Tanya glanced at the volumes of Talmud and other holy books lining the bookshelves.

He waved his hand in dismissal at the wall of books. "The Holocaust proved G.o.d doesn't exist. No G.o.d worth His divinity would allow it to happen."

"So why are you here?" She touched his beard. "I don't understand."

"After the war, Elie and I went to the camps. We saw the gas chambers, the crematoria, the skeletal survivors. I realized there was a purpose to my survival. I must prevent another Holocaust."

He raised his hands in surrender. "My life belonged to the dead, to their legacy."

"And to Elie Weiss?"

"To the Jewish people." He showed her the palms of his hands. "I lost my faith, it's true, but I had been raised to be a rabbi, and those were useful skills."

She nodded, smiling sadly. "You're a mole among the fanatics."

"An agent of peace among Jews."

"How would this prevent another Holocaust?"

"A strong Jewish state is a national shelter and deterrence against our enemies. As rabbi of Neturay Karta, the most extreme fundamentalist sect in Israel, I fight internal strife among Jews, which has caused the destruction of every Jewish state in history. It's the biggest risk to our sovereign continuity. No one could do it better-I possess the rabbinical skills, but I am a realist, a secret atheist, a devout nationalist who's willing to do what it takes to control Jewish fanatics from destroying Israel. It's my destiny! Don't you see it?"

Again she saw a biblical prophet, not her Abraham. "And what's our destiny? You and I. To be apart?"

"That's our private tragedy. Yes." He sighed. "Where did you hide all these years?"

"I went where Elie wouldn't find me. Berlin."

Redness spread from his eyebrows upward through his forehead, the sign of anger she remembered from the snowy forests in 1945. "How could you go back? To them?"

"It's easier to hide in ruins."

"Did you find another n.a.z.i lover?"

It felt like a slap in the face. "I gave birth at an American field hospital and helped them interrogate SS captives. Later, I joined Aliyah Bet, then the Mossad."

He sat on the cot, shaking his head. "I'm sorry. I don't have the right to judge you."

She noticed he didn't ask about the child. "I've been happy, considering. I work with terrific, idealistic colleagues. Israel is stronger because of our clandestine work."

"How smart, to hide within the secret service. But Elie found you eventually."

"Took him twenty-one years."

"How?"

"I earned a citation for a successful operation. He saw my name at the prime minister's office. A stroke of bad luck, I guess. But we can turn it into good luck." She watched his expression. "We can defy his manipulations, start all over, together!"

Abraham smiled. "Oh, how I wish we could."

"We're still young enough to start a new family, raise kids together." She held her breath, hoping he would ask about the child she had raised alone.

"How can I leave my people? Without me there will be religious riots, violence-"

"Elie can find another mole."

For a moment, Abraham's eyes brightened up, the sadness chased away by the prospect of handing over this mission to someone else, of starting over as a free man, reunited with the only woman he had ever loved. Tanya saw it in his face, and hope flooded her.

But the moment pa.s.sed, and his sadness returned. "Maybe, one day. But not now. I can't."

"Why?"

"Because my mission needs me here."

"I need you." Her voice choked. "I've needed you for so long."

"I wish we could."

"Better to live a lie?" Her hopes dashed, Tanya was filled with rage. "To deceive your people?" She pointed at the narrow cot. "To deceive your wife? And your son?"

"He doesn't know any different. One day he'll a.s.sume the leaders.h.i.+p-"

"And that makes it kosher?"

"Please, keep it down."

"How can you raise him to lead a bunch of misguided, religious fanatics?" Tanya hit the line of books with an open hand. "You teach him to obey a G.o.d whom you don't believe exists-"

"Shhhh!"

Tanya stormed out of the study. In the foyer she saw his teenage son, who quickly opened the door for her.

"Wait!" Abraham chased after her. "Be reasonable! It's a matter of life and death!"

"It's a sham!" She slapped his black coat.

"You don't understand!"

She tugged at his beard. "A fraud!"

"Tanya!"

"The h.e.l.l with you, Abraham Gerster! I wish you had really died-at least it would have been an honorable death!"

He grabbed her arm. "This is bigger than you and me! Just listen-"

"Listen to a dead man?" Tanya jerked her arm free and hurried down the stairs.

Lemmy stepped back, flat against the wall. The fear in his father's face was inconceivable. No one had ever intimidated Rabbi Gerster, certainly not a woman.

He prodded Lemmy out the door. "Go, accompany her!"

Lemmy hesitated.

"Go on, son!"

Glancing back into the apartment, Lemmy noticed his mother watching from the kitchen door. Temimah Gerster's face was inscrutable, her mouth slightly open. Her hand held the doorpost, the knuckles bleached.

He caught up with Tanya, and they left Meah Shearim through the gate on s.h.i.+vtay Israel Street. She turned north, walking fast, saying nothing. On the right, high rolls of rusted barbed wire marked the strip of no-man's land along the border with Jordan. They pa.s.sed by Mandelbaum Gate-the only crossing between the two parts of Jerusalem. In addition to Israeli and Jordanian posts, it was guarded by the UN Truce Supervision Force, composed of Norwegian and Indian soldiers in blue caps. Tanya stayed close to the buildings, whose walls were pockmarked with shrapnel and bullet holes, left untended since 1948. Lemmy wondered if she knew about the Jordanian sniper's attempt on his father's life the day before.

He stole a quick glance at Tanya, who seemed oblivious to his presence. It was hard to guess her age. Thirty? Forty?

They reached a scarred, one-story house made of uncut stone. The east section was reduced to rubble, and two formerly internal doorways were sealed with bare bricks. Rusty metal shutters covered all the windows, shedding off dry flakes of turquoise paint. A wall of sandbags s.h.i.+elded the front door. The border was a stone-throw away, and he wondered why Tanya lived in such a perilous location.

