Puppet (12 page)

TUESDAY, JUNE 19, 1883

“Please, Teresa, please let me go! I don't want to miss the beginning of the trial. Morris will be testifying today. I want to hear what he has to say.”

She stopped stirring the pot of goulash she was cooking for Warden Henter's dinner. “That well may be, missy, but who'll do your work?” She punctuated her words with stabs of her wooden spoon. “I don't have the time to do your work and mine.”

“I'll do it! I'll work all night if I have to. I'll still scrub the floor and wash the dishes. I'll have the potatoes peeled before I leave. I'll do everything you want me to do if only you'll let me go! And I promise, I'll be back before lunch to help you.”

She put her hands on her ample hips, an expression of mock consternation across her worn features.

“You better or I'll, I'll …”

She burst out laughing.

I ran up to her and gave her a big hug.

“Thank you! Thank you!”

She pushed me away but I could see that she was pleased.

“Be careful, Julie,” she said, suddenly serious. “If the warden sees you at the trial, it might cost you your job. I'd hate to see you gone!”

“He won't see me. There'll be lots of people there.”

She shook her head.

“Don't say I didn't warn you. Well, I can see it's no use talking to you.” She waved her wooden spoon in the air. “What are you waiting for? If you're going to go — go! Get out of here or you'll be late!”

The streets of Nyiregyhaza were teeming with visitors for the trial. The cafés and taverns were full and there wasn't a single room to be let.

I was desperate to see the trial, but not if it meant using any of the money I was saving for Clara for admission. Fortunately, with all the errands I'd had to run for Teresa, I had grown to know the courthouse well.

The day the trial started the steps of the courthouse were crowded with disappointed ladies and gentlemen, dressed in their holiday best, who had been turned away for lack of room. There were dozens of armed gendarmes among them. I turned the corner to the side of the building.
The lane running beside it was empty. I stopped in front of a narrow door set into the wall. It was always kept open for tradesmen delivering their wares. I slipped into the courtroom.

At first, a pillar obscured my line of vision. I peeked around it cautiously. The front entrance was guarded by two armed gendarmes. A table and chairs had been set up on a platform in front of me. Three gentlemen sat behind the table. I recognized Warden Henter's whist partner, Judge Korniss, in the middle seat. He was dressed formally in his judge's robes. Next to him were two other gentlemen, also in robes.

To the left of the judges' table I spotted Mr. Eotvos's burly figure and bald head. Next to him sat Mr. Heumann, the Jewish prisoners' original lawyer, and three other gentlemen. I realized that all of them must have been attorneys for the defense. Across from them, to the right of the judges' table, were the prosecutors. I had heard that they were also from out of town. Beyond the prosecution and defense lawyers' tables was an open area that held benches awaiting the defendants. Chairs had been set up behind them for officials. Mr. Bary Mr. Peczely and Chief Recsky were sitting there. Warden Henter sat next to them. On one side of the platform a table had been set up for the court stenographer and on the other side sat Mrs. Solymosi, all in black, and her lawyer.

The rest of the courtroom was taken up by rows and
rows of chairs filled with a motley assortment of county dignitaries, elegantly dressed gentlemen, rough laborers in their field clothes, and reporters with their notebooks open. A door behind the judges' platform was open, and through it I could see ladies rustling about in their brightly colored summer silks. I was the only girl among all the men, but with my rough red hands and my apron I was less conspicuous there than I would have been among the fine ladies. I stayed in my spot behind the pillar.

I looked around me and recognized many of the faces. I had seen them often enough strolling the streets of Tisza-Eszlar while I delivered eggs or ran errands. But there were no Jews among them. Teresa had told me that only eight Jewish people of the two thousand who lived in Nyiregyhaza were allowed to get tickets to the trial. With a jolt I recognized Pa in a row of rowdy men who'd clearly already made a stop at the tavern. He didn't turn around, so I was quite certain he hadn't noticed I was there.

I forced myself to leave the protection of the pillar and sat down in an empty chair in the last row.

The gentleman in the seat next to mine sniffed. I knew that I smelled of the onions I'd chopped for the day's goulash.

