Raisins and Almonds

Sixteen

'I challenge you,' said the young man, 'to tell me the whole of the Torah while standing on one leg,' 'That which is hateful to you, do not do unto your neighbours,' snapped Rabbi Hillel. 'All the rest is commentary. So and learn!'

Leo Rosten, The Joys of Yiddish

It was a terrible argument.

The Abrahams were forbidden celebration by the requirement to sit shivah for seven days to mourn the death of their brother and uncle Chaim. Equally Chaim had killed himself only after he had tried to kill Simon, and Simon was alive and Chaim was dead. A suicide was denied ordinary burial and mourning; the body was in any case being held by the police for post-mortem and a subsequent inquest. Then again and on the fourth hand, suicides were not condemned as murderers if the balance of their mind was disturbed, and there was no doubt that Chaim's mind had been disturbed, but also there was no doubt that he had murdered poor Shimeon. Confusion was becoming endemic.

Rabbi Elijah was recovering in hospital from his heart attack, and was not available for comment. Phryne finally extracted herself from the argument and went to telephone the gentle and wise Rabbi Cohen, to whom she explained the whole situation in confidence.

'Tell them that the law requires them to mourn a life lost, but it also requires them to rejoice in a life saved,' said the old man's voice, a little shocked and a little amused.

'A party?' suggested Phryne.

'Just a small one,' he agreed.

So it was a small luncheon party. Simon was sitting next to his mother, who would not let him out of her sight. He trusted that this would wear off soon, because Phryne was taking him out to dinner and he had hopes. The only sign of his ordeal was a small cut on his throat which had required only two stitches, some scraped rings around his wrists, and a certain hollowness about the eyes, seen in those who have looked into the face of death and been saved by a miracle. Occasionally he could still feel the cold breath of the blade as it sliced past his face, and the strength of Phryne's body as she bore him across the floor.

He was glad that he had not seen Chaim die. He was still puzzled about Chaim. No one had ever hated Simon before. Uncle Chaim? It seemed impossible.

There were potato pancakes and a tasty boiled fish. There were little pies made of spinach and a multitude of interesting sandwiches. There was also excellent coffee in the big pot and endless supplies of tea.

The students had occupied the sofa and were eating as though they did not expect to see a good meal until next year. Julia Abrahams was passing them more plates, and wondering if there was any real prospect of filling them up.

Mrs Katz, almost extinguished under her favourite hat, was delighted to be in such respected company. Her husband Max sat next to her. She slapped his wrist and told him, in a loud whisper, not to blow on his tea. Mrs Grossman, in an equally flowered hat, was enjoying the luxury of eating something which she had not cooked (though she privately considered that her gefillte fish was better). Detective Inspector Robinson, with a commendation from the Chief still echoing pleasantly in his ears, was eating little biscuits and thinking how uncommonly well Miss Fisher looked, considering the immense risk she had taken, diving across the floor under a madman's knife. Phryne had put on a violet dress with a black chiffon overlay: the colours of Victorian half-mourning. Jack Robinson wondered if she had done it on purpose and decided that she had. She was a woman who savoured nuances.

'Well,' sighed Benjamin Abrahams, 'it is all over. It is not well over, and I will never forgive myself for not noticing how Chaim felt—for not noticing Chaim at all.'

'To think of Chaim hating us so much for all those years,' sighed Julia. 'I should have seen. But he never touched me, never spoke to me, Bennie, so how could I know?'

'Ai-ai-ai? said Mrs Katz. 'Such a sad thing.'

'But now it is over,' continued Benjamin Abrahams. 'Chaim alav ha-sholom did it all.'

'No,' said Phryne. 'Chaim didn't. Perhaps you weren't there, but I asked him about the other things. I asked him about Mrs Katz's robbery, the burglary of my house, the man who tried to steal my purse. No, said Chaim, all I had to do was wait until Miss Lee was hanged—-the bastard!—and I could buy the book. No, Chaim didn't do those things. And it is not proper to load him with all available sins just because he is dead. But the person who did them is in this room.'

