Rotmaster Dawidowicz had just arrived in Paris and immediately went for a stroll over Sekwana. The wedding was besides joyful, as a young man may be erstwhile it is early summertime morning and erstwhile after a year-long boring period of work began a pleasantly promising holiday.
He didn't know where he was going yet. It was a long time ago that it was not outside of Poland – now that he was on leave, he wanted to usage it well erstwhile he was abroad. Brittany? Normandy? Alps? Or possibly a longer stay in Paris or a journey to Switzerland or England? He hasn't decided yet. Anything was possible. Without difficulty, thanks to his extended relations, the passport obtained gave him freedom of movement, and it was enlarged by the money he ordered, not only being an officer, but besides a reasonably wealthy landowner.
He walked along the riverbank, having in all its glory a magnificent outline of the walls of the Notre Dame church, and around him a vast and so characteristic marketplace for old books. At the stalls, the old men were sitting bribely with red faces and thick mustaches, in scarves wrapped around their necks – and the passersby, students and old men, women and men, stood in front of them and burrowed in piles of books spread over them, gathered from all parts of the world, probably, and eye-catching titles in all possible languages.
The look of the captain caught the Polish book lying on 1 of the stalls. He moved on and reached out to that book. It was “The past of Jews in Poland” – a work, if it could be judged by the name of the author and publisher, published by the Jews. He knocked over the title card and began to take a fast look at its content.
At the same stall was a young woman drowned in a pile of books. Her beauty, raven black hair tied on her neck, the penetrating calmness of dark eyes, and at the same time the vividness and mobility of white features, mildly carved face and a neat figure of the full character, caught his attention.
She seemed like a typical and charming Parisian. Despite his will, he began to extend the time to look at a book that was actually indifferent to him – and over the pages of this book he kept staring at his neighbor.
She abruptly raised her eyes and turned her face toward him. Their eyes crossed. Apparently, she must have been hit by something or reconsidered due to the fact that she didn't look back. She looked at it protractedly – and in the eyes of her and the corners of her mouth something like a grin flickered.
That grin and that look attracted him like a magnet. He almost instinctively reached out to 1 of her books, seeking an excuse to initiate a conversation.
Pretext was good. The 3 of us – with bribery – had a conversation about the advantages and beauty of this book. And after specified a beginning, the conversation between the 2 of us was smooth.
She wasn't impenetrable. But in this approach, in its ease of getting into a casual conversation with a stranger, there was something different – there was any speech of conscious not taking on commonly accepted customs, but besides any artistic curiosity. This gave the established acquaintance an unconscionable mark—which made the rot master, who did not like the women besides easily, not resent the beautiful alien from his place, but, on the contrary, felt even more drawn to her.
They left, taking their time, along the Seine. The conversation, full of banters and smiles, turned out to be nothing. She ran far distant from the subject of books: she missed the full couple in the easy and breathtaking direction of complimenting her.
He expressed his admiration for her as the personification of Paris.
- Paris? You hit it! I am not a Parisian – I come from a deaf province.
— Is that possible?
— I come from a tiny town at the ft of the mountains. My father's a pharmacist. It's like a farce about people from the province: a small-town apothecary.
— I can't imagine you from a tiny town to a mountain. What are you doing in Paris?
— I survey painting.
- Painting! So you're an artist! If I were a different kind of artist, namely a poet, I would imagine you with a pallet in your hand, among the rocks and winds of your mountains, like a grey somewhere advanced above the clouds. but you don't look anything like apple pie, you're not gray, you're black.
— Besides, my mountains don't have apple pies. My mountains – they are only Alsace Vogesis.
- Are you Alzat? I'm inactive amazed at you. The Alsatians have blond hair and match Germans, and you look like the daughter of the hottest south.
— Sometimes you can be a daughter of the south and a daughter of the north. Or a daughter of both the west and the east.
— You mean your parents came to Alsace from another parts?
— The ashes of my ancestors have been gathering in Alsace cemeteries for centuries. But not the birthplace of our parents, nor the origin of our ancestors a fewer centuries ago, we utilized to measurement our past. You know as well as I do that it was truly crucial what happened before millennia.
She's been quiet for a while. The look on her face disappeared, the abrupt seriousness and pathos were sounded in her head. any strange, alien and incomprehensible flash flash swept through her black, penetrating eyes.
— 1 is only a nation that has a homeland simultaneously in the south and north, in the east and west. I'm Jewish.
He was quiet. She didn't give him that surprise of pleasure. The anti-Semitist was not at all – he was from anti-Semitism as far as possible. But in spite of his will, he felt a certain profession, discovering in a individual who turned his head around and who seemed to him the very personification of Paris—a specified Jew. But anyway, it was an alsace Jew. A race typical for centuries connected with the European West. And she had nothing judaic in her. I mean, she had nothing of what we, who knew the east Jews, utilized to consider essential judaic qualities.
He was disappointed – but he rapidly recovered from the feeling of this disappointment. And she was disappointed in him at all.
— And you are besides the boy of the south and the north at the same time. You are judaic and Polish.
He raised his eyebrows up, surprised.
— What makes you think that?
She laughed flirty and mysteriously.
— I'm more observant and perceptive than you think. You delight in judaic as a Parisian – so you are not a Parisian. You have a Virtuti Militari ribbon in your coat flap, so you are a Pole. You looked at the Polish book on judaic past with large attention – so you know the Polish language, which confirms the conclusion of the order ribbon. That's why you made evidence that you didn't care about the judaic case. And the features of your face – your features tell the rest.
