Deadlight-Hall(44)

As always, my best regards to you,

M.B.

London 1944

Dear J.W.

Forgive the rather long silence between letters, but since reaching London I have been very much involved in the search for the golem. Sadly, my cautious forays into the jewellery quarters of London have provided no information at all. My approaches met with courtesy and efficiency, but no one could help. One fine old auction house here – Ashby’s by name – has promised to correspond with me if they do hear of such an item being offered, and I have given the name and address of my bank for any possible letters. I am not, though, very hopeful.

I had to put off writing this letter for a while – the Luftwaffe had mounted one of their raids on London, and it was necessary to make for the nearest air-raid shelter. It was full of all kinds of people, and they passed round beer and sandwiches, after which they sang an extraordinary song which referred in the most derogatory of fashions to the physical, and very personal, limitations of the Führer and Herr Himmler. Sch?nbrunn sang as enthusiastically as anyone (I have no idea how he knew the words) and after the second verse I too found myself joining in. Then the All Clear sirens sounded and everyone went back into the streets and on their separate ways. These are remarkable experiences, even for people such as Sch?nbrunn and myself, who have seen cities laid waste and devastating tragedy across half of Europe.

Three days ago Sch?nbrunn heard, through one of his networks of informers and spies, that Dr Mengele currently has three sets of twins in his laboratories – and that two of the sets are girls around the age of the Reiss twins and closely match their descriptions. I do not need to tell you what a bitter blow this is. It may not be Sophie and Susannah, of course, but we dare not take any chances. Sch?nbrunn is making plans to leave England. His eyes shine with that reckless light, and there is the sense that the air around him crackles with an electrical force.

He has not asked if I will accompany him when he leaves England. I have no idea what I shall say if he does.

My good wishes to you,

M.B

London

1944

My dear J.W.

This morning a letter was delivered to my lodgings from Sch?nbrunn.

It seems that he left England four days ago and is now on his way to Oswiecim. My heart sinks even to write the name. For you and I, my good friend, know that the name of Oswiecim has been changed by the Nazis. And that it is now known as Auschwitz.

Auschwitz. The name strikes such terror into the soul.

Sch?nbrunn, cautious as a cat, puts no details of his plans in the letter, and clearly he arranged for it to be delivered after he had left, so that I could not try to dissuade him. Would I have done so? I have no idea.

He says nothing of how he intends to get into the camp, but of course that is what he means to do. You and I know he has got into other concentration camps, and has managed to bring out several of our people. But this is Auschwitz.

He has said he does not wish me to accompany him. ‘You would never pass unnoticed, my friend,’ he says, and I know this to be true. I cannot blend into a crowd; I cannot appear or sound anonymous. He also writes, ‘If you do not hear from me, do not assume I have failed.’

I think I do not need to say he will rescue the children whether they are Sophie and Susannah Reiss or not – assuming any rescue to be possible, you understand. But, as with everyone who has ever known Sch?nbrunn, I have utter faith in him. I cannot imagine he will go unchallenged on his journey, but you and I both know his capacity for creating an illusion – both of appearance and of nationality.

I intend to remain here for a little longer, following my own search for the golem.

My good wishes, as always, and a hope that I shall be with you again before too long – as well as a hope that the families we all know will one day be reunited.

M.B.





TWELVE


Over the years, Leo had come to accept that his family had been lost to him. He had never known what had become of his parents or any of the people in the small village just outside Warsaw. There had been times when he had thought he would go back and try to find out, but when it came to it, he had not wanted to do so. He had been afraid of finding that those beloved people had been incarcerated in the concentration camps, and that some had died in the gas chambers. The Ovens, thought Leo. That was our childhood fear. We didn’t really understand, but we were all afraid.

And yet the years with the Hursts had not been as unhappy as they might have been. Simeon Hurst and his sister had been severe and strict; they had not understood about Leo being Jewish, and they had force-fed him with Christianity. But he had come to understand that this had not done him so ill a turn; it had given him his ability to view religion with a wider lens than he might otherwise have done, and had probably led him to studying philosophy and theology – a study that had proved so rewarding and that had led him to his beloved Oriel College. He sometimes thought that because of the Hursts he had worked hard, and because of that he had managed to get to Oxford. More, he had managed to remain at Oxford, and it became his life and his family.