During the long drive in the Porsche, and through the short night beside Paula, the face from the Galeries Lafayette had pestered him like a nagging fly.
Enough!
He placed the blade carefully and slid it down. He did the same on the other side, compared both sides in the mirror, and continued shaving, clearing wide swaths in the foam on his cheeks and chin.
As he got out of the bathroom, Paula opened her eyes. The bright rays of the morning sun came through the blinds, illuminating her golden hair, spread on the pillow like a halo. “Wilhelm Horch.” She opened her arms. “No middle initial.”
He leaned over and kissed her.
She pulled off his towel.
“It’s late,” he said.
She lifted the blanket. “Into my cave! Procreate!”
“Junior will be late for school.”
Her hands clasped his shoulders, pulling him down. “Then we must hurry.”
Lemmy’s chest felt cool against her warmth. She scrunched up the nightgown, and her legs parted, rising to encircle his hips. They kissed, tasting each other, their eyes open.
She led him in with her hand and sighed as he penetrated. Her fingernails sank into the flesh of his back, urging his movements. He buried his face in her hair, taking in her loveable scent.
His breath grew faster, her body responding in sync, her whispering sweet, growing urgent, until she whimpered and he froze, paralyzed by the impending burst of pleasure, and pushed into her one more time, as deep as he could, letting go, inseminating his wife.
Paula caressed his back while their panting slowed down. “This one felt like a girl.”
“You think so?”
“No question. A passionate, athletic, bright girl.”
He leaned on his elbow, his face an inch from hers. “I’m sorry we waited so long.”
“You’ve come around. That’s what counts.”
He saw no blame in her happy face and felt guilty. He had objected to a second child since Klaus Junior had been born, citing a variety of reasons, none of them sincere. Elie Weiss had allowed him one child-to cement the marriage and the position in the bank. You hold the key to the future security of the Jews. Your success will ensure the safety of our people for generations. Counter Final Solution!
Paula had respected his objection despite her craving for a baby. She had assumed his reluctance was rooted in a hurtful family history at which he hinted. He had avoided speaking about his childhood, only providing her with the scant details of the false identity Elie had arranged. He had arrived at Lyceum Alpin St. Nicholas in late 1967 as a recent orphan from a fire that had killed his parents near Munich. The burn scars on his back had turned to mild scars between his shoulders and buttocks.
“ I should have come around long ago.” He was referring to that Tuesday, the previous month, when he had accompanied her to her annual checkup. Paula’s long-time gynecologist, Dr. Linser, joked that soon she would no longer need to take the pill, and for a brief second Paula’s usual cheerfulness gave way to something approaching grief. Without allowing logic to intrude, Lemmy had said, “Let’s try for a girl while there’s still time.”
He kissed her again-not with lust, but with tenderness of gratitude, for she truly loved him, even with his secrets, which she must have sensed. She was forty-three, still capable of a pregnancy and the rigors of child rearing. The experience at the doctor’s office had triggered something powerful inside Lemmy, as if his life as Wilhelm Horch had finally edged out the dark past, the secret assassinations, and the great mission itself, allowing him to truly be a partner to Paula.
She touched his cheek. “Are you okay?”
“ I’d love to have a daughter,” he said, surprising himself at how complete he felt with the statement. “Or a boy. It’ll be a joy either way.”
*
Rabbi Abraham Gerster took the bus from Jerusalem to Ramat Gan, then a taxi to Bar Ilan University. The campus surprised him with its greenery and modern architecture. He had assumed that the only religious university in Israel would be more like a yeshiva, a large building crowded with male scholars and aging, bearded professors. But Bar Ilan University was nothing like a yeshiva. The lawns were filled with young men and women, who sat together and chomped on lunch sandwiches, chatting animatedly. Most of the women wore their hair loose, only a minority wearing scarves or hats over their natural hair. The majority of the male students revealed their religious observance with only a small knitted skullcap, while some heads were bare altogether in the manner of secular Israelis. Only a few wore the black garb of Talmudic scholars.
He was the subject of curious glances, with his white beard and payos, the black coat and hat. He still felt as young as any of these students, but in truth he was old enough to be their grandfather.
He followed the signs for the law school. The building was named after the late Prime Minister Menachem Begin. He browsed the directory.
Professor Gabriel Lemelson – Jewish Law – Room 305
On the third floor, the office door was open. A man sat at a small, round table with three female students. They were discussing recent legislation that gave civil courts jurisdiction over the financial aspects of divorce, while rabbinical courts maintained exclusive jurisdiction over the dissolution of the marriage itself.
The professor noticed him through the open door, removed his reading glasses, and stood up. “Oh, goodness!” He beckoned. “Please, it’s an honor.”
The students took their bags and left.
Professor Lemelson shut the door. “How can I help you, Rabbi Gerster?”
“ You know who I am?”
“ Of course! I wrote my dissertation on the abortion law.” He pulled a soft-bound book from a shelf. “Some scholars, myself included, believe that nineteen sixty-seven could have become famous for a different war-a Jewish civil war-if not for your Talmudic ruling against violence and rioting.”
“ That’s an exaggeration.”
“ I respectfully disagree. It was truly a paradigm change in ultra-Orthodox ideology. Your ruling marginalized the literal traditionalists’ advocacy of biblical stoning and burning. In essence you sanctified study and worship as preferable to violent enforcement of God’s law.”
“ I only spoke to my community.”
“ But your ruling, even though it was issued to the relatively small Neturay Karta sect, radiated calming rays to every black-hat yeshiva in the country. You launched singlehandedly the inward-looking, insular culture as the righteous way of life. Your vision has since become the modus operandi for all ultra-Orthodox communities in Israel. As a result, we have avoided large-scale religious violence over secular-religious conflicts, such as abortions, Sabbath violations, pork selling and consumption, restaurants serving bread during Passover, and the continuous trimming of rabbinical courts’ jurisdiction-not to mention the controversies over archeological digs.”
“ You give me too much credit.”
“ On the contrary. The mostly amicable coexistence with the ultra-Orthodox, which secular Israelis today take for granted, has been a direct result of how you diffused the abortion protests.” Professor Lemelson patted the book. “Perhaps you’d like a copy?”
“ I already have one.”
“ You’ve read my book?”
“ When it was first published. Your conclusions were all wrong.”
“Wrong? Why?”
“You assumed that the ultra-Orthodox culture is homogeneous. It’s not. And violent fundamentalism could grow from modern orthodoxy, as the settler movement is proving.”
“ Against the Arabs, yes, but they’re not engaged in internecine violence. Since your sixty-seven ruling, there has not been a single case of Talmudic advocacy for Jews to attack Jews. Not one!”
“ That’s precisely why I’m here. What do you know about ILOT?”
The professor’s face registered no interest. “Just what I saw on TV. It seemed like a bunch of kids playing pretend-”