Shtetl Days

He wasn’t due for the next pill for another hour, but he took one anyhow, and washed it down with a slug of plum brandy from a small bottle he kept in a drawer on his side of the counter. The warnings on the vial might say you shouldn’t do that, but the warnings on the vial hadn’t been written with visits from SS men in mind.

He wondered how Reb Eliezer’s interrogation had gone. As they’d needed to, they’d picked a clever fellow to play the village rabbi. But the SS specialized in scaring you so much, you forgot you had any brains. And if they were questioning Eliezer, maybe he didn’t report to anybody after all. Maybe. All Eliezer had to do was stick to the truth here and everything would be fine . . . Veit hoped.

He also wondered if the rabbi would come over here to talk about what had happened. There, Veit hoped not. The Hauptsturmf ü hrer had proved that the shul was thoroughly bugged. No great surprise, that, but now it was confirmed. And if they’d just grilled one Jakub Shlayfer, grinder, the walls to his shop were bound to have ears, too. Would Reb Eliezer be clever enough to realize as much?

Eliezer must have been, because he didn’t show up. Before long, the potent pill and the slivovitz made Veit not care so much. He got less work done than he might have. On the other hand, they didn’t haul him off to a Vernichtungslager, either, so he couldn’t count the day a dead loss.

#

"I’m tired," Kristi said as they walked across the parking lot to their car.

"Me, too." Veit moved carefully, like an old man. The rib still bit him every few steps.

"Want me to drive again, then?" his wife asked. She’d thrown out a hint, but he’d tossed it right back.

"Please, if you don’t mind too much."

"It’s all right," she said.

Veit translated that as I mind, but not too much. He waited till they were pulling onto the Autobahn before saying, "Let’s stop somewhere in Lublin for supper."

"I’ve got those chicken legs defrosting at home," Kristi said doubtfully.

"Chuck ’em in the fridge when we get back," Veit said. "We’ll have ’em tomorrow."

"Suits me." She sounded happy. "I didn’t feel much like cooking tonight anyway."

"I could tell." That was one reason Veit had suggested eating out. It wasn’t the only one. He hadn’t told her anything about what had happened during the day. You had to assume the SS could hear anything that went on in Wawolnice. You also had to figure they could bug an Audi. But you had to hope they couldn’t keep tabs on everything that went on in every eatery in Lublin.

"That looks like a good place," he said, pointing, as they went through town.

"But--" she began. He held a vertical finger in front of his lips, as if to say, Yes, something is up. No dope, Kristi got it right away. "Well, we’ll give it a try, then," she said, and eased the car into a tight parking space at least as smoothly as Veit could have done it.

When they walked into the Boar’s Head, the ma î tre d’blinked at Veit’s flowing beard. They weren’t the style in the real world. But Veit talked like a rational fellow, and slipped him ten Reichsmarks besides. No zlotych here. They were village play money. Poland’s currency was as dead as the country. The Reichsmark ruled the world no less than the Reich did. And ten of them were plenty to secure a good table.

Veit and Kristi ordered beer. The place was lively and noisy. People chattered. A band oompahed in the background. It was still early, but couples already spun on the dance floor. After the seidels came, Veit talked about the Hauptsturmf ü hrer’s visit in a low voice.

Her eyes widened in sympathy--and in alarm. "But that’s so stupid!" she burst out.

"Tell me about it," Veit said. "I think I finally got through to him that it was all part of a day’s work. I sure hope I did."

"Alevai omayn!" Kristi said. That was a slip of sorts, because it wasn’t German, but you had to believe you could get away with a couple of words every now and then if you were in a safe place or a public place: often one and the same. And the Yiddish phrase meant exactly what Veit was thinking.

"Are you ready to order yet?" The waitress was young and cute and perky. And she was well trained. Veit’s whiskers didn’t faze her one bit.

"I sure am." He pointed to the menu. "I want the ham steak, with the red-cabbage sauerkraut and the creamed potatoes."

"Yes, sir." She wrote it down. "And you, ma’am?"

"How is the clam-and-crayfish stew?" Kristi asked.

"Oh, it’s very good!" The waitress beamed. "Everybody likes it. Last week, someone who used to live in Lublin drove down from Warsaw just to have some."

"Well, I’ll try it, then."

When the food came, they stopped talking and attended to it. Once his plate was bare--which didn’t take long--Veit blotted his lips on his napkin and said, "I haven’t had ham that good in quite a while." He hadn’t eaten any ham in quite a while, but he didn’t mention that.