He smiled. Somehow, he didn't get a contact of the judaic thing. It was completely different a fewer days ago, erstwhile he boarded a Parisian train in Warsaw and erstwhile a travel companion, a student, was on his way to Poznań, asked him if he was Jewish, due to the fact that he would not like to go in 1 compartment with a Jew. True, this boy pointed out more to his visiting ticket in the suitcase than to his features. And even erstwhile he learned that he was dealing with the Polish Armenian of Penance, he assured him that specified a eventuality mattered, and that in his face he had just seen the Armenian kind alternatively than the judaic one.
I don't know why, he had a fantasy of not making a mistake.
— I'm going to add a fresh brick to the magnificent construction of your inference. Take a look at my visiting ticket.
She looked.
— David Davidovich! Bravo! And with that name and surname, did you get the Virtuti Militari?
— As you can see. But how the hell do you know this award?
— I am Jewish, and Polish matters, just as Palestine cares about all Jew, no substance what corner of the planet he lives in. Isn't that right?
- Right, right. – he confirmed not to argue her, but was surprised. He did not realize what Polish matters could be concerned, which can be celebrated especially by specified a tiny item of Polish life, the Alsace Jew. He put it on the back of her painting interests.
Despite his will, he recollected his companion on the train. The Rotmaster, a small due to the fact that he was annoyed by the suspicion of Jewry and wanted to in any way unburden himself, and a small due to the fact that he was mentally opposed to anti-Semitism, expressed his outrage at him due to his bright hatred of the Jews. The student cut himself off so energeticly that he immediately planted the captain. He said that he considered the Jews as enemies of the Polish nation – and sleeping in 1 compartment with the enemy was not a pleasure, even though it only makes the sight of the enemy's mouth unpleasant to sleep up. The Rotmaster, of course, was not adequate to answer – so he had a dispute between them until late in the night, not as violent as before, but rather reluctant.
The student told him extraordinary stories about judaic politics, about universal solidarity of Jews and about their hostile attitude to Poland, and among another things he besides told Jota in Jota the same way as the rot master heard now: that Palestine and Poland equally care about Jews in all respect. So the same words in Alsace’s mouth struck him. Yet, he was certain that this unanimous view of 2 people who had nothing in common was the consequence of a specified coincidence and that in each of these 2 heads he was born for a different reason.
Her words did not offend him. Rather, they even drew as a fresh curious feature of her. The artistic nature must have been extraordinary, whose imagination, which seemingly went completely peculiar and only right paths, could have created specified an incredible combination of things so different: Palestine and Poland.
Apparently, she turned his head. He acted like a small boy. He did not even announcement that they had abandoned the boulevard over the Seine and fell into 1 of the side streets, the old narrow streets.
Suddenly she stopped at 1 of the gates.
— Yeah, I'm home. Goodbye!
She called a stunt of laughter, in which she did not sound a note of farewell at all, sounded a full sea of jealousy. She spins like a five-bar frigo – and runs away.
He went after her. She ran up the stairs, inactive laughing. He chased her through respective floors—and he got her the minute she opened the door of her apartment. They both rushed into the interior, the door slamming behind them, both suffocating, and she kept laughing. He grabbed her in half, wanting to kiss her, but she ran off like a pussy and ran off to the another side of the table, dancing around him and not getting caught.
They were in the area of a tiny, typical student room, with modest furnishings and unattractive view through the window. However, he was adorned with many surviving flowers and many sketches of painting.
She yet got tired, stopped at the window frame, and leaned on it, she grabbed her heart, breathing heavily. He quietly approached her, wanting to take her in his arms.
She stopped him from moving her hand, a friendly but totally firm one.
— No, no, that's enough. I don't have time.
He's stopped off track.
— In 3 quarters, my train leaves, I must hurry.
Not until he followed her here, not without clear opposition from her side he entered the maiden area to let her slip distant from his nose. So he resumed the attack. But she defended herself effectively. She kept laughing and pushing him distant from herself, going around the room, putting things out of the closet into the suitcase, taking the various small things to her from all over the room.
— I'm going home for a vacation.
Packing didn't last long. She threw her coat over her shoulder and took the suitcase in her hand.
- We're leaving.
He couldn't do it. He had to follow orders.
They're out. She locked the room, the key was taken by a housewife who lived on the same floor, and a fewer words with her. She was ready in 2 minutes.
— If you want, you can walk me to the station.
He brought her a suitcase down. In the taxi they got into, he tried to get short on his own, but he got spanked. He couldn't realize her. She clearly put an end to flirting, not known, for moral or conventional reasons, and yet lured him to herself with the full power of her sensuality, and she did so consciously. She was just a Jew.
They came to the station. He wanted to aid her buy a ticket, but it turned out he already had a ticket.
Suddenly she ripped the suitcase out of his hand.
— My name is Rose Levy, I live in Rouffy – she pushed him to say goodbye and disappeared behind the door leading to the platform. He couldn't pursuit her due to the fact that he didn't have a ticket.
When the platform was yet on the platform, she was gone. He ran from the wagon to the wagon, looking, but holed up in a mouse hole. He couldn't find it.
She killed him in the head! Apparently, she invited him over. How about going? He wanted it so bad.
Ultimately, he was never in Alsace: after all, Alsace is worth seeing. Especially erstwhile she lives in Alsace, specified a hot Alsace. It's not forever. It's been more than a fewer days since he was there.
Then why not go?
He directed his steps towards suspended timetable sheets to find out about the nearest train.
II
Rouffach, or Ruffach, is simply a tiny town, drowning in a shade of spready linden and spouting an full wine bed.
Rotmaster Davidovich sat in a small, small-town hotel and looked out the window on a narrow, poorly paved, but strictly, through old, several-story houses built a street, and on a roofed, chick-filled stork nest, he ate breakfast. The owner of the hotel, a native Frenchman, kept busy with him and entertained him with conversation.
The Rotmaster asked him if the pharmacist Levy lives here – and if he knows him.
