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  “What he did was unforgivable,” Anna continued. “That poor girl. That poor, poor girl. How she must have suffered.” For a moment Anna’s gaze became glassy with incipient tears, but she set her jaw and did not let herself cry. “Olga and I reported the incident to the police, but they weren’t very helpful. We were told that Kadia would have to make a statement herself. But this isn’t possible. Kadia is as frightened of constables as she is of Sachs. She has no papers and thinks she will be thrown into prison. Moreover, she is still in terrible pain-her internal injuries were appalling. We felt so frustrated, so angry that we decided to pay Herr Sachs a visit ourselves. He’ll soon run out of money, and when he does, he’ll be scouring the streets looking for another girl like Kadia-a replacement-and, believe me, he’ll have no difficulty finding one. All he’s got to do is wait outside any of the warmestuben. There are so many girls like her. We thought that if he knew Kadia was being looked after-and that we were trying to get the police involved-he might think again. We were wrong, of course. He didn’t take our threats seriously. He was confident that the police wouldn’t care very much about Kadia’s fate, whatever evidence we produced. And now I suspect the villain may be right. I could see what the police were thinking: ‘If a woman chooses to live such a life, then what does she expect?’ But it is the police’s indifference, their lack of compassion, that permits wicked men like Sachs to evade justice. It is so very wrong.”

  “You shouldn’t have gone to see Sachs on your own, you know,” said Kusevitsky.

  “I don’t think we were in any real danger,” Anna replied. “I am not a psychiatrist, Gabriel, but I believe that men who abuse women are, without exception, cowards. He wouldn’t dare harm us; although that isn’t quite true. He did…” Anna looked at the floor guiltily. “Push me.”

  “He did what?”

  “I was holding the door open, and he shoved me out of the way in order to close it.”

  “The swine!”

  “It was nothing. Honestly.”

  “Where does he live? I’ve a good mind to-”

  “No, Gabriel.”

  “Asher is an excellent swordsman.”

  “We must be patient and hope that in due course our efforts with the police will be rewarded. Olga and I can be very persistent.”

  Kusevitsky recovered his professional calm.

  “Where is Fraulein Pinski now?”

  “Actually we managed to get her admitted into your hospital.”

  “Really?”

  “Dr. Janosi is a friend of Professor Kraus’s.”

  “I will visit her.”

  “That is kind of you. But you must not ask Kadia about her dreams.” Anna smiled sadly. “We must suppose she only ever has nightmares.”

  “And when she is recovered from her injuries? Where will she go?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “I will mention her case to Professor Priel. He might be able to provide her with pecuniary assistance from one of the Rothenstein contingency funds. It won’t be much, but it should be enough to keep her in lodgings until she finds respectable employment.”

  Anna reached out and covered Gabriel’s hand with her own.

  “Thank you, Gabriel.”

  Kusevitsky, somewhat embarrassed, withdrew and stood up. He paced over to the window.

  “Jeheil Sachs,” he muttered.

  “What a pig,” said Anna. “Wallowing in his own filth.”

  “No, not a pig-more a parasite. A parasite living off the misfortune of others. These procurers… they shame us all. They are a scourge. A plague!”

  Anna reached out. “Come. Sit down.”

  She had never seen Gabriel looking quite so troubled.

  Kusevitsky crossed the room and sat down beside her. She took his face in her hands, kissed him, and stroked his forehead.

  “It’s all right,” Anna said. He was hot, and his eyes were glazed-like a child with a fever.

  52

  From the journal of Dr. Max Liebermann

  I spent the remainder of the afternoon browsing in the secondhand bookshops of the Jewish quarter. The booksellers-shriveled old men with white beards, all of whom were almost blind from reading too much-were as erudite (and eccentric) as university professors.

  The legend is an old one. Golem stories have been told for centuries. Even Jacob Grimm mentions the Polish Jews making a man from clay and mud; however, since the sixteenth century, the golem has become particularly associated with the name of Rabbi Loew. Orthodox Jews have many tales about the Maharal of Prague, which typically involve him outwitting a vindictive Christian adversary (most notably an evil priest called Thaddeus). In most of these, his supernatural assistant, the golem, ensures that the enemies of Jewry are punished.

