Puppet (6 page)

SUNDAY, MAY 21, 1882

I had just returned from church and was tying on my apron when I heard Sergeant Toth calling me.

“Water, girl! Bring us a bucket of water!”

I hurried to his office, the cold water splashing over my bare toes. Gendarme Bako was guarding the door. When he let me in, I put down the pail heavily to prevent it from spilling even more. Morris was lying on the floor, senseless, Chief Recsky looming over him. Bary and Peczely were circling around them, like tigers in a cage. Toth was leaning back on a wooden chair in the corner.

Morris was lying on his side, his knees to his chest and his arms over his face. Chief Recsky grabbed the pail and swung the water at him. Morris coughed and spluttered.

Recsky picked up a whip lying on the table and flicked it in the direction of Morris's head. Morris tried to protect his eyes. Recsky laughed harshly. An expression of distaste flitted over Bary's face, but Peczely was expressionless.

“Talk, boy!” Recsky said. “Tell us how you held down the servant girl while the others butchered her!”

Morris struggled into a sitting position.

“We not do that!” he said. His voice was steady, but he was trembling. “I tell you, we never see girl! We not know her — not me, not Papa, not Solomon Schwarcz!”

“Liar!” Recsky said, leaning closer to the boy. “Tell the truth or I'll have you taken to the district prison in Nyiregyhaza. I'll have you locked up there till the end of your days.” His voice rose. “Tell the truth or I'll throw away the keys to your cell!”

Suddenly, almost nonchalantly, he kicked him in the stomach. Morris doubled up, moaning.

“Will you talk now?”

“I'm sorry, but I tell truth,” Morris gasped.

“Stop it!” Bary said. “Can't you see that the boy won't confess? I don't care for such brutality!”

“You can't be lily-livered, Bary, not if you want the whelp to tell you how they killed the girl,” said Recsky. “The boy is all we have. Nothing was found in Scharf's house. I even had my men dig up his dead baby's grave. We found nothing! We dredged the Tisza again. If the body of the girl is under the water, it's nothing more than food for the fishes by now. The boy's all we got,” he repeated.

Bary drew himself up.

“Remember whom you're addressing, Chief Recsky!”

The chief gendarme glared at him but fell silent.

“Take the boy back to his cell,” he finally growled.

I stepped aside while Gendarme Bako pushed and shoved Morris out of the room. The boy was barely able to walk.

Recsky finally noticed my presence. “Why are you still here?” he asked. “Get out!”

I obeyed him immediately.

I dreamt of Clara again that night. She was dressed in rags and called out to me.

“Help me, Julie! I need you!” she pleaded. “Take me away from here.”

She held out her arms, but as I ran to her she disappeared. I woke up sweating in spite of the chill air. The need to hold her in my arms overwhelmed me.

There was loud banging and talking in the street under my window. I pushed the wooden box that served as my table under it and climbed up on top. I pulled aside the vest that acted as a curtain and peeked through the bars. A horse-drawn cart filled with hay was parked next to the prison. Morris, his arms in chains, was being led toward it by Gendarme Bako.

“How long we go to Nyiregyhaza?” he asked the gendarme.

“Shut your mouth! It'll take as long as it takes,” Bako said as he pushed Morris into the cart.

Morris lay on the straw, shielding his face from Bako's blows with his shackled hands. Recsky and Peczely came out of the prison by a side door and climbed up to the seat beside Bako. Bako pulled in the reins and the cart started to move.

“Good-bye, Morris!” I called through the bars. “Goodbye!”

“Good-bye, Julie!” said Morris. “I do no wrong!”

The crack of Recsky's whip silenced him.

I watched the cart lurch away down the rutted road. I climbed off the box and lay down on my cot, but I couldn't fall asleep again. At first I felt sorry for Morris, but then I started wondering what if he did lie and the Jews did kill Esther? Somebody did, or she would have returned home! I wished I knew what to believe.

