Arnold Zable - Cafe Scheherazade

"`Are you a Yid?" he asked.

"`Yes."

"`I must tell you something in confidence. You must promise to keep it to yourself. Do you know what papers you have signed? Do you know what sort of school they are sending you to?"

"`I have no idea."

"`It is a centre for the study of espionage, a school that trains spies. Once you enter it, they will never let you go. You will be trapped for life. If you want to get out while there is still time, I can help you. This is your only chance. When you attend your medical examination ask to be seen by Dr T. He will know what to do."

"`And who are you? Why do you want to help me?"

"`I am a disciple of the Lubavicher rebbe. He has told me, I can do whatever I like. Eat pork. Drink vodka. Sleep around. Forsake my prayers. As long as I save Jewish lives."

"The next morning I went to the medical centre. Dr T gave me a certificate that stated I had epilepsy, due to my recent injuries. I would no longer be reliable as an interrogator or spy. 187 When I returned to my commanding officer he took one look at my certificate and ordered me out. "I never want to see you again," he said. "But do not reveal you have ever been here.

Do not breathe a word of what you have been involved in."

"I left the barracks that had been my home for many months. I wandered the streets of Vilna. Again, I was alone; and free of expectations, of all care. An hour or so later I ran into Nina Gerstein. I had known her all my life. Her family lived in the floor above us at Benedictinski 4. I did not know she had survived."

"She lives in Mexico now. I have met her many times," says Masha, who has rejoined us. Her voice sounds disembodied, as if drifting from afar.

"You see, I have got a witness. Now you know what I have been telling you is completely true," says Avram with an ironic smile.

"Nina told me she had spent the war years in Vilna, hidden in a house beyond the ghetto walls. She was being repatriated to

Poland in the next few days. This was my big chance. She urged me to leave with hen She was fifteen years older than I. By law, survivors under twenty-one years of age could be adopted by

Polish citizens, as long as we were not employed in important work."

"You see, Martin, it was fated. Beshert,` says Masha.

"I received my documents from the city council," continues Avram.

"I had lost my intelligence job just in time. My birth certificate proved I was still under twenty-one, by just two months. Days later, as we crossed from Soviet-occupied 188

Lithuania into Poland, I heard the news that Hitler had suicided.

I arrived in Lodz on May Day, 1945. And fourteen months later I met Masha. Yes. You could say it was beshert.`

"He was wild when I met him," says Masha. "He would suddenly explode. Without warning. At the slightest provocation.

"I am still wild."

"He is joking. But in those days, when I first met him I was wary. I was unsure; but he kept me with his stories. When I heard them, I understood."

"I look back at that time," says Avram, "and I see a man out of control. But I had to find a way out. I needed someone who would listen.

"His stories were unbelievable," says Masha.

"A thousand and one nights it would take to tell them all," adds

Avram.

"I can still listen to them," says Masha, "and over the years I have noticed changes. He sees things differently with each telling. He is softening. But when I met him he was a man full of mistrust. I could see it in his eyes. If not for the stories I would have run. I was young. I had plans. I was not burdened by so much darkness."

"I fell in love with her the moment I saw her; and heard her name. She had a twisted ankle, and walked with a limp. And she was called Masha. I could not believe it. I had known another

Masha. We had met in 1938, when I was fourteen years old. Vilna was my whole life, and I was in love with Masha. She 189 was my first love. And she vanished into the same darkness that consumed all my loved ones. Now I was looking at a beautiful woman called

Masha. I knew that I could not afford to let her go. I knew instantly that I would pursue her to ends of the earth."

"I did not take to him at first," says Masha. "I was suspicious.

I sensed something else; and it frightened me. And, in years to come, what I sensed was to prove true.

"Martin, I have never told Masha this. When I fell in love with the first Masha, I would lie in bed on winter nights and write her name on the frosted windowpane. I always coupled her name with two other words, all beginning with M. Masha. Mamme. Makht.

Masha. Mother Strength."

"It does not surprise me," says Masha. "In later years I would have to mother him. I could feel it even then, that he needed a lot of care. But he was very determined. He pursued me. The next time we met, after our first encounter at the Bund camp, was when he stopped over in Katowice. I had not yet moved to Lodz. He was on party business, and he invited me to the hotel. So I went. I was naive. Of course, he wanted to take me, immediately.

"I only wanted to give her a kiss," says Avram, laughing.

"Instead, she slapped me. It was a full-blooded patsch, in the face; and it was wonderful to feel it. In the forests I had lost all desire for sex. Like everything else, it seemed brutal. There were partisans who fell upon each other like animals. Sometimes we had to defend our women from partisans who lusted over them.

190 There were some who did pair off, who found comfort in each other's arms. But most of us had lost our desire. There is a

Russian saying. It is a curse. Zhit budiesh no yebat nye zekhotches. May you live, but lose the will to screw. And I remained cursed until, with one glance, at the first sight of

Masha, in the summer of 1946, my desire returned with full force."

"He did not let go. He pursued me. Whenever he saw me with other men, he was jealous; but he did not give up. After I moved to

Lodz we would go for long walks to the theatre, the cinema and city parks; and he was always telling me stories. In a way he was cunning. He could see how beguiled I was. And he was a legend, a partisan, a fiery speaker at Bund rallies. A survivor of Vilna, the famous cradle of Yiddish life. Also, I must admit, he was a good-looking boy."

"What can I say? When I met Masha, I knew I could not lose her I had lost too much."

"It was not so simple for me. There was a long way to go before I fell in love with him. Even when we did finally become lovers, I still saw the signs, the moments of rage. Martin, it is a long story. Do you have time for all this?"

"I met Masha. She listened. She took me back to my first love.

Perhaps, after all, it was beshert`

Beshert. It is a word impossible to translate. An Hebraic word, with many layers of meaning. A word which invokes treks across biblical landscapes. An expression which contains the 191 traces of chance encounters that change lives, and epic voyages towards the light. A word which hints at miracles. Or, perhaps, just mere coincidences. A term which twists its way back to Masha and

Avram, to the first intimations of love.

192 viii

In Acland Street, St Kilda, there stands a cafe called

Scheherazade. Yes, dear reader, the question still remains: why did Avram and Masha choose that name? We have sat through long evenings, and greeted many dawns. We have met so many times, on

Sunday mornings and week-day afternoons. We have seen the turning of the seasons, the passage of three full years. Nu?

"It is simple," says Avram.

"Not so simple," claims Masha. "First we should tell Martin how we left Poland. Actually, I did not want to leave Poland. I was happy in Lodz. I was studying to be a doctor. Instead I became a refugee all over again. A nobody."