Another Me (14 page)

B
efore dawn of that cold morn, the Jews of Strasbourg lined up in Judenstrasse, their belongings on their backs. I was among them. There must have been close to two thousand souls hemmed in by the buildings on both sides of the street. I noticed one of Master Wilhelm's costumers standing close by. I nodded to him.

“Hans, what are you doing here?” he asked.

The crowd carried him away before I could reply.

In the distance I spotted Shmuli, his hair burnished by the rising sun. He was holding on tightly to Mama's hand and rubbing his eyes groggily. Papa stood next to him, talking to his neighbors.

“Don't be angry with me. I had to come,” said a voice behind my back. “I didn't want to leave you.”

I turned around. It was Elena. I opened my arms wide and she fell into them. For an instant, the crowds receded and there were only two of us left in the entire world.

Reality soon intruded, however, with the arrival of Peter Schwarber. He was followed by a long line of guardsmen armed with knives and whips. They had surrounded us before my neighbors even realized what was happening. I drew Elena closer and looked around. There he was—Kaspar, lurking at the back of the crowd. His face was shaded by the hood of his cloak, but the rising sun illuminated his features for a short moment. It was long enough for me to see his red goatee and know I wasn't mistaken.

Kaspar and Schwarber were soon in deep conversation. Schwarber was talking vehemently, gesticulating with his arms. Finally, after nodding his assent, Kaspar moved away and tried to blend into the crowd. Only his great height allowed me to keep track of him.

“Kaspar is here,” I told Elena.

“Where?”

I pointed him out.

“Why would Schwarber bring him along?”

“Our former Ammeister isn't what he claims to be. I suspect all he cares about is saving his own skin.”

She shot me a worried look. “I fear you may be right.”

Schwarber reached the front of the crowd and climbed on top of an upended cart. He began to address us.

“My friends,” he cried, “today you will begin the rest of your lives—a life without prejudice and false accusations made against you. I will lead you to your cemetery at the edge of our town. From there, you will be guided to the Black Forest and helped to cross it safely. When you arrive on the other side, you will be free to travel to city-states located to the east. The inhabitants of these places await you with open arms.” He paused. “Does anybody have any questions?”

A dark-haired, stocky man raised his hand.

“We're grateful for your help, Ammeister, but why did you bring the guardsmen with you?”

“Yes, why?” parroted several of his neighbors.

Schwarber smiled warmly, but I noticed that his good cheer didn't reach his eyes.

“You're an astute young man,” he said. “I've brought my men with me to convince the new Ammeister that I'm driving you to your cemetery by force and getting you to dig your own graves. Little does Kaspar know that I'm taking you to your freedom.”

His voice was so full of conviction and good cheer that I could see the hesitation drain out of the faces surrounding me. I had to stop him!

“Your evil plan won't work, Schwarber!” I said. “Kaspar knows of your scheme because you hatched it together. Both you and Kaspar are conspiring against the Jews of Strasbourg.”

“Have you lost your senses, boy?” Rabbi Weltner whispered.

Schwarber turned toward me. “Why are you telling such lies?” he roared. He began to address the crowd again. “Remember, my friends, that these foolish accusations are coming from Hans, the journeyman draper.” He pointed his finger at me. “Never forget that Hans is a Christian and not one of your people!”

Such fury invaded my body that it was an effort to speak coherently.

“I'm not the liar here. It's Schwarber who lies. He isn't telling you the truth. He conspired with Kaspar against you. He even brought the new Ammeister along with him,” I said. “Kaspar is here, in the crowd among us!”

I turned toward the spot where I'd seen the butcher an instant before, but he was gone. My eyes scanned the crowd. The tall figure had disappeared.

“He's gone,” I muttered. “But he was here moments ago.”

“I saw him too,” Elena confirmed.

“Did I not tell you that Hans is the most foul of liars?” Schwarber said. “So is his whore. Ignore them,
for you have more important things on your mind. You must follow my instructions to save your lives!”