- Ah, of course, of course! Mr. Levy is simply a large patriot! He's the most outstanding figure in our city. Both he and his father were celebrated for their patriotic activity back in German times. How about a philatelist?
— No, of course not.
- You don't? I was certain you were a philatelist.
— Is it Mr. Levy in German times who was a French patriot?
- Yes, and how else! The full national-French life of our town and our surroundings was concentrated in the pharmacy “Under the 3 Balls”. I didn't see it myself due to the fact that I didn't settle here until after the war, but Mr. Levy's heroism is known for hearing.
— That's heroic?
— Oh, yeah! Of course! Of course! Mr. Levy is simply a hero! During the war – he was inactive rather young at the time – he escaped from the German army, to which he was taken as a reserve officer, snuck through the Wogezy to the French side, enlisted as a volunteer to the French army and initially fought for a time on the front, and then worked somewhere in the staff or in any ministry, as an expert on Alsack affairs. He even has an Order of the Legion of Honor.
The captain smiled under his mustache. His heroism seemed questionable to him, but he admitted that for a Jew, he was rather peculiar. Before the war, she did not meet in Poznań Jews who served the Polish origin as well as this French matter.
— I didn't know that the man I'm asking was specified a large thing.
— But not enough. What I said about him, it makes him a local, a local. But Mr. Levy is simply a world-class achievement. His name is known all over the world.
The captain raised his head with surprise. The hotelkeeper quieted down for a while, trying to rise the attention of the listener. After that, he solemnly announced, hoping for a immense impression:
“ Mr Levy has been president of the universal philatelic union for respective years!
The captain smiled again.
— Is that right?
Really!
The hotel owner fell on his favourite subject, due to the fact that he had a chair and sat close the skipper. He almost didn't take it by the button.
— You have no thought how many philatelists come to him! Like Muslims to Mecca. In any periods, it almost doesn't take a day for individual to halt by. Sometimes he has all the reunions. But most of the time, they come alone, they spend 1 or 2 days, they talk about their stamps, and they leave. Our city has become so accustomed to these abroad pilgrimages that it is no longer curious in them.
— How and where do they come from?
- Sir! From all over the planet – and from Russia, and from Germany, and from America, and from England, and from Egypt, and from Turkey, and from Australia, and from where you will. And naturally from us from France. You can't imagine how many people come from Paris. And what people! celebrated – deputies, professors, writers, ministers. Everyone is curious in philatelic and considers our Mr. Levy to be their leader.
Funny guy, that hotel guy. But possibly the alien kind must be Levy. If so many people come here to meet him, it's most likely not for philatelics, but to see a akin original. Just to see it as a tourist attraction. Human weirdness is unparalleled, and there are thousands of freaks who are crazy about postage stamps. But they surely do not include ministers and professors.
Breakfast was over. The captain has risen.
— Well, how you go to that pharmacy.
A service hotelkeeper showed him the way through the window. The pharmacy was in a side street. She occupied the ground level of an old and picturesque home to which he clung the orchard, fenced from the street covered with a wine bed wall. Above the entrance to the pharmacy there were 3 spheres, which were her emblem, and the inscription on the sign said it had existed for 3 centuries.
On the level you can see the owners, due to the fact that the minute the rot master was other the cottage, in 1 of the windows the heel flashed his face of the beautiful Rose.
And she besides noticed him because, joyfully, she leaned out the window and called him with her hand.
— Oh, Monsieur Davidovich! Venez-- y![2]
He hesitated for a while. He came here without reasoning that he didn't actually make a plan, what's he gonna do here? The possible of visiting her at her home amazed him almost. He came after her to her hometown and now pays a visit to her parent home – it's almost a competition.[3]Oh, my God! In the end, he was not so infatuated that he wanted to enter a akin path.
But he couldn't get distant with it. Couldn't do it. You should have moved on for now.
She gave him her hand to enter through the pharmacy. He pressed the handle and went inside.
The stairwell occupied the mediate of the cabin. The glazed door led to a pharmacy, where the depths of the unlikable, young Jew, with a watered-out face and gushy eyes. To the left were the oak doors opaque.
The stairs were old-fashioned and steep. The brushed, thick, oak handrail resembled old townhouses in the Old Town territory of Warsaw. The brass spider hanging from the ceiling and the old stiffs on the walls visible in the dark gave this entrance an intimate and homely character.
The stairs led on the first level consecutive into the spacious hall, which played the function of surviving room. There's been plenty of time and time here for generations. The magnificent, fluffy east carpet suppressed the sound of the steps. Set around furniture – heavy, old, oak, resembling the Gdańsk kind – indicated that it was made at the age of seventeen. Old paintings on the walls, tin bowls and horses on the wardrobes, further enhanced the impression of the old German townhouse. Only 2 five-arm brass candlesticks[4] and a large wardrobe, full of parchment books about Hebrew inscriptions on the ridges, gave this home a judaic mark.
Under the window, at the table, covered with a tiny lace tablecloth, sat 3 people and drank tea. They were Rose, playing the function of homemaker, and 2 men.
They were both young enough. There was a vague resemblance between them. Both were highly elegant, slim, smiling, both were brown, both had small, sharp mustaches, shaded lips red and full. 1 of them had hair brushed smoothly, the another formed over the forehead a small, with a slight curly, upwardly combed mane, giving its figure a confederate mark. The latter, strangely enough, had a stamp in his lapel of the Italian fascist party.
The rose was smiling and cheerful, she began the presentation.
— This is my Paris trophy I was telling you about. Mr. David Davidovich, the captain of the Polish cavalry. perceive carefully: the captain of the Polish cavalry. And this is Mr Giacomo Bruno, a well-known financier from Milan, and Mr Armand Brun, a Parisian writer and deputy.
