Puppet (11 page)

I sometimes saw Morris riding about town in Warden Henter's carriage. He was never alone so I couldn't speak to him. He would give me a sad little smile or wave after a quick glance at the warden. As the weeks passed, he stopped doing even that.

TUESDAY, JANUARY 23, 1883

“You've been in a mighty bad mood these last weeks.” Teresa was plucking a chicken, a job that always made her cheerful. “Bako's got some business with that Sergeant Toth in Tisza-Eszlar. Why don't you ask him if you can go with him?”

“Are you sure you can spare me, Teresa?” She waved a feathery hand in response and gave me a toothless smile. “You're no good to me moping around. Do you good to see your pa and your friends.”

I didn't tell her that a visit with my pa was the last thing I wanted, but I knew that no matter how many britches I patched or how many shirt sleeves I darned, my little hoard of coins was growing very slowly. Clara wouldn't survive until I had enough money to fetch her. I was ready to risk
Pa's wrath and try again to reclaim the wages Sergeant Toth had handed over to him.

It was a cold January day and I bundled up as well as I could. How I wished that I still had Ma's warm shawl! I told myself not to be silly and I wrapped the new shawl I had made out of an old blanket around my shoulders. Bako stopped the horse-drawn buggy in front of my old home.

“I'll meet you here in two hours. Be here or you'll be walking back to Nyiregyhaza!” he said before driving off.

The cottage looked even shabbier than I remembered. The whitewash was streaked and piles of dirty snow covered the sad, dead remains of Ma's garden. But this had been my home. I had suffered Pa's fury here, the slam of his knuckles, the bite of his harsh words. And it was where I had felt my ma's love and her kindness. Everywhere I looked I could see Clara as she used to be, when she would confide her baby secrets and ask me to make the hurt go away when she scraped her knee.

I knocked on the door, but there was no answer. I knocked louder. The yellow-haired woman was clinging to the doorframe as if for dear life. She reeked of drink. Her hair stood up in clumps and her skirt was covered in stains.

“What'cha want?” she asked.

“I'd like to speak to my pa.”

“Ain't here.”

Despite her desperate grasp of the doorframe, she started to slip to the floor.

“Where is Pa?”

She snorted. “Your guess as good as mine! Try the Three Bulls!” She caught herself just as her feet gave way, pulled herself up, and slammed the door in my face.

I stood at the closed door. I knew that I had no choice. Who knew when Pa would get home? I couldn't wait, not if I didn't want to miss my ride back to Nyiregyhaza. I would have to tackle Pa in the public house.

The street to the tavern ran past the synagogue. Two gendarmes were leaning against the building, chatting and chewing tobacco, but if they were supposed to be guarding it, they were not succeeding. All the windows were broken. The windows of the Scharfs' house next door and several neighboring houses had also been smashed. There was broken glass everywhere. Even Dr. Weltner's home had a patchwork of wooden boards in the windows.

The blind eyes of the buildings and the crust of shattered glass on the ground made the street look like a dream of something both familiar and dreadful. There was more to the sense of emptiness: the children with long forelocks who used to play in the street and the men in dark suits and hats who used to bustle about their daily business were gone. The Jews of Tisza-Eszlar had disappeared.

I approached one of the gendarmes.

“Excuse me, sir, I am from another town. What happened here? Where are the Jews?”

I was afraid he would hear the hammering of my heart.

The gendarme spat on the ground.

“They're gone!” he said.

“Gone? What do you mean?”

“Once they realized that we didn't want them here, they left Tisza-Eszlar.” He stubbed out his cigarette. “Do you want to see what their church looks like now?”

He stood aside and I went into the building. The prayer books had been thrown on the floor. Someone had torn most of the pages out of them. The white pages with strange script blanketed the clay floor like snow. I picked up a book. I tried to smooth out the remaining pages in it but then I dropped it. There were too many pages missing.

A malevolent hand had taken an ax to the pews. Fragments of wood were everywhere. The walls were full of muddy handprints. Excrement in a corner gave off a foul odor. I could hear the scritch-scratch of mice behind the walls.

The gendarme appeared in the doorway.

“Seen enough?” He looked at my stricken face. “Girl, are you one of them?”

“Of course not!” He looked so menacing that I quickly added, “I don't even like Jews!”

“Good riddance, I say!” He spat on the floor of the synagogue.

I came out into the cold winter sun. I was shaken, and the thought of talking to Pa was more dispiriting than ever.
A bit of windowpane tinkled to the ground from the Rosenbergs' deserted house as I passed it. Mrs. Solymosi lived around the corner. Perhaps Sophie was staying with her. I longed to talk to a friend.