To my relief, he lost interest in me when Judge Korniss banged his gavel on the felt-covered table.

“Attention!” He rose to his feet. “Let us begin. I am Judge Korniss and I will be presiding over these proceedings. I am the judge who'll be doing all the talking. My esteemed
colleagues are the Honorable Erno Gruden,” he said, nodding at the judge on his right, who smiled graciously, “and the Honorable Barna Feher is to my left.” Dour-faced Judge Feher inclined his head solemnly. “The three of us will review the facts presented before the court at the end of the trial. Judges Gruden and Feher will cast the votes that will determine the outcome of this case. As presiding judge, I will vote only if my two colleagues cannot agree upon the verdict.

“I would also like to introduce the prosecutors, Mr. Szeyffert and Mr. Lazar,” he nodded at the men on his right. “The defense will be represented by Mr. Eotvos, Mr. Heumann, Mr. Funtak, Mr. Friedmann, and Mr. Szekely” He gestured to the table on his left.

Finally, he addressed a gendarme standing guard beside the podium.

“Deputy, bring in the defendants.”

A shabby line of men in handcuffs shuffled into the room. As they passed Mr. Bary's seat, he stared at them venomously. They were dressed in black suits or black caftans. Their heads were covered with skull caps, and white fringes were hanging below their suit jackets. Each of them had long sideburns and beards. One of the men seemed familiar to me. I realized he was Morris's father, although a wizened and much older Mr. Scharf after fourteen months of captivity. Next to him was the butcher Solomon Schwarcz and the three other men Morris had picked out from the lineup of Jews in front of the synagogue in Tisza-Eszlar.

The prisoners settled down on the benches as Judge Korniss rose again and began to speak.

“We are here today to delve into the mystery surrounding the death of young Esther Solymosi, who disappeared from her hometown of Tisza-Eszlar on April 1, 1882. You can be sure that we will leave no stone unturned to discover what happened to this young girl, still really a child. If the defendants are found guilty of this heinous crime, they will be severely punished. If they are found innocent, their liberty will be restored to them.”

He pointed to the prisoners huddled in their seats.

“I shall now read the charges against the defendants. Stand up, Solomon Schwarcz, Abraham Buxbaum, Lipot Braun, and Herman Vollner!”

The three butchers and Vollner, the beggar, dressed in filthy rags, struggled to their feet. Mr. Eotvos also stood up from his seat at the defense table.

“Defendants, face me,” ordered the judge.

The prisoners seemed bewildered, as if they were moles emerging into daylight.

“You, Solomon Schwarcz, Abraham Buxbaum, Lipot Braun, and Herman Vollner, are charged with first-degree murder in the death of Esther Solymosi, a resident of Tisza-Eszlar. How do you plead?”

“Not guilty Your Honor.” Mr. Eotvos's voice rang clear. “My clients maintain their innocence.”

“These prisoners may take their seats,” ordered Korniss. “Stand up, Joseph Scharf.”

There was more clanging as Mr. Scharf rose. Mr. Eotvos again stood up.

“Turn toward me,” said the judge.

The prisoner faced him.

“You, Joseph Scharf, are charged with complicity in the death of Esther Solymosi of Tisza-Eszlar. How do you plead?”

“I'm innocent!” cried Mr. Scharf. “I've done nothing!”

“Silence!” Judge Korniss brought his gavel down. “Be quiet! You'll have your chance to talk during the trial.”

“We're sorry for the prisoner's outburst, Your Honor,” said Mr. Eotvos. “It won't happen again. The prisoner is emotionally upset. We plead not guilty to the charge.”

“Your plea is noted,” said Judge Korniss. “However, your client had better learn to obey the rules of this court or he'll live to regret his behavior!”

“We understand, Your Honor,” said Mr. Eotvos mildly.

“The prisoner may sit down,” barked the judge.

He poured himself a drink from a jug on the table. I saw Mr. Scharf look longingly at it while the judge downed his glass.

“During the next part of the proceedings, the prosecutors will present their case,” he continued.

