Fixer, The - Bernard Malamud [127]
“I’m only one man, what do they want from me?”
“One man is all they need so long as they can hold him up as an example of Jewish bloodthirst and criminality. To prove a point it’s best to have a victim. In 1905 and 1906 thousands of innocent people were butchered, property damage in the millions of rubles. These pogroms were planned in the office of the Minister of Interior. We know that the anti-Jewish proclamations were printed on Police Department presses. And there are rumors that the Tsar himself contributes from the royal treasury for anti-Semitic books and pamphlets. We got all we need to frighten us but we’re also frightened by rumors.”
“By the wind,” said Yakov.
“If you’re frightened everything frightens you,” Ostrovsky said. “Anyway, it’s a long story but I’m making it short. Now I come direct to your door. When Premier Stolypin, no friend of ours, wanted, before the election of the second Duma, to throw a few bones to the Jews, a few little rights to stop their big complaints, the reactionaries ran to the Tsar and right away he changed the Electoral Laws, taking away the vote from a large part of the population to reduce Jewish and liberal representation in the Duma and cut down opposition to the government. We now have maybe three deputies for three and a half million Jews and these too they want to get rid of. A year ago they assassinated one right in the street. But now I come to you. An atmosphere of hysteria developed all over the country. Still, there was some progress, don’t ask me how, and the Imperial Duma was once more discussing whether, yes or no, to abolish the Pale of Jewish Settlement when right at this minute, when the Black Hundreds were frantic, one day a Christian boy was found dead in a cave and there appeared on the scene, Yakov Bok.”
The fixer sat numbed. He waited for Ostrovsky to spit, but the lawyer sighed deeply and went on talking. “Where you came from nobody knew, or who you were, but you came just in time. I understand you came on a horse. When they saw you they pounced, and that’s why we’re sitting here now. But don’t feel too bad, if it weren’t you there’d be another in your place.”
“Yes,” said Yakov. “Somebody like me. I’ve thought it all out.”
“So that’s your bag of history,” Ostrovsky said.
“In that case, what difference does it make if my trial comes or it doesn’t?”
Ostrovsky got up, tiptoed to the door and abruptly opened it. Then he returned to the bench. “No one there but this way they’ll know we’re alert to them. I told you the worst,” he said as he sat down, “now I’ll tell you the best: You have a chance. What kind of chance? A chance. A chance is a chance, it’s better than no chance. Anyway, hear me out so I can stop talking. First of all, not every Russian is your enemy. God forbid. The intelligentsia is disturbed by this case. Many luminaries of literature, science, and the professions have objected against the blood ritual slander. Not so long ago the Kharkov Medical Society passed a resolution protesting your imprisonment,