The City of Shadows. Michael Russell

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СКАЧАТЬ out behind the two girls. At the kerb was a black car he hadn’t noticed before. A man and a woman sat in the front. The man got out and opened the back door. One of the girls held up the miniature loaf. ‘It’s a present from Mr Moiselle.’ She spoke in German. The girls clambered on to the back seat. As the man shut the rear door and turned to get back into the car he suddenly looked up at Stefan. And Stefan recognised him now, from the Shelbourne the previous night; it was Adolf Mahr. The director of the National Museum wasn’t sure, but he knew he recognised this man from somewhere. He nodded politely, clearly registering the bruises on Stefan’s face but too well-mannered to show it. ‘A beautiful morning,’ he said.

      ‘It’s not so bad,’ replied Stefan. Mahr smiled, amused by the Irish understatement that meant, yes, it really was a beautiful morning. As the car drove away, Stefan saw there were several other people watching it head up past St Patrick’s, apparently glad to see it go. He wasn’t the only one who thought a Jewish baker’s an odd place for the leader of the Nazi Party in Ireland to shop.

      He walked on, taking the hot bagel from its bag and eating it as he had eaten as a child. Crossing the street he looked back, waiting for a horse and cart to pass. A fair-haired man stopped quite abruptly to take out a packet of Senior Service. He hunched over his hands, lighting the cigarette. There was something strange. Maybe it was the abruptness; there couldn’t be that much urgency about a cigarette, even if you were gasping for one. And the man stood out somehow. Hanging about in Clanbrassil Street, among people whose most natural activity was hanging about in Clanbrassil Street, he looked like he should have been sitting in a pew in St Patrick’s Cathedral. And Stefan knew he had seen him before. The man drew on his cigarette and crossed the road, with a studied casualness that was in peculiar contrast to the abruptness of only seconds earlier. Stefan smiled. They were the actions of a man who was following someone, and wasn’t very good at it.

      ‘How’s the bagel?’

      He turned round. ‘Good.’ He hadn’t seen Hannah approaching.

      ‘So much better when I was a girl. Mr Moiselle was a baker, not a businessman then.’ She stopped, staring at his face. ‘What happened?’

      ‘I accidentally trod on someone’s toes.’

      ‘Does that mean you’re not going to tell me?’

      ‘Taking one consideration with another –’

      ‘I see, a policeman’s lot –’ She was still puzzled. ‘Has it got something to do with Susan’s disappearance? Is that why you won’t –’

      ‘Yesterday was a strange day. Someone needed to mark his territory.’

      She shrugged off the lack of communication with a smile. If he wasn’t going to tell her any more, she wouldn’t ask. But he saw it had been registered. It wouldn’t be forgotten. For now there were other things to do.

      ‘Shall we have a cup of tea?’

      ‘I can’t. I’ve got to catch the train. I’m going down to Baltinglass.’

      ‘Oh yes, of course, your son.’

      He nodded. He didn’t say any more, but he was glad she remembered.

      ‘I’ve got them here,’ she said, taking a small bundle of letters from her bag. She handed them to him and he put them in his pocket. She watched as if she didn’t want to let them go. He saw how precious they were to her.

      ‘I’ll let you have them straight back. I’m sorry, I do have to go.’

      ‘Are you going to Kingsbridge?’

      ‘Yes.’ He glanced at his watch.

      ‘I’ll walk a little way with you.’

      She was the first to move, touching his arm tentatively as they walked on. It was barely for a second, but it was a gesture of intimacy nonetheless. She was brighter again now, chatting quietly about nothing in particular.

      ‘I’m going to see my aunt. She’s always complaining Ma and Pa never call in. They do, all the time, and she always comes home with them after shul, but she likes to tell us about our airs and graces now that we live across the canal. We moved from Lennox Street when I was sixteen, but she’s not a great one for new topics of conversation. When I get there she’ll complain about me coming too, because I didn’t tell her I was!’

      He smiled, enjoying her voice. They walked on in silence.

      ‘Do you know who Adolf Mahr is?’

      She looked surprised. It was a strange question. ‘Yes.’

      ‘As director of the National Museum or as Nazi Party leader?’

      ‘I don’t suppose the Nazi role’s common knowledge everywhere, but some of us have better reasons to know about these things than others. Irish Jews don’t find it reassuring that all the Germans the government employs have got their own little Nazi Party here. I don’t remember seeing a swastika in Dublin before I left. Yesterday there was one outside the Shelbourne.’

      ‘He was here just now. His car was outside the bakery. There were two girls buying bread. His daughters, presumably. It seemed a bit odd –’

      Hannah laughed.

      ‘Some things are so awful even the most devoted Nazi has to put aside his deepest prejudices. Irish bread. Even the master race can’t stomach it.’

      ‘Bread?’

      ‘He comes every Sunday. It’s the nearest he can find to a Vienna loaf in Dublin. But he can’t go inside the shop because it’s Jewish. So he sends his daughters. Everyone knows. Susan told me in one of her letters. It’s a standing joke. Mostly people laugh about it. I don’t know how funny it is –’

      He felt an uncomfortable sense of connection, not with Hannah, but with Adolf Mahr. It was what his grandmother used to say. ‘They can’t make bread. They don’t know how. For God’s sake, once a week let’s have good bread!’ They walked on without speaking. Her mood had changed.

      ‘Was that just an idle question?’

      ‘What?’

      ‘About Adolf Mahr.’

      He was right; she didn’t miss much.

      ‘The German community had a Christmas party last night, at the Shelbourne. It’s why the Nazi flag was flying. He was there with Keller.’

      ‘That’s nice for Doctor Keller. He’s got a lot of friends.’

      ‘It does seem like it.’

      ‘Is that why you were beaten up?’

      He shrugged. It wasn’t exactly the truth, but he couldn’t deny it.

      ‘I suppose it proves you’re not one of his friends too.’ She stopped. ‘I’m going this way. Have a good day with your son. It’s going to rain though!’ As she turned, smiling, she touched his arm again. He watched her walk away, sensing that she hadn’t wanted to go. Or maybe that was what he wanted to believe, because he didn’t want her to go. It was a long time since he had felt like this, and СКАЧАТЬ