The Rot master was blinded by amazement. He was an urgent reader of newspapers, so he was already acquainted with both names. He could not realize what he could bring under 1 roof and put in exemplary agreement with himself this passionate Parisian publicist – a extremist for whom Mussolini and Fascist Italy were the very incarnation of hateful forces – and this fascist banker whose lending operations pulled the Italian government out of financial troubles so many times?
— Are you philatelists? – he asked.
They thought it was a gag and laughed.
— For today, of course. How could it be otherwise in this house? Are you besides a philatelist?
— I'm telling you openly, no.
The fascist smiled light.
- You're being honest.
So that's due to the fact that they're not honest. What, then, is the origin of the crucial gathering in this house? possibly a political goal? But what?
— You have a cavalry momentum – you took a Parisian. You're fucking straight!
It was a small ironic. seemingly he was not an admirer of the army at all – and cavalry in particular.
Italy was more grumpy and calm – this note of irony did not appeal to him. He quirked to the captain.— I'm very pleased to meet you. We fascists are Italian nationalists, but we do not head having knowing and sympathy for another nations. My sympathy for Poland is understood, due to the fact that Polish blood flows in my veins. But, as you can see, even with a sworn enemy like Mr. Brun, an Italian fascist can keep a friendly relationship.
The Frenchman laughed loudly. Italian words made him laughter hard.
— But the diplomat, Giacomo, turned to Rose. He never changes speech and pose.
— This is the right way — Rose stood up for him. “ Apart from never being turned into blood.
Italy was clearly dissatisfied. He covered up the words of the Frenchman and Rose with urgent support of the conversation.
— Which country is he from?
— What do you mean, "which one"? Are there two?
— No – Russian, Austrian and Prussian.
- Oh, yes! So I come from the Austrian occupation.
— What city, if you must know?
The captain almost betrayed himself that he was from a village, not a town. But he bit his tongue in time. He remembered that Rose considered him a Jew. He was tired of playing with the hebrew – but any instinct taught him not to uncover his face yet.
— I come from... from Kolomya – mentioned the city closest to his hometown. He did not say the untruth: of all the cities in which he lived, he stayed the longest in Kolomya, attending junior advanced for 9 years.
From Kolomya? – the French interested. - It seems close Strizh?
- What city?
“ Strizh, possibly I am not saying well. I will never learn to read Polish names well. It's S-t-r-y-j.
- Uncle! Yeah, it's not far from us. How do you know anything about Uncle?
— My father came from there – the writer abruptly broke off and made a face dullly witty. Look at me, Miss Rose, as this Giacomo is staring at me! Ha... ha... – I can't! I'm gonna laugh.
It made Rose laugh.
— That's besides careful, Mr. Giacomo. We're all our own.
And there was a abrupt flashback on the captain. Jews!
They're both from Stryja, most likely even related. Even the name is actually the same.
This discovery impressed him greatly. That many Jews have come to prominent positions in European politics, he knew that. But he did not anticipate them to be able with specified hypocrisy to proceed to be Jews and above the head of the nations with whom they seemingly assimilated, to keep silent relations with another Jews, enemies of their adopted homeland.
He felt outrage and disgust. He was sick and tired of both his function as a successful hebrew and the full house, and of Miss Rose herself.
The conversation's gone. Giacomo was angry with his relative. Armand sat silently and brazenly smiling, as if a judaic urchin who made a successful playwright, and the captain spun around in a chair like on heels, dissatisfied and embarrassed. She was saving Miss Rose's position, trying to start a conversation about the beauty of the mountain scope of Vosges.
The Rot master was about to get up and start saying goodbye erstwhile abruptly the door opened and a fresh guest entered the room.
It was an old man with a haughty attitude, a grey hair, a grey eyebrows, and a grey thick mustache. The catchy item of his face was his eyes, black, penetrating, and wise. How insightful and wise! The Rot master didn't remember always seeing eyes with specified an different expression in his life...
Both young people rose hastily and respectfully, like students before their professor. Even Rose, who was usually hulked and confident, moved at the table like a troupe.
— Daddy – Mr. Davidovich.
There was something majestic about his attitude. Something that gave him the trait of power accustomed to listening. He embraced the captain with a short, focused look and reached out to him.
- I'm Levy.
The young officer reflexively relaxed and clicked his heels – as with a man much higher than himself he charged.
— Rotmaster Davidovich.
III
— Sit down.
The captain sat down obediently. His eyes were obstinate and researchful. Under this eye, the captain was anxious in the chair. He thought he was seeing through and through.
Have you been in the Polish army long?
— Since the war.
— You didn't have any problems with your name?
- No, no, no. At the very least, a small pick-up from my friends.
— Who was your father?
— He had land.
- Earth property? “The old man’s eyes drank even stronger, as if he wanted to get the full fact out of him.
He seemed to be dealing with a hypnotist. With any instinct, he concentrated all the willpower in himself to avoid giving in to the power of that sight.
— Did he have land?
– Yes – mostly forests.
The Jew's eyes softened.
- Was he trading in a tree?
- Yeah.
— Did he have a sawmill?
- Yeah.
— And the young master, the boy of the heir, went to the cavalry? His voice was mocked.
- Yeah.
There's been a silence.
Do you have any siblings?
— I have a sister.
- Married?
- No, Miss.
What was your father’s name?
- David. David Davidovich.
— Hm. Yes. All right.
The energetic movement marked the end of the conversation and arose.
— You're having dinner at our place. 5 o'clock.
This was said in specified a strong speech that the rot master did not even come to mind.
— Yes, sir.
This invitation marked the conclusion of the morning visit. The Rot master has rapidly said good-bye and left.
When he got on the street, he felt he was pissed off.
