“Danny and I played near the barracks after that. Jacob taught us, we slept. . . . A few days later the Americans came.”

“Then what happened?” Hawkins asked.

Relkin laughed. “Then? Like a story, eh? Nothing happened. They shipped us to Cyprus where we waited until the Zionists had killed enough Arabs or English or whoever so we could go to Israel—Palestine then—where the Red Cross found me. My mother got me and brought me here.”

Hawkins didn’t say anything.

“You want a happy ending?” Relkin asked. “My mother lived to be eighty. I’m rich and I drink and eat as much as I want. I have a beautiful woman to fuck and a loving wife. I have two daughters. One married a dentist, one a teacher. One just had a baby, so I’m a grandfather. Nu? The end!”

It was their cue to leave, but Hawkins said, “One more question, Mr. Relkin.”

Relkin smiled. “Ask away. I got a whole night to kill.” When he said that, Rachel realized how quiet the big opulent house was. She wondered where the children and grandchildren were spending Sunday afternoon.

“Was there a very tall man in the barracks?” Hawkins asked.

“Luria’s tall.”

“Taller than Luria.”

“No,” Relkin said, “Luria was the tallest. Why?”

“A witness saw a big man come out of the basement in Brooklyn where the boys were killed.”

Rachel didn’t hear the rest. The fire was suddenly too hot and she wanted to get out of there. She grabbed her purse and stood up.

“You want my advice,” Relkin was saying. “Find a cabalist.”

“What for?” Rachel asked sharply.

“Don’t be a horse’s ass,” Relkin said gently. “What could it have been but magic?”

There was a thrill to the word, they all felt it.

“And who does our magic?” Relkin said, “cabalists. Go to Brooklyn, Mrs. Levy, find a cabalist.”

Like Rabbi Loew of Prague. But she couldn’t imagine herself saying the words, What if they built a clay man ten feet tall and it killed for them.

“What’s a cabalist?” Hawkins asked.

Relkin shrugged. “A charlatan, a madman, a fool. A wise man, a mystic, a holy man. Depends on who you ask.” Relkin grinned. “You know a holy man?” he asked. Hawkins didn’t answer.

“No?” Relkin said with mock surprise. “Then ask a devil. Ask the commandant of Belzec. He’s probably chairman of the board of Mercedes-­Benz by now.”

§§§ Pretty.

3

Chapter 3