MONDAY, MAY 22, 1882

I woke up before the roosters the next morning, aching for Clara. I had to see her. My only hope was Pa. Maybe I could convince him to help me get to Aunt Irma's. I dressed quickly. I knew I didn't have much time. I had to be back at the jail to serve Sergeant Toth his breakfast, but I had to talk to Pa first. I knew he was as likely to beat me as to help me, but I didn't care. I was desperate to hold Clara and to know she was all right.

I untied my vest from the bars over the window and quickly put it on to ward off the gentle breeze of the spring dawn. I draped Ma's shawl over my shoulders. I didn't really need it, but I felt close to her when I wore it. For a moment, I buried my face in its softness and engulfed myself in her scent. It felt as if she had her arms around me.

The moon was still in the sky as I ran barefoot through the empty streets, but Pa left for the fields early. I was surprised that the windows of the house were dark. I banged on the door, but Pa didn't open it. When I tried the latch, the door swung open so I went in.

The smell of rotting food made my nostrils twitch. Despite the moonlight sneaking through the narrow windows, the room was dark. For a moment I thought I'd missed Pa and he'd already gone to work. It took a few moments for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. Pa was lying in his bed, next to the wall. His mouth was wide open and he was snoring loudly. A tankard was overturned on the floor beside the bed. I could smell the stink of the ale even across the room.

Pa wasn't alone. Next to him lay a yellow-haired woman I had never seen before. Her skirts were immodestly bundled up around her hips, leaving her legs bare. I quickly turned to leave.

The woman stirred.

“Who are you?” she asked, her words slurred with sleep.

“I'm Julie. Who are you?”

“Ah, the daughter!” she snickered but didn't pull her skirts down. “I'm your pa's friend.”

She nudged Pa with her elbow.

“Wake up, Peter!”

Pa opened his eyes. When he saw me, he struggled to sit up.

“What're you doing here?”

The woman laughed. It made me so angry I stepped
even closer. I could smell the drink on Pa's sour breath.

“Has Sergeant Toth thrown you out? You can't come back here! You'll be sorry if Toth stops sending your wages to me!”

It took me a moment to find the right words.

“What wages, Pa?”

“Stop your infernal questions!” he roared. He swung his legs around to the side of the bed and stood up.

“If you didn't lose your job, what are you doing here? Why are you spying on me?”

“I'm not spying, Pa. I came to ask you if there's any news of Clara.”

“None of your damned business! Get out of my sight!”

The woman tugged on his arm. “Is that the shawl you were telling me about?”

My hand was on the door latch when Pa grabbed my arm, his fingers digging into my flesh.

“Give that to me!” he roared, yanking the shawl off my shoulders.

“Pa, what are you doing? Give me back Ma's shawl! She wanted me to have it! Please, Pa! Give it back to me!”

He opened the door and pushed me into the dawn. I heard the key turn in the lock as I tumbled down the steps, scraping my knees.

I banged on the door with all my might.

“Please, Pa! Please! Give me back Ma's shawl!”

There was no answer. After a long time, I limped back to the jail, crying the entire way.

Sergeant Toth ate his breakfast as if he had never seen food before. Half of his meal was gone before he noticed I was still standing in front of him. He stared at me wordlessly. I took a deep breath.

“I was wondering if I could have part of my pay sir.”

“You get room and board!” He lowered his spoon. “You won't have to worry about your job much longer. My housekeeper will be coming back in a few days.”

It took a moment for me to understand what he was saying. It was a calamity. I couldn't go back to Pa. He didn't want me. And as for making a home for Clara, that hope vanished like my dreams of the poor child.

“Go do your job, while you still have one!”

He picked up his spoon and attacked his meal again, as if I wasn't there. I was at the door when one of the jail guards rushed into the office.

“They brought the Jew boy back, sir! He confessed!” he said. “Mr. Bary ordered me to round up all the Jewish men in town and line them up in front of the jail.”

Toth stood.

“Have you done it?”

“I wanted to check first with you, sir.”

“Do as Bary says.”

