III

The organ in the Church of the Virgin Mary could no longer play: not because of the ban on music within the Ghetto—from this it had been specifically exempted—but because the little holes in the pipes were clogged by feathers. Yes, feathers and feather dust! In short, the church was once again filled with the bolsters and pillows, the soft downy cushions, that belonged to the deportees. Thus when the Jewish Christians wanted to sing, there was no instrument to accompany their voices.

It was past midnight, and all the converts were singing. In the still Ghetto you could hear them far and near. Actually, although the church was crowded with worshipers, not every person sang along. Some mumbled the words and others went tum-tum-tum. These were the people who didn’t know when to stand or when to kneel, and who crossed themselves in the wrong direction. The question was, were they Catholics at all? In the Office of Vital Statistics there were documents pointing out that the Christians were the only group inside the Suburb that had not—because of sickness, deportation, acts of despair—shrunk in size. Indeed, they had constantly grown. And on this night, when there was sure to be a roundup, people who had never been there before flocked to the church. They looked around to see what the next fellow was doing; all too often that Baluter was mumbling, too. The newcomers did not know whether it was proper to remove their hats. None knew the words of the song: What means the turmoil among the nations? Why do the people cherish vain dreams?

The priest of the congregation motioned with his hand, and everyone moved toward the altar. The priest himself looked like a merchant, a Jew. He was stocky, with short, pudgy fingers. His nose was flattened onto his mustache, and when he breathed he made a sniffing sound. On the other hand, the boy who helped him had blond hair that fell in waves almost to his shoulders. There were two candles on the altar, sputtering steadily from the bits of suspended fluff. They lit the child’s head, so that it looked as if it had been painted in gold.

The line passed the altar and moved to a place where the Catholics were kneeling. There were animals there, made from wood and paper. Lots of powdery sheep. Brown donkeys. A cow with a real bell. The people who took care of these beasts, the shepherds, the cowherds, were also there. They had red dots on their cheeks and cardboard crooks and stiff paper staffs. They were kneeling. In front were three dark-faced kings, with jeweled fingers and jeweled crowns. Their eyes were made of white shells. Everyone, the kings, the shepherds, even the dumb beasts, was looking into the mouth of a cave. Inside was a light, and you could see a man with a beard and a woman in a blue gown and a child in the woman’s arms. The little doll of the infant, with red lips, with pearly teeth, was gaily laughing. Even those Jews who had never seen such a thing fell to their knees.