'Who?' demanded Robinson.

'I shall ascertain. Mr Abrahams, if I may?' He made a gesture for her to continue. She walked to the middle of the room. 'I have three questions.' She held up three fingers. 'One. Mrs Katz, do you recognize any of the young men who tied you to a chair and robbed your house?'

'I don't like to say,' said Mrs Katz. Her husband said, 'You tell them, if you know' Mrs Katz looked up from under the brim of the black hat and said, 'Maybe he looks a little like one of them. But I really didn't see them to know again. One of them had a scarf over his face.'

'Yossi,' said Phryne, 'you really wanted your formula back, didn't you?'

Yossi hung his head. 'I didn't mean to hurt you,' he muttered to Mrs Katz. 'I didn't know that he'd left you tied up. When I found out I went back, but Miss Williams was already there.'

'You broke my plate,' said Mrs Katz sadly. 'And I can't get no other. If you had asked me, I would have told you that I didn't have your paper.'

'What would the rabbi say about this situation?' asked Phryne.

'He would say that Yossi should serve Mrs Katz in some way, to repair as far as possible the damage he has caused, the fear and the injury,' said David Kaplan.

'Of course, we could just lock him up,' said Robinson.

Phryne tsked. 'Hush, Jack, you are a spoil sport! I'll find your major offender for you, can't you let a few little fish through the net? Yossi has a great future as a chemist. He and Mr Abrahams are going into business and I expect them to be very successful.'

'Well, since there was no official complaint made ...' temporized the Detective Inspector, and allowed Phryne to sit him down again. She perched on the arm of the chair.

'I could make you a pair of shoes,' said Yossi suddenly. He knelt down and took up one of Mrs Katz's feet. 'I'm a good shoemaker. These look tight and they hurt, nu?'

'I can't tell you how much,' said Mrs Katz. 'All day on my feet, cooking, washing. Agony,' she declared. And good shoes so expensive.'

'I can make you a pair, you won't know you're wearing shoes,' said Yossi, and grinned. 'Like air on the feet.'

Mrs Katz clipped him lightly across the ear and said, 'See that they are.'

'Very nice,' approved Phryne. 'Will you make me shoes as well, or wasn't it you who climbed into my room and handled all my underwear?'

'Me,' said Yossi. 'A pair of shoes, you'll want to stand all day to feel how nice they are.'

'Good, and I don't need to clip your ears, either. Do I get a second pair for the attempted theft of my handbag?'

'Not me,' said Yossi.

'Who was your co-offender?' asked Phryne gently.

Yossi's mouth, which had softened into a smile, shut like a trap.

'You won't say, eh?' He shook his head, implacable. Phryne had a certain implacability herself. 'There are other ways of finding out. Second question, and the ladies present should pardon my lack of modesty. Yossi, Kaplans and Cohen. Think about your fellows. Are you sure that they are all circumcised?'

The young men blushed. They avoided each other's eyes. There were some mutterings among the Kaplan brothers and after comparing notes, David Kaplan said, 'We are all five of us circumcised. That's because we're Jews,' he added, with elephantine irony.

'Are you sure?' asked Phryne.

'You had three questions,' commented Benjamin Abrahams. 'What is the third?'

'That I have to ask in private. I am going into the other room, and each of the five should come in one at a time. Make sure that they do not communicate the question to each other when they come out, Jack. Yossi, we start with you,' and she took him out of the drawing room and into the parlour. The door closed with a quiet slap.

After a couple of minutes, a very puzzled Yossi emerged and David Kaplan took his place. He was followed by an equally bewildered Solly, his brother Abe, and Isaac Cohen. He came out after two minutes, and Phryne Fisher had him in a polite armlock.