She unlocked the door. "What's your name?"

"Lemmy," he said. "It's short for Jerusalem."

"How inspiring." Her sudden smile revealed a perfect set of white teeth. "Do you have any siblings?"

"None."

She went inside, leaving the door open, and reappeared with a book. "Here. A reward for your gallantry."

He looked at the cover. The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand. "Thanks, but I don't read such books."

"Why?"

"A good Jew devotes all his time to studying Talmud."

"Does Talmud forbid reading Ayn Rand?"

"Not specifically, but-"

"Aren't we supposed to be a guiding light for the Gentiles?"

He nodded.

"How could Jerusalem Gerster be a guiding light to the Goyim if he's not allowed to become acquainted with their way of life?"

Embarra.s.sed to keep staring at her, Lemmy examined the photo on the back of the book. "Is she a Gentile?"

"Ayn Rand?" Tanya laughed. "Actually, I think she's Jewish."

"Oh. Then I can read it."

"Bring the book back when you're done. I'd like to hear your impressions."

Lemmy stuffed The Fountainhead in the pocket of his black coat and headed back to Meah Shearim.

Elie Weiss sat in his gray Citroen Deux Chevaux, parked up the street from Tanya's house. He drew on his cigarette, watching Abraham's son. The black-garbed youth walked fast, his payos angled back in the wind like a girl's braids. Elie held up a black-and-white photograph that showed Jerusalem Gerster, his hand raised in emphasis of a Talmudic argument, while his study companion buried his face in his hands in mock desperation.

The second photo in Elie's hand was smaller, its edges fraying, yellow with age. He had taken this photo during the war with a camera that had previously hung from the neck of a n.a.z.i officer. Abraham had twisted the leather strap tighter and tighter until the German's tongue grew out of his mouth like a baby eggplant and his black boots stopped twitching. In the photo, Abraham was already wearing the boots, which had fit him perfectly.

Elie held the two photos together, the face of young Abraham in 1945 next to the face of his son in last week's photo, which Elie had taken from a rooftop near Meah Shearim. The resemblance was astonis.h.i.+ng, which meant Tanya was now very confused.

He dropped the photos on the pa.s.senger seat, drew once more from his Lucky Strike, and tossed it out the window. A gust of wind blew smoke back in his face, and his eyes moistened. He closed the window and latched it in place. Pressing the lever into first gear, he made a U-turn and drove away, leaving behind a wake of blue engine fumes.

Chapter 6.

Lemmy had memorized the landmarks along the way, which he now followed in reverse order. He thought of Tanya's sculpted face, one moment serious, the next smiling. The Fountainhead, in his coat pocket, banged against his thigh with every step. Should he read it? Should he know more about the Goyim, as Tanya had argued? Father had once said that Talmud contained all the knowledge a man needed. But that obviously wasn't accurate. Electric lights, for example, weren't mentioned anywhere in the thousands of pages of Talmud. Perhaps The Fountainhead would also illuminate things that were not mentioned in the Talmud? He reached into his pocket and touched the book, feeling a quiver of excitement. He remembered a Yiddish idiom: Stolen water is so much sweeter.

Along the way he pa.s.sed through a secular neighborhood. A group of teenage boys and girls played soccer in an empty lot. They wore short-sleeved s.h.i.+rts, three-quarter pants, and leather sandals. The girls wore ponytails, but the boys' hair was short, even where their payos should have been left untouched according to Jewish law. He stood at a distance, intrigued by the ease with which they played together, the girls as aggressive as the boys. The ball found its way into the goal, marked by two rocks, and the scoring team cheered and hugged. A girl locked her arms around a boy's torso and hoisted him up in the air.

They noticed Lemmy and stopped playing. He tipped his black hat and resumed walking. One of them started imitating the calls of a crow. Several others joined in, and a choir of crows sounded behind him.

Lemmy paused and turned. He stretched his arms sideways like wings and mimicked a flying bird. They laughed, and the crowing ceased. A girl put her hands around her mouth and yelled, "Good Sabbath!"

He waved. "Good Sabbath to you."

Twenty minutes later, Lemmy turned the corner on s.h.i.+vtay Israel Street. He stopped and stared. What he saw seemed unreal. The gate leading into Meah Shearim was closed. Chairs and tables were piled against it from within. The metal shades had been shut over all the windows in the outer walls. A crowd of Neturay Karta men in black coats and red faces filled the alley behind the gate. Someone shouted, "The rabbi's son!" Others yelled at him to run away.

A bunch of policemen in riot gear hid behind their vehicles from a steady shower of eggs and vegetables. One of them ran toward Lemmy. Bra.s.s fig leaves adorned his shoulders, and egg yolk smeared his chest. He raised his club, his eyes wide under the gray helmet, and shouted in Hebrew, "Where are you going?"

Lemmy pointed to the gate.

The officer grabbed his arm and pulled him toward a police van. "You're under arrest!"

Angry protests sounded from the gate.

A policeman aimed a shotgun, and his colleague slipped a cylindrical grenade into the open end of the barrel.

"Don't!" Lemmy struggled to get free.

The policeman pressed the b.u.t.t of the shotgun to his shoulder.

Lemmy wriggled free, sprinted at the policeman, and knocked him down. An explosion slapped a wave of heat at his face, and the world turned dark.

Elie Weiss entered the police compound at the Russian Yard and headed downstairs. The operations center, a beehive of activity during the week, was manned by a single policewoman. Her feet were on the table, and she was humming Jerusalem of Gold along with Shuli Natan on the radio.

She gave him a casual salute. "What's happening?"