But neither the minister nor the lawyer, even though each was conscious, even though the rope was not yet tight, said a word. By stillness, by silence, they showed their disdain. But when Verble pulled out the boxes again, this time in earnest, they could not help squirming and jiggling on the ends of the line.

What happened was this: during their struggles, one of Rievesaltes’ shoes struck the platform planks, and up he rose. This caused the rope to go slack, and the former Police Chief snatched a breath or two. Lipsky, down on the platform, made the identical discovery. If you kicked yourself upward, you could slacken the noose, you could breathe. The result was, both men rose and fell, rose and fell, kicking and gasping and popping their eyes. It lasted for hours.

The Jews in the crowd did not wait that long. They sloshed through the puddles. They turned from the scene. Even the policemen decided to go someplace indoors. After a time there was no one in the Baluter Ring. The park was deserted. It was then that Trumpelman, in spite of his stroke, in spite of his age, rose from his special chair. For a moment he stood there, leaning on his cane. Then, astonishingly, he threw down even that weak support.

Bing! Bing! It was Krystal. It was Lifshits. Is it possible, then, that somewhere on earth a photo exists to prove that the events of this scene are true? Not likely. For a cloud, a big one, churning and foaming, had come down like a whirlwind and hid the Elder, along with his two bitter enemies, from view.

Chapter Ten

Fighters

I

Some scientists say the whole universe is expanding, we’re flying away from each other, and one day in the future every sun will go out, every planet will be cold. Ladies and gentlemen, think of it! No life anywhere! Just space! Nobody! Nothing! However, there’s another school of thought. These astronomers maintain we won’t expand forever; instead we’ll collapse, we’ll all come together in a kind of a ball—and then, after the explosion, everything, all of history, will start over again. Over again! It’s terrible, it’s unforgivable, but at that you just want to laugh.

How the Baluty Suburb came to an end. That’s our topic now. Let’s start with the big presser, the one from the underground movement. One, two, three! And he turns on his electric torch. It was just a weak yellow beam, going up barely three or four meters. But from this simple action much can be learned. First, a Jew was alive. Next, the Ghetto existed, since he was standing in the Marysin section, in the fields behind the summer palace. And why turn a light on in the daytime? Thus, we know it was a warm, dark night in the autumn, the fall. 1943? Alas, 1944. In other words, since Rievesaltes was hanged, together with Lipsky, a whole year had gone by. Tens of thousands of lifetimes. Hundreds and hundreds of trains. What had happened to the Red Army? At the time of the executions, the resistance had been in direct contact with the advancing people’s forces. The brave soldiers and sailors had been only months away. The two sides were supposed to have linked arms together. To share the victory!