In less than a half-hour, every Jewish man in Tisza-Eszlar was lined up in front of the jail — the farmers, the butcher, Dr. Weltner. The Jewish prisoners had been herded out of
the jail to stand with them. Gendarmes were pointing their rifles at the frightened men. The street around the jail was full of angry, menacing villagers. I saw Pa, but although he must have noticed me he turned his head away. Jewish wives and children clung to one another at the back, craning to see the men through the milling crowd. Sam and Mrs. Scharf were among them. It was only then that I realized they had been released from jail.

I could see Bary Recsky and Peczely their heads together on the jail stairs, conferring. At Bary's side, Morris was bent over, clutching his stomach. He looked up, his face bruised and one of his eyes swollen shut.

Bary called to me. “Bring us some water, girl!”

I hefted the pail and cup by my feet. As I filled the cup for Bary, I whispered to Morris, “What happened to you? Why did you confess?”

“Silence! Don't answer her!” ordered Recsky.

I scuttled away with the pail.

Morris swayed and fell to his knees. Mr. Scharf broke away from the gendarmes.

“Leave my poor boy alone!”

“Papa! Papa!” wept Morris as the gendarmes caught Mr. Scharf and dragged him back to the other prisoners.

“Let my papa go!” begged Morris. “Please, let him go! I change my mind!” He turned to Recsky. “I no confess anymore!” he said.

“Changed your mind? Take back your confession? You can't do that!” roared the chief.

“You told me that the boy confessed of his own free will,” said Bary, low and furious. “The confession has to be voluntary for it to stand up in a court of law.”

“Don't be a fool, Bary,” said Peczely “The boy's confession is signed and sealed. You saw it with your own eyes.”

Morris struggled to his feet.

“I lie! I lie when I tell you that we kill girl who missing. We never meet her!” he shouted. The villagers hooted and swore. “I lie because I want you to stop beating me! You say you not hurt my papa if I sign paper! You say you let my papa go! That's why I sign paper you give me.”

Recsky lifted his whip high.

“Stop it! Stop it, Recsky!” ordered Bary.

“Let me talk to the boy” Peczely said.

He leaned close to Morris's ear. I stood so near them I could hear him speak.

“Listen, boy if you don't stop your foolishness we will put you and your father back in jail and throw away the keys,” he said. “Do you want that on your conscience?”

“No, no!” mumbled Morris. “I'm sorry!”

Peczely leaned even closer to Morris. “If you don't tell us which of these men killed Esther Solymosi, your father will feel the sting of the chief gendarme's whip even more than you have. Do you want that on your conscience?” he repeated. “Am I making myself clear?”

“Yes. I'm sorry for being so fool,” Morris begged. “For give me!”

Peczely's smile made me shiver.

“I'm glad that you came to your senses, boy before it was too late” he said pleasantly. “Just do what you're supposed to do and then both you and your father will be fine. Are you ready to cooperate?”

“Yes, forgive me!” Morris pleaded.

Peczely turned to Recsky and Bary.

“The boy has seen reason,” he said. “Let's begin.”

Bary walked up to the line of Jewish men. Recsky's hand gripped Morris's arm as he dragged him along.

Two Jewish men were holding up a weeping Joseph Scharf They fell silent as Bary approached.

“Attention!” Bary's eyes bulged behind his rimless glasses. “You vermin claim ignorance about the disappearance of the servant girl Esther Solymosi, but I know you are lying!”

The villagers shouted their approval. “Death to the Jews! Death to the Jews!” they chanted.

“We're innocent!” The voice of one of the prisoners rang out over the clamor. It was the same small man with the long black beard I had seen in the kitchen of the jail in Tisza-Eszlar.

Bary nodded to Bako, who grabbed the man from behind and drew his arm across his throat, effectively cutting off his words.

“God help us, they're completely crazy!” Dr. Weltner shook his head.

“We have a witness to your horrible crime,” Bary announced loudly. “Morris Scharf decided to tell the truth. His confession is signed and sealed. He watched through
the keyhole of the lock on the front door of your synagogue as one of you did this terrible deed.” He turned to Morris. “Is that what you told me, boy?”