For a moment Mrs. Solymosi didn't recognize me, but when she did she barred my way. Her face twisted in hate.

“Liar! How dare you come here? What do you want?” she shrieked, pushing me away. I stumbled off the stoop.

“Mrs. Solymosi, please let me in. Please let me talk to Sophie.”

For the second time that day, a door was slammed in my face.

The single, small window of the tavern was so filthy with smoke that, despite the bright day, the room was gloomy. It took a few moments for my eyes to accustom themselves to the dark. Pa was at the back of the room, surrounded by farmhands. They were shouting with laughter. Tall tankards of ale stood on the table in front of them.

I wanted to run away, but I forced myself to walk up to Pa. I shoved my hands into the pockets of my apron so that he wouldn't see their trembling. Pa's companions fell silent and stared at me, but Pa didn't look up.

“Hello, Pa, it's me, Julie.”

Pa took a deep swig from his ale, but kept his eyes on the table.

“I have to talk to you, Pa.”

With effort he lifted his head. I stepped back at the menace in his eyes. I felt as if I was going to vomit. I wanted to turn on my heels and run away but stood my ground when I remembered my little sister's sad face.

“Can I talk to you in private, Pa?”

“What do you want?”

I clenched my fists. The pain from my nails digging into my palms steadied me and cleared my head. I spoke as fast as I could, desperate to get out the words.

“It's Clara, Pa. Aunt Irma is starving her. She looks sick and she's miserable. I can take care of her, but I need money for that. I know Sergeant Toth gave you my wages. Could you spare me a portion of them?” I was begging. “She's only a baby, Pa. Ma would hate to see her so neglected.”

I heard the sudden intake of the breath of the men at the table, but none of them said a single word. Pa rose from his seat and pushed his face so close to mine I could smell the sourness of his breath.

“So you want money?” He raised his hand and pushed me away. I lost my balance and fell to the floor. “How dare you!” he roared. “It's not money you'll be getting from me!”

I picked myself up to the sound of jeering laughter and forced myself to move slowly as I walked to the door.

TUESDAY, MAY 15, 1883

Trial fever had hit Nyiregyhaza. The date of the trial of the Jews accused of killing Esther Solymosi was set for June 19, 1883. Every housewife embarked on a feverish cleaning of rooms they planned to rent out to the hordes of newspapermen and onlookers expected to descend upon the town.

For days I had been scuttling between the courthouse and the prison while Teresa peppered me with instructions. We were to provide food and drink for the lawyers during the trial.

I was carrying salt biscuits in a wicker basket when I saw an agitated crowd milling in front of the courthouse. I burrowed into their midst and asked a woman what was happening.

“The Jews' lawyer will be arriving any moment,” she said. “I want to get a look at him.”

Hardly were the words out of her mouth when a carriage pulled up in front of the courthouse. The crowd fell silent. Two men were sitting in the carriage. One of them was Mr. Eotvos. Next to him was the same companion he had brought with him to the Nyiregyhaza prison to interview Morris. Mr. Eotvos gave a little smile and waved to the crowd. Several people waved back.

“My but he's a fine gent,” said the woman beside me.

“Jew lover!” a rough-looking man in bricklayer's clothing shouted.

“Why are you helping the Christ killers?” A woman in an embroidered kerchief shook her fist.

An object whizzed by my ear. Mr. Eotvos stumbled, hitting his shoulder against the wall of the building. His friend grabbed his arm and prevented him from falling to his knees. I noticed that the sleeve of Mr. Eotvos's elegant jacket was torn.

The lawyer stooped and picked up a large stone lying at his feet. The two men examined the stone calmly, ignoring the cries of the crowd. “Go home, Jew lover!” “Go home! Go home!” Mr. Eotvos placed the stone back on the ground and the men walked with measured, dignified steps, into the courthouse.

I took the biscuits to the temporary pantry we'd set up and laid them out under a clean cloth. Gendarme Bako was in the corridor. He was dabbing his neck with a handkerchief. I hung back, not wanting to push past him.

Mr. Eotvos pulled off his gloves thoughtfully. “Why weren't there gendarmes outside to protect us?”

“Judge Korniss said nothing about protection.”

Mr. Eotvos gave Bako a long cool look but didn't respond. He fingered the tear in his jacket.

Bako, red-faced, motioned to me. “You, girl, I want you to mend the gentleman's coat.” Here was my chance to tell the lawyer what I had found out on the bank of the Tisza in Csonkafuzes.

Bako led us to a small room off the hall. Mr. Eotvos remained silent until the door closed behind him. He turned to me.

“So, young lady, we meet again,” he said.

I nodded.

