establish a voice in the West. He was very shrewd, Hirsczowicz: he knew the fate of the Jews rested in the hands of the West. He’d sent Fischelson over first, a kind of advance guard, to set things up. But Fischelson became the whole show when the war broke out and Hirsczowicz disappeared in a Nazi execution operation. The old man proved to be horribly unsuited to the task: he was not delicate, he had no tact, no political sensibility; he could only whine and rant.
“His papers is good,” Dr. Fischelson said, in his heavy accent.
“Pardon?” she said.
“His papers is good. I guarantee. I guarantee. He has release from prison war camp. Our peoples find him in DP hospital. Sick, very sick. They get him visa. Jews help Jews. Across France he comes by train. Then the last by ship. Lawyers draw up papers. All good, all legal. This I tell you. So why investigators? So why now investigators?”
“Please, please,” she said, for the old man had begun to rise and declaim. A vein pulsed beneath the dry skin of his throat. “It’s some kind of mistake, I’m sure. Or apart of the routine. That’s all. Look, I have a friend in the intelligence service, a captain.”
“A Jew?”
“No. But a good man, basically. A decent man. I’ll call him and—”
She heard the doors at the end of the corridor swing open and at first could not recognize them. They were not particularly impressive men: just big, burly, a little embarrassed. Susan’s sentence stopped in her mouth. Who were they? Dr. Fischelson, following the confusion in her eyes, looked over.
They came silently, without talking, four of them, and the fifth, a leader, a way back. They passed Susan and Fischelson and stepped into Shmuel’s room.
My God, she thought.
“What’s this, what’s going on?” shouted Fischelson.
Susan felt her heart begin to accelerate and her hands begin to tremble. She had trouble breathing.
“Easy,” said the leader, not brutally at all.
“Miss Susan, what’s going on?” Fischelson demanded.
Say something, you idiot, Susan thought.
“Hey, what are you guys doing?” she said, her voice breaking.
“Special Branch, miss. Sorry. Just be a moment.”
“Miss Susan, Miss Susan,” the old man stood, panic wild in his eyes. He began to lapse into Yiddish.
“What’s going on?” she shouted. “Goddamn you, what’s going on?”
“Easy, miss,” he said. He was not a brutal man. “Nothing to concern yourself with. Special Branch.”
The first four came out of the room. On a stretcherwas the swaddled form of the survivor. He looked around dazedly.
“I’m an American officer,” she said, fumbling for identification. “For God’s sake, that man is ill. What is going on? Where are you taking that man?”
“Now, now, miss,” the leader soothed. It would have been easier to hate him if he hadn’t been quite so mild.
“He’s ill.”
The doctor was denouncing them in Polish. “Please don’t get excited,” the man said.
“Where is your authority?”
she shouted, because it was the only thing she could think of.
“Sorry, miss. You’re a Yank, wouldn’t know, would you? Of course not. Special Branch. Don’t need an authority. Special Branch. That’s all.”
“He’s gone,
mein Gott
, is gone, is gone.” The doctor sat down.
Susan stared down the hall at the swinging doors through which they’d taken the Jew.
The leader turned to go, and Susan grabbed him.
“What is happening? My God, this is a nightmare. What are you doing, what is going on?” Her eyes felt big and she was terrified. They had merely come in and taken him and nothing on earth could stop them. There was nothing she could do. She and an old man alone in a corridor.
“Miss,” the leader said, “please. You are supposed to be in uniform. The regulations. Now I haven’t taken any names. We’ve been quite pleasant. Best advice is to go away, take the old man, get him some tea, and put him to bed. Forget all this. It’s a
“His papers is good,” Dr. Fischelson said, in his heavy accent.
“Pardon?” she said.
“His papers is good. I guarantee. I guarantee. He has release from prison war camp. Our peoples find him in DP hospital. Sick, very sick. They get him visa. Jews help Jews. Across France he comes by train. Then the last by ship. Lawyers draw up papers. All good, all legal. This I tell you. So why investigators? So why now investigators?”
“Please, please,” she said, for the old man had begun to rise and declaim. A vein pulsed beneath the dry skin of his throat. “It’s some kind of mistake, I’m sure. Or apart of the routine. That’s all. Look, I have a friend in the intelligence service, a captain.”
“A Jew?”
“No. But a good man, basically. A decent man. I’ll call him and—”
She heard the doors at the end of the corridor swing open and at first could not recognize them. They were not particularly impressive men: just big, burly, a little embarrassed. Susan’s sentence stopped in her mouth. Who were they? Dr. Fischelson, following the confusion in her eyes, looked over.
They came silently, without talking, four of them, and the fifth, a leader, a way back. They passed Susan and Fischelson and stepped into Shmuel’s room.
My God, she thought.
“What’s this, what’s going on?” shouted Fischelson.
Susan felt her heart begin to accelerate and her hands begin to tremble. She had trouble breathing.
“Easy,” said the leader, not brutally at all.
“Miss Susan, what’s going on?” Fischelson demanded.
Say something, you idiot, Susan thought.
“Hey, what are you guys doing?” she said, her voice breaking.
“Special Branch, miss. Sorry. Just be a moment.”
“Miss Susan, Miss Susan,” the old man stood, panic wild in his eyes. He began to lapse into Yiddish.
“What’s going on?” she shouted. “Goddamn you, what’s going on?”
“Easy, miss,” he said. He was not a brutal man. “Nothing to concern yourself with. Special Branch.”
The first four came out of the room. On a stretcherwas the swaddled form of the survivor. He looked around dazedly.
“I’m an American officer,” she said, fumbling for identification. “For God’s sake, that man is ill. What is going on? Where are you taking that man?”
“Now, now, miss,” the leader soothed. It would have been easier to hate him if he hadn’t been quite so mild.
“He’s ill.”
The doctor was denouncing them in Polish. “Please don’t get excited,” the man said.
“Where is your authority?”
she shouted, because it was the only thing she could think of.
“Sorry, miss. You’re a Yank, wouldn’t know, would you? Of course not. Special Branch. Don’t need an authority. Special Branch. That’s all.”
“He’s gone,
mein Gott
, is gone, is gone.” The doctor sat down.
Susan stared down the hall at the swinging doors through which they’d taken the Jew.
The leader turned to go, and Susan grabbed him.
“What is happening? My God, this is a nightmare. What are you doing, what is going on?” Her eyes felt big and she was terrified. They had merely come in and taken him and nothing on earth could stop them. There was nothing she could do. She and an old man alone in a corridor.
“Miss,” the leader said, “please. You are supposed to be in uniform. The regulations. Now I haven’t taken any names. We’ve been quite pleasant. Best advice is to go away, take the old man, get him some tea, and put him to bed. Forget all this. It’s a
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