  Mankind has always been preoccupied with the idea of aping the creator, stealing fire from the gods. In literature the tradition extends from ancient times to the present. (I am reminded of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, a work that I have discussed with Miss Lydgate.) It is a didactic tradition that alerts mankind to the dangers of hubris. A golem can be created, but not necessarily controlled. When men act like gods, danger follows.

  Prague is a dark place, a city that has always welcomed astrologers, kabbalists, and animators. One has only to stroll around the Stare Mysto and Mala Strana, looking up at the relief door signs-numbers, stars, devils, compasses, and occult symbols-to see evidence of Prague’s magical past. There is even a narrow lane called the Street of the Alchemists up by the castle.

  But now, it seems, the golem is no longer confined to the Prague ghetto: neither the physical ghetto nor the imaginary ghetto of Hasidic folktales. It has broken free of its own myth and now haunts the broad avenues of Vienna. Prague! I have already been here too long. These archaic places, which make an appeal to the deepest levels of the unconscious, corrode reason. I find it all too easy now to imagine a monstrous hulk lurking in the shadows, the magic holding its form against the laws of nature, the spell occasionally weakening, and the supernatural flesh transmuting back into mud. The great expenditure of energy as it rips the head off its victim producing a momentary dissolution-clods on cobbles-and then the creature rising, its bulky body impossibly fleet, returning to the kabbalist’s lair above the Alois Gasse Temple.

  Yes, it comes all too easily, as though the wellspring of dreams has been unstopped. The images spout up and spill into the real world. I can’t stop thinking about the conversation that I had with Kusevitsky: dreams, myths-a racial unconscious. Professor Freud: “When the work of interpretation has been completed, we perceive that a dream is the fulfillment of a wish.” But not just any wish-a forbidden wish, a wish unacceptable to the censoring agency of the mind.

  A golem is the embodiment of a forbidden wish, a wish to unleash unconscionable violence on the enemy-an abrogation of civilized values and the triumph of the primitive unconscious. A people who have endured persecution for millennia would have necessarily repressed the urge to strike back at their tormentors. Such a reservoir of anger and resentment must be fathomless. Regiments unite behind a standard and nations behind a flag. Who are they, I wonder, who are now uniting behind the figure of this terrifying mythic avenger?

  53

  The Chancellor was frowning.

  “You wish to discuss a staff member. Herr Dr. Liebermann, is it?”

  “That is correct,” said Rheinhardt.

  “Has he committed an offense?”

  “No,” said Rheinhardt. “Dr. Liebermann has not committed an offense; however, he is known to us at the security office.”

  “Well, to be frank,” Gandler cut in, shaking his head, “that doesn’t surprise me.”

  “Herr Professor,” said Rheinhardt, “Dr. Liebermann is not a suspect. He is a consultant.”

  “A consultant?”

  “He is a very gifted psychiatrist, who has been of great service to my department.”

  “Well, I am delighted to hear that,” said Professor Gandler. “However, I’m afr
aid he is away at present and can be contacted only through his family.”

  “I know,” said Rheinhardt. “It was I who suggested that he should leave Vienna.”

  Professor Gandler’s expression became clouded with puzzlement.

  “I understand,” Rheinhardt continued, “that Dr. Liebermann has been suspended from clinical duties pending a meeting of the hospital committee. I am fully aware of the circumstances surrounding this decision, and the concerns you expressed about the hospital demonstrating that it takes accusations of religious agitation seriously. Moreover, I believe that you suspended Dr. Liebermann in anticipation of the imminent publication of unfavorable articles, the most damaging of which was expected to appear in Kikeriki.”

  “Then you are very well informed, Inspector.”

