Lone Wolf in Jerusalem

by Ehud Diskin

  There I was, having my first Shabbat meal in Jerusalem with my love, and my family wasn’t there to share it—and never would be.

  When I looked over at Shoshana, I could see that she shared my thoughts. Sorrow darkened her face, and tears clouded her lovely eyes.

  Varda served a delicious meal, and the family’s warmth lifted our spirits. Varda and Shoshana chatted as if they had known each other for years. Binyamin and I, on the other hand, hardly exchanged a word.

  “We enjoyed your company very much,” Varda said as we were leaving. “We’d be very happy for you to join us next Friday evening too.”

  “Thank you,” Shoshana replied. “We enjoyed ourselves too, but we both have to work at the restaurant most Fridays. We’ll try to arrange a Friday evening off every now and then, and we’ll let you know if we can.”

  When we got home, we undressed in silence, then lay down on the bed, facing each other. “When Binyamin recited the Kiddush,” Shoshana said, “it brought back memories of my father when he used to say the blessing over the wine. I miss my family so much, David. You and I, and thousands of others just like us, are trying to survive, to move on from our terrible past. Most people here can’t understand what we went through. They’ve heard about it, and they sympathize, but they can’t know the pain deep in our souls, the pain that surfaces with such intensity from time to time.”

  “Yes,” I said. “I remembered my mother lighting the Shabbat candles and my father reciting the Kiddush over the wine too. Tonight it hit me that my entire family is gone forever. I remembered the dinner when we heard the thunder of the German artillery shells as Minsk was overrun. However—everything has changed for the better since I reached Israel. I hope that, now we’re together, we will know only happiness.”

  She gently kissed my face, and I stroked her cheek. She turned on her side, and I hugged her close, her warmth giving me comfort. I felt that the two of us, having endured similar horrors, strengthened one another. We fell asleep like that, my arms wrapped around her.

  TWO DAYS LATER, SHOSHANA AND I were working our evening shift, with the restaurant packed to the brim, when four British policemen stormed through the door with their revolvers drawn. They ordered everyone to line up along the wall. Two policemen pointed their weapons at us while the other two went into the kitchen and dragged Max out in handcuffs.

  “A friend of ours, Inspector Greene, left your restaurant and was murdered just a few minutes later,” said their commanding officer, a florid man with the insignia of an inspector on his shoulder.

  One look at the officer’s face was enough for me to recognize him: Inspector Jeffries. His beady green eyes flashed with hatred. He cracked Max on the head with his club, pressed the barrel of his gun into his back, and pushed him outside. I had a hard time controlling my rage but knew the slightest move could result in a bullet to my head.

  The rest of the crowd endured sloppy pat-downs, and once the policemen were satisfied that none of us were armed, they left the restaurant and drove away. Shoshana and I kept the restaurant running, but the cook could not hold the kitchen together, and the diners soon drifted away.

  After a sleepless and frustrating night, I got up the next morning and went to Alec’s to tell him what had happened. He struggled to control his murderous rage, making me glad he hadn’t been there. The hatred in Jeffries’s eyes had made it clear he would have welcomed an excuse to shoot any Jew who had riled him.

  After leaving Alec’s apartment, I made my way to the office of the Palestine Post. I remembered General Evelyn Hugh Barker from my meeting with the underground commander and his colleagues. They had said General Barker led the liberation of Bergen-Belsen in April 1945. I decided that if Jeffries and his men were to return to the restaurant to take me in too, I could try to pass myself off as an ardent supporter of the British and an admirer of the general who liberated the concentration camp.

  After browsing through several old editions of the newspaper, I came across an article that described the liberation of Bergen-Belsen and mentioned General Barker’s name. I found an image of Barker in a separate article. I tore out both articles and put them in my wallet.

  Sure enough, Shoshana and I woke up the following morning to the sound of loud banging on the door to our apartment, followed by shouts from the police. I opened the door to see Jeffries and two other officers with their weapons drawn. A quick glance over their shoulders revealed three more policemen searching in the yard.

