Mila 18 - Leon Uris [92]
“I wish I could. My belated responsibilities to the Jewish community are rather time-consuming.”
She sat on the desk. He smiled and pushed his papers back. “We aren’t spending much time together,” she said. “Orphanage during the day—but they’re so short-handed—our children’s lessons at night. I’ll cut off a few hours at the orphanage.”
“No,” Paul said. “I won’t be able to get home earlier, anyhow. Besides, it makes a good impression to have the wife of a Civil Authority member volunteering in the Orphans and Self-Help program.”
There was something Deborah didn’t like about that. Paul had reacted with a sense of duty to his new status, but he was still groping for prestige—still thinking in terms of doing the proper thing.
“When is all this going to end?” Deborah said glumly. “Once I was foolish enough to think nothing could be worse than during the siege.”
“Well, no one really knows what the Germans are up to. But even they only can go so far. It will level off.” He switched the subject quickly. “I saw Chris today.”
“Oh ...”
“He’s been able to transfer most of our accounts to American banks.” Paul laughed ironically. “There’s a paradox for you. We are getting richer all the time.”
Deborah worked hard to mask the sudden shock at the mention of Chris’s name. “How is Chris?” she said quickly.
“Fine—fine.”
“I didn’t know that he would be allowed to continue here. Susan Geller told me Ervin Rosenblum was concerned about a possible closing of Swiss News.”
“Seems he has gotten himself in thick with this Von Epp fellow. Naturally, his agency wants him to keep operating as long as the Germans let him. Incidentally, we decided that for mutual interests we shouldn’t see each other except in emergency. There’s no use alerting the Germans that we have business, and I could endanger Chris’s position here. We don’t need the funds, fortunately, and if we do we can always work through Rosenblum.”
“Yes,” Deborah said, “that’s sensible.”
“Dear,” Paul said, “while we’re about it, I want to speak to you about this business of sending Stephan to Rabbi Solomon for study. Let me say that I am in sympathy with your motives, but it’s dangerous business.”
Deborah’s sweetness suddenly vanished. “Dangerous for whom?”
“For the boy himself.”
“Have you thought about the shock he has received in the past few months?”
“Of course I have. Deborah, be sensible. We are very lucky. We have been spared all the harrowing things going on in Warsaw.”
“Is that really it, Paul?” she said sharply. “Protecting our position?”
“Did you ever think what would happen to us if I’m thrown off the Civil Authority? I’m not a criminal for wanting to protect my family.”
Paul had never seen Deborah look so stubborn. Almost always he had been able to talk her around in the past.
“Our son is being humiliated and persecuted because he is a Jew,” Deborah said. “He should at least have some moral fortification to withstand these shocks. We cannot let him stumble through this without knowing why he is a Jew.”
Deborah wanted to say more. She wanted to tell Paul that if he assumed his responsibility as a Jewish father he would give his son instruction and training as other Jewish fathers were doing since the outlawing of the cheder schools. But what she said carried an authority he had never heard from her before. She let it stop there because Paul was tired and confused and she did not wish to hurt him.
The doorbell rang.
Paul opened it. Gawky Wolf Brandel dangled before him. “Good evening, sir,” he said, his face reddening.
Paul smiled slightly. He quickly tried to change the atmosphere of the argument. “Good evening, Mr. Brandel. Did you come to visit with Stephan or Rachael?”
“Rachael—I mean Stephan, sir.”
“I will let you have them both for the price of one chess game.”
Oh darn, Wolf thought. Bronski was a tough chessplayer. It would take an hour to beat him. Then a lovely thought occurred. He would throw the game on purpose. This would kill two birds with one stone—please