – one of his own people – who was struggling to carry large bags to the Baron Hirsch camp near the railway station. A few nights later, I followed him to his home near the port. I had an iron bar under my coat and I intended to break his arms with it so he wouldn’t be able to hit people any more. I raised my scarf so that only my eyes were visible.
The foolishness of my plan only became clear when he was struggling to get his key into the lock: I wouldn’t be able to immobilise him simply by striking his arms. Even if I hit one, he’d be able to pull out his truncheon and defend himself. So I decided to go for his head. He was wearing a shabby cap that was meant to make him look authoritative. I swung the bar, but he must have sensed my presence. He turned and took the blow on his shoulder. Then he moved much more quickly than I expected. His weight drove me on to the road and he scrabbled at my scarf.
‘Fucker,’ he gasped, breathing ouzo fumes over me. ‘You’re Samuel’s boy.’
I was in a state of panic. Not only had he pinned me down, but he knew who I was. Somehow I had kept my grip on the bar. I managed to slip my arm from his grasp and crack him on the side of his head. He yelped and rolled off me. I pulled away and peered down in the dim light. He had one hand over his right eye and was making a mewling sound.
‘I’ll break … your back … you little shit.’
I looked around. The street was deserted and there no lights in the windows.
Zakar got to his feet and tried to grab me. I brought the bar down on his left arm and heard a satisfying crack. He screamed and took the other hand from his eye. There was a lot of blood on his face. I broke his right arm too. He dropped to his knees, moaning like a child, but I knew his innate savagery would re-assert itself. I beat him on the side of the head until it was a pulp and he had stopped breathing. Then I ran down to the waterfront and threw my weapon in the harbour. It was only as I approached home that I realised I was neither horrified at what I’d done nor afraid. I got into bed and fell asleep immediately.
My mother woke me, muttering about the clothes strewn across the floor. I shot out of bed and obstructed her in case there was blood anywhere.
‘What’s happened to you?’ she asked. ‘Normally a rhinoceros couldn’t drag you out of bed.’
‘You manage every morning.’
She glared at me but backed away, probably because my morning glory was at half-mast. ‘You be careful, clever boy. This city isn’t safe for any of us. Someone killed one of our policemen last night.’
Jewish papers had been closed down, but the gossip system had always been more efficient. I showed no interest, though I was concerned the occupiers would strike back. They didn’t, probably because they didn’t care, but the Jewish police became even harsher. We found that out when we were forced to leave home and tramp to the Baron Hirsch camp soon afterwards. My father took a blow to his back when he stumbled.
‘You can still slip away,’ Isaak whispered, as we hauled the heavy bags Mother had packed.
I shook my head. ‘I’m staying with the family.’ I grinned at him. ‘Someone will have to keep us alive.’
We looked over our shoulders at our parents. Mother had wept for a whole night when we’d got the notification, but Father had accepted it equably. He seemed to know things were all up for us in Thessaloniki. Miriam had the baby in her arms and Dario was trying to keep up – we’d only let him take a medium-sized case.
The camp was surrounded by a high fence, SS men with dogs standing outside. It was already packed and we struggled to find shelter. The stench of human waste and unwashed bodies hung over the place like swamp gas. There was a distribution of soup, but the first evening we ate the food we’d brought with us. I saw a boy much younger than me slip through a gap in the fence. He was immediately set upon by a Jewish policeman and beaten unconscious. Women screamed, men groaned and babies cried.
I thought we were in hell, but I had no idea.
NINE
Mavros and Rachel Samuel walked down the hill towards a main road. There were interesting old houses on both sides, some in bright colours and with elaborate balconies and turrets. Between them were modern concrete blocks, their only decoration the fronds of plants. The cars on the roadside suggested the area was inhabited by people with more money than taste.
‘What did you think of that?’ Rachel asked, her eyes on the cityscape ahead.
‘It wasn’t exactly what I expected.’
She laughed once, then her face composed itself. ‘Me neither.’
‘There’s nothing in the family story about your great-uncle being a … turncoat?’
She glanced at him. ‘There is no family story, haven’t you realised that? We thought he died with everyone else.’
‘Well, there’s the beginning of a story now,’ Mavros persisted. ‘I can put those accusations to my expert.’
