Mendelssohn is on the Roof by Jiří Weil Read Free Book Online Page B

trouble. They wouldn’t care in the least if he briefly borrowed one of their Jews. Just a small friendly favour – when it was over he’d mention it to the head.
    ‘Very well’ – Wancke ended the conversation – ‘I’ll send Rottenführer Schulze II to do it. He’ll bring you your Jew. You’ll take him to the roof and then you can let him go. He can get back himself without an escort.’
    He called Schulze II in from the adjacent room.
    ‘Go to the Jewish Community. You know, to the main building in Josefovska Street. Tell them to give you a learned Jew and then bring him back here to the barracks. But step on it, step on it …’
    Schulze II clicked his heels and went out quickly.
     
    People were standing around outside the main building of the Jewish Community on Josefovska Street. They huddled in little knots, whispering together in confusion. There were many little knots going all the way to the Jewish Town Hall. The knots unravelled and then formed again. People ran around from person to person, from someone who thought he knew some bit of alarming news to another who thought he knew some bit of comforting news. Thus they alternated between hope and despair, passing along news to one another. The news travelled back and forth, and sometimes good news collided with terrible news.
    Transports.
    An ordinary word, one usually associated with furniture moving. But now it had a different meaning. The news, premature disclosure of which had occasioned the shooting of two people, had become a reality. It circulated amongthe little knots of people. It expanded, and then contracted. ‘It won’t be so bad, after all. We’ll all be together in a work camp.’ And then it grabbed the throat and clutched the heart like tidings of death and destruction.
    The little knots disintegrated when Rottenführer Schulze II appeared. People ran off in all directions to avoid coming into his view. Here a uniform meant a herald of death.
    Schulze II marched along the street as if it were completely empty. He looked neither to the right nor to the left and headed straight for the door. But the whole building knew he was coming; they had seen him from the windows. The whole complex bureaucratic machinery suddenly came to a standstill. The rooms were overflowing with clerks. Before his arrival they had all been furiously working, writing things down, crossing things out, pulling out file folders and then putting them back again, making in-house telephone calls, running from one floor to another. On the top floor they ran across to the adjoining building along a passageway, where other people just as hard-working and just as meticulous sat in offices and did the same unnecessary, mindless work.
    Richard Reisinger was on duty at the guardhouse. Formerly only the old and infirm had been appointed to guard duty. It wasn’t very taxing to look out of the little window, answer questions, take in the mail, lock up the building and give out the keys. But it turned out to be a painful and difficult job. For the guard was the first person that the new masters, uniformed or not, met up with. He had to endure their slaps and hits, whiplashes, kicks and insults. Because those coming into the building uninvited and unannounced first had to show their power. They had to create fear at the very start, right at the door, so that itwould circulate through the whole building, so that everyone sitting in the offices giving out orders, sorting the mail, dictating notes, copying facts on to file cards, would recognise that a representative of power was arriving, one who could make decisions affecting life and death. If such visitors were to encounter an old and infirm person at the guardhouse, it would not be gratifying enough to beat him up – he’d pass out right away. And then they’d get even more enraged. They might actually burst into someone’s office to continue their amusement – that was the dangerous possibility. That’s why strong