Several of my neighbors shot angry glances in my direction and slung their bundles over their shoulders, all ready to go.

“Master Schwarber, I've always found Hans to be an honest man,” said the same dark-haired man as before. Only then did I recognize him. He was Fritz the bricklayer, the person I had failed to greet on our way home from the River Ill.

“If Hans is uneasy with your plan, so am I,” he said. He hoisted his belongings and turned on his heel. “I'm going home.”

“So am I,” said his comrade.

“Me too,” cried somebody else in the crowd.

At that instant, Kaspar walked out the front door of a house behind Schwarber. Immediately, all authority seeped from Schwarber's face and his body sagged.

With the arrival of the new Ammeister, more people turned around and started to make their way home.

“Stop!” Schwarber shouted, but they didn't heed him.

“Sentries, go!” Kaspar cried.

His henchmen unfurled their whips and began to beat the crowd of frightened Jews. One old man who fell was trampled by people fleeing for their lives. We were powerless against the brutality of the armed guards.

I knew there was a narrow lane behind the houses, leading away from the Street of the Jews. I had taken this path as a shortcut every time I'd visited Elena before my death. I put my arm around her waist now and pulled her toward the lane. Those nearby followed our example.

“Run!” I told her. “Run for your life!”

“Come with me!”

“I can't! I must remain with my family.”

She stood there, looking at me, not moving.

I pushed her as hard as I dared. “Go! Go!”

She broke into a run but then stopped in her tracks and turned back around.

“I love you, Natan! I love you!” she cried before running away.

The armed brutes drove the rest of us to the Jewish cemetery beyond the city walls. If anybody stopped—even for an instant—a knife in the back was his reward. I tried to elbow my way closer to my family, but to no avail. I was mere flotsam carried along by a wave of desperate Jewish souls.

When we got to the cemetery, we saw that several huge wooden platforms had been built over the graves. Beside them were piles and piles of firewood. Our masters drove us up the platforms like cattle.
I managed to climb down from the platform I was on. When a guard tried to force me back up, I began to shout: “I'm not one of them! I'm not a Jew!” I pointed to my cloak. “See? I don't have the badge of the Jews. I'm here to assist you.”

The man turned his attention from me and began to beat a hapless old lady bent over her cane. She was easier game.

“This'll teach you to plot against our city!” he roared at her.

The guards spread the firewood around the perimeter of each platform. If anybody resisted, he was stabbed.

Kaspar was everywhere—shouting orders and whipping terrified Jews. Schwarber was behind him, ready to fulfill his every whim. Finally, Kaspar lit the wood around the first platform. Schwarber lit the second and the third, until the fire spread to all the platforms. Soon, the sound of screams and the stench of roasting flesh filled the air.

Priests with crosses were running around the conflagration. “Repent! Repent!” they cried. “Accept Christ and you will be saved!” Some of the victims chose life and the baptismal font. I couldn't blame them. Other priests pried children out of the arms of their protesting parents and christened them against their will.

I began to search for my family. Time was running out. I found them on the platform closest to the
cemetery gates, surrounded by fire and men with whips and knives. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion, as if in a dream. I was standing outside my body, gazing at the horror in front of my eyes. Mama was lying facedown with the fire consuming her. The body of Rabbi Weltner was on the platform next to her. Papa was the only one standing tall. He was holding Shmuli in his embrace, protecting my brother's face with his arms. Papa's hair and beard were ablaze, and charred rags hung from his frame. I could see his lips moving. I knew that he was saying the
Shema
, the prayer every Jewish person says at the time of death.

“Help your brother, my son! Help him!” he cried when he spotted me.

His words jolted me back to reality. I held my arms out toward him. “Give him to me!”

He fought his way to the edge of the platform and threw Shmuli into my waiting arms. My brother's clothes were on fire.

“Papa, come!” I extended my hand. “I'll help you off the platform.”

“I can't leave your mother,” he said. “Good-bye, my son. Forgive me!”