  “Well, Professor, I have good news for you. The offending article will not be appearing in the satirical magazine after all. And in the interests of social harmony, and the reputation of the world’s finest hospital, the censor has agreed that any similar articles that come to his attention will be suppressed in the usual manner. It is only after the hospital committee has convened, and Dr. Liebermann’s fate has been decided, that the prohibition will be lifted.”

  “I see,” said Professor Gandler, his face showing no obvious sign of relief.

  “Given that the position is now quite changed, I was wondering…” Rheinhardt smiled. “Would you be prepared to reconsider Dr. Liebermann’s situation?”

  “What do you mean, exactly?”

  “The hospital will not receive adverse publicity. You personally will not be accused of complacency. Therefore, surely Dr. Liebermann can be reinstated.”

  “As I explained to Dr. Liebermann, I cannot have him working on wards where he would be free to repeat his… misdemeanor. Dr. Liebermann is unapologetic and unrepentant.”

  “Come now, Professor. The good doctor is not a fool. If the same situation were to arise again, he would be more circumspect. Besides, he’s a psychiatrist. The chances of him being called again to attend a dying man are rather slim, are they not?”

  “Even so, Inspector, I have responsibilities. I must respect public sensitivities. I cannot appear-in any way-to be condoning behavior likely to cause upset.”

  “All right. Then keep him off the wards. He could still see individual patients. Why not?”

  “He suggested something very similar himself.”

  “What could be better, eh? A traditional Austrian compromise.”

  The chancellor rearranged some papers on his desk. The action was unconscious, like a nervous tic.

  “Why are you trying to help this young man, Inspector?”

  “Because he’s useful to the security office,” said Rheinhardt, feigning bluff pragmatism. “He’s very good at what he does.”

  “That may be true, Inspector. But he’s also very stubborn and arrogant. I advised him not to make a moral stand against the hospital committee right from the beginning. He refused to listen. If he loses his job, well, that’ll be his own fault.”

  “Yes,” said Rheinhardt. He decided to be honest. “He can be a frustrating fellow, if not downright irritating at times; however, he is also a man of singular courage and conviction. And these, in my humble estimation, are not trivial qualities.” The chancellor made an arch with his fingers and looked closely at Rheinhardt. “Courage and conviction,” Rheinhardt repeated. “Qualities I hope that we all possess, at least in some measure.”

  It was a carefully worded sentence that found its mark. When Rheinhardt saw doubt creeping into the chancellor’s expression, he applauded himself for being something of a psychiatrist too.

  54

  “I know you don’t want to dismiss Slavik,” said Mendel, “but the man is incompetent. If you were more willing to check his figures yourself, then perhaps things would be different.”

  “I could try,” Alexander replied.

  “That’s it, you see. I don’t believe you would, Alexander. Come now, I’m your brother. I know you better than anybody.”

  Alexander bit into his fruit bun and shrugged.

  Liebermann sighed.

  His father had woken up in a combative mood.

  “Blomberg will be meeting with Bohm again next week, and if I’m not mistaken, he’ll demand to see our books. If he doesn’t have confidence in us, he won’t invest-and that will be the end of it. No department store.”

  “All right, all right,” said Alexander, raising his hands as though he were being held up at gunpoint. “I understand.”

  “Good,” said Mendel. “Max has met Blomberg, haven’t you, Max?”

  “Indeed,” said Liebermann.

  “And you liked him, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, he was very agreeable.” Liebermann managed a vacuous smile.

  The reception clerk arrived with a silver tray and addressed the general area of the table, “Herr Dr. Liebermann?”

  “Yes?”

  “A telegram, sir.”

  Liebermann took the envelope off the silver tray and read the communication inside.

  SUCCESSFUL CONFERENCES WITH EDITOR OF KIKERIKI, CENSOR, AND GANDLER. OFFENDING ARTICLE WITHDRAWN. PERMISSION TO RESUME SOME CLINICAL DUTIES GRANTED, BUT NOT ON WARDS. SHALL EXPECT YOUR RETURN SHORTLY. RHEINHARDT

  55

  Liebermann crossed the busy road and entered the little park in front of the Votivkirche. Seen from the front, the church was an assembly of steeples, pointed windows, and arches that drew the eye upward, to a blue sky quartered by two crocket-covered spires. The exuberance of the architecture suited Liebermann’s mood. He was glad to be back in Vienna and eager to see Rheinhardt. There was much to discuss.