Rachel stopped and ran a hand across her forehead. ‘I suppose you have to. They may be rumours or malicious lies.’
‘Maybe. Hang on, Mrs Broudo lost all her family in the camps. That means she must have heard about Aron’s alleged behaviour herself, either when she was in Auschwitz or after she returned. We need to go back and ask her which.’
‘Please.’ Rachel suddenly leaned against him. ‘I … I don’t feel up to that musty place again. Besides, do you really think she’ll say anything else to us?’
Mavros put his arm round her back. ‘Do you want to sit down?’ There was a step nearby.
‘No, I’m all right. The smell in there …’ She shook herself free and walked on.
‘You could call the rabbi and ask him to try her.’
Rachel gave him a dubious look.
They reached the junction and hailed a cab.
‘Where’s your expert?’ she asked.
‘I haven’t had a chance to fix a meeting yet,’ he said. ‘How about some lunch?’
She didn’t look keen, but agreed. The taxi dropped them at a restaurant the driver recommended near the White Tower.
‘Byzantine specialities?’ Rachel said, looking at the board outside.
‘Means Turkish.’
‘Looks generically Middle Eastern to me. Why not?’
They took a table by the window. Rachel didn’t want to drink alcohol, so Mavros followed suit. They ordered Smyrna meatballs, Greek Fire (lamb in a hot sauce) and the Emperor’s Salad. Before the food arrived, she asked him to call the researcher and arrange a meeting, preferably that afternoon. He did so. Allegra Harari sounded friendly and organised. She was free and gave him an address in the city centre.
‘Help,’ Rachel said, when the salad arrived.
Mavros examined the vegetables, some standing upright like trees and others arranged like lines of flowers. ‘It’s the Emperor’s country estate.’
They made nothing more than small talk while they ate. Rachel gave little away about herself. The lack of rings suggested she wasn’t engaged or married, but her stern air put him off asking. Not that he cared. She was a client like any other. He stopped himself. He hadn’t ever had a client as beautiful as her.
‘Right,’ he said, when they’d done as much as they could with the Emperor’s property and the other dishes. ‘We’ve got an hour before our date with the historian. Do you want to go back to the hotel?’
‘No, it’s all right.’ She took out her laptop. ‘I’ll sit here and catch up on my mail. Give me the address and I’ll meet you there. I’ve got a map.’
Her tone made it clear that he was
being dismissed. He tried to pay but she waved her hand. He was happy to go because he had calls to make. On the seafront he rang Shimon Raphael. The customs broker would meet him that evening. Mavros decided he’d call Niki now in case it ended up a late night.
‘On your way home?’ he asked, after greeting her.
‘Yes, we just left the office.’
‘You sound tired.’
‘The usual crap.’
‘Strange, because I got up two hours earlier than you.’
‘Idiot. How often has that happened?’
‘There’s a first time for everything.’
‘That’s very true,’ Niki said disconsolately.
He realised she was thinking about her failure to get pregnant. ‘Hey, chin up. Have a nap when you get back.’
‘Hm. What’s happening with you? Found the dead man?’
‘Not even I am that fast. We … I’ve made a start.’
‘You and your local sidekick?’
‘That’s right.’ He felt like a heel, but telling Niki about Rachel would be a recipe for catastrophe. They talked for a few minutes.
Mavros walked on. Any blank wall had been sprayed with the words ‘The Phoenix Rises – Are You with Us?’ Often enough ‘NO!’ had been added beneath in a variety of colours, but ‘YES!’ appeared with worrying frequency. The far-right group didn’t have anything like that amount of visibility or support in Athens. He’d have to ask Shimon about its presence in Thessaloniki.
Then it struck him. How was he going to get away from Rachel? As he approached the hotel, he considered his options. All of them included falsehoods and he felt bad about that. Deceiving one woman was bad enough, but two was a disgrace. He laughed guiltily and called the Fat Man.
Rachel Samuel checked that no one was on the other side of the restaurant window. It was clear. She accessed the encrypted site, entering her password. She reported on what Ester Broudo had said and added that more information might be available later in the day. After a few seconds, she received a reply.
‘Target status confirmed. Are you prepared?’
The Black Life Page 6