At that moment, a guard ran up to us with his whip and felled my father to his knees. I ran through the cemetery gates with my brother while the man's back
was to me. As soon as we were out of sight, I dropped Shmuli into deep snow and rolled him around in it. The fire consuming him died. I crouched down beside him and pulled him into my arms for an embrace. His clothes were in tatters, but he seemed unhurt. Tears filled our eyes.

Before I knew what was happening, my arms were empty again. Someone had snatched Shmuli right out of them. Kaspar stood above us, holding my brother by the scruff of his neck in one hand and an unsheathed knife in the other. Shmuli's face was a mask of terror.

“You lying ass,” the giant man sneered. “Did you imagine, even for a moment, that you could get the best of Kaspar?”

I stopped myself from replying, for I could see Elena tiptoeing toward Kaspar behind his back. She was brandishing a large tree branch. When she got close enough, she swung it with all her might against his temple. The redheaded devil fell to the ground with a thud.

“You!” he groaned, staring at Elena. “I know you!” Then his eyes closed and he went still.

“Forgive me, Natan, for failing to listen to you,” Elena pleaded.

“I've never been happier to see anyone,” I said. I gathered a stunned Shmuli into my arms once more. “Now let's run as fast as we can.”

We headed toward a copse of trees at the edge of the field. I didn't know where they led, but I didn't care. All that mattered was that nobody was following us. The woods were so dense that daylight was an unknown visitor.

“Faster! Faster!” I cried as we penetrated the darkness.

W
e trudged through the thick vegetation, the branches scraping our faces and the snow crunching under our feet. I led the way with Shmuli behind me and Elena at the rear. It was so dark that we could barely see the trees ahead of us. Our teeth were chattering in the cold winter morn.

As we made our way through the darkness, my mind teemed with memories I wanted to forget. The woods disappeared and I was back in the cemetery. I saw flames and heard screams and smelled a stench too horrible to contemplate. Mama was being consumed by fire; Papa, his beard alight, was tossing my brother into my arms. I wept, I screamed, I cursed, I shook my fist at the sky, but the sight of Shmuli's frightened little face silenced my anguish.
I picked him up and held him so close that our tears mingled.

“I want my mama. I want my papa,” he wept.

“Mama and Papa are here”—I pointed to his heart—“and here,” I added, pointing to my own. “We can't see them, but we can feel them always. They're a part of us now. Never forget that.”

He put his head on my shoulder and began to suck his thumb. “Where are we going? When are we going to be there?”

“We're going somewhere nice and we'll be there soon.”

Elena plucked my sleeve. “Natan, listen!”

There was smoke in the air and I heard the murmur of voices. I put Shmuli down. He began to cry again.

I parted the branches and we found ourselves at the edge of an encampment. Two caravans stood at the side of the clearing, with several horses tied to a pole beside them. A dozen Gypsy women in bright skirts and colorful headscarves sat around a campfire on low stools. The smell of the stew in their cauldron made my mouth water. Another woman was bent over her lap, mending a shirt by the light of the flames. A young woman was cuddling an infant as she nursed him. There were also several men around the fire. Children were everywhere—laughing, chatting, playing tag or absorbed in a serious game of marbles. When we appeared, silence fell over the camp.

A bowlegged older man with a droopy mustache stepped forward.

“Who are you?” he asked gruffly, in the manner of a lord speaking to his serfs.

Four younger men hauled themselves up from their seats and surrounded him. My heart began to beat faster when I noted that all of them had knives.

“Who are you?” the older man repeated.

“We're fugitives, trying to save the life of this child.” I pointed at Shmuli, who was still bawling.

“What do you want from us?”

The armed young men stepped closer.

“Leave them alone!” a shrill voice cried suddenly. “These are the people who saved me from the torment of those awful urchins.”

The men parted to let through an old woman. We recognized her instantly as the Gypsy mother we came upon being mocked and pelted by stones. Elena rushed over to her, clasped her hands and fell to her knees.

