I didn’t want to face another bunch of scholars who seemed to spend their time not just splitting hairs but actually quartering them, but I dutifully followed the rabbi into the study room.
The rabbi’s son-in-law and young Lipmann were still bending and swaying in prayer and chanting like a single creature with two heads. The boy’s high-pitched voice and the man’s deep, dark tones resonated from the floor to the ceiling. Rabbi Gans sat across from them, composing his chronicle in flowing Yiddish script.
Rabbi Loew didn’t interrupt the mystics. He took his place at the head of the table, and invited me to sit next to him. He borrowed a quill from Rabbi Gans, slid a piece of fresh parchment across the table, and dictated the conditions of my responsibilities as the High Rabbi Loew’s personal investigator. I wrote it down word for word, then Rabbi Loew took the document, signed it “Yehudah ben Betzalel” with a firm hand, and handed it back.
I handled this newly koshered document as if too much contact with my fingertips might profane it.
“Now, let’s begin with the most basic question,” Rabbi Loew said. “Did the accused have any enemies?”
“Sure, fifty thousand of them,” I said.
“And they wonder why the Jews keep an eye on every penny,” said Rabbi Gans, looking up from his work. “We need it all to buy the goyim off every time their pockets get a little short on silver.”
Rabbi Loew said, “There is certainly no clear precedent in the Gemore for this type of situation. And without a clear methodology for us to follow, we’ll have to gather a thousand bits of information, even though we’ll probably end up needing only a tenth of that.”
“But which tenth?” said Rabbi Gans.
I said, “We won’t know that until we’ve gathered them all.”
Rabbi Loew sat up straight in his high-backed chair and summoned all the dignity appropriate to a man passing a judgment of great weight. “Well said, Ben-Akiva. That was an excellent response.”
I studied the tabletop.
“What’s the matter? Does it bother you when I praise you?”
“No, I just want you to save your praise for when I really do something impressive.”
Rabbi Loew’s face was unreadable. Then somewhere beneath his gray mustache, a knowing smile appeared, and he said, “If I let you follow your instinct, what’s the first thing you’d do?”
“I’d go to the Federns’ place—”
“But we already went there.”
“Sure, and we spoke to the wrong person. I’d like to ask Julie Federn if she knows anything about how her father’s locks were opened. Children often see things that their parents don’t notice.”
Rabbi Loew stroked his beard, considering the wisdom of this suggestion.
I said, “She isn’t exactly a child, but it’s a place to start. She might know something crucial about this case without even being aware of it herself.”
Rabbi Loew said, “Then go and see her right away.”
I pushed the curtain aside and walked right past Avrom Khayim, who called after me:
“Where do you think you’re going? You’ll be late for minkhe—and you already missed shakhres.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll be on time. I’ve just got to talk to a couple of women first.”
“What do you mean, a couple of women? You better tread lightly, Mr. Benyamin from Slonim, because you’re stepping on toes, you hear me? You’re not a full-fledged member of the brotherhood yet. You have to earn that honor, my friend.”
“Thanks, I’ll spread the word.”
“Be back in half an hour.”
“I shall be at your service,” I said, though I had no intention of returning so quickly.
What brotherhood? I wondered, stepping outside.
Rainwater flowed between the freshly laid paving stones. The street was less crowded now, but no one looked me in the eye as they pushed along the Breitgasse with that frenzy peculiar to city dwellers, or noticed when I took a quick turn down Meisel Street. The servants for the well-to-do families were too busy packing up food and clothing for the poor to notice me sloshing by, taking a little detour before going to see Julie Federn.
I passed by the Rozanskys’ house in the narrow lane near the three wells that supplied the rich folks with their drinking water, but they told me that Reyzl was still at the shop. She shouldn’t have been working so late on Erev Pesach, since she didn’t belong to one of the professions permitted to work past noon today, but then, that woman never missed a chance to make a few extra dalers. It ran in the family.