  “Are you David?” one of the men asked in Hebrew.

  “Yes,” I replied.

  “Do you understand English?”

  “A little.”

  “Your boss,” Jeffries said, his British accent thick, his voice dripping with suppressed rage, “has denied any involvement in Greene’s murder, but he suggested that we question you. He suspects that you were involved.”

  “I don’t know anything,” I said in a low voice. “I’m not even sure I know who you’re talking about.”

  Jeffries slapped me hard.

  “Leave him alone,” Shoshana shouted.

  “Shut your mouth, bitch,” he hissed, and my desire to kill him only intensified, though I made sure not to show it on my face.

  “Get dressed, you bloody Jew,” Jeffries ordered. “We have interrogators at the CID who can get a mute to talk. We’ll see what you have to say to them.”

  I started to dress, and before I put on my trousers, I placed my wallet and keys on the bed. Jeffries walked in, tapping the walls and furniture with his club as his men tore apart the room. He picked up my wallet and started rifling through it. “What are these newspaper clippings doing in your wallet?” he growled. “You planning another murder?”

  “General Barker and his forces liberated my aunt and uncle from the Bergen-Belsen concentration camp,” I said. “The general is one of the people I admire most in this world.”

  A look of hesitation appeared on Jeffries’s face, so I kept talking. “The Nazis murdered seventy thousand Jews at Bergen-Belsen. If it weren’t for General Barker, twice that many would have died there. While most of Europe conspired to kill my people, or at best turned a blind eye, he and his brave soldiers risked their lives to save the only family I have left.”

  Now Jeffries looked somewhat conflicted. He stared at me for a long moment, then went out into the yard and told his men to stop their search. “General Barker is a great man,” he said when he came back inside, “and I know he appreciates your support. I won’t bring you in, but if you’d like to come by willingly, perhaps I can arrange for you to meet him.” Then he gave me a crude approximation of a friendly smile. “And perhaps we can find other ways for you to express your gratitude and sense of admiration toward Great Britain, hmm?”

  “Gladly,” I said.

  “Then come to the gates of the Schneller Barracks tomorrow morning at ten. Give the guard your name, and tell him you have an appointment with Inspector Jeffries.”

  “Thank you, sir,” I said.

  Shoshana and I watched them drive away, and then we both sighed in relief. She threw herself into my arms and held me tightly.

  “Oh, David, if you hadn’t had those articles in your wallet—” She drew back and frowned up at me, her tearful eyes turning curious. “Why did you have those articles in your wallet?”

  I explained my preparation the day before, and she hugged me tightly again.

  “I am in love with a genius,” she said into my shirt. I kissed the top of her head and smiled.

  I wasn’t a genius, but the good fortune and foresight that had kept me alive for three years as a partisan was serving me well in Israel. If they had found my arms cache in the stone wall behind the building, I wouldn’t have seen the sky again until they marched me to the gallows.

  I REPORTED TO THE ENTRANCE of the Schneller Barracks at precisely 9:45 the following morning, despite Shoshana’s protests that the meeting could be a trap. I stated my business to the guard at the gate, they searched me for weapo
ns, and then I was escorted to a conference room in Jeffries’s spacious chambers. I could see an office, a kitchenette, and a closed door, behind which, I assumed, were Jeffries’s private quarters.

  Hanging on the walls of the conference room were photographs of Perry and Greene. Two of Jeffries’s goons stood at attention on either side of the large table, fixing me with unflinching stares in a show of force and security for their commander.

  The great man himself walked in a half hour later. “Take a seat,” he said, motioning to a chair near the two bodyguards. “Scotch?”

  “Gladly,” I said. I preferred vodka, but to each his own. Jeffries pulled a bottle of Grant’s Scotch whiskey and two glasses from a cabinet and poured a generous glug into each. He didn’t offer any to the bodyguards.

  “Cheers,” he said, and we both sipped on our drinks. “I’m trying to arrange a meeting for you with General Barker and hope he agrees to see you soon. But perhaps you could help us in the meantime. Do you see the two photographs on the wall?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “These men were murdered by terrorists in two separate incidents over the past few months—British policemen whose killers have yet to be caught,” Jeffries continued. “What’s your take on the matter?”

