blocks; two more turns; another block; the light fading all the time; his sense of danger growing with the darkness.
Aaron reached a street that looked no different from the others he’d passed. A few shop fronts, mostly closed up — either for the night or forever, who could say? — apartment buildings of three to six floors, composed of brick and stone, indistinguishable in the dimness but for the street numbers. The building he was looking for had a number that he knew well. Over the last few weeks he had been a constant visitor.
An engine growled not far away. Aaron couldn’t tell what direction it was coming from, but it sounded like it was getting closer. He began to run, each footfall sounding like thunder in his ears.
The door he needed was just in front of him, perhaps twenty meters away. He closed the distance at a pace that he couldn’t have kept up for a second longer, reaching the doorway, entering and gasping, coughing, choking all at once. Lights from a car filtered though the glass in the top half of the door above Aaron. He lay on the floor unmoving.
The car passed.
Aaron’s heart restarted.
He slowly rose to his feet and stepped down the building’s unlit corridor, feeling for a door that led to darkened stairs and the basement.
He turned, closed the door behind him, and walked down toward a glow. After a few steps, he heard the bolt of a rifle snick.
“It’s me,” he said. “Put the gun away.”
In lieu of an answer, the gun’s barrel was pointed in a different direction.
Teitel was waiting there for him with three other men and lanterns. Behind the men was a ragged hole that had been ripped into the Aryan world.
Or more precisely, a short tunnel dug through brick and dirt that led into a small space below a warehouse that had been closed to prevent smuggling. Now, unbeknownst to the authorities, the warehouse was back in business, under new management.
“Things look good?” Aaron asked Teitel, who was smiling.
“You can see for yourself,” he said proudly. “Everything’s clear, thanks to the help from your friends on the other side.”
“Friends might be a little strong. They didn’t do it out of good will. They’re hoping for a little return on their investment,” Aaron said, lighting a cigarette, breathing the smoke deeply. “Do we have enough to pay for the shipment?”
Teitel pointed to two steamer trunks and a small satchel that sat in the dirt of the unfinished space. The lack of dust on them betrayed their recent arrival.
Aaron walked over, reached down and undid one of the clasps on a trunk, and then another, releasing the lid and allowing some of the lantern light to penetrate the box. The contents glittered in reply.
It was a strange collection of wealth. A kind of wealth only available to the poor. It was everything that could be stripped from a person while leaving the owner alive. Silk from a mother’s wedding dress, a candelabrum that had passed generations in the same family, a necklace that had adorned the throat of a woman on a forgotten evening at the opera. A trunkful of such things.
“And the other trunk?” Aaron asked.
“Furs,” one of the other men replied, “and the special package.”
“And cash in the satchel?”
“What there is. And a little gold, mostly in coins, but a tooth filling or two, also,” said the same man, whom Aaron knew only as Boris.
“Let’s hope it’s not a biblical trade,” laughed a squat man with an unintended beard. His name was Dov.
When nobody else laughed he added, “You know, from the Torah. An eye for an eye? A tooth for a tooth?”
Thin smiles all around.
Aaron looked directly at Teitel.
“And the special items?”
“At the bottom of the second trunk. When are we expecting your friends?” Teitel asked Aaron.
“They don’t have the same curfew. They may want to wait a while longer, until it’s been dark for a while and people have settled in for the night.”
“Well, it’s okay, I
Aaron reached a street that looked no different from the others he’d passed. A few shop fronts, mostly closed up — either for the night or forever, who could say? — apartment buildings of three to six floors, composed of brick and stone, indistinguishable in the dimness but for the street numbers. The building he was looking for had a number that he knew well. Over the last few weeks he had been a constant visitor.
An engine growled not far away. Aaron couldn’t tell what direction it was coming from, but it sounded like it was getting closer. He began to run, each footfall sounding like thunder in his ears.
The door he needed was just in front of him, perhaps twenty meters away. He closed the distance at a pace that he couldn’t have kept up for a second longer, reaching the doorway, entering and gasping, coughing, choking all at once. Lights from a car filtered though the glass in the top half of the door above Aaron. He lay on the floor unmoving.
The car passed.
Aaron’s heart restarted.
He slowly rose to his feet and stepped down the building’s unlit corridor, feeling for a door that led to darkened stairs and the basement.
He turned, closed the door behind him, and walked down toward a glow. After a few steps, he heard the bolt of a rifle snick.
“It’s me,” he said. “Put the gun away.”
In lieu of an answer, the gun’s barrel was pointed in a different direction.
Teitel was waiting there for him with three other men and lanterns. Behind the men was a ragged hole that had been ripped into the Aryan world.
Or more precisely, a short tunnel dug through brick and dirt that led into a small space below a warehouse that had been closed to prevent smuggling. Now, unbeknownst to the authorities, the warehouse was back in business, under new management.
“Things look good?” Aaron asked Teitel, who was smiling.
“You can see for yourself,” he said proudly. “Everything’s clear, thanks to the help from your friends on the other side.”
“Friends might be a little strong. They didn’t do it out of good will. They’re hoping for a little return on their investment,” Aaron said, lighting a cigarette, breathing the smoke deeply. “Do we have enough to pay for the shipment?”
Teitel pointed to two steamer trunks and a small satchel that sat in the dirt of the unfinished space. The lack of dust on them betrayed their recent arrival.
Aaron walked over, reached down and undid one of the clasps on a trunk, and then another, releasing the lid and allowing some of the lantern light to penetrate the box. The contents glittered in reply.
It was a strange collection of wealth. A kind of wealth only available to the poor. It was everything that could be stripped from a person while leaving the owner alive. Silk from a mother’s wedding dress, a candelabrum that had passed generations in the same family, a necklace that had adorned the throat of a woman on a forgotten evening at the opera. A trunkful of such things.
“And the other trunk?” Aaron asked.
“Furs,” one of the other men replied, “and the special package.”
“And cash in the satchel?”
“What there is. And a little gold, mostly in coins, but a tooth filling or two, also,” said the same man, whom Aaron knew only as Boris.
“Let’s hope it’s not a biblical trade,” laughed a squat man with an unintended beard. His name was Dov.
When nobody else laughed he added, “You know, from the Torah. An eye for an eye? A tooth for a tooth?”
Thin smiles all around.
Aaron looked directly at Teitel.
“And the special items?”
“At the bottom of the second trunk. When are we expecting your friends?” Teitel asked Aaron.
“They don’t have the same curfew. They may want to wait a while longer, until it’s been dark for a while and people have settled in for the night.”
“Well, it’s okay, I
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