Contract With God (34 page)

The boy grabbed the piece of stale bread. He opened his mouth hungrily, but then immediately closed it and put the bread on his lap. He pulled out a filthy rag from his bundle, covered his head and blessed the Lord for the gift of the bread.

‘
Baruch Atah Adonai, Eloheynu Melech ha-olam, ha motzee lechem min ha-aretz
.’
⁹

In the alley, a door had opened a moment before. An old rabbi, unnoticed by Yudel, had witnessed the boy battling the rat. When he heard the blessing of the bread from the lips of the starving child, a tear rolled down his cheek. He had never seen anything like it. There was no desperation or doubt in that faith.

The rabbi continued to look at the child for a long while. His synagogue was very poor and he could barely find enough money to keep it open. For that reason even he did not understand his decision.

After eating the bread Yudel instantly fell asleep among the rotting detritus. He didn’t wake up until he felt the rabbi carefully lift him up and carry him inside the synagogue.

The old stove will keep the cold out for a few more nights. Then we’ll see
, thought the rabbi.

As he removed the dirty clothing from the boy and covered him with his only blanket, the rabbi found the blue-green card the officers had given Yudel on Ellis Island. On the card the boy was identified as Raymond Kayn, with family in Manhattan. He also found the envelope, on which was written in Hebrew:

For my son, Yudel Cohen

Not to be read until your bar mitzvah in November 1951

 

The rabbi opened the envelope, hoping that it would give him a clue to the boy’s identity. What he read left him shocked and confused, but it reaffirmed his conviction that the Almighty had guided the boy’s footsteps to his door.

Outside, the snow began to fall heavily.

Vienna,

Tuesday, 9 February 1943

Dear Yudel,

I write these hurried lines in the hope that the affection and love that we feel for you will fill some of the emptiness left by the urgency and inexperience of your correspondent. I have never been one to show much emotion, your mother knows this very well. Ever since you were born, the enforced intimacy of the space in which we have been imprisoned has eaten away at my heart. It saddens me that I have never seen you play in the sun, and never will. The Eternal One has forged us in the crucible of a trial that has proved too difficult for us to bear. It is up to you to carry out what we have not been able to accomplish.

In a few minutes we will go in search of your brother and we will not return. Your mother won’t listen to reason and I cannot allow her to go out there alone. I am aware that I am walking towards a certain death. When you read this letter you will be thirteen years old. You will ask yourself what madness drove your parents to walk straight into the arms of the enemy. Part of the purpose of this letter is so that I myself can understand the answer to that question. When you grow up you will know that there are some things we must do even though we know that the results may go against us.

Time is running out but I must tell you something very important. For centuries the members of our family have been custodians of a sacred object. It is the candle that was present when you were born. Through an unfortunate set of circumstances, it is now the only thing we own of any value, and that is why your mother is forcing me to risk it in order to rescue your brother. It will be as pointless a sacrifice as that of our own lives. But I don’t mind. I would not do it if you did not remain behind. I trust in you. I would like to explain to you why this candle is so important, but the truth is I do not know. I only know that it was my mission to keep it safe, a mission that has been passed from father to son for generations, and a mission in which I have failed, as I have failed in so many aspects in my life.

Find the candle, Yudel. We’re going to give it to the doctor who is holding your brother at the Am Spiegelgrund Children’s Hospital. If it at least serves to purchase your brother’s freedom, then you can search for it together. If not, I pray to the Almighty to keep you safe, and that by the time you read this the war will finally be over.

There is something else. Very little is left of the large inheritance that was destined for you and Elan. The factories that belonged to our family are in Nazi hands. The bank accounts that we had in Austria have also been confiscated. Our apartments were burned during Kristallnacht. But luckily we can leave you something. We have always kept a family fund for emergencies in a bank in Switzerland. We have added to it little by little, making trips every two or three months, even if what we were bringing only amounted to a few hundred Swiss francs. Your mother and I enjoyed our little trips and would often stay there for the weekend. It’s not a fortune, about fifty thousand marks, but it will help with your education and getting started wherever you are. The money is deposited in a numbered account at Credit Suisse, Number 336923348927R, under my name. The bank manager will ask for the password. It is ‘Perpignan’.

That’s it. Say your prayers every day and do not abandon the light of the Torah. Always honour your home and your people.

Blessed be the Eternal One, He who is our only God, Universal Presence, True Judge. He commands me and I command you. May He keep you safe!

Your father,
Josef Cohen

He had spent so long holding back that when they finally found it, the only thing he felt was fear. Then the fear turned into relief, relief at being able to rid himself at last of that horrible mask.

It would be the next day, in the morning. They would all be in the dining tent for breakfast. Nobody would suspect a thing.

Ten minutes ago, he had crawled under the mess tent’s platform and planted it. It was a simple device but very powerful, perfectly camouflaged. They would be above it, unawares. A minute later they would be explaining themselves to Allah.

He wasn’t sure if he should give the signal after the explosion. The brothers would come and crush the arrogant little soldiers. The ones who had survived, of course.

He decided to wait a few more hours. He’d give them time to finish their work. No options and no way out.

Remember the bushmen, he thought. The monkey had found the water, but it hadn’t yet retrieved it . . .

NEW YORK

 

 

‘You too, pal,’ said the thin blond plumber. ‘It’s all the same to me. I get paid whether I work or not.’

‘Amen to that,’ agreed the fat plumber with the ponytail. The orange uniform fit him so tightly that from behind it looked as if it was going to burst.

‘Maybe it’s better this way,’ said the guard, agreeing with them. ‘You come back tomorrow and that’s it. Don’t complicate my fucking life. I have two men out sick and I can’t assign anyone to babysit the two of you. Those are the rules: without a babysitter no outside personnel after eight p.m.’

