Fixer, The - Bernard Malamud [54]
“There are those among us, my children, who will argue that these are superstitious tales of a past age, yet the truth of much I have revealed to you—I do not say it is all true—must be inferred from the very frequency of the accusations against the Jews. None can forever conceal the truth. If the bellman is dead the wind will toll the bell. Perhaps in this age of science we can no longer accept every statement of accusation made against this unfortunate people; however we must ask ourselves how much truth remains despite our reluctance to believe. I do not say that all Jews are guilty of these crimes and that pogroms should therefore be instituted against them, but that there are certain sects among them, in particular the Hasidim and their leaders, the tzadikim, who commit in secret crimes such as I have described to you, which the gentile world, despite its frequent experience with them, seems to forget until, lo! another poor child disappears and is found dead in this fashion: his hands tied behind his back, and his body punctured by a sharp weapon in several places, the number of wounds according to magic numbers: 3, 7, 9, 13, in the manner of such crimes of former times. We know that their Passover, though they ascribe to it other uses, is also a celebration of the crucifixion. We know that is the time they kidnap gentiles for their religious ceremonials. Here in our Holy City, during the Polovostian raids in the year 1100, the monk Eustratios was abducted from the Pe-chera Monastery and sold to the Jews of Kherson, who crucified him during Passover. Since they no longer dare such open crimes they celebrate the occasion by eating matzos and unleavened cakes at the Seder service. But even this act conceals a crime because the matzos and cakes contain the blood of our martyrs, though of course the tzadikim deny this. Thus through our blood in their Passover food they again consume the agonized body of the living Christ. I give you my word, my dear children, that this is the reason why Zhenia Golov, this innocent child who wished to enter the priesthood, was destroyed!”
The priest wiped one eye, then the other, with a white handkerchief. Two of the guards standing nearest the fixer edged away from him.
But then Yakov cried out, “It’s all a fairy tale, every bit of it. Who could ever believe such a thing? Not me!” His voice quavered and his face was bloodless.
“Those who can understand will believe,” said the priest.
“Be respectful if you know what’s good for you,” Grubeshov said heatedly in an undertone. “Listen and learn!”
“How can it be so if the opposite is true,” the fixer shouted, his throat thick. “It’s all right to theorize with a fact or two but I don’t recognize the truth in what’s been said. If you please, your reverence, everybody knows the Bible forbids us to eat blood. That’s all over the book, in the laws and everything. I’ve forgotten most of what I knew about the sacred books, but I’ve lived among the people and know their customs. Many an egg my own wife would throw out to the goat if it had the smallest spot of blood on the yolk. ‘Raisl,’ I said, ‘take it easy. We can’t afford to live like kings,’ but there was no getting the egg back on the table, either by hook or by crook, once she took it off, even admitting anyone wanted to, which I never did— you get used to the customs. What she did was final, your reverence. I never said, ‘Bring back the bloody egg,’ and she would have thrown it at me if I had. She also soaked for hours the little meat or chicken we ate, to wash out every fleck of blood, and then sprinkled it with salt so as to be sure she had drained out every last drop. The rinsings with water were endless. That’s the truth of it, I swear. I swear I’m innocent of this crime you say I did, not you personally, your reverence, but some of the officials here. I’m not a Hasid and I’m not a tzadik. I’m a fixer by trade, it’s a poorer trade than most, and formerly for a short time I was