Will Thomas - Some Danger Involved

"It is a hard life as a rabbinical student, I'm sure."

"Oy, you have no idea! Such a life I wouldn't wish on a dog. The Board of Deputies has scheduled the funeral for the morning. The Jews' Free School cannot have so disreputable an old scholar as myself to perform the service, but I shall be there just the same, to see my boy is put into the ground properly. Of course, both of you shall come. I insist upon it."

"Had Louis seemed in any way secretive in the past few weeks?"

"The chevra boys would know better than I, but he did cancel a lunch I was to have with him last week."

"What is a chevra, if I may ask?" I put in.

"It is a burial society," the rabbi said. "They collect money for your funeral while you are alive."

"But it is more than that," Barker added. "The members of your chevra are your brothers and closest friends. It is a fraternal organization."

The waiter brought a new cup of coffee. It was strong and sweet in the Turkish manner. I rather liked the relaxed atmosphere of the outdoor cafй, as you sipped and let the world parade before you. Barker watched a drab woman in a shawl walk by.

"I know that very few Jewesses are harlots, but how many do you suppose there are?" he said.

The rabbi shrugged his shoulders. "Who knows? A dozen or more at least, perhaps."

"Could any of them have had a ponce, a man who looked after them and to whom they paid the money? Someone who might be angry if Louis urged a girl to quit?"

"Not in Whitechapel," the rabbi said, smiling at the idea. "This is not the West End. Rachel's sisters make little more than a few pints of ale and a roll per night. No one is willing to enter into any partnership with the women here. There is no money in it."

"And there is no chance that LouisЕ" He left the sentence dangling.

"Nyet! Louis would not make use of a prostitute. Apart from it being forbidden to him, he feared, as all young Jewish men fear, the diseases. Any weakness or lapse on their part could be ultimately fatal."

Barker gave up on the coffee after a few sips and began patting his pockets. His pipe helped him think. He was back to smoking the one with his own image, which I had come to think of as his traveling pipe. Reb Shlomo stopped chewing his roll to stare at the miniature version of the original. He tipped me a wink, as if to say, "Your boss is some fellow!" Barker took no notice, being deep in thought. I liked the smell of the tobacco I had brought him on my first day. According to the tobacconist, it was a "mostly aromatic blend, with a hint of sweetness and a mere touch of latakia for balance." That was the kind of nonsense one hears when pipesmen get together. They are as bad as vintners.

"Would you say," Barker asked the rabbi, as he twirled the vesta around the bowl, "that Louis Pokrzywa spoke to strangers every day, that he went out of his way to be helpful to people?"

"Yes, of course."

"Did he speak to Jew and Gentile?"

"He did."

"Married and single Jewesses?"

"Yes."

"Ashkenazi and Sephardi?"

"I sense you are hinting at something, Mr. Barker."

"Louis was a good-looking fellow, Rabbi. Women fall in love, it is their nature. Some women have boyfriends, or even husbands. Some are very needy and attractive. Rabbinical students are often naive and romantic. Do you see what I'm getting at?"

"Of course I do, Mr. Barker, I'm not an idiot. But I think you are mistaken."

Barker pushed his sealskin pouch toward the rabbi, almost as a peace offering. "Shmek tabac?"

The rabbi shrugged, pulled an old and disreputable briar from his pocket, and charged it from the pouch. He borrowed a match as well. Our coffees were replenished and we were ready for another round of questions.

"Did Louis do any proselytizing?"

"Not consciously. He was a zealot, and his enthusiasm was infectious, but I don't think he was specifically out to convert Christians."

"What about the so-called Messianic Jews?"

"Oh, they are fair game. There are Jews, and then there are Jews, you know. Some will welcome Messianics into their homes as brothers, and others will cut them dead in the street, figuratively speaking, of course. I think Louis believed that a Jew who turned Christian was still following most of the tenets of his faith, but he also enjoyed a good argument, and the splitting of hairs."

"Have you noticed evidence of anti-Semitism in London lately?" Barker spoke plainly.

"I was knocked down this morning, if that is what you mean. They were a band of youths, perhaps in their early twenties, in cloth caps. By the time of day, I'd say they were out of work."

"English?"

"English, Irish, Scottish. You all look the same."

Barker and I both smiled at the remark. I bet the rabbi could have listed twenty differences between a Latvian and an Estonian Jew.

"Do you have an address at which you can be reached, should we need to speak to you again?"

"I have what your police call 'no fixed abode,' but ask around. I can always be found. Now, gentlemen, I would like to pray over you and your search."

Reb Shlomo stood, raised his hands palms up, and began speaking a Hebrew prayer in a loud voice. People stared at us as they walked by not three feet from our table, and I was a little embarrassed. He finally finished his blessing and turned to Barker.

"Good hunting," he said, then clapped a hand on my back. "Stay alive, Little Brother. And keep away from trapdoors."

He stuffed the last roll between his fierce teeth and launched himself into the passing crowd. Barker picked up a menu and began to look it over, while I sat there puzzling. Trapdoors? What did he mean by trapdoors? I thought the fellow a little touched in the head.

"The rabbi seemed a bit primitive for a scholar like Pokrzywa, from what I've seen," I remarked. "I would think a fellow like Da Silva would be more to his liking."

"The Ashkenazim have always prized their little country rabbis. The more dirty and superstitious they are, the better they like them, even the sophisticated Jews from the cities. You will often find an educated Moskovite bending a knee to the latest near-illiterate holy man. Sometimes the more outrageously they act, the better they are liked. Not that I include Shlomo in that category. He seems rather wise. Shall we tuck in then, lad?"

After a satisfactory dinner of moussaka, Barker announced that we'd done enough for the day. Racket, who had been lurking about, picked us up for the long ride south. Once we were settled in our seats, Barker made a rare comment.

"The hansom cab," he said, "presents you with drama, of a sort. The cab is like a proscenium arch, and the town of London the stage. It's fascinating, if you know where to look. I can't tell you how many pedestrians I've seen on the street who are wanted men, or how often I've witnessed a crime committed in broad daylight. I've seen dozens of watches and wallets stolen, and confidence men plying their trade. Several times I could have stepped from the cab and collared someone Scotland Yard would very much like to see."

"Why didn't you?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Often I was on an investigation of my own, and Scotland Yard isn't exactly gracious when a private agent nabs a suspect for them. It makes it look like they're not earning their shilling."

Once home, Barker sent the cabman to his well-deserved rest with a handful of silver. We retired to our rooms, but I was restless. Barker had sent up a new stack of books. They were all Jewish titles: Zionism and the Jewish Question; The Chosen People; Anti-Semitism in Medieval Europe; and Yiddish Folklore. The latter, of course, interested me the most, but I was not in a reading mood. I was just about to chuck it across the bed and stare at the ceiling, when there was a knock at the door.

"Come in!"