“I am a religious man, a rabbi. Everybody knows the reputation of the Italianate Synagogue. But we are facing atheists now! Therefore we need automatic guns, a half dozen of them, all along the wall! What is the point of killing one or two out of such a mob? It gives them martyrs! Another excuse to hold a parade. No! We have to have continuous shooting, a regular crossfire. That will cut them down!”

Hasensprung pulled the cork from a bottle. “It’s an idea,” he said.

“I am the best friend of the Hebrews,” said Wohltat, “and I admit freely the Hebrews are like friends to me. It’s a symbiosis. I am a Chinaman, yes, a Chinaman, and the Jews are the silkworms I keep in a box. As long as they spin silk, I supply them with mulberry leaves. But if the spinning should stop, when there’s no more thread—then off you go to the east.”

Lipiczany, who had not spoken, now jumped to his feet. “Chaim! Chaim! They want to use guns on the Jewish people! They want to call the Death’s-Headers in! Stop them! Don’t let them! You have to meet the marchers! Tomorrow you’ll make a beautiful speech!”

The Judenrat President did not respond to the boy, any more than he had to the others. He sat hunched up, his cape around him, staring out the window. “It’s getting bigger, bigger,” he murmured. “It will burn through the night.” He was watching the sun.

Lipiczany swooped some air into his lungs. He wrapped a fictional cloak around his body. He gave the speech he thought the Elder would give. “Jews! This is Trumpelman speaking. Go home! Go home! The strike is over! No cut in wages! No new taxes! The Elder promises meat for your soup! He loves you! He protects you! The way a father protects his children! Go home! Trumpelman has heard the voice of an angel! The angel said, Chaim, you will lead your people from bondage! The angel said, Together you shall arrive in a new, promised land!” The boy’s pinched face, the squinting eyes, were shining. His heart must have been terrifically beating, because his whole body shook.

Just then, outside the window, like a glowing horseshoe that is plunged into a bucket of water, the hot red sun went out. Immediately a coolish breeze—the first in days—swept over the table, lifting the corners of napkins. Trumpelman seemed to wake from a trance. He turned his head.

“This Czerniakow. The engineer. Has he got any sons?”

Nobody answered. In the silence you could hear the chop-chop-chop of the Guardsmen cutting wood. They were preparing to defend the Tsarskoye Selo wall.

The Elder put on his hat. He wrapped a muffler around his throat. Then he questioned his guests again. “Who can tell me? Where in the town is Miss Lubliver? Where should I go to find her?” But he did not wait for a reply. Wrapped in his scarf, Trumpelman went out the door.