Priel had heard unfavorable reports about Anna and her friend Olga Mandl, how they were superficial, flighty, and more interested in flirting with industrialists than they were in social policy. But it was now clear to the professor that he was in the presence of a genuinely good woman. The smears had obviously been motivated by jealousy, the casual spite that older women reserve for their younger, and more attractive, counterparts. Anna Katzer was not a striking beauty, but there was nevertheless something about the set of her small, delicate features, the overall composition of her face, that was undeniably very pleasing to look at. And the cut of her dress-or was it the striking purple? — suggested more than just a penchant for luxury. It promised sensuality.
The professor was much relieved. She would make an excellent wife for Gabriel Kusevitsky, and her father’s dowry would be very substantial. He imagined the young doctor ensconced in a smart Alsergrund apartment, receiving private patients.
Yes, he thought. A very satisfactory outcome.
In due course, their exchanges became less mannered. They spoke of mutual acquaintances and, inevitably, of the Kusevitsky brothers. Professor Priel praised the two young men, and Anna detected in his eulogy a warmth of feeling more typical of a parent. She found herself echoing the professor’s sentiments. Indeed, she had to stop herself when her enumeration of Gabriel’s many virtues threatened to expose the strength of her attachment. But the abrupt caesura and her subsequent embarrassment had already revealed more than she had intended.
“You are fond of Gabriel,” said the professor, a faint smile of encouragement playing around his lips.
“Yes, very fond,” Anna replied. Her commitment to egalitarian values was evident in her level gaze. She would not betray her sex by showing shame. Her needs were as natural and acceptable as any man’s.
“They are remarkable fellows, the Kusevitsky brothers,” said the professor. “More remarkable than most people who make their acquaintance ever realize. Has Gabriel spoken to you of his origins, where they come from?”
“He told me that his parents died when he was very young and that he and his brother were raised by an uncle in Vienna.”
The professor squeezed his lower lip.
“That is true,” he said. “But it is not-as it were-the whole truth. We cannot judge Gabriel unkindly if he has elected to remain silent. His reticence merely reinforces his claim on our high regard. He and his brother are strangers to self-pity. I have never known them to seek sympathy. Yet I am convinced that it is in the interests of those who have suffered to be surrounded by intimates who have at least some inkling of the trials that they have survived.” The professor crossed his long legs. “I am not breaking a confidence, you understand? The Kusevitskys have never sworn me to secrecy.”
“Trials?” Anna repeated.
“The Kusevitskys,” Professor Priel continued, “were born in the eastern Ukraine. Their father was accused of stealing. It was a false accusation, and the inhabitants of the nearest village took the law into their own hands, a common occurrence in those times. A Jewish family could not go to the authorities for help. It was after the Czar had been assassinated, and Jews were being blamed for everything. The situation worsened, threats were made, and the boys were told to flee to their uncle’s house. It was November, and their uncle lived some twenty-five miles away. Can you imagine what it must have been like for them? The freezing cold? The darkness? Two frightened children, running for their lives? Gabriel was five, Asher six. And there were evil forces abroad. Cossacks.” Priel shook his head. “One shudders to think of what might have happened, what sport their discovery would have afforded those wicked barbarians. The boys must have been protected by angels, because somehow-it is little short of a miracle-they managed to cross the frozen steppe and reach their destination.”
The professor paused. The room had become unnaturally quiet.
“Asher was carrying a note. The boys’ parents had expected to die. They begged the uncle to abandon his home and escape with their children to the relative safety of Austria-Hungary. He was a simple, hardworking man-but wily. He knew what lawlessness meant for the Jews. They set off immediately.”
Professor Priel leaned back and stroked his beard.
“In due course, they settled in Leopoldstadt and the boys were educated at a humble burgerschule; however, Asher and Gabriel were conspicuously intelligent. A kindly teacher advised the uncle to apply for two charity places at the gymnasium, funded by Rothenstein. I had some modest involvement with the scheme and subsequently made their acquaintance.”
“Is their uncle still alive?”
“He died three years ago. Scarlet fever.”
“How sad.”
“Yes. But he lived long enough to see his nephews become students at the university. He died contented, his labors thus rewarded.”
“An extraordinary story,” said Anna. “I had no idea. And how terrible that they should have suffered so.”
“Indeed. Still, I am of the opinion that some good has come from their tribulations. They have a rare bond, a degree of closeness that I have observed otherwise only in identical twins. Perhaps I am being fanciful, but I believe that this special bond was forged on their miraculous journey. It drew them together. Sometimes they seem to be party to the same thoughts and feelings. Have you noticed how they complete each other’s sentences? Or answer a question simultaneously with the very same words? And although they have different specialisms, I cannot rid myself of a curious impression that they are like the scientific and artistic faculties of a single mind.”
Anna detected a certain uneasiness in Priel’s expression.
“Professor,” she ventured hesitantly, “why are you telling me these things?”
He made an appeasing gesture.
“I wanted to give you some advice, which I trust you will accept in good faith. I promise you it is well-intentioned, and it is this: never come between them. Never come between these two brothers. In a way, if you choose to marry Gabriel, you also marry Asher.” The professor’s expression suddenly lightened. “This friend of yours, Fraulein Olga. She’s met Asher, hasn’t she?”
Anna’s eyes widened.
“Well?” asked the professor. “Did she not like him?”
70
From the journal of Dr. Max Liebermann
Wheels, gears, pulleys, levers! All have the power to confer mechanical advantage, the factor by which a mechanism multiplies the force put into it. Brunelleschi raised the great dome in Florence with the assistance of an ox-marble and masonry, weighing millions of pounds, lifted hundreds of feet! I wonder whether the golem’s strength is attributable to mechanical advantage? With the right apparatus a weakling could tear the head off an elephant! Use of a device is also suggested by the fact that all three decapitations were remarkably uniform: clockwise cranial rotation, matching displacements of cervical structures. An identical force, utilized in exactly the same way, is likely to produce the same results. Would a golem-or a group of human beings attempting to perform a golem’s task-produce such consistent results?
Stanislav, Faust, Sachs. Three men, each in his own way a threat to Viennese Jewry, are murdered. Their bodies are found near plague columns. In the case of the first two murders, the plague column embodies the prejudice of the victims (Jews are a plague). In the case of the third murder, the plague column fulfills a somewhat different cautionary purpose. It declares that those who would exploit and harm their own people are vermin.
All three men are decapitated, but in such a way as to suggest the exercise of great force (an illusion probably achieved through the use of a mechanical instrument). Mud distributed around the bodies, and the kabbalist’s lair discovered above the Alois Gasse Temple, are clearly intended to revive memories of the Prague golem. But to what end? Why must we believe that Stanislav, Faust, and Sachs were killed by a “fairy-tale” creature? Answer: to make Jews-or their enemies (even consanguineous enemies)-believe in the return of a supernatural retributive agency. But again, why? Answer: to deter anti-Semites from violence. No. There is more to it than that. Much more. Schiller once wrote that deeper meanings can be found in fairy tales than in all the lessons we learn from real life. Fairy tales contain knowledge and lessons distilled from many lives.