The Trap. Ludovic Bruckstein

a strong, muscular, taciturn woman, who always let her husband put forth his opinions without interrupting him. Behind them, puffing and panting, came lawyer and notary public Zeleznay. Short, plump, he leaned on a hunting cane, which, when thrust in the earth, also served as a seat. He was accompanied by his wife, a garrulous, anxious woman, who was always worried about her husband’s health, fearful lest he be struck by a bout of apoplexy. At every step she begged him to stop and take a breather. They lived next door to the Blumenthals; a plank fence separated their back yards. The two couples were attended by Pritko, who obligingly ran back and forth between them.

      This Pritko – nobody knew his first name, and if Pritko was his first name, then nobody knew his surname – was a kind of town idiot, who accompanied excursionists of every walk in life, from the highest to the lowest. He was a bachelor, always rather unwashed, rather longhaired, rather unshaven. He used to talk about big subjects, such as the creation of the world, whether God existed, what would happen at the end of the world. It was said that he had once studied chemistry at university, but because of an unrequited love, he had ended up in the Sighet Mental Hospital, which after a time had discharged him with the assessment ‘placid, not a danger to society.’ At home, rather than a cat or a dog, he kept two snakes: a large python in a chest with lots of air holes, and a smaller, non-venomous snake from the Solovan Mountains.

      Ernst hid among the trees at the edge of the clearing where the excursionists sat down on the soft grass. Mrs Zeleznay, the notary public’s wife, laid a white tablecloth on the grass, on which the picnickers placed loaves of bread, cheeses, pastrami and the other good things they had brought from home. Pritko lit a fire, over which he placed a griddle for the trout he had skilfully caught with his bare hands in the clear stream in the valley they had crossed.

      Judge Rudolf Daoben continued the conversation he had begun:

      ‘Whatever you might say, colleague Zeleznay, there has never been such an avalanche of laws. They’re not allowed to hold public office, to work as functionaries in town or village halls. Not even the most rundown village in the back of beyond is allowed to have a Jewish secretary or night watchman now. And then, a few days later, yet another new law: professionals – physicians, lawyers, engineers, dentists – are no longer allowed to practice their professions. Then the yellow star law, then the law restricting the food they are allowed to consume, the elegantly named ‘law to limit the supply of foodstuffs to the Jews.’ Then the law forbidding the Jews to keep shops or restaurants, to own factories, workshops or farms. We cannot keep pace with all these laws and regulations, and quite simply, we cannot see any point to them. But now, all these laws have in effect been abolished by the imprisonment of all the Jews in a ghetto. We have examined the text of these laws and have come to the conclusion that in the final instance they remove the right to work from this category of citizen. And removal of the right to work means nothing less than removal of the right to life –’

      ‘Oh, it’s hardly that serious,’ muttered notary public Zeleznay. ‘They have tidy sums of money, which they’ve accumulated over the years.’

      ‘What does money matter in the face of eternity?’ said Pritko, unexpectedly.

      ‘Some have money, others don’t,’ continued the judge. ‘The majority have nothing. They lived hand to mouth. I know them from cases brought before the court. And those that do have money will spend it all sooner or later, if they are not able to work.’

      ‘It’s their own fault,’ said the notary public, eating a chunk of bread topped by a thick slice of toasted bacon fat. ‘They were too stuck-up, showing off their wealth.’

      Mrs Zelaznay, the notary public’s wife, interjected: ‘Their women walked around dolled up with jewellery and dresses ordered from Vienna and Paris. Just the other Saturday, one of Blumenthal’s daughters-in-law went for a stroll with her husband wearing a cherry-red Chinese silk dress, with flounces and a gilt belt. She looked frightful!’

      ‘Not at all. I think it suited her,’ said Mrs Daoben. ‘But anyway, I assure you, Mrs Zeleznay, she doesn’t wear dresses from Vienna or Paris, but has them made by the same seamstress I go to. My seamstress is not at all expensive, I can give you her address, if you like.’

      ‘But they’re as stubborn as mules,’ said the notary public. ‘Before they were taken to the ghetto, I spoke to my good neighbour Mr Blumenthal and offered to buy his house and garden, since they were going to be confiscated anyway, and who knows who will get his hands on them. He adamantly refused!’

      ‘And when he returned, you would have given him back the property?’

      ‘When he returned? How could he return? Is that why they were removed from their houses, so that they could return? Don’t be so naïve, Dr Daoben. They will be taken somewhere… How should I know where? Maybe to Palestine… ’

      ‘Everything that happens is because of the stars!’ interrupted Pritko. ‘The position of the stars dictates the Jews’ being taken to the ghetto, our excursion, the catching and eating of trout, Blumenthal’s daughter-in-law’s Chinese silk dress, everything, everything. Nothing is taken away from anybody, nothing is given to anybody. Nobody deserves anything and nobody is guilty of anything… ’

      The others laughed. Judge Daoben gave his rather ironic assent: ‘Bravo, Pritko! Perhaps you are right… Ultimately I really do think you are right. It seems to me that the stars now say that it is time for us to go home.’

      The women cleared away the meal and the company set off down the valley, towards the town.

      Ernst emerged from the bushes, devastated. His parents, brothers, sisters-in-law, the whole family was shut up in the ghetto, while he roamed free in the mountains. And that neighbour of theirs, the honourable notary public Mr Zeleznay… so jovial, always smiling whenever he spoke to his father, and there he was, attempting to lay hands on the family home. The Blumenthal family could be packed off to Palestine or the devil knows where, as far as he was concerned. These were the neighbours they had lived next to for so many years? What kind of world was this? How had things deteriorated like this in the space of just a few months? Ernst could find no answer. Could the answer be in the stars, as that madman Pritko said?