'You were infiltrated, Yossi,' she told the young man. 'You thought that he was an undercover Zionist, willing to give the money to the cause. But there are undercover men and undercover men, and this one meant you no good. You were intending to kill Yossi after you got the formula, weren't you?' she asked, relinquishing her hold to Jack Robinson, who swung Isaac round to face the company. 'Who are you working for, I wonder? I'd say you were political rather than greedy, so you're more likely to be Russian than American. Going to the lengths of having you circumcised sounds like Russian lunatic thoroughness. That must have stung. You nearly got away with it,' she told him. 'You cleaned your shoes before I could find any of Mrs Katz's china in your soles. You had a getaway car arranged when you failed to snatch my handbag. I wonder if, when we search you, we'll find your other passport? You can't have come here just because of Yossi. You must have been here all along.'

'Yes, yes,' snarled Isaac Cohen. 'My name is Ivan Vassiliov. Of course I was here. Four years I have been here. I was sent to infiltrate the Jews in Melbourne, the young counterrevolutionaries, the Zionist conspiracy to overthrow the revolution. I learned the language, I learned the customs, I read Torah. I was a very good Jew. When I found out about the compound, I received my instructions. I had orders to kill the inventor when I had his invention. The revolution needs it.'

'You were going to kill me?' asked Yossi, bewildered. 'You were going to kill me?'

'Of course. With you dead and the formula in my hands, who was to say where it came from?' asked Isaac reasonably. 'I tell you, the New Russia requires it.'

'But, Isaac,' he protested, and Ivan Vassiliov turned in the policeman's grasp and spat in his face.

'Filthy Jew,' he snarled.

'That's quite enough of that,' said Robinson. 'Come along. Immigration'll want you after you get out of jail,' he said to the young man. 'They'll deport you smartish and I hope the Russians have joy of you. Nasty piece of work,' said Robinson, and shoved the struggling ex-Cohen from the room.

Yossi was led away to wash his face. Julia Abrahams said helplessly, 'But he seemed so nice.'

'Zeeser Gottenyu!' Mrs Grossman fanned herself. 'Sweet God, a Russian! In my house, yet!'

Mr Abrahams went to the cupboard, poured busily, and passed around small glasses of strong sherry. Everyone sipped and gradually started to recover from the shock. The voices rose to fever pitch then began to die down.

That's the last revelation I have for today,' said Phryne. 'Not a nice one but it is the last. Everyone else in this room is definitely who they say they are.'

She looked around. The students were clumped together. The three Kaplans had the advantage of knowing each other from birth. Yossi was well known. Everyone was now known, except this strange woman who had seduced Simon and solved the mysteries.

There was something that everyone was dying to know but no one liked to ask.

Mrs Katz took another biscuit and nudged her husband, who shrugged. Julia Abrahams looked at her husband, but he was staring into his glass. The students shifted and muttered but did not speak. Then Simon rose from his chair and came to sit next to Phryne.

'I have to know,' he said. His parents looked fondly at him. Simon could be relied on to ask the question on everyone's lips. Such a good boy.

'Phryne darling,' said Simon, forgetting that his mother was listening. Tell us. Please. We have to know.' 'What?'

Simon took Phryne's hand in both his own. 'How did you know that the spy was Isaac Cohen, I mean, Ivan Vassiliov?'

'A spy can learn a language,' said Phryne. 'A spy can study Torah, be circumcised, and can acquire a protective veneer of shared history or shared study. But one thing cannot be faked. You can authenticate an Englishman by asking him to sing Humpy Dumpty or Old King Cole or asking him about the Old Woman Tossed Up in a Blanket. You can verily a Pole by asking him to say a little prayer, which every Polish child learns at its mother's knee. Orphaned, lost, brought up by wolves, every child born in Poland knows his Our Father.' 'So?' asked Julia Abrahams.

'So I just took them into the next room, and asked them to sing me Raisins and Almonds,' said Phryne.