“What is your name?” he asked.

“Julie Vamosi, sir. I can repair your jacket so the tear will barely show.”

Mr. Eotvos smiled. “Never mind my jacket. I'm more interested in what you have to say. I last saw you at the Nyiregyhaza prison, didn't I, when I was interviewing Morris Scharf?”

“Yes, sir. I was there. I was cleaning the room while you were talking to Morris.”

“Yes, I remember.” His eyes twinkled. “You're a resourceful young woman.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Am I correct in thinking you might want to help Morris?”

I finally gathered enough courage to look him in the face.

“I've been wanting to talk to you for a long time, sir. But I don't understand. I thought you were helping the Jews. Morris is helping Mr. Bary.”

“Morris is lying.” He sounded matter of fact. “You know that. If I can clear his father of this ridiculous accusation, I'll also be helping Morris.”

I tried to follow what he was saying, but he was using a formal kind of Hungarian that almost sounded like a foreign language.

“I'm trying to understand Morris, to discover why he isn't telling the truth. I think that you know why. I want you to tell me.”

I couldn't decide what to say, so I stood mutely.

The lawyer began to pace the small room, deep in thought. He stopped in front of me.

“Let me make it easier for you. Just nod your head for a yes or shake your head for a no to answer my questions. Can you do that?”

“Yes, sir, I can.”

“Have you ever seen Morris beaten?” he asked.

I remembered Morris lying senseless on the floor of the jail in Tisza-Eszlar. I remembered Warden Henter beating
him in his cell when Morris lit a candle in memory of his mother. I remembered everything. I nodded my head.

“Have you ever heard Morris threatened?”

I nodded again.

“Was Morris forced to accuse his father and the Tisza-Eszlar Jews of killing Esther Solymosi?” asked Mr. Eotvos.

I remembered how Peczely warned Morris that his father would be tortured and kept in prison forever unless Morris confessed. Again I nodded.

Mr. Eotvos patted my shoulder.

“You're a good girl, Julie,” he said. “You see, Andras. It's just as I thought. The boy was tortured. Poor Morris. Unfortunate boy. He is nothing but Bary's marionette, a puppet he is using to implicate the Jews.”

The relief at being believed made me feel light-headed. The words couldn't leave my mouth fast enough.

“There is more, sir. Mr. Bary and Warden Henter only allow Morris to see them and Father Paul. He can't visit his family. I used to see him on the sly, but I can't anymore. I know that Mr. Bary and the warden are constantly telling him that the Jews are evil, wicked people. They tell him day and night, and Morris is starting to believe them because there is nobody there to tell him different. They keep saying that the Jews will harm him if they ever get their hands on him. They tell him that the Jews will never forgive him for testifying against them. He is becoming afraid of his own kind!”

“None of this surprises me.” He looked out at the street below, empty now.

“It's all being done for nothing, sir.”

“What do you mean?”

“I know for sure that the Jews are innocent. I have proof.”

He grasped my arm so tightly I winced. He must have noticed my distress because he let go.

“I am sorry. Please, tell me all you know.”

Once again I recounted the story of the scar at the base of the toe of the corpse fished out of the river at Csonkafuzes.

“Sir, I recognized her. The dead girl was Esther. Her face was all but destroyed by the water, but I could still tell it was Esther. Mr. Bary showed me the clothes the dead girl had been wearing. They were the same clothes Esther had on the day she disappeared. When they found her, she was clutching the tin container Esther took to Kohlmayer's to buy the paint. Esther had a scar at the base of her big toe and so did the dead girl — the same scar, in the same spot. That wouldn't be possible for two different people. There is no doubt in my mind that the dead girl is Esther. And sir, there wasn't a single mark on Esther's throat. The Jews couldn't have killed her.”

“Did you tell Mr. Bary?”

“Yes, sir. And also Warden Henter.”

“And they didn't believe you.” Mr. Eotvos exchanged a grim look with his friend, then patted me on the shoulder again.

“No need to worry any longer. It is not up to you to make them listen. That's my job now.”

The bells of the church across the square rang twelve times. I knew I had to return to the prison.

“Please, sir, I must go.” Teresa would not be pleased if she had to prepare the midday meal alone.

Mr. Eotvos reached into his pocket and took out a coin.

“No, sir! I don't want your money. I'm happy that you'll make everything right again. Please help Morris! I know he did a terrible thing, but still –”

“I'll do my best.” Mr. Eotvos gave me a tight little smile.

He pressed the coin into my palm.

“Take the money. It might be useful some day.”

When I reached the street, I looked at the coin the lawyer had given me. It was a whole forint. It brought me that much closer to Clara.