Morris nodded his head. “Yes, I did.”

I wanted to warn him not to say such terrible lies, but I was afraid to speak up.

“Louder!” roared Bary.

“Yes, that's what I say!” shouted the boy.

“My son! What are you doing? What are you saying?” cried Mr. Scharf He held out his arms to Morris.

“Silence him!” Bary nodded at Chief Recsky who motioned to his men.

Two gendarmes pushed through the prisoners and held Mr. Scharf's arms while Recsky took a filthy handkerchief out of his pocket and stuffed it into the man's mouth. Mr. Scharf garbled desperate noises.

“Morris Scharf, you confessed that the new butcher cut Esther Solymosi's throat and drained her blood into a pot,” Bary said. “Point out to us the individual who did this horrible crime.”

“The shochet! They're accusing the new shochet!” The lines of Jewish men broke as they looked at one another in horrified confusion.

“Back in line! Go on, boy. Show us this murderer!” said Bary.

Morris hung his head and shuffled between the rows of prisoners. One or two of them spat at him as he passed. He
didn't raise his hands to wipe his face. He stopped in front of the bearded man who had spoken up before.

“Is that the man you saw murder the servant girl, Esther Solymosi?” Bary asked.

Morris nodded, stone-faced.

“Point him out to us!” Recsky commanded.

Morris slowly raised his arm and pointed his finger.

“Liar!” cried the man. “God is my witness that he is a liar!”

The other prisoners stared at Morris incredulously, afraid to make even the smallest noise.

Terrible grunts came from Joseph Scharf's mouth as he struggled to break away from the guards.

“And what is the name of the man who killed Esther Solymosi, the man you're pointing at?” Bary asked.

“He is Solomon Schwarcz, the new shochet.” Morris's voice was little more than a whisper.

“Why are you telling such terrible lies? I did nothing! I'm innocent! I can prove it!”

Mr. Scharf's animal sounds as he strained against the guards were horrible to hear.

“The butcher killed the girl! The butcher killed the girl!” the villagers were shouting, waving their fists in the air. The clutch of Jewish women turned their heads away as if the words were blows. Even in the commotion, Morris did not raise his head.

“Silence!” Bary shouted. “Who were the men who held the girl down while Solomon Schwarcz cut her throat?”

Morris hesitated, then pointed to the two men standing on either side of Schwarcz.

“They help shochet kill girl,” he said.

“What are their names?” Bary asked.

Morris shook his head and stared at the ground.

“Who are you?” Recsky shouted. “What are you doing in Tisza-Eszlar?”

“I'm Abraham Buxbaum,” said the taller of the two. “I did nothing! I came here to try out for the shochet's job. I didn't even know the girl!”

He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.

“Why are you sweating?” Bary asked. “Are you nervous because you're guilty?”

“It's warm,” Buxbaum answered. “Everybody sweats in the heat. I'm innocent!”

Bary's eyes rested on the shorter man.

“Who are you?”

“I'm Lipot Braun. I never saw the girl either. I, too, came to Tisza-Eszlar to apply for the shochet's job, but I was turned down.”

“Who was chosen?”

Buxbaum and Braun looked at Schwarcz.

Bary smirked and addressed Morris.

“Only one more person to identify, boy” he said. “Tell us which one of the beggars lured Esther Solymosi into the synagogue?”

The beggars, barefooted in ragged clothes, were standing together among the other prisoners.

“Which beggar tricked Esther?” Bary repeated.

Morris lifted his head and looked around.

“He not here,” he said. “Beggar not here.”

“Are you sure?” Bary asked.

“I'm sure,” Morris mumbled.

Bary gestured at the filthiest of the beggars.

“Could this be him? Is this the man you saw call Esther?”

Morris shook his head.

“Look again, boy!” Bary said. “Look carefully! Remember what we told you. I repeat — could this be the beggar who lured Esther Solymosi into the synagogue?”