He paused while a clock above the podium rang eleven times, reminding me that I had to go back to the prison to help Teresa. I was determined to return in the afternoon in time for Morris's testimony.

I stood up quietly, afraid even to breathe. I must have made more noise than I realized because after I pushed the door open and looked back over my shoulder, I locked eyes with Pa's malignant gaze for the instant before the door swung shut behind me.

WEDNESDAY, JUNE 20, 1883

I was settling into my seat when Morris was led into the courtroom. The first thing I noticed was his pallor. He was dressed like a Hungarian boy in a white-striped sailcloth jacket with his feet shod in sturdy peasant boots. He stopped abruptly in front of the judges' table, but he kept his eyes fixed on the floor. He clutched the handrail of the judges' platform. A rush of noise filled the courtroom, excited, angry whispers from the rows of men and loud Yiddish words that sounded like curses from the prisoners.

“Silence in the court!” cried Judge Korniss, banging his gavel. “I will not tolerate such disorder in my courtroom!” He turned toward Morris, a cold smile creasing his face. “What's your name, son?” he asked.

“I'm Morris Scharf.”

“You'll have to speak louder. The court must be able to hear you. How old are you?”

“I'll be fourteen on July n.”

“Are you the son of Joseph Scharf, the beadle of the synagogue in Tisza-Eszlar?”

“I am, sir.”

Judge Korniss leaned over the table until he was almost nose to nose with Morris.

“I must advise you, son, that you are not obligated to testify against your father.”

Morris cast such a quick glance at Mr. Bary that I almost missed it. Bary was leaning forward in his chair, his elbows on his knees. He was flanked by a solemn Mr. Peczely and Chief Recsky whose mouth had twitched into a half-smile. Warden Henter was beside them. He looked bored.

“I want to testify,” Morris mumbled.

I heard the hiss of a sharp intake of breath from the row of prisoners.

“Please let the court note that the witness was advised of his right to refuse to provide testimony against his father,” said Judge Korniss. He turned to Morris. “You spoke several times to Investigating Magistrate Bary about the disappearance of Esther Solymosi, did you not?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What did you testify?”

“In the beginning, I said nothing,” said Morris.

“You changed your tune when Chief Recsky interrogated you, didn't you?” asked the judge.

“Yes, sir.”

“What did you tell Chief Recsky?”

“At first, I told him and Mr. Peczely nothing, but later on I confessed.” Morris's shoulders were hunched around his ears. “I decided to tell the truth.”

“Why?”

“Chief Recsky told me that I would remain in jail forever if I didn't tell the truth. He said that I would be also a prisoner of my conscience for perpetuity if I didn't reveal what I knew. So I confessed — of my own free will.”

“What did you say in your confession?” Judge Korniss asked.

Morris began to recite his confession in a monotone. His stiff manner reminded me of the way the puppet Leslie the Brave had given his speeches in the traveling puppet show I had seen in Tisza-Eszlar.

“On the first day of April in the year 1882, the Jews of Tisza-Eszlar congregated for their Sabbath prayers in their synagogue,” said Morris. “There were some strangers among them — Solomon Schwarcz, the new ritual butcher, and the two other unsuccessful candidates for the ritual butcher's job. I didn't know their names at the time. They were those two defendants sitting there,” he said, pointing at Lipot Braun and Abraham Buxbaum.

“Prayers started at eight o'clock or eight-thirty in the morning and ended just after eleven o'clock. The Jews left the synagogue, but Solomon Schwarcz and those two stayed behind.” He pointed once again at Braun and Buxbaum.

“That's a lie!” cried Braun, a small man with a luxurious beard.

Again, the noise in the courtroom rose.

“Let the boy talk!” ordered the judge.

The onlookers fell silent.

“I myself left the synagogue for my father's house. Before lunch, my father and a Jewish beggar man who stayed with us over our Sabbath” — he nodded toward poor Herman Vollner, slumped on the defendants' bench — “They called the girl into our house to move a candelabra from one table to another. Jews are not allowed to do such tasks on the Sabbath.

“A few minutes later, this beggar Jew asked Esther Solymosi to go into the synagogue with him, telling her they needed her help to carry something out of the synagogue.”