Who was that man? Hypnotist? You mean a hypnotist! And what a unusual house. Why do you have Jews coming down here? due to the fact that all those philatelists from all over the planet that the hotelist told him about, they're most likely Jewish!
An different character! possibly he's the secret leader of the judaic people. "The Prince of Exile" reminded him of specified a unusual word that somewhere and once, he did not know when, he heard. How about the student on the train? - Oh, yeah, definitely from that student. He felt that he had come across a thread of any unusual secrets of the judaic world. That he had stumbled upon an alien center of organized judaic life.
He wanted to run distant from all the crap that grows. He'd love to take the next train away, but he was in the way of that dinner. He couldn't yet run distant like a frightened small boy. He must have pulled out correctly.
Angry at himself for all this journey to Rouffach, at the same time dissatisfied, anxious and tired, he went behind the city in a beautiful, field-filled flowering and decorated with picturesque, step-by-step roadside chapels, and submountain valleys, writhing among vineyards.
When he returned to the hotel after a fewer hours, he found a policeman waiting for him.
— I came to see your passport.
— My passport? – the captain was surprised. He never happened to be solicited by the police for a passport in France.
He had a passport on him. He took it out and showed it.
— Is there a French visa here? – The policeman was mistrustful and rough; he was going through the postcard book. - Oh, there it is! Um... there's a visa. "He had this look on his face as if the presence of a visa was a suspicious circumstance.
— I gotta take it.
- What do you mean? Why?
- Why, it's my thing. He kept the paper in his pocket.
— I want to leave tonight! I request a passport.
— You'll leave tomorrow. I'll get it back to you next day morning.
He saluted and went.
The captain was furious. He was determined immediately after dinner to say goodbye and take the evening train to Paris. And yes – he will not even be able to uncover his intention to leave at dinner, due to the fact that what will make it look like he will stay in the Rouffs until morning? The more so, Rose knowing from above that he wants to leave, he might someway have his intention to thwart him. No way. We'll gotta go again next day morning and then talk about leaving. The best thing to say is that he got a dispatch, calling for a return – and that's why he leaves so suddenly. He will then send a postcard with greetings – and the cognition will be over.
He cleared himself of the dust after a stroll and went to Levi.
Dinner's over in an unexpectedly good mood. Old Levy changed his tone, became a cultured and well-mannered old gentleman who considers it an work to entertain guests with a conversation to make their stay at his home pleasant. The conversation took place close themes that had nothing to do with what was said this morning. Levy spoke about his war experiences and his many and interesting journeys – this was again said about theatre and fresh prime ministers in Paris, and about the painting of Rosa.
Rose was sitting next to the captain. She was dressed in a bright, flaccid, transparent dress, creating a sleet with its shape, full arms, its cleavage and its slender neck. She was so beautiful that he forgot she was dealing with a Jew, she seemed sweet French again. He was almost glad he wasn't leaving yet, and that he would see her again tomorrow. As she bowed her head to him with a gentle light lit by constant smiles of the profile and tiny curls on her neck, sneaking out of the large knot of black hair, he felt the urge to kiss her goodbye tomorrow. And he felt that if he wanted to, it wouldn't be besides difficult.
On getting up from dinner, the captain announced his visit next day morning.
— But come early! I'm going to take you on a journey to the mountains. We'd sneak out all day!
He had specified a large desire for specified an escapade, but as he decided to end this dangerous acquaintance and leave the next morning, he tried not to give in to it.
— With large pleasure," he said with restraint. He didn't want to be on this journey right now, since the emergency announcement next day and he'll do it in 1 swing.
He stayed inactive a while with Levi – and returned home in a much improved mood. Even Levy didn't seem as mysterious as he was this morning.
He slept large – and broke off early, awakened by the bird's chirp and by the bright morning sun.
He was standing at the window, brushing his cheeks with shaving soap and instinctively looking like a visible alley across the space, erstwhile he abruptly stopped like a wreck. He saw 2 acquainted characters.
These were 2 known to him by sight of Polish diplomats.
He didn't believe his eyes. He put the brush down and leaned out the window to see better.
Yeah, it was definitely them. Mr Samuel Kleinerman of Geneva, prominent and widely known typical of the Polish government at the League of Nations[5] – and Mr Jarosław Juneki, the secretary of the Embassy in Paris, a young man and not yet celebrated in politics, but known to the captain of private relations.
What could they be doing here? They go from the station side, – that's clear. And they go clearly towards the pharmacy “Under the 3 Balls”.
The captain was very agitated. But this is treason! Yesterday, he could not neglect to feel disgust erstwhile he said that 2 Jews, representatives of 2 countries, not very friendly: France and Italy, and behind the backs of their governments, most likely communicated confidentially. But he was even more outraged erstwhile he saw that specified communication was active and that the citizens of his own homeland, in addition to holding authoritative positions of government representatives.
No wonder he saw Kleinerman here. It was a sleazy Jew. He heard about him in social circles in Warsaw quite a few remarks, expressed with snack and dislike. It was a alternatively dark figure. Prior to the war, a vet in Galician town made a fast career during the war as a associate of various commissions to combat an epidemic among animals. In this capacity, he was sent by the governments of central states to Turkey, where he was to organize a fight against epidemics among horses and cattle on the Mesopotamian, Palestinian and Caucasian front. It is not known if he has fought the plagues there – it is known that during his stay in those pages he has developed an incomprehensible wide-ranging relation in the political circles of Turkish, Bulgarian, Arab, Armenian and others – and in various political activities he has played the function of a origin there.[6].
