Vienna Secrets

18

RHEINHARDT HALTED IN ORDER to admire the architectural peculiarities of the Turkish synagogue. Its doors were housed beneath onion-shaped arches, and its minimal decoration consisted of repeated abstract patterns. Towering above the synagogue’s terraces was a minaret with a domed roof and cusped windows. It could have easily been mistaken for a mosque had it not been for the Hebrew characters embossed over the entrance.

A noisy caravan of carts and barrows, heavily laden with crates, rattled up Zirkusgasse.

This won’t do, thought Rheinhardt. I have fish to catch.

He remembered the conversation that he had had with Liebermann about Die Forelle and, smiling, hummed a few bars of Schubert’s jaunty melody. He cut across the center of Leopoldstadt, turned right into Taborstrasse, and eventually arrived at Tandelmarktgasse.

The buildings were tall and unadorned, with raked roofs and stained plaster. They resembled oversize alpine huts. All the ground-floor apartments had been converted into shops. Rheinhardt passed two men standing in a doorway. Some of their goods had been put out on the pavement: a dented samovar, a rusty accordion, a basket containing a tea service, and a few silver candlesticks. One of the men raised his hat and called out a price for the samovar. Rheinhardt declined and hurried on.

Before reaching the market square-and only just behind the police station-Rheinhardt came to a stall selling savories. A brazier was burning, and the air smelled of cooking oil and herbs. On seeing Rheinhardt, the stallholder, a man with a thin mustache and pointed rodent features, extended his hand.

“Ah, my dear friend, good to see you.” His voice was accented and slightly nasal. “How’s life?”

As Rheinhardt shook Moni Teitel’s hand, he let go of the coins he had been holding in his palm. Teitel dropped the inducement into his apron pocket and removed a golden-brown potato latke from the brazier.

“Try this… and help yourself to the pickled cucumber. They’re very sweet.”

“Thank you,” said Rheinhardt.

“Family well?”

“Thriving.”

“Then why such a long face? You should be a happy man. Health is a blessing, make no mistake.”

Rheinhardt bit into the latke and looked off toward the market. “So… any news?”

“There’s always news, my friend.”

“Of interest to me?”

“Possibly.” Teitel prodded the coals in the brazier with a poker. “Since that business on the Prater a few months back-you know, the boy who was killed at the rally-there’ve been rumors. There’s this zaddik-”

“This what?” Rheinhardt cut in.

“Zaddik, a preacher among the Hasidim. He’s called Barash, and they say he knew what was going to happen. They say he knew the priest was going to die.”

“How?”

“Perhaps God told him. They’re fanatics, these people.”

A woman wearing a spotted scarf and carrying a small child stopped to buy some oatcakes and some pastry pillows filled with curd cheese. While she was haggling, Rheinhardt found a shop window and pretended to be interested in the display. When the woman had gone, he returned to the stall.

“Where does he live, this Barash?”

“Just round the corner.” Teitel jerked his thumb toward the market. “In the old ghetto buildings.”

“Where did you hear this?”

“My brother-in-law. He was in Zucker’s-do you know Zucker’s? One of Barash’s people was in there. They were talking about the priest, and this boy pipes up that Barash had known-weeks before it happened.”

“Anything else?”

Teitel shook his head. Rheinhardt dropped another two kronen into Teitel’s hand and said, “For the latke.”

“You’re very generous,” said Teitel. Then, raising his voice, he added, “Have you heard the one about the priest and the rabbi?”

Rheinhardt shook his head.

“A priest and a rabbi are on a train. The priest turns to the rabbi and says, ‘Is it still a requirement of your faith to not eat pork?’ And the rabbi replies, ‘Yes, that’s right.’ So the priest then says, ‘Have you ever eaten pork?’ And the rabbi says, ‘On one occasion I did succumb to temptation, and, yes, I did eat pork.’ The priest goes back to reading his book. A while later the rabbi speaks again. ‘Father,’ he says, ‘is it still a requirement of your faith to remain celibate?’ And the priest replies, ‘Yes, very much so.’ The rabbi then asks him, ‘Father, have you ever succumbed to temptation?’ And the priest replies, ‘Yes, Rabbi, on one occasion I was weak, and I succumbed.’ The rabbi nods, pauses for a moment, and then says, ‘It’s a lot better than pork, isn’t it?’”

Rheinhardt dug another krone out of his vest pocket and flicked it over the pickle jars. Its flashing trajectory was interrupted by Teitel’s fingers as he snatched it out of the air.

“You’re a gentleman, sir,” said Teitel.

“And you are a scoundrel,” said Rheinhardt, laughing to himself as he turned away.