Child of the Light (2 page)

Staying home and playing with Erich all day had been fun at first, but he was beginning to miss school, and he and Erich were getting on each other's nerves. They needed something special to do, something different, like going back to the hideaway they had discovered just before all the trouble started. They had been sent down to clean the shop's cellar, a job that in the past had been done by hired help. While moving a crate to one side, they had noticed a rusty drain-grate that led into a section of ancient brick sewer, sealed off from Berlin's modern system. Though fetid and damp, the sewer ran beneath both the furrier's and their shop, and made a perfect hideaway.

Best of all, it was
their
sewer. Their secret.

"Tonight will be like old times," Sol's mother said.

He turned to look at her. She stood framed in the doorway of his room, wiping her hands on her apron. Her face was flushed, her hairline damp from the heat of the kitchen.

"Come, Sol. You must be hungry. Wash your hands and face and help me carry the food upstairs."

Sol glanced at his hands. "I'm starving."

"Wash," his mother said. "Even if you think you're clean."

Frowning, Sol moved away from the window.

His mother laughed. "Watch out--your face might stay ugly," she said. "And close that window, Solly, or there'll be icicles on your bed when we come home. Already in here it's like Siberia."

"Aren't you going to help us put this on the tree?" Erich's mother held out a handful of tinsel.

Erich shook his head and went on rocking in the chair he had placed as far away from the tree as possible. He hated Christmas. Mama knew that! He hated his birthday, too, because it was Christmas Eve and he always lost out. He had liked them both all right until he was about six, when his parents started lumping everything together, cheating him, giving him one present instead of two. Sure, the present was bigger, but that still meant he only had one package to open.

"Here, Friedrich, you do it. I have other things to do before they come."

Inge Weisser handed the tinsel to her husband. He took it from her and threw it at the tree. "There! Is that good enough for them?"

"What do you mean
for them?
It's for
us,
Friedrich, and for the boy."

"Jews--what do they know about Christmas! Not even a tree in the shop--
he
wouldn't allow it--"

It's almost as though he wishes Herr Freund had died in the trenches, Erich thought. One of these days he's going to forget himself in front of Herr Freund and say something even Sol's papa--for all his niceness--cannot excuse, and then what will happen to us?

"I hear them coming up the stairs." His mother set her face in a smile and looked at her husband as if she hoped it were contagious. "Quick, Erich, open the door."

He let the Freunds in and for a while it was like old times. The two families sat on the Weissers' astrakhan rug, among stray tinsel and pine needles. There were warmed schnapps, potato pancakes, and easy laughter in front of a roaring fire. And songs--not religious ones of Jesus or God particularly--just non-secular, happy, holiday ones.

When the stories began about the children when they were little and Germany was at peace, Recha climbed onto her father's lap and snuggled against him. "Tell us about when
you
were little, Papa."

Jacob Freund smiled. Reaching into his pocket, he took out a tiny, four-sided brass top. "This
dreidel
is even older than I am. Can you imagine that, children? My grandfather brought it all the way from Russia."

Erich and Sol grinned at each other. This was their favorite story, the one about Sol's great grandfather Moshe, who was both a rabbi and a horse thief. Why didn't
he
have an interesting family like that, Erich thought.

Holding the
dreidel,
Jacob said, "We'll never be sure which of his two occupations made it necessary for him to leave Russia in the middle of the night, but--"

"Couldn't you spare us the story of your illustrious ancestors just this one time?"

Friedrich Weisser downed another schnapps and Erich felt as if a cold wind had blown through the room. There were hours to go before midnight and the opening of presents. An argument now would spoil everything.

"I'm first," he said, hoping to avert a quarrel. Taking the
dreidel
from Herr Freund's hand, he spun it hard.
"Nun, gimel, he, shin,"
he chanted, repeating the letters of the Hebrew alphabet that were engraved on the old brass surface of the
dreidel.
He had learned the words from the Freunds; maybe being the first to say them tonight would make up for his father's rudeness.

Recha, whose eyelids had begun to droop, got her second wind. She climbed off her father's lap and joined in the game, yelling loudly as the top slowed down and she, too, tried to guess which letter would be visible when the spinning stopped and the
dreidel
finally lay still.

"Ridiculous game!" Herr Weisser placed his rough hand over the top and stopped its spinning.

Ella Freund's face hardened. "All right, children," she said, standing up. "It's getting late. I think it's time to leave."

"Don't be so sensitive, Ellie." Her husband took out a fresh cigar. "Fred's just had a little too much schnapps. He doesn't mean anything by it."

Oh doesn't he, Erich thought, watching his father pace up and down the room.

"You Jews all think you're so special--" Friedrich Weisser stopped in his tracks and glared at Herr Freund.

He's done it! He's gone too far, Erich thought. "Let's go to my room, Sol," he whispered, embarrassed for his father. "You, too, Recha, if you like."

"Recha?" Sol asked.

Erich saw the worried look on Sol's face. True, Erich hardly ever voluntarily included Recha in anything--not that he didn't like her, but she
was
only seven.

"Come, Friedrich!" Jacob Freund said, his voice firm. "You don't really mean any of that. We are friends, all of us. Old friends." He put out his hand. "Let us put an end to this at once. For all of our sakes."

"Papa, please--"

Erich was cut short by a knock at the front door.

"The beadle." Frau Freund looked flustered. "I forgot. I invited him for a glass of schnapps. I didn't think you would mind--"

"Well, I do mind!" Friedrich Weisser jammed the cork into the bottle. "And so does my good wife!"

"Sol." Erich tugged at Sol's arm, pulling him toward his bedroom. "I have something for you."

"Bring it out here."