When Poland's independency was established, he volunteered in Warsaw, offering his services to the Polish government. He was accepted with open arms as a ‘famous national’, known for his prominent function in global politics. As an expert on matters of the mediate East, he was sent on various political missions to the Balkans and to Asian countries, until yet he settled permanently in the Polish delegation to the League of Nations, where he gained fresh publicity with pacifism and the "wideness of global views", which allowed him never to stick to the state's selfish interests, which he represented and generously offered these interests on the altar of "the universal good of the global community". At the same time, he was besides celebrated for his firmness in combating Catholic and nationalist aspirations, and in peculiar in combating the influences of the Vatican and the Fascist regulation of Italy, and late besides of Nazi Germany.
That specified a figure, whose faithfulness to Poland and the usefulness of Polish politics was sometimes called into question in Warsaw even in the circles of the least infected with anti-Semitism, could mate with abroad Jews – the rot master understood easily. But what could Mr. Jarosław June girls be doing here?
He would never have imagined that there were any more knots that link him to the Jews.
He knew a lot about Mr. June. It just happened that he'd been proceeding about him for months.
Their closest neighbor, at the same time a friend and his sister's closest friend, Miss Marysia Romanowicza, was late engaged to this June.
They met at the last carnival in Lviv, where a young diplomat spent his vacation. They got engaged 2 months after they made friends. During their parting periods, they sighed of yearning for each another and filled themselves with letters.
But in large secrecy, they whispered to each another in the courts and in their neighborhoods that things only seemed so romantic. actual and hot love only happened on the 1 hand: from Miss Mary's side. She didn't want to hear anything that would alienate her fiancé and look at him like a rainbow. But he wasn't in love.
Apparently, he was a common dowry hunter. He fell in love not so much with the Marys, but with the beautiful, well-developed and unindebted property she was heiress. It was said to be a cynic and a light-spirit, with as small as possible to make a good husband.
In fulfilling his sister's request, who was anxious about the future of her friend, the captain asked for a young diplomat in Warsaw and tried to learn as much details as possible. The opinions gathered were mostly unflattering. It was clear from them that Mr Jarosław is simply a very talented diplomat and has a guaranteed career, but that as a man, and especially a candidate for the husband of Marysi, a girl raised in the traditions of the Polish court, he was rather a negative type. In the conviction of the captain and to his genuine concern (because Miss Mary liked her very much), her future matrimony life seemed very unhappy.
But at least 1 of the fears that his household and Miss Romanovich's household were afraid about seemed to dispel any doubts. It was suspected that Mr. June, despite the noble ringing on the finger, was Jewish. The Rotmaster, on the another hand, stated that June was not a hebrew but a francist[7]. He had never heard of the francists before, but while collecting news about June, he learned rather a lot about them.
So he learned that it was a judaic sect, which under the leadership of its leader, James Frank, accepted baptism in the 18th century and penetrated into the Polish society, in which it immediately began to play a crucial role.
A large part of the francists received Polish noble coats from the Republic of Poland. any of them took the names of the old Polish nobles, while others created artificial names, as Jews frequently do today. Among another things, a group of them took names for months: Styczyński, Luteccy, March, Kwieciński, Majewski... The noble household of June besides came from there.
These Juneers, as shortly as they were accepted as nobles, bought themselves land and became earthlings. Mr Jarosław's ancestors fought in the Kościuszko Uprising and in the Napoleonic Wars, conspired during the period of the Congressional Kingdom in the Masonry, participated in the November uprising (called as it is known with a large share of francists), wandered on emigration, put their hand as members of the “red” parties to trigger the January uprising, and yet took a surviving part in the Polish intellectual life of the most fresh day. respective June men fought in Piłsudski's legions, and 1 of them fell under Kostyuchnówka.
Today, only 1 branch of their household was sitting on a farm – Mr Jarosław was born in the city, where his father and grandpa worked as a lawyer. But they retained all the great-panic forms and noble pride. In racial terms, they retained a distinct judaic type, for since the baptism of the June family, he utilized to search wives from among the Frankist nobility and thus the judaic blood in the veins of that household was never diluted. But, of course, by thought, it did not come to anyone that they could, confessing almost 200 Catholic religion for years and so much time belonging to the Polish nobility, hold judaic feelings.
Thus, seeing Mr. Jarosław Juneski, going along with the overt hebrew Kleinerman to specified a unusual judaic individual as the old Levy, the captain Davidovich was simply ignorant.
He wanted – even for Miss Romanowicz's sake – to learn a small bit about the intent of coming to Rouffach in June. So he accelerated his toilet so that he could go to Levi as shortly as possible.
He was almost ready erstwhile individual knocked on the door of his room.
- Please.
A young boy came in, possibly 15. The Rot master struck his wrinkled eyebrow and face contemptible and reluctant.
— My father sent me here. He asked me to ask you if you wanted breakfast?
Your father owns the hotel?
- Yeah. Should I bring it or not?
- Ho... ho... lover, humor, I see, it's not good for you! Where did they teach you to be polite?
— What's that? Am I rude? So, bring it or not?
Some weirdo, the rot master thought. But he did not want to play teacher. So he limited himself to ordering breakfast.
The boy jumped down – brought a tray with breakfast, put it on the table carelessly so that all the dishes buzzed and left. The Rot master shruged his shoulders – and rushed to eat.
Twenty minutes later he reached for the pharmacy's doorknob “Under the 3 Balls”.
Yesterday's plan to leave without hesitation was abandoned. He decided to stay in the Rouffy for as long as the secret of coming June explains.
He energetically opened the door and made a decision towards the stairs. But he did not even make 1 step erstwhile the side doors opened with a buzz, leading to the pharmacy's premises – and fell outside of them already known to him by the Jews, a pharmacist's individual – and blocked his way.
“Miss Rose asks you to the garden, Miss Rose asks you to the garden — gibberish excited. He had this look on his face as if he was saying, "I'm not going to let you go down the stairs," I think over my dead body.
