We were both silent for a few moments. Outside, a truck horn bellowed and the sound of voices raised in argument filtered into the room.
At length she said, “What now?”
“Now,” I said, “we’ll go together to the police station. You’ll tell them everything, Tamara.”
“I don’t think Father would like that.”
“You’re not under his thumb. Not anymore.”
Soon, I thought, you’ll be under someone else’s. A prison warden and guards. But that might be better for you. Because they will likely not be as harsh as your father.
She appeared to mull it over. Then she gave a tiny nod. “All right. But can you wait a moment? I’d like to get something from upstairs.”
I hesitated, fearing that she was planning on doing something rash—slashing her wrists, perhaps. But for some reason, I didn’t think she had suicide on her mind. “Of course. I’ll wait for you here.”
She rose and left the room, climbed the stairs, and was back within a minute. It took me a second to tell what she’d gotten. Then I saw Nathan’s ring glittering on her finger.
“I’m ready now,” she said. “We can go.”
We were halfway to the door when it opened. On the threshold stood Mr. Granot. Upon seeing me, his face contorted in anger, his natural ruddiness turning a deeper red.
“You again! How dare you enter my home, talk to my daughter without my permission?” Then it dawned on him that we were on our way out. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“To the police station, Mr. Granot.”
“Whatever for?”
“Tamara is going to turn herself in, make a full confession.”
“Confession? What—” Then it struck him, not just the crime in question, but the motive, too, and his role in supplying it. His gray eyes got bigger and some of the color drained from his cheeks. “No,” he said in a hoarse voice. “No.”
I took Tamara gently by the elbow and steered her toward the door. “Let’s go.”
Mr. Granot blocked the doorway.
“Step aside,” I said.
“Tamara,” he pleaded, “you don’t have to do this. We can work something out.”
She didn’t deign to look at him. She simply continued walking as though he wasn’t even there. And something undefinable compelled him to step aside and let her through.
“Tamara,” he said, using the authoritative tone that had always worked to bend her will to his, “I’m talking to you.”
She did not respond, nor did she turn around. She was already on the sidewalk when Mr. Granot gripped my forearm.
“Lapid, don’t do this. I’ll pay you not to. I have money.”
I grabbed his hand and unhooked his fingers from my arm. “Use your money to get your daughter a good lawyer.”
Then I stepped past him, joined Tamara on the street, and together we walked away.
39
That night, a little after nine o’clock, I finished telling Greta the whole story. We were sitting alone in the café, all the other customers having gone home to their beds. Two cups stood on the table next to a solitary brass pot. The cups were empty. The pot was about a quarter full of coffee.
Greta had not spoken throughout my narration. Now she took a long breath and turned to stare through the front window at Allenby Street beyond.
“So tragic,” she said.
“Yes.”
“True happiness was within their reach and they allowed it to slip through their fingers, he by tumbling into bed with his former lover, she by committing murder.” She shook her head. “I feel sorry for them both.”
“I do too.”
She turned her head to look at me. “How did you know she was the one? Even after you learned about the pictures, you couldn’t be sure.”
“You’re right, I couldn’t. But it made certain things fit that wouldn’t have otherwise.”
“What things?”
I poured the remainder of the coffee into my cup and took a long sip, swirling the liquid around my mouth before swallowing it. It was lukewarm but still good.
“The first thing was Elkin’s reaction when he saw Nathan lying dead in the street. It wasn’t disgust or horror, but surprise. At first, when I believed Gregor and Dov had killed Nathan, I assumed they’d simply not had time to inform Elkin of what they’d done. That wasn’t it, of course. Elkin was surprised to see Nathan dead because he knew that Gregor and Dov had yet to find him. In fact, they had no idea where he might be. Elkin himself had been on the lookout for Nathan, and now here the man was, dead. Killed, Elkin knew, by someone other than Gregor and Dov.
“The second thing—which has bothered me since the night I came upon Nathan’s body—was why he had received no help between the time he was stabbed and the moment he collapsed on Allenby Street. He could’ve made a racket, knocked on doors, shouted for help. It seemed odd that no one heard him, that no one called the police. I believe I know the reason that didn’t happen.”
“Which is?”
“I think that Nathan did not cry for help, did not knock on any door. Hell, he might have come across other people out on the street, but if so, he didn’t enlist their help. He simply kept on hobbling forward until he dropped from lack of blood.”
“But why would he do that? It makes no sense. Did he think his injuries were not serious?”
“On the contrary. He probably knew he was dying.”
“Then why?”
“You need to remember that Nathan had lost his entire family in Europe. His mother, his brother, and God knows who else. He had a friend in Misha, but that’s not quite the same thing as a family, is it?”
Greta, sensing that I had posed a rhetorical question, waited silently for me to continue.
“In Nathan’s eyes, and in his heart, Tamara Granot was more than a love interest, more than a potential wife. She signified the rebirth of his family. With her he would one day have children, a home, a meaningful future. She was not as exciting as Iris Rosenfeld, perhaps, not as passionate, but she was everything he had longed for over the past few years. She was what he needed, what he dreamed about, even if he hadn’t known it himself until he met her. Now you see why he didn’t cry for help?”
Greta shook her head slowly. “No, I’m afraid I don’t.”
But I did. I had seen that sort of thing before. Many times. In Auschwitz. Men who had given up, in whom the will to live had been extinguished. Driven to despair by loneliness, by the knowledge that their children, wives, brothers and sisters and parents were all dead, these men simply guttered out. Sometimes it took weeks from the moment the light died in their eyes to the instant they perished altogether. There was a temptation in that, I knew, an alluring prospect of escape and peace. I had felt its tug during my time in Auschwitz, and, on occasion, since then as well.
“When she sank that knife into his body,” I said, “Tamara did not merely injure Nathan. She murdered his hopes, his dreams, the things that kept him going, his reasons for living. Now he had no one. And what made it even worse was that this time it wasn’t a group of evil strangers who had taken everything from him. This time, it was the one person he viewed as his family—a future one, but still his family. She was the one who had stabbed him with a knife, who had sought to kill him. He didn’t call for help because he didn’t want to live anymore.”
Neither of us said a word for several moments. Outside it had begun to drizzle. Tiny rivulets of rain slithered down the face of the front windowpane like the tears that had coursed down Tamara Granot’s cheeks.
“So much death,” Greta said, almost too faintly to hear. “I can’t bear the thought of it.” Which was probably why she chose to change the subject. “What was Inspector Leibowitz’s reaction when he received Tamara’s confession?”