‘Shit. We’ve disconnected it.’
Hanley continued pulling on the cable until the end appeared.
‘You’re right. Shit! I’m sorry, Pappas…’
The young archaeologist turned away, exasperated, ready to pound whoever or whatever was in front of him. He lifted a wrench and was about to hit the monitor, maybe in retaliation for the cut he’d received two minutes before.
But Andrea came closer and then she understood.
No.
I can’t believe it.
Because I never really believed in it, did I? I never thought it was possible you could exist.
The transmission from the robot had remained on the screen. When they had pulled on the cable Freddie had righted himself before the cable had become disconnected. In another position without the skull blocking the way, the image on screen showed a flash of something that Andrea could not understand at first. Then she realised that it was the infrared beam reflecting off a metallic surface. The reporter thought she could see the irregular edge of what appeared to be a huge box. On top of it she thought she saw a figure but she couldn’t be sure.
The person who was sure was Pappas, who was gazing at it, hypnotised.
‘It’s there, Professor. I’ve found it. I’ve found it for you…’
Andrea turned towards the professor and took a photo without thinking. She was trying to get his first reaction, whatever it was – surprise, joy, the culmination of his long search and dedication and emotional isolation. She took three shots before she really looked at the old man.
There was no expression in his eyes and from his mouth there was only a bloody trickle that ran down into his beard.
Brian ran over to him.
‘Shit! We have to get him out of here. He’s not breathing.’
67
NEW YORK
December 1943
Yudel was so hungry he could hardly feel the rest of his body. He was aware only of dragging himself through Manhattan’s streets looking for shelter in the doorways and alleys, never staying long in one place. There was always a sound, a light or a voice that frightened him and he would run, clutching the ragged change of clothes that was the only thing he owned. Except for his stay in Istanbul, the only homes he’d known were the hideout he’d lived in with his family, and the hold of the ship. For the boy, the chaos, noise and bright lights of New York were all part of a frightening jungle that was filled with danger. He drank from public fountains. At one point a drunken beggar grabbed the boy’s leg as he passed. Later, a policeman called to him from a corner. His uniform reminded Yudel of the monster with the flashlight who had searched for them while they hid under the stairs at Judge Rath’s house. He ran to hide.
The sun was setting on the afternoon of his third day in New York when the exhausted boy collapsed in a pile of rubbish in a dirty alleyway near Broome Street. Above him, the tenements were filled with the sound of pots and pans, arguments, sexual encounters, life. Yudel must have passed out for a few moments. When he came to, something was crawling over his face. He knew what it was before he opened his eyes. The rat paid him no attention. It was headed for an overturned bin, where it had scented a piece of dry bread. It was a large piece, too big to carry off, so the rat gnawed at it voraciously.
Yudel crawled over to the bin and grabbed a can, his fingers shaking from hunger. He hurled it at the rat and missed. The rat looked up at him briefly and then went back to gnawing the bread. The boy grabbed a broken umbrella handle and shook it at the rat, which finally ran off in search of an easier way to satisfy its hunger.
The boy grabbed the piece of stale bread. He opened his mouth hungrily, but then immediately closed it and put the bread on his lap. He pulled out a filthy rag from his bundle, covered his head and blessed the Lord for the gift of the bread.
‘Baruch Atah Adonai, Eloheynu Melech ha-olam, ha motzee lechem min ha-aretz.’ [10]
In the alley, a door had opened a moment before. An old rabbi, unnoticed by Yudel, had witnessed the boy battling the rat. When he heard the blessing of the bread from the lips of the starving child, a tear rolled down his cheek. He had never seen anything like it. There was no desperation or doubt in that faith.
The rabbi continued to look at the child for a long while. His synagogue was very poor and he could barely find enough money to keep it open. For that reason even he did not understand his decision.
After eating the bread Yudel instantly fell asleep among the rotting detritus. He didn’t wake up until he felt the rabbi carefully lift him up and carry him inside the synagogue.
The old stove will keep the cold out for a few more nights. Then we’ll see, thought the rabbi.
As he removed the dirty clothing from the boy and covered him with his only blanket, the rabbi found the blue-green card the officers had given Yudel on Ellis Island. On the card the boy was identified as Raymond Kayn, with family in Manhattan. He also found the envelope, on which was written in Hebrew:
For my son, Yudel Cohen
Not to be read until your bar mitzvah in November 1951
The rabbi opened the envelope, hoping that it would give him a clue to the boy’s identity. What he read left him shocked and confused, but it reaffirmed his conviction that the Almighty had guided the boy’s footsteps to his door.
Outside, the snow began to fall heavily.
68
Vienna,
Tuesday, 9 February 1943
Dear Yudel,
I write these hurried lines in the hope that the affection and love that we feel for you will fill some of the emptiness left by the urgency and inexperience of your correspondent. I have never been one to show much emotion, your mother knows this very well. Ever since you were born, the enforced intimacy of the space in which we have been imprisoned has eaten away at my heart. It saddens me that I have never seen you play in the sun, and never will. The Eternal One has forged us in the crucible of a trial that has proved too difficult for us to bear. It is up to you to carry out what we have not been able to accomplish.
In a few minutes we will go in search of your brother and we will not return. Your mother won’t listen to reason and I cannot allow her to go out there alone. I am aware that I am walking towards a certain death. When you read this letter you will be thirteen years old. You will ask yourself what madness drove your parents to walk straight into the arms of the enemy. Part of the purpose of this letter is so that I myself can understand the answer to that question. When you grow up you will know that there are some things we must do even though we know that the results may go against us.
Time is running out but I must tell you something very important. For centuries the members of our family have been custodians of a sacred object. It is the candle that was present when you were born. Through an unfortunate set of circumstances, it is now the only thing we own of any value, and that is why your mother is forcing me to risk it in order to rescue your brother. It will be as pointless a sacrifice as that of our own lives. But I don’t mind. I would not do it if you did not remain behind. I trust in you. I would like to explain to you why this candle is so important, but the truth is I do not know. I only know that it was my mission to keep it safe, a mission that has been passed from father to son for generations, and a mission in which I have failed, as I have failed in so many aspects in my life.