“What is he saying?”

“He’s non-Polish born!”

“What about women? What happens to them during this fire? What about the children who don’t know how to swim?”

“The official policy of the Judenrat is Cooperation and Production. Urinstein is taking an illegal line!”

“He talks just like a Lipsky agent. It’s defeatism!”

The Minister of Security waved his hand for silence, which he received. “Nobody here heard a word on the subject of swimming in rivers. No one said a thing about fires. Am I right, Minister Urinstein? It is your duty to report it if you come across such a punishable offense.”

Urinstein, instead of responding, hung his head.

Mordechai Kleen, one of the cigar smokers, now ground out his stub. “What,” he demanded, “are we going to do?”

“Maybe,” said Schpitalnik, “we could write down a list of fictional names.”

Margolies: “Listen! We only have to hold out a little longer! Kiev is a fortress! America will enter the war!”

Philosoff was standing at the side of the table. The mop strings of his beard shook and shook. “I can’t stand it! It’s too much of a strain! Why didn’t I choke on the bone?” And he started to beat his own head through his hat. Everyone wanted to stop him, and yet everyone, whether in or out of his chair, suddenly froze.

For this reason: the door had opened and inside it was the zaddik of Pshiskhe’s Descendant, accompanied by Rabbis Wolf-Kitzes, Kornischoner, and Lunt. It was not their sudden arrival that astounded the Council of Elders; they had been, after all, expected. It was what they looked like. One sleeve of Lunt’s sport coat was missing and both his eyes were swollen shut. Kanal, the Descendant, had only half of a beard, not to mention the cut on the bridge of his nose. Something had happened to Kornischoner’s neck that caused him to keep his chin down, the way a violin player holds his violin. As for poor little Wolf-Kitzes, he had no coat, he had no trousers, and someone had taken his shoes.

“They beat me,” said Kornischoner.

The Pshiskher Descendant said, “They pulled my beard.”

Popower, the Minister of Finance, thumped the table. “It’s an outrage! What intolerable behavior! They have gone too far at last!”

Baggelman: “Members of the Judenrat, I give you my resignation. I am no longer the Minister of Industry and Labor.”

Schpitalnik: “Then I resign, too.”

“That’s it! It’s the solution!” Paradyz shouted. “We’ll resign from the Council!”

All members, together: “Yes, yes! Why didn’t we think of it before?” They put on their hats and headed for the door.

But the four rabbis were still standing there. “Where am I?” said Lunt. “It smells like herring.”

Verble told him. “It used to be the Chancellory. But not any more. Ha, ha! We’ve resigned!”

Rabbi Wolf-Kitzes refused to get out of the way. “You cannot resign. You can’t leave, either.”

“Why not?” Nomberg, his colleague, wanted to know.

“Look out the window.”