The Rotator went back in no time. She was pushing her face in front of her nose, swelling with thick lips, spitting spit erstwhile she spoke, and with her furry, eyeglassed, piercing him with stubbornness, and powerless, like the eyes of a disgusting reptile.
— The garden? With pleasure.
The hebrew continued to push him like he wanted to push him out the door.
— In the garden you enter from the street, here, here, I'll take you.
He nervously showed him the way, pulling him by the half. The unattached pharmacies disassembled close his curly, obese figure, forming like 2 big, white wings. The Rot master was faring distant from him, in disgust. They went behind the corner of the house. There was a gate in the wall leading to the garden.
The garden was small, but nice, full of flowers, all the leaves writhing over the walls a vine bed. There was a table and a bench in the middle.
- Here, sit down.
The hebrew forced the Rotmaster almost by force to remainder on the bench—and left him alone.
“Miss Rose asks me to the garden, but she doesn’t wait for me here?
He thought about it.
So he doesn't want him to come upstairs. She threw him aside so he wouldn't disturb her. Or rather, he did not disturb them.
Yeah, that's right. They ordered this disgusting individual from the pharmacy to wait for him and not let him go upstairs. They mean that Levy's conschachts with Polish diplomats should not become a known rot master.
The final illusions of Kleinerman and June arrived. Since Levy is simply a prominent political figure, having relations with specified people as Bruno and Brun, it is possible that the Polish government has any reason to communicate with him and that both diplomats came here by command of their power.
But this zeal to keep their arrival secret indicated otherwise. That they came here for any conschachts of their own freeness and having a taste of betrayal to Poland.
Rose didn't keep me waiting besides long. She fell in a breathed and affluent, covered the embarrassment with artificially cheerful chatter.
— Oh, you're so imperceptible! You promised to come early – we were going to the mountains! Is it good to be so late?
Pretending that he had not noticed anything, he explained himself with freedom and gratuitously.
— Imagine I just overslept. It's specified a wonderful mountain air that I slept like dead. True, we haven't precisely set up an hour. And the terms "early" and "late" are different in different environments.
You're right. Well, the remainder of the bad luck didn't happen. We've lost the best train – but we'll get to the next train.
You got it! They're the ones who want to send him distant from Rouffach for the day.
— But since we lost the best train, how about a journey by tomorrow? I promise to get up early!
— erstwhile I went out with a full bunch of friends! It's not right to back out.
He tried to get out of the way and stay in the Rouffs, but he saw they wouldn't let him contact June anyway. He was certain that he would learn nothing more about this man but the fact that he was coming to Rouffach. He could have left as he intended yesterday. But it was worth another day. The extension of the stay by these twenty-four hours does not play a function for him – and an all-day journey to the mountains can give an chance to talk to the full temperament of the maiden.
She ran upstairs to change and take a fewer things.
When they left, she led him forward to the city, where she entered respective houses 1 by 1 to bring the announced tour participants. He had to wait downstairs each time, which according to the watch lasted rather a long time – hence the conclusion that her friends were not as ready for this journey as Rose claimed and that it was only essential to strengthen them in their intention to participate in this trip.
Eventually, a package of 3 virgins and 2 young people, students of the University of Strasbourg, who had just taken a holiday, gathered in addition to Rose and the captain. We barely made it to the train.
The Rotmaster felt uncomfortable in this company. It was amused and snarled in specified a childish way, yet so provincially common as to irritate him. He felt that Rosa was bored among her expected friends.
They got off on 1 of the small foothills and moved a lively step toward the hilly side of the railway. It was only erstwhile they found themselves on a steep mountain climbing the forest path, and erstwhile the march stretched out a little, that the captain and Rosa were so far distant from the remainder of the company that they could freely talk without being heard by them.
“ You are bored among my friends! You'd alternatively walk with me alone – what?
Sure.
— And I'd like it too. Well, it's not a good thought for a long trip. But next day we'll sneak out of the hills of Rouffach. Okay?
- Okay.
She embraced him with a furry look in which there was besides the fondness of a kitten and the sensual assurance of a female who believes that a man had already become her slave. She has never seemed to the rot master as distinct a hebrew as she is now, yet she has passed through the thrill of desire.
She opened her mouth with a smile.
— You're unlucky. You've come behind the girl – and here you inactive come across a full crowd of people. It's those 2 Brunys yesterday, they're my friends again. You'd drown those girls in a spoon of water, wouldn't you?
— I confess that I am bored of this excess of fresh friends. That's not what I expected erstwhile I went to Rouffach on your invitation.
- Patience, patience - you will be rewarded. next day we'll go to the mountains alone.
— I'm amazed you didn't take the Bruns on a journey today.
— erstwhile they left.
He pretended to be jealous of them. - Isn't that right? I thought erstwhile I was sitting in your backyard, I heard voices upstairs.
— It's not them.
— Not them?
She laughed.
- Oh, I see my beautiful warlord jealous! No, my lord, no. Not them. Bruny both left yesterday. There are others out there.
— Who is this again?
She's serious.
— any boring people. There are inactive people coming to my father.
- Philatelists?
- Philatelists.
— What country is it from this time?
Something flashed in her eyes, like anxiety and alertness. She hesitated and said briefly:
— I don't know.
He refused to wake her up, so he changed the subject of the conversation.
— Okay, then. If you promise to go alone tomorrow, present and in the company of humor, I will not lose it. And I must express your gratitude for taking me to a corner so beautiful.
— It's nice, isn't it?
They were walking in a picturesque way rising on the mountainside. The vast forested valley lay at their feet, and lofty mountain ridges piled above their head.
- Very nice. It reminds me of the mountains close my hometown, the East Carpathians. Only our mountains are natural and wild, and these are mild and cheerful.