“Please help us, Nadya! Please, I beg of you. You told us that we could come to you whenever we needed help. That time has arrived!”

“Don't kneel in front of me, mistress,” Nadya implored.

The old woman helped my beloved off the ground. Between sobs and hiccups, Elena told the Gypsies our tale.

“So you see,” she concluded, “we have nowhere else to go, but we must keep Shmuli safe somehow.”

Nadya and the older man had listened to her carefully. When Elena was finished speaking, Nadya drew the man aside. She was talking to him with great intensity, but he kept on shaking his head.

“He won't listen to her,” Elena whispered in agony.

Just then, a ragged child came close and pulled on Shmuli's arm, pointing toward the game of marbles two boys were playing on the icy ground. Shmuli stopped crying and clung to me.

“You may go and play with him,” I said.

With his thumb in his mouth, Shmuli followed the child hesitantly.

One of the younger women by the fire stood up and declared, “The boy needs warmer clothes.” She wrapped the blanket she had been sitting on around Shmuli's shoulders, but he was already so absorbed in his game that he didn't even notice.

I kept my eyes on Nadya and the older man. My heart lifted when he finally threw his arms into the air and nodded. Nadya broke out in a toothless grin and led him back to us.

“This is Roman, my husband and our leader. He has agreed to help you,” she said.

“Only a foolish man withstands the persuasion of a determined wife,” Roman chuckled. “You can count on us. We'll hide and care for your little brother.”

Suddenly, we heard the faint noise of twigs being broken in the distance and snow being trampled in the woods beyond.

“Hush!” Roman said, lifting his hand in warning. The entire camp fell quiet. “Someone's coming.”

“You must hide,” Nadya said.

She scooped Shmuli up from the ground and hurried us into one of the caravans.

“Climb in!” she said, pointing to a large bin full of used clothing and rags. She pulled the rags over our heads. “Don't talk and try not to move,” she warned before leaving.

As soon as she'd left, Shmuli began to whimper.

“Hush!” I soothed. “If you're good, you'll get a sweetmeat.”

Nadya had failed to close the caravan's door, so we could hear everything going on outside. There was the sound of bushes being parted and somebody coughing. I pushed the rags aside and lifted my head cautiously out of the bin. I could see through the door to the scene outside.

Kaspar and the same two who were with him when he'd murdered me were standing in the clearing. The redheaded ogre had a large bandage wrapped around his head. I tried to control the terrible hatred that flooded my heart at the sight of him.

“Gypsies,” he cried, “where are the fugitives we seek?”

Roman, who had crouched down by the fire while Nadya hid us, stood up in a lively manner.

“Peace be with you, master,” he said. “How can we be of assistance?”

“Don't play the fool, man!” Kaspar snarled. He stepped forward and pulled out his knife.

Roman's bodyguards stood up, their own knives drawn, but they didn't move any closer to Kaspar. After a moment, Roman nodded to them and they sat down again.

“Kind master, please, how can we help you?” Roman said in a voice very different from the proud tones he'd used when addressing us.

“We're looking for a mealymouthed creature and his cheap whore. They have a young Jewish cur with them,” Kaspar said. He spat on the ground. “And don't give me your falsehoods. I know what you Gypsies are like. We followed the path of these wretches straight to your camp.”

“But dear master, we saw no one,” Roman said, wringing his hands. “They must have turned and left by the same path when they saw us.”

“Why would they do that?”

Roman smiled slyly. “Some of the good burghers don't trust my people. I don't understand why.”

But Kaspar was unconvinced. “If you're so innocent, you won't object to our looking around your camp.”

Roman nodded. “Go ahead.”

I ducked under the rags again. When I heard someone walk into the caravan, I held Shmuli in a close embrace, willing him to be still. I prayed to God that the intruder wouldn't hear us breathing.

“I don't see anyone here, but let me make sure!” It was Kaspar.

“Good idea,” somebody else answered.

