"What do you mean, risen from the dead? Then your name…
"That's right. Memavet means 'from death.' The government here is eager to have you change your name to a Hebrew one. You pay a lira and fill out a form and that's it. So why should I continue to carry a name given to my grandfather or great-grandfather by some Cossack, when for a lira I could change it to something meaningful.
I rose from the dead, so I called myself Memavet." He laughed, a throaty gurgle of a laugh, pleased at the effect on his visitors.
"You mean you were so sick?" the rabbi persisted.
"No. I mean that the Russians— may the sun stop shining on them— left me for dead. That the spark had not actually gone out is a minor detail that they overlooked. It's a national characteristic with the Russians— may all their children be girls— to overlook minor details. Their machinery frequently doesn't run because they cannot be concerned with minor details like oil or even small parts that drop off. As they say. it's only a little part and it's such a big machine. Officially. I was dead."
"This was during the war?" Stedman asked, picking up the lead.
"World War Two. Because I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I found myself in a concentration camp. The rest of the camp was made up of Poles mostly and a few Russians. I was the only Jew." His voice suddenly became dry and didactic like a professor lecturing a class. He spoke in Yiddish. "The Germans are efficient. When they are engaged in a sadistic cruelty, they do it efficiently.
But the Russian is inefficient. Much of the time, his cruelty comes from his negligence and inefficiency. He tends to forget minor details like food or the clothing and shelter needed to face a Russian winter.
"I was an educated man, and there weren't many there. I was a mechanic, an engineer. Nevertheless. I was put to rough work, unskilled work out of doors. In the first month I lost fifty pounds. The only thing that sustained me was the knowledge that we were due for a visit from the district medical officer. He checked on the health of the prisoners, and it was on his decision that we were assigned to various details, inside or outside, or worst of all, the Forestry Detail. And he was a Jew."
Memavet tilted his head back and closed his eyes. "I can see him now: Dr. Rasnikov of Pinsk. scientist and good party member, the new breed of Jew in the Socialist paradise. You wouldn't believe what it cost me for the chance to see him, but I managed it. just long enough to tell him I was a Jew and that if I were continued at the outside work. I would be dead in a month. I was sick and running a fever, and the only shoes I had were a couple of pieces of cloth I had torn from my coat and wrapped around my feet. He didn't answer me. only stared. And I withdrew. It was enough. I didn't expect him to answer.
But he would remember my face. He could not answer because it was dangerous for him. too.
"The next day we were lined up, and he walked along the line, putting a hand to a forehead of one. ordering another to open his mouth wide, taking the pulse of a third. That was the medical examination. An aide had a list and called off the names and then noted down his recommendation beside each name. He came to me. looked me over, and then said to the aide. 'Forestry Detail.'
"This Forestry Detail was engaged in clearing a road through the forest by chopping down trees, clearing out brush, piling up logs. Because you were working in a forest where it was theoretically possible to escape, the discipline was brutal. Small groups worked in marked-off areas. If you stepped outside the line, you were shot. You were led out on the double before dawn, and you worked until after the sun set and then marched back to camp. Anyone who couldn't keep up was beaten, and then if he still could not keep up, he was shot. Every day fewer came back than went out.
"I managed for three days, and then on the fourth when we were being marched back to camp, I slipped and fell. It had begun to snow, and they were racing us back against the storm when I fell. The guard kicked me and ordered me to get up. I tried. How I tried! I got to my knees only to collapse again. Another guard shouted back to the one who was standing over me to hurry up. Again he ordered me to get up, and when I could not. he pointed his rifle at me. Again the other guard shouted, and my man pulled the trigger of his rifle with as little concern as if I had been a rabbit scurrying across an open field."
"He shot you?"
"He shot me, and I don't suppose he wasted another glance at me. If the shot were not fatal. I would freeze to death— if the wolves didn't get me first. He would report the matter back at camp, and the next day they would send out a burial detail to bring me in. It's a curious thing, but do you know the last thought that ran through my mind before I lost consciousness? It was, now will Dr. Rasnikov think I was fit for the Forestry Detail?"
"But you obviously did not die." said Stedman.
"It was a superficial wound, and maybe the cold congealed the blood. Anyway. I was found by an old peasant woman who was out gathering firewood. She kept me hidden and fed me until I was able to travel. It took me more than a year to get here, and believe me. many a time I regretted that the shot had not been fatal."
"Then here, here it must be a paradise for you." Stedman said with emotion.
Memavet's face relaxed in a horrible grimace of a smile. "After you’ve been dead, my friend, you just live from day to day." His voice suddenly became brisk and businesslike, and he shifted to English. "Come here tonight at seven, and I'll probably have a car for you. Don't fail. A good buy doesn't wait."
Outside Roy asked. "What was that long rigmarole in Yiddish? Was he telling you the story of his life?"
"No, the story of his death," said the rabbi.
"Oh, yeah?" He saw that the rabbi was smiling and assumed it was an example of rabbinic humor. "Well." He was at a loss how to respond. He turned to his father. "Look, I got to split now. Do I meet you at the same place tonight?"
"Oh, I have no intention of coming back tonight," said Stedman.
"But, Dad—"
"If I return tonight." the elder Stedman went on. "he'll see that we're interested and I'll pay through the nose."
"But—"
"He has my name, and he knows where to reach me. If he gets something, you can be sure he'll call."
Seeing that Roy was obviously disappointed, the rabbi stepped into the breach.
"Your father is coming to Sabbath dinner Friday evening." he said. "Mrs. Small and I would be pleased if you would also come. Roy."
"Well, thanks. Sure. I guess I could make it." he said.
As they strolled along after Roy had left, the rabbi remarked. "That was quite a story that Memavet told us."
"It was." said Dan. "and I have it all on tape."
"You taped it? Then this expedition was not to buy a car?"
"Oh, I came for a car all right, but I thought it might make sense to have a record of our conversation. If there's any hanky panky about the deal— if he's peddling hot cars, for example— then the tape would show that my hands are clean."
The rabbi nodded. They walked in silence for a while, and then the rabbi said reflectively. "It's quite a story, but the man's name suggests that it's probably true."
"Oh, I'm sure it's true, at least he thinks it is. But it's not as unusual as you seem to think. Rabbi. Here in Israel, everyone has a story. Either they fled from the Nazis, or they fought the Arabs. Practically everyone is alive as a result of a minor miracle. Miracles are part of the climate here."
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Dr. Ben Ami. a big. stocky bear of a man. parked his Volkswagen against the embankment, extricated himself from behind the wheel together with his bulky doctor's bag in one fluid motion born of long practice, and then realized that the Adoumi apartment was dark. He stopped to consider for a moment and then walked up the street a few paces to check the area between 2 and 4 Kol Tov Street where Avner Adoumi usually parked his car. It was not there. He was quite sure that his patient. Sarah Adoumi. had not left the house. She had probably dozed off before dark, and her husband had not yet returned.