“That's not true!” Vollner struggled to get up.

“Be quiet!” yelled the judge.

The men next to him tried to calm him.

“Continue your testimony, son,” said the judge.

“I followed Vollner and the girl but stayed farther back, out of sight. About fifteen minutes had passed when I heard screaming and moaning coming from the synagogue. I ran up to the door, but I found it locked so I peeked through the keyhole. I could see the small covered area that leads into the sanctuary clearly. I saw that the defendants Buxbaum and Braun were holding down the girl on the floor. Solomon Schwarcz cut her throat and drained her blood into an earthenware pot.”

Pandemonium broke out. Judge Korniss beat the table with his gavel, but he could not contain the shouting and cries.

“Not a word is true!” said Buxbaum.

“God will punish you for such lies!” shouted Braun.

“Silence!” roared the judge. “Silence or I will clear the courtroom!”

“The Jews consumed my daughter!” cried Mrs. Solymosi. Her face was twisted in agony.

“My good woman, please control yourself!” said prosecutor Szeyffert, his distaste written on his face.

“Continue, Morris,” ordered the judge.

“I don't know what the butchers did with the corpse of the servant girl. I was afraid of being discovered, so I went home. My family was still eating their lunch. I was gone for less than an hour.”

Mr. Eotvos stood up, straightened his tie, and nodded at Morris as if he were a gentleman passing in the street.

“What time do you claim to have seen the crime committed?”

Morris eyes darted to Bary Recsky Peczely and Henter.

“What time do you claim to have seen the crime committed?” Mr. Eotvos repeated.

Morris shrugged his shoulders.

“I don't know … It had to be shortly before noon because the sun was not yet overhead.”

Mr. Scharf jumped up from his seat, the clattering of his handcuffs almost drowning out words that seemed to be dragged from his very heart.

“Morris, my son, have you lost your mind? Do you want to see me executed?”

Two deputies pushed him back onto the bench.

The onlookers were yelling again.

“Brave boy to tell the truth!” A man at the back of the room waved his handkerchief.

“Down with the murderers!” This time it was a young man wearing a floppy silk cravat and a rose pinned on his lapel.

Once again, Judge Korniss banged his gavel. Morris looked as if he were about to take a bow in front of an audience. He drew himself up to his full height and smiled. The gentle boy I had known had disappeared.

“Son, you claim you don't know what the accused did with the girl's body?”

“No, sir, I don't. I imagine they threw her into the Tisza River,” Morris answered in a loud voice.

The defendants were shaking their heads.

“Did you memorize these lies, my son?” cried Mr. Scharf.

He stood up again.

“I humbly beg to address the court.” The gendarmes stepped back. Mr. Scharf made a ragged noise, deep in his throat. “I cannot bear to listen to my son wanting to see me killed!”

“What do you mean?” asked the judge. “Your son didn't accuse you of murdering the girl!”

“I'm no different from the other prisoners. If he accuses them, he is accusing his own father!”

The judge leaned toward Morris once more.

“Son, do you know the Ten Commandments? Do you know that you're not supposed to bear false witness against your fellow men?”

“Yes, sir. I know that.”

“Do you maintain that your testimony is the truth?” continued the judge.

“I do, sir. I'm telling the truth.”

“What about honoring your father and your mother?” Solomon Schwarcz lunged at Morris and was pulled up short by his handcuffs.

He spat into Morris's face before the deputies could stop him. Morris turned red as he wiped his face. The guards pushed the butcher back onto the bench.

“I'm telling the truth! You cut the girl's throat!” Morris said to Schwarcz angrily.

“I will not have such an exhibition in my court! Your clients will pay dearly for it!” Judge Korniss said to Mr. Eotvos. He turned back to Morris. His poisonous gentle words made me sick.

“Son, do you still maintain that your testimony is given of your own free will? Did Chief Recsky threaten you to get you to testify?”

Morris, the tips of his ears burning, shot another quick glance in Recsky's direction.

“Chief Recsky never threatened me. He never laid a finger on me.”