“ Have you always walked many mountains?
— Not much, but I did. Sometimes I even went out with my sister.
- You have a sister?
Her voice softened as if she enjoyed the message.
— What's your sister's name?
- Rose.
- Rose? Your sister has the same name as me!
The warm speech with which she spoke about his sister was not good to him. He instinctively changed the subject of the conversation and asked:
— What's this mountain called?
— Grand Ballon D’Alsace.
— What's this Grand Ballon called in Alsack?
— Grosser Belchen.
They kept walking the full bunch again.
They saw a beautiful lake, known in French as lac du Grand Ballon, sleeping in a forest boiler, and in the German Alsatian Belchensee gig, and began climbing the main mountain massif Grand Ballon. They rested a while in the shepherd's hut and ate milk and mountain cheese. They left a forest region below themselves and reached the stone ridge of the mountain, the difference from the Carpathian peaks that was deprived of the corroder. They stood on the highest boulder, looking around for a beautiful alsace panorama, reaching from the lofty mountains to the Rhine Valley and then to the another mountains, already lying in Germany: the grey streak of Schwarzwald.
But they couldn't talk anymore.
The intent of the tour was achieved, you had to return. They had dinner at the shelter and went down.
It's easier to come down from the mountains than to go up. They almost ran along the paths. French women, tour companions, took hands and began singing. The rose repeated to them from ignorance. After a fewer hours, they found themselves back on any railway station.
By the time they got to Rouffach, it was rather late.
— Don't walk me. No, no, I'll go alone.
He insisted on escorting her distant due to the fact that he hoped that he could go upstairs with her and that he would come across June.
- No! No! You have no thought what a tiny town means. They'll think we're engaged. Goodbye, sir.
She did not mean bad languages erstwhile she went on a journey with him and erstwhile she promised a fresh journey for tomorrow. And now she's so sensitive!
He understood well that that's what she wanted him not to meet June. That is why he decided to surprise her and visit her unannounced tonight.
He said goodbye without protests and went to the hotel. He changed his clothes, cleaned up, and after half an hr he went to the Levy pharmacy. It was 9 o'clock. For a tiny town, this is not the time to visit. He didn't even have anything to explain this visit, he'd just come and go.
The gathering with June will make any different complications, due to the fact that although the June girls most likely didn't hear anything about it, they will look suspiciously at it and support it with questions. It's hard even to plan a conversation, due to the fact that you can't foretell how things will work out. But it will be as God willing. The street where the pharmacy stood was already completely dark. There wasn't a single passerby on it. besides in the pharmacy the light was out, only a single window was lit on the floor.
Some unusual sound came to the captain's ears. It's like a squealing groan or a failure.
He stopped and started listening. Although he was not nervous, this strange, vibrating human voice in the air caused him an indeterminate, incomprehensible anxiety.
He couldn't tell where that voice came from. At times he thought it was not 1 voice, but 2 or more – and that they were attacking him from all sides, like singing any invisible mar.
After a long time, he only recognized that the groans were coming out from outside a wall adjacent to the pharmacy. He was afraid about whether something had happened to individual there, whether individual was sick or hurt. He wanted to enter the pharmacy and draw the household's attention to these groans, but on second thought he decided to find out for himself what it was. The wall was tiny and covered with a bed, – it was not difficult, to climb on it and see what was going on behind it.
He saw if anyone could see him. It was quiet and empty, the lonely alley was already tucked in at night. He shook the vines of the bed with his hands and carefully climbed the wall.
Behind the wall was a tiny garden, all shaded with dense fruit trees. It was not connected to the garden where the captain sat in the morning, but was a separate corner, enclosed and surrounded by walls everywhere. He even thought there was no way in.
There was a streak of light on the ground from the window. But the window itself was invisible, for it blocked the walls of the house. The moaning was heard much more clearly now. Apparently, they were coming out of the window.
The Rot master has already heard thoroughly that it is not 1 voice that groans, but several. They were male voices.
Curious and anxious about the event that took place in the mysterious window, the captain carefully slid from the wall into the garden and pushed his head out of the blinding window of the home wall. The goosebrush protected him from being spotted from there.
In the open, brightly lit window of the 3 men, dressed in long, white-black shrouds, covering their heads and arms, nodded rhythmically, raising their hands with an expression of worship upwards and releasing monotonous, rhythmical, singing groans and sighs. It was the apothecary Levy and 2 Polish diplomats who conducted judaic prayers.
The captain withdrew quietly and undetected returned to the street through the wall.
He didn't want to go to visit anymore. He went back to the hotel.
When he found himself in his room, he saw on the table undetected previously his passport, brought to him by a policeman at noon.
Learn more about the scenes of the assassination, in conventional or electronic version:
[1] platform – a paper authorising the holder to be on the station platform, but not to be entitled to travel by rail. The intent of these tickets was to get funds by the railway manager to keep the station facilities and prevent homeless people from utilizing them.
[2] Venez— y! Venez— y!— (fr.) Come on! Come on!
[3] Competition – formerly seeking the hand of a female [vocal of PWN]
[4] synagogue, synagogue – formerly synagogue.
[5] League of Nations – an global organization established in 1920 to prevent wars, global cooperation and to supply peace. The activity ended with the outbreak of planet War II. The agendas and assets of the League of Nations are now held by the UN
[6] origin – formerly intermediary [encyclopedia PWN]
[7] Frankists – judaic spiritual group, founded in the mid-18th century by J. Frank. This movement was a spiritual movement of a sect character. He was characterized by messianism and esoterism, based on the cabalistic book Zohar. A large part of the francists were baptized and converted to Catholicism in the 19th century [encyclopedia PWN, Wikipedia]