Kaspar's voice was so loud that he must have been standing very close to the bin in which we were hiding. Then suddenly, a knife plunged through the rags, barely missing my arm.

“Nobody here,” Kaspar said angrily, pulling up his knife. I heard him and his companion walk away. The door of the caravan was slammed shut. We began to breathe again.

After a few more minutes of shouting outside and the pounding of horses' hoofs, somebody came into the caravan again.

“It's me, Nadya. You can come out now. They searched every nook and cranny for you. Finally, they gave up and left.”

We pushed the rags aside and she helped us climb out of the bin. Our limbs were cramped and full of pins and needles.

“Stretch your arms and legs, Shmuli,” Elena said as she massaged his back.

“I was a good boy. Where is my sweetmeat?” he asked.

“You deserve it,” Nadya replied, reaching into the pocket of her apron and pulling one out. “I always keep some sweets in my pocket for the children,” she explained.

We all returned to the campfire.

“We can't stay here. It's too dangerous for you,” I told Roman. “We can't risk the safety of your people.”

The old man scratched his head thoughtfully. “You and your lady are difficult to hide. But one small child”—he grinned—“that's easy. Leave the boy with us. We'll take good care of him.”

“We'll hide him in plain sight. No one will notice if there is another Gypsy child,” Nadya said. “He'll be safe. I'll make sure that his hair is covered to hide the fact that he isn't one of ours.” She ruffled Shmuli's bright locks. “I go to your town square every Thursday morn to earn a few coins. I'll take the boy with me each time. If you want him back, come and get him before the cathedral bells strike four times in the afternoon. That's when I usually return home.”

I leaned down to say good-bye to Shmuli. “Behave yourself and do as Nadya and Roman tell you. And
remember, you must never tell anybody who you are,” I warned. “If anybody asks you, your new name is Samson.”

He was so eager to return to his friends that he paid no heed. Nadya and Roman brushed our thanks aside.

“I told you that our people have long memories,” Nadya said. “You came to my aid and now it's my turn to help you.”

Elena and I set out for home, making our cautious way back through the darkened woods toward Strasbourg.

“We'll stay in Rabbi Weltner's house. Nobody will think of looking for us there.”

“What if Kaspar finds us?” Elena asked.

“He won't. Why would he search for us in Judenstrasse? We'll be safe at Rabbi Weltner's.”

We were so exhausted by the time we reached the outskirts of town that we could barely walk. Elena was leaning heavily on me as we trudged through the deserted streets. All that changed as we approached the synagogue on Judenstrasse.

“Listen!” Elena said.

We could hear shouting and loud thumps, and there was the unmistakable smell of flames.

“Something's burning,” I cried.

We broke into a run. The burning smell became stronger as we turned the corner. We looked toward the synagogue and could see a bonfire raging and a mob of people throwing all kinds of sacred objects into the flames. I drew Elena into the shadows of a building on the other side of the street.

“Look at those thieves!” I cried, my hands balled into fists. “I have to stop them somehow.”

Elena pulled me back. “Use your head. There are too many of them, and if they see you, they will kill you.”

She was right. All I could do was stand there, trembling in anger. I watched one vandal remove the silver crown of a Torah scroll and then toss the scroll itself into the flames. As a sign of victory, his friend held up two heavy silver candlesticks that he had plundered. A third man ran out of the synagogue brandishing a large
shofar
, the ram's horn we used to welcome the Jewish New Year each fall.

“What you got there?” asked the man with the candlesticks.

“I don't rightly know. Looks like some kind of a horn.”

“Why would they keep one of them things in their church?” the first man asked, slurring his words as if drunk.

“I know!” cried the one with the candlesticks. “Them Jews must use that horn to betray us. They signal other Jews outside the city walls with it!”

“Ya, you're probably right,” the first man slurred. “They're like fleas, them Jews. When you kill one, ten others take its place. The sooner they're gone from Strasbourg, the better it is for the rest of us.”