Recsky's smile broadened. Mr. Eotvos approached the judge.

“Judge, may I address the witness?”

“You may.”

“Thank you, Your Honor.”

Mr. Eotvos said nothing for a moment. Then he shook his head.

“Can you tell us your testimony in verse or perhaps in German?”

Morris remained silent.

Mr. Eotvos faced the judges.

“Your Honors, may I address the court again?” asked Mr. Eotvos.

Judge Korniss nodded.

“Your Honors, the defendants would like Morris Scharf to repeat his testimony in German. They believe he was coached in Hungarian. The boy's Hungarian was not good at the time Esther Solymosi disappeared. Nor would a simple Jewish boy know some of the words he is using -defendants, testimony, perpetuity are words he would not normally know.”

“I refuse to speak German! Or Yiddish!” cried Morris. “I only want to speak Hungarian!”

“The witness must be permitted to testify in the language of his choice,” said prosecutor Szeyffert.

“The prosecutor is right.” The judge pursed his lips. “The boy must be allowed to speak in the language he chooses.
However, he will address the defendants. Face the defendants and look them in the eye as you repeat your testimony” he ordered Morris.

Morris turned toward the prisoners' bench and the wretched men sitting there. “On the first day of April in the year 1882, the Jews of Tisza-Eszlar congregated for their Sabbath prayers in their synagogue. There were some strangers …”

“Your Honor,” interrupted Mr. Eotvos, “it's obvious the boy was coached. He is repeating his testimony word by word.”

“I was not coached,” said Morris stubbornly. “I'm telling the truth.”

“Let the boy finish!” ordered the judge.

Morris repeated his testimony once again, not changing even a single word.

“Liar!”

“Why are you doing this?” rang from the defendants' corner.

Lipot Braun stood up.

“May I address the witness?”

“You may,” said Judge Korniss. He pulled his pocket-watch out from beneath his robe and scowled. “Make your point quickly,” he said.

Morris looked at Braun contemptuously, without blinking an eye.

“I have a question for you, Morris,” said Braun. “What did I do?”

“I already told you what you did.”

“Repeat it to me,” said Braun. He looked around at the other defendants.

“You and Buxbaum made the girl lie down on the floor in the synagogue, and then the two of you held her down while Solomon Schwarcz cut her throat,” Morris repeated flatly.

Braun stepped closer to Morris and the boy shrank away from him.

“Your Honor, the defendant is trying to intimidate the witness!” interjected prosecutor Szeyffert.

“Keep your distance!” said Korniss.

“Sorry, Your Honor,” said Braun, stepping away from Morris before addressing him once more. “You dare say to my face that I held down the girl?”

“You did! You and Buxbaum held her down.”

“Where was I holding her?” asked Braun.

“What do you mean?”

“Which part of her body was I holding?” Braun asked.

Morris blushed deeply. “I don't remember.”

“Once, you told Investigating Magistrate Bary I was holding her leg, and another time you told him I was holding her head. So what was it — the head or the leg?” He didn't wait for an answer before he sat down.

Mr. Eotvos sprang up from the defense table.

“Your Honor, it's obvious the witness is lying. He keeps changing his story.”

“I'm not lying! I can't remember whether the defendant held the girl's leg or her head. But I saw him and Buxbaum
hold her down on the floor while Solomon Schwarcz cut her throat and drained her blood into a pot. And that's the truth!”

Mr. Scharf jumped up and tried to run at Morris. The guards caught him and pushed him down.

“I have had enough of the prisoners' nonsense for today!” Judge Korniss signaled to the gendarmes. “Take them back to their cells.”

The line of prisoners was led out of the courtroom while the onlookers jeered.

“We will resume our proceedings tomorrow morning at ten o'clock sharp,” announced Judge Korniss over the din.

I slipped out of the courtroom while the onlookers were struggling to their feet. Warden Henter passed me at the bottom of the courthouse steps.

“What are you doing here, wench? Don't you have enough work to keep you in the kitchen?”

“I was just curious …”

“Well, don't be! You have no business here. If I see you at the trial again, you'll regret it!”