‘You don’t know how grateful we are,’ said the blond one. ‘With a bit of luck the next shift will have to take care of the problem. I don’t feel like fixing busted pipes.’

‘What? Wait, wait,’ said the guard. ‘What are you talking about, busted pipes?’

‘Just that. They’re busted. The same thing happened at Saatchi and Saatchi. Who dealt with that one, Bennie?’

‘I think it was Louie Pigtails,’ said the fat one.

‘Great guy, Louie. God bless him.’

‘Amen to that. Well, see you later, Sarge. Have a good night.’

‘Should we go to Spinato’s, buddy?’

‘Do bears shit in the woods?’

The two plumbers picked up their gear and headed towards the exit.

‘Wait,’ the guard said, getting more anxious with each minute. ‘What happened to Louie Pigtails?’

‘You know, he had an emergency like this one. One night he couldn’t get into the building because of an alarm or something. Anyway, the pressure built up in the drain pipes and they started bursting and, you know, there was shit all over the fucking place.’

‘Yeah . . . like fucking Vietnam.’

‘Dude, you never set foot in Vietnam, right? My father was there.’

‘Your father spent the seventies stoned.’

‘The thing is that Louie Pigtails is now Bald Louie. Think about what a fucked-up scene that was. What I’m hoping is that there’s nothing too valuable up there, because by tomorrow everything’s gonna be shit brown.’

The guard looked again at the central monitor in the lobby. The emergency lights in room 328E were flashing insistently with a yellow light, which meant there was a problem with the water or gas pipes. The building was so smart it could tell you when your shoes were untied.

He checked the directory to verify the location of 328E. When he realised where it was, he went pale.

‘Fuck, it’s the principal board room on the thirty-eighth floor.’

‘Bad deal, huh, buddy?’ said the fat plumber. ‘I’m sure it’s full of leather furniture and Van Gongs.’

‘Van Gongs? What the fuck! You ain’t got no culture at all. It’s Van Gogh. Gogh. You know.’

‘I know who he is. The Italian painter.’

‘Van Gogh was a German and you’re a jerk. Let’s split and go to Spinato’s before they close. I’m starving over here.’

The guard, who was an art lover, didn’t bother maintaining that Van Gogh was actually Dutch because at that moment he remembered that there really was a Cézanne hanging in the board room.

‘Guys, wait a minute,’ he said, coming out from behind the reception desk and running after the plumbers. ‘Let’s talk about this . . .’

 

Orville flopped down in the president’s chair in the board room, a chair that the owner hardly ever used. He thought he might take a nap there, surrounded by all the mahogany panelling. Once he’d recovered from the adrenalin of acting in front of the building guard, the tiredness and the pain in his hands washed over him again.

‘Fuck, I thought he’d never leave.’

‘You did a great job convincing the guy, Orville. Congratulations,’ Albert said, pulling out the top level of his tool box from which he extracted a laptop computer.

‘It’s a simple enough procedure to get in here,’ Orville said, pulling up the huge gloves that covered his bandaged hands. ‘It’s a good thing you were able to punch in the code for me.’

‘Let’s get started. I think we have about half an hour before they decide to send someone up to check on us. At that point, if we haven’t managed to get in, we’ll have another five minutes or so before they reach us. Show me the way, Orville.’

The first panel was simple. The system was programmed to recognise only Raymond Kayn’s and Jacob Russell’s palm prints. But it had an error common to all systems that rely on an electronic code using a lot of information. And an entire palm print is definitely a whole lot of information. To expert eyes, the code was easy to detect in the system’s memory.

‘Bim bam here goes the first one,’ Albert said, closing the laptop when the orange light on the black screen lit up and the heavy door opened with a buzz.

‘Albert . . . they’re going to realise something’s up,’ Orville said, pointing to the area around the plate where the priest had used a screwdriver to pry open the lid in order to get at the system’s circuits. The wood was now cracked and splintered.

‘I’m counting on it.’

‘You’re joking.’

‘Trust me, OK?’ the priest said, going into his pocket.

A mobile phone was ringing.

‘Do you think it’s a good idea to answer a call right now?’ Orville queried.

‘I agree,’ said the priest. ‘Hello, Anthony. We’re inside. Call me in twenty minutes.’ He hung up.

Orville pushed open the door and they entered the narrow, carpeted hallway that led to Kayn’s private lift.

‘I wonder what kind of trauma a man has to suffer to lock himself up behind so many walls,’ Albert said.

QUESTION
: I want to thank you for your time and your patience, Mr Kayn. This is proving to be a very difficult task. I really appreciate the way you have shared the more painful details of your life, such as your flight from the Nazis and your arrival in the United States. Those incidents add real human depth to your public persona.

 

ANSWER
: My dear young lady, it’s not like you to beat around the bush before asking me what you want to know.

 

Q
: Great, everyone seems to be giving me advice on how to do my job.

 

A
: I’m sorry. Go ahead, please.

 

Q
: Mr Kayn, I understand that your illness, your agoraphobia, was caused by the painful events of your childhood.

 

A
: That’s what the doctors believe.

 

Q
: Let’s proceed chronologically, even though we may need to make certain adjustments when the interview is broadcast on the radio. You lived with Rabbi Menachem Ben-Schlomo until you came of age.

 

A
: That’s correct. The rabbi was like a father to me. He fed me even if he had to go hungry. He gave purpose to my life so that I could find the strength to overcome my fears. It took over four years before I was able to go out into the street and interact with other people.

 

Q
: That was quite an accomplishment. A child who couldn’t even look another person in the eye without having a panic attack became one of the greatest engineers in the world . . .