Ten Years Gone полностью

Birnbaum's face broke into a wide smile. He had a doughy face spattered with freckles across his cheeks and nose. His eyes were light brown and made larger by horn-rimmed glasses. Seeing him smile, I noticed he had nice teeth. I almost felt bad for nearly knocking some of them out.

But I did not regret hitting him, because he did have it coming. He had no right to take that picture, and I did not enjoy the publicity his article had garnered me. I liked my privacy and solitude. I felt uncomfortable being called a hero. There were so many others, alive and dead, who deserved the honor more than I did, but never got it.

"She chased me with a broom," he reminisced. "I know you saw some hard fighting against the Egyptians and Jordanians, Adam, but that nurse could have taken on an entire battalion with that broom. What a woman! Ah, here it is."

The morose-faced proprietor of Café Tamar came to the table and set a bowl of soup before Shmuel. Steam whispered up from the bowl in delicate gray curls. The earthy smell of cooked beans wafted about the table.

"Want some bean soup?" the proprietor asked me, in a tone that suggested he couldn't care less what my answer would be.

I told him I didn't. He left without a word or change of facial expression.

"You sure about the soup?" Birnbaum asked. "It's really quite good."

"I'm sure."

"Suit yourself." He spooned some soup into his mouth, swallowed, and sighed contentedly. "Six days a week, about this hour, I come here and have this soup. Even when it's hot enough outside to fry eggs on the hood of a car. It's not much, I grant you, but in these times it's a luxury. Better than going hungry."

"I'm sure it is."

Birnbaum turned somber. "You would know, wouldn't you? You were there, in Auschwitz, and you survived. If you ever feel like telling your story, Adam, I'll be happy to write it."

"Don't hold your breath, Shmuel."

"Why not? I know it was hard, but that's all the more reason to talk about it. It can bring relief, unburden the soul."

"Let it go, Shmuel," I said, and something in my tone made him draw back in his chair. He raised a hand, palm out.

"All right. All right. So tell me, why have you come to see me?"

"I need you to find some information for me."

"What sort of information?"

I told him I was looking for a ship that had set sail from Greece in early March 1939, carrying Jewish immigrants. I did not know the port of departure, how many passengers were on board, and whether it had ever reached the shores of Israel.

"I want to talk to one of the people who were in charge of that voyage. If there's a passenger list, I want it, too."

Birnbaum listened intently, making no noise apart from a low slurping sound each time his lips met the spoon. Then he asked, "And why do you need this information?"

"For a case."

"Thank you, Adam, but I sort of figured that out for myself. Despite your best efforts, I did not suffer brain damage when you clobbered me. What sort of case? What are you hunting for?"

He had taken on a cunning, predatory look. Like a hound, he had caught the scent of a story in the air.

"I can't go into that."

"Oh, come on."

"Sorry, but that's how it is."

Birnbaum set down his spoon. "So why should I help you? I'm paid to write stories, remember? Not to dig up information for private detectives. And you're giving me bupkes."

"You owe me."

His eyebrows shot up. "Owe you? What for?"

"For printing that story about me, that's what for."

"Sorry, Adam, but that debt has long been settled. By my jaw. With interest."

"You'd be doing a good deed."

He snorted. Apparently, that was all the response my appeal to his charity was worthy of.

"I could always hit you again, you know," I told him, irritated.

He chuckled and wagged his finger at me. "Not you, Adam. Not you. That sort of thing would go against your nature, wouldn't it? Come on, you gotta give me something if you want my help."

I mulled it over. I could try someone else, but no one I knew had the contacts Birnbaum had. His position in Davar afforded him direct contact with government officials and politicians. Everyone wanted to be on his good side and would be keen on doing him a favor in the hope that he might one day reciprocate. He could get this information for me faster than anyone else.

"I tell you what, Shmuel, I'll make you a deal. You do this for me, and when I finish with her case, I'll ask my client to talk to you. If she agrees, you'll have an exclusive."

His eyes gleamed. "So it's a she, is it? That makes the mystery even more intriguing. How do I know she'll speak to me? Or that the story is worth my time?"

"You won't. Not until the case is done. But if everything works out, it might be a big story, Shmuel." I didn't let my face show what I thought of the chances of this case ever working out. "Very big."

Those two final words seemed to hang in the air between us like bait. Birnbaum grimaced at my obvious ploy. He did not appreciate being played.