  As he walked, he thought he could see his friend sitting on a bench in the distance. He quickened his pace but came to an abrupt halt when an organ-grinder’s monkey leaped out onto the path in front of him. It chirruped and raised an empty tin cup. The organ-grinder, who was dressed in a bowler hat and shabby tailcoat, was standing behind a barrel organ of medium size, its lacquered box supported by a long retractable metal spike. A strap around the man’s neck helped him to balance the instrument with one hand, leaving the other free to turn the crank handle. The doors at the front of the device had been left open, displaying the pipes and a rotating drum. As a result of his efforts, the sound of the Maximilianplatz traffic was drowned out by one of Schubert’s German Dances.

  Liebermann bent forward and dropped a few coins into the monkey’s cup. Immediately, the creature scampered up the organ-grinder’s legs and then to his shoulders, where it lifted the man’s hat to express gratitude. Liebermann smiled and continued toward the church.

  He found Rheinhardt enjoying the rays of an unusually bright sun, his head thrown back to catch the warmth and light.

  “Oskar!”

  The inspector stirred. “Max!”

  Rheinhardt stood, and the young doctor gripped his friend’s arm.

  “Oskar, I don’t know how to thank you.”

  “Oh, it was nothing really,” said Rheinhardt. He gestured that they should sit, and produced a brown paper bag from his pocket. “Pumpkin seed?”

  Liebermann shook his head.

  “I am deeply indebted,” Liebermann continued. “Accompanying my father on his business trip to Prague was unspeakably boring. You have no idea.”

  “Ah, but I do,” said Rheinhardt. “A detective inspector in this bureaucratic empire is no stranger to tedium. You forget how many forms I am obliged to complete! Now.” Rheinhardt sat up straight. “Why did you want to see me? Am I justified in assuming that it was not merely to thank me in person?”

  “That is correct.”

  “You have discovered something?”

  “I have.”

  “Pertaining to the investigation?”

  “Yes.”

  “In Prague?”

  “Indeed.”

  “Then perhaps you would be so kind as to tell me?”

  “Forgive me, Oskar. On th
is occasion I am not being coy. Merely considering how best to explain myself.”

  Rheinhardt poured some pumpkin seeds into the palm of his hand.

  “Thankfully,” sighed the inspector, “I don’t have to be back at Schottenring for another hour, by which time I sincerely hope you will have decided upon a satisfactory turn of phrase.”

  Liebermann took a deep breath.

  “When I interviewed Barash,” he began hesitantly, “he said some things to me that I did not include in my report.”

  “Oh?”

  “I didn’t think they were of any consequence at the time. They were rather personal. He accused me of failing to respect my origins, which are Czech on my father’s side, and he urged me to visit the Jewish cemetery and the Old-New Synagogue in Prague. He suggested that if I embraced my Jewish heritage, I would gain insights into the murders of Brother Stanislav and Councillor Faust. Needless to say, I interpreted these exhortations as further evidence of his derangement-no better or worse than his confidence in metoposcopy! However, when circumstances conspired to transport me not only to the Czech capital but also to the locality of both the cemetery and the synagogue, I must admit that curiosity got the better of me.”

  Liebermann paused, allowing two ladies with wide-brimmed hats to pass out of earshot.

  “In the Jewish cemetery, I came across the tomb of a famous sixteenth-century scholar, Rabbi Loew. He is reputed to have been one of the greatest kabbalists of all time. He preached at the Old-New Synagogue, and he has become a kind of folk hero among the Hasidim. Of the many tales told of his miraculous ministry, there is one that seems to have become a favorite. It is said that when the ghetto Jews were being persecuted, Rabbi Loew used his magical powers to create an artificial being of great power to protect them. The being he created was called a golem, and it was made from mud.”