presence.
‘It’s okay.’ Duggan showed him his ID. ‘I’ll handle it.’ He waited until the soldier had moved away and said quietly, ‘
Was machen Sie hier
?’
She looked at him when she heard the German but gave no indicationthat she recognised him. ‘You see?’ she said in English, tightening her arms around herself. ‘Even here. They’re trying to kill us.’
‘Who?’ he asked, confused.
‘The Jews. They won’t even wait until they invade.’ She seemed to see him for the first time, catching his confusion, and pointed to the building beside them. ‘Look at the synagogue.’
Its windows were all gone and its pillars and pediment pockmarked and pitted like it had been bombarded. ‘That’s a synagogue,’ he said, realising how stupid he sounded as soon as he said it. He hadn’t really noticed it when he had arrived, presumed it was a theatre or hall or something.
‘And that’s the rabbi’s house,’ she pointed back behind him, to one of the demolished houses.
‘I thought it was a clergyman,’ he stammered. ‘From the church down the road.’
‘The other house,’ she said, her look removing any doubt that she recognised him. ‘Don’t you know? This is where the Jews live in Dublin.’
He shook his head slightly. He had a vague memory of hearing somebody mention Little Jerusalem in some context or other but he had had no idea where exactly it was. ‘No,’ he admitted. ‘I didn’t know.’
She nodded, accepting his admission but not holding it against him.
‘Do you know him?’ he asked. ‘The rabbi?’
‘No. I don’t know anybody here.’ She paused. ‘I don’t live in this area.’
‘They’ve all survived. Nobody’s been killed.’
‘Yes.’ She gave a tired sigh.
A young warden ran by them towards someone up near the cordon, shouting, ‘Put out that fucking cigarette. D’you want to kill us all?’
‘I’ll drive you home,’ Duggan said.
‘Yes,’ she said.
In the car she remained quiet, lost in her own thoughts. Duggan tried to tread his way back to the city centre, down quiet streets that sparkled with frost in the headlights, where everyone seemed to be sleeping peacefully. But most must have heard the bombs. Are they all awake, lying there waiting for more to fall on this pretence of a peaceful sleeping city? he wondered.
‘They might not have been aiming at the synagogue,’ he said as they came upon Christchurch and he swung down into Dame Street.
‘What do you mean?’ she stirred, unfolding her arms.
‘They might have been aiming at the barracks.’
‘What barracks?’
‘There’s an army barracks just around the corner.’
She shook her head. ‘I know them,’ she said.
He waited for her to elaborate but she didn’t. He slowed at a red traffic light and dug out his cigarette case, flipped it open with one hand and offered it to her as he edged carefully through the junction.
‘I’ll do it.’ She took the case from his hand, extracted two cigarettes and put both in her mouth. He handed her his lighter as he sped up. She lit both and handed one to him.
‘This war,’ she inhaled deeply. ‘This is why they started it. To kill us. They don’t hide it. It’s what they say themselves.’
‘Did you have a bad time in Vienna? Before you left?’
‘No. Not then. We left early, before they took over. My father was very wise, he saw what was coming. My uncles and aunts didn’t believe him.’ She shrugged. ‘They know now. But it’s too late.’
They went up O’Connell Street, past the Metropole and the GPO. Across the road the Gresham Hotel was dark, looking like it was unoccupied. Ringing in the New Year in the warm ballroom there a few hours ago seemed like a distant memory.
‘My uncle Jacob is an obstetrician, a lovely man, so learned, civilised,’ she said. ‘He was one of those they made clean the footpath outside his hospital with a toothbrush. While they laughed and kicked and spat at them.’ She inhaled again
‘It’s okay.’ Duggan showed him his ID. ‘I’ll handle it.’ He waited until the soldier had moved away and said quietly, ‘
Was machen Sie hier
?’
She looked at him when she heard the German but gave no indicationthat she recognised him. ‘You see?’ she said in English, tightening her arms around herself. ‘Even here. They’re trying to kill us.’
‘Who?’ he asked, confused.
‘The Jews. They won’t even wait until they invade.’ She seemed to see him for the first time, catching his confusion, and pointed to the building beside them. ‘Look at the synagogue.’
Its windows were all gone and its pillars and pediment pockmarked and pitted like it had been bombarded. ‘That’s a synagogue,’ he said, realising how stupid he sounded as soon as he said it. He hadn’t really noticed it when he had arrived, presumed it was a theatre or hall or something.
‘And that’s the rabbi’s house,’ she pointed back behind him, to one of the demolished houses.
‘I thought it was a clergyman,’ he stammered. ‘From the church down the road.’
‘The other house,’ she said, her look removing any doubt that she recognised him. ‘Don’t you know? This is where the Jews live in Dublin.’
He shook his head slightly. He had a vague memory of hearing somebody mention Little Jerusalem in some context or other but he had had no idea where exactly it was. ‘No,’ he admitted. ‘I didn’t know.’
She nodded, accepting his admission but not holding it against him.
‘Do you know him?’ he asked. ‘The rabbi?’
‘No. I don’t know anybody here.’ She paused. ‘I don’t live in this area.’
‘They’ve all survived. Nobody’s been killed.’
‘Yes.’ She gave a tired sigh.
A young warden ran by them towards someone up near the cordon, shouting, ‘Put out that fucking cigarette. D’you want to kill us all?’
‘I’ll drive you home,’ Duggan said.
‘Yes,’ she said.
In the car she remained quiet, lost in her own thoughts. Duggan tried to tread his way back to the city centre, down quiet streets that sparkled with frost in the headlights, where everyone seemed to be sleeping peacefully. But most must have heard the bombs. Are they all awake, lying there waiting for more to fall on this pretence of a peaceful sleeping city? he wondered.
‘They might not have been aiming at the synagogue,’ he said as they came upon Christchurch and he swung down into Dame Street.
‘What do you mean?’ she stirred, unfolding her arms.
‘They might have been aiming at the barracks.’
‘What barracks?’
‘There’s an army barracks just around the corner.’
She shook her head. ‘I know them,’ she said.
He waited for her to elaborate but she didn’t. He slowed at a red traffic light and dug out his cigarette case, flipped it open with one hand and offered it to her as he edged carefully through the junction.
‘I’ll do it.’ She took the case from his hand, extracted two cigarettes and put both in her mouth. He handed her his lighter as he sped up. She lit both and handed one to him.
‘This war,’ she inhaled deeply. ‘This is why they started it. To kill us. They don’t hide it. It’s what they say themselves.’
‘Did you have a bad time in Vienna? Before you left?’
‘No. Not then. We left early, before they took over. My father was very wise, he saw what was coming. My uncles and aunts didn’t believe him.’ She shrugged. ‘They know now. But it’s too late.’
They went up O’Connell Street, past the Metropole and the GPO. Across the road the Gresham Hotel was dark, looking like it was unoccupied. Ringing in the New Year in the warm ballroom there a few hours ago seemed like a distant memory.
‘My uncle Jacob is an obstetrician, a lovely man, so learned, civilised,’ she said. ‘He was one of those they made clean the footpath outside his hospital with a toothbrush. While they laughed and kicked and spat at them.’ She inhaled again
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