  He fixed me with a piercing stare, and I looked him straight in the eyes as I responded. “It saddens me to hear of the murder of anyone, unless we’re taking about Nazis. Your people fought bravely against the Germans, and I struggle to understand the motives of the Jewish underground. They underestimate the debt our people owe your nation.”

  Jeffries stopped me with a wave of his hand. “During his interrogation, Max Slucki described you as a good-for-nothing fool,” he said, flipping through his notes. “He said that if it weren’t for some waitress named Shoshana Bukstein—your girlfriend, I assume?—he would fire you and tell you to go to hell.”

  I knew that Jeffries was telling the truth this time. “Max is a grumpy man who doesn’t let up for a second,” I said. “If I had any other options, I’d quit my job at the restaurant in an instant. But I don’t have a profession, and you don’t have to know much to be a waiter. I hope you don’t tell him I said so, but I got a little pleasure out of seeing you hit him with your club.”

  Jeffries gave me a thoughtful look.

  “Nevertheless,” I continued, “I should say that Max has always told me to treat our British customers well, and I’ve heard him say on more than one occasion that the British protect us and that if it wasn’t for them, the Jewish community would be massacred by the Arabs. I can also tell you that Max and Officer Greene enjoyed a friendly relationship, and Max was sorry to hear of his death.”

  Jeffries chuckled. “You are far from a fool. Listen, as a waiter, you’re in a position to gather useful information. If you hear anything that could be of value, come back here and ask to see me. I’ll reward you generously.”

  With that, our conversation was over. I went back to my apartment, where I found Shoshana pacing the floor. I told her that I spoke in Max’s favor and that Jeffries didn’t suspect me of anything and that we had no cause to worry.

  “I believe they’ll leave me alone for now. And, hopefully, Max too.”

  “Thank you for speaking up for him,” she said. “I wouldn’t have blamed you if you hadn’t, after the way he’s treated you.”

  “Oh, Max is all right. If I were him, I wouldn’t trust me either.”

  Shoshana giggled, and the sweet sound made me pick her up in my arms and carry her off to bed.

  MAX RETURNED TO THE RESTAURANT two days later. His face was bruised and swollen, and his usual arrogance was gone. He called Shoshana and me into his office and thanked us for running the restaurant while he was gone.

  “My interrogation was brutal and humiliating,” he said. “When it was over, the inspector told me that you had come forward to speak on my behalf. I greatly appreciate what you did to get me out of there. I have to admit, I may have misjudged you.”

  “The most important thing is that you’re back,” I said. “We’ll beat those British bastards together, and we won’t stop until our people have a national home in Israel.”

  Max said nothing, but there was a sincere look of gratitude in his eyes. Shoshana hugged him, and then she turned and embraced me too.

  “I’m so happy that you are finally friends,” she said with a smile.

  12

  “WE ARE SEEKING OUT THE FOE”

  (FROM “SONG OF THE PALMACH” BY ZERUBAVEL GILAD, 1942)

  Shoshana and I slowly settled into a routine. With her help, my unkempt bachelor pad started looking more and more like a warm family home. She started painting again, and our walls came alive with beautiful landscapes and portraits. She cooked breakfast each morning, and lunch and dinner on our days off, and regularly sent me out with precise, well-ordered shopping lists to keep our kitchen stocked.

  One morning as I walked into the grocery store, Mrs. Cohen welcomed me with a cynical smile. “Good news, Don Juan. That young lady you were flirting with, Sarah, is available now. Rumor has it that someone took her boyfriend out of the picture. All you have to do now is simply approach her, and she’ll fall into your lap like ripe fruit from a tree.”

  “Thank you for your concern, Mrs. Cohen,” I replied politely, though with a touch of sarcasm in return. “I have a steady girlfriend, whom I actually met here at your store. If it seemed as though I was flirting with Sarah, you’re mistaken. I was simply trying to be nice.”