"No. It's private. Come now, before--"

There was a second knock at the door, louder this time.

"Do I let him in?" Ella Freund asked quietly. Sol's father gave her an
it's not our home
look.

"Please, Papa, he's a nice man. Let him come in," Erich said. He could feel that his face had turned red.

"Go on, go on!" His papa waved his hand. "Open the door. But only one drink--"

As graciously as if she had sent him a gilt-edged invitation, Frau Weisser ushered Beadle Cohen into her home. He was a short, rotund man with thinning hair and a limp that got better or worse depending on the weather. His built-in barometer, he called it, impressing the boys no end with the accuracy of his predictions. He spent all of his time around the synagogue, where he was a glorified janitor, or surrounded by musty books which he foisted upon the mostly unwilling boys who attended the Hebrew School attached to the
shul.

Sol was one of the exceptions--not only willing but anxious to get his hands on as many books as he could. He loved to read. Most of all he loved to discuss what he had read with the beadle, who made no bones about either his poverty or his intellect. He had a particular fondness for Sol and, strangely enough, for Erich, who was not much of a reader--certainly not of Jewish literature. Often, when Erich was through with sports, he would walk past the Hebrew school and wait for Sol so they could walk home together. Sometimes the beadle would walk with them. He made a point of talking about things like astronomy, which interested Erich as well as Sol.

"Happy Chanukah." The beadle accepted a glass of schnapps and an invitation to be seated. "And a merry Christmas, too." He sipped at the drink with obvious enjoyment. "So kind of you to include me. Most kind."

"We have potato pancakes left over, if you're hungry," Sol's mother said.

"Hungry? One needs to be hungry to eat
latkes,
especially Ella Freund's
latkes?"
The beadle glanced down at his stomach and laughed. "But I can't stay long. I have other stops to make."

Erich saw a look of relief on his friend's face. He felt the same way; he wanted the beadle to stay, but who knew how long Papa would control himself?

"I have no gifts for the adults," the beadle said, "but I was able to manage a little something for each of the children. Recha!" He dug in his pocket and pulled out an old sepia photograph. "Because you love to dance, I brought you a photograph of Anna Pavlova. This was taken when she was just your age. Now she's the most famous ballerina in the whole world."

Recha took the photograph and stared at it, her dark eyes sparkling.

"Say thank you to Beadle Cohen." Ella Freund smiled at her daughter.

"Thank you, Beadle Cohen." Recha performed a little curtsy.

"I'd prefer a kiss, right here." Pretending great seriousness, the beadle pointed at his cheek.

Recha obliged.

"Would it be too much to ask for one on the other cheek, too?" The beadle was enjoying himself.

Recha shook her head and, instead, kissed the photograph.

"Well, I suppose that will have to do," the beadle said, with mock sadness. "Erich! I believe today is also your birthday. Happy birthday, my boy."

Erich saw his papa's expression harden. Hurry up, beadle, he thought. There's not much time left.

"One day you will get that dog you want so badly," the beadle said, "and you will have to know how to look after him. I talked to a man I know who knows
everything
about dogs. He gave me this for you." He pulled a worn leather leash out of his pocket and held it out to Erich.

"This is foolishness," Herr Weisser said. "I have told the boy he cannot have a dog. He nags me about it enough, now he will double his efforts. We cannot have that. The way he embarrasses me, telling people he knows what dogs are thinking--!"

"But Papa--"

"No!"

The beadle stood up. Stuffing the leash into his pocket, he gave the boys a broad wink. "Perhaps I can find a temporary use for it," he said. "Thank you for your hospitality."

"Your
latkes,
beadle." Ella Freund emerged from the kitchen with a plate in her hands.

"Perhaps you will be kind enough to repeat the offer some other time."

The beadle seemed calm enough, but Erich knew he was upset. Why else would he have forgotten to give Sol his present? Papa always spoiled everything, and
he
had to make excuses!

"Look, I'm sorry, Sol," Erich said, as soon as they were in his room. "My father, he..."

"Not your fault." Sol sounded close to tears.

"Here!" Erich handed Sol the dog collar he had kept hidden under the bed. "I made this for you--for us--in leather craft at school. We'll have a puppy soon. It'll be just ours, yours and mine, and no one else will even be allowed to pet him...'cept maybe Recha, sometimes."

"Boys, come out of the bedroom. Everything is all right," Jacob Freund called from the hallway. "We're all friends again."

"We'd better go--" Sol began.

"Don't you like it?"

"It's great, Erich. But--"

"I don't know when or how, but we'll do it, Sol," Erich said. "If we stick together, we can get whatever we want. We're blood brothers, right?" Remembering something he had seen in a film, he held up his arm, wrist toward Sol, who touched his wrist to Erich's and reached for the collar with his other hand.

"Wait!" Erich placed the collar carefully around their arms and closed it tightly. "Nothing can separate us now!"

"Ow! You made it too tight!"

"Okay, pull! One, two, three."

Laughing, the boys tugged in opposite directions and the collar dropped to the floor.
 
Sol picked it up, examined it briefly, and stuffed it into his pocket. "Thanks."

"Solll!"
Recha wailed outside the door. "Sol!"

Patting his pocket, Sol opened the door to a tearful Recha.

"You always leave me out. Always."

Sol crouched and gave his sister a hug. She was okay--for a girl, Erich thought. "What happened in there, Recha?" he asked.

Recha handed her brother a book bound in soft black leather. "Beadle Cohen went away. He left this for you."

Sol took the book and read the title out loud.
"Toledot ha-Ari. Life of the Ari
...the Lion. Look, Erich, it's the biography of Isaac ben Solomon Luria!"