  “This girlfriend you met here,” she asked, “would that be Shoshana or Hannah?”

  I was a little put out that she had such a long memory of my personal life, but I just bagged my items, paid, and said goodbye. On the way home, I thought about my plans for Jeffries, irritated it was taking so long to put them into action.

  My attack on Sergeant Perry had matured much more quickly, as I had been able to obtain information about his habits and movements easily. I knew next to nothing about Jeffries’s activities outside the Schneller Barracks, and it was becoming clear that Avrum either couldn’t or wouldn’t follow through on his promise to help. As usual, I had to rely on myself.

  With that in mind, I stopped at the apartment to put away the groceries and then made my way to the Schneller Barracks. I told the guard at the gate that I needed to see Inspector Jeffries, and one of his bodyguards appeared a few minutes later to pat me down and escort me to his office.

  Jeffries welcomed me warmly, poured some whiskey, and asked what I was doing there.

  I described my chance meeting with Sarah at the grocery store. “The owner of the store, Mrs. Cohen, thinks I was flirting with her,” I said. “And she told me Sarah had a British lover who was recently taken out of the picture. It occurred to me that he may have been one of the murder victims you showed me. Maybe you should question Mrs. Cohen? She might have information that could help solve at least one of these mysteries.”

  After feverishly recording everything I said, Jeffries stood up and thanked me. “I’ll be in touch,” he said.

  “Before I go, I hope we can agree that these conversations should be completely confidential,” I said. “If the Irgun or Lehi learns that I’m helping you, they’ll kill me without hesitation. If you need to speak with me, send one of your men to the bar at Café Pinsk for a drink. When he gets the chance, he should say to me, ‘Your service here has improved greatly,’ and I’ll come to you the next morning.”

  “Not too shabby for an ignorant waiter,” Jeffries said. He offered me another shot of whiskey, which I declined. I then stood and offered my hand. He shook it with a leering smile.

  During my shift at Café Pinsk that same evening, I spotted one of Jeffries’s bodyguards, in civilian attire, sitting at the bar and having far more than one drink. After downing his fifth shot, he turned to me and said, “The bill, please. And by the way, your service here has improved greatly.”

  I nodded. “Thank you, sir.” Things were progressing nicely.<
br />
  “I don’t know if you noticed,” Shoshana said to me on our way home, “but there was a man at the bar who had his eye on you.”

  “There’s no need to worry,” I said. “He’s one of Inspector Jeffries’s men, and I’ve convinced Jeffries that I’m an informant.” I didn’t know if her fears were eased, but she didn’t mention it again. I reported to the gates of the Schneller Barracks the following morning and was soon ushered into Jeffries’s office.

  “David,” he said, “I’m most grateful to you. You have given our investigation a significant boost. This Sarah you mentioned was indeed the lover of Sergeant Perry, my distinguished deputy, who was strangled by some monster.” He tossed back his drink and scowled. “His murder was a great loss to both the army and the police. We questioned the girl’s neighbors, and one of them, an elderly man who suffers from insomnia, told us he had seen Perry leaving early in the morning on several occasions.”

  That gave me a moment of alarm. If Baruch had mentioned me—but no, why would he? Jeffries went on, his eyes narrow with hatred. “We’re almost certain that he was murdered just moments after leaving her apartment. The same man also told us that she’s taken a new British lover who comes once a week. We suspect that this Sarah Mizrahi may be a Jewish terrorist who’s luring British soldiers and policemen for assassination. What do you think?”

  “Is she in custody?” I asked.

  “No,” Jeffries replied. “I’ve yet to decide whether to arrest her or keep her under surveillance.”

  “Leave her be for now,” I said. “I’ll try to get some information from her myself. I’m Jewish, so she’ll trust me.”

  “Excellent. Let me know what you find out.”

  “Of course, sir, but I have concerns about coming to the Schneller Barracks so often. If I’m spotted at the gate by a member of the underground, I could be targeted as a collaborator. Is there any other place we can meet?”