The Credit Draper

Episode 23

Jacob Stein gave a slight laugh which changed to a cough. He continued in a more serious tone. “I think we at the Jewish Representative Council can arrange to rush through your nationality papers but with you, Martha, it might be different.” “How different?”

“I’m not sure exactly. It is out of my hands. Not a local matter. Not a matter for the Glasgow Corporation or the constabulary either.

“But a matter for the Lord Advocate in Edinburgh, I believe. Or perhaps even the Secretary of State in London. We need to make representations. It will take time.” “Time I have.”

“It’s not that simple. You cannot stay here. You will have to go to some kind of camp.”

“Camp?”

“Yes, camp. All the enemy aliens living in Glasgow are being taken to a camp in England. Near Leeds.”

“I cannot go to a camp.”

Jacob Stein put out a consoling hand. “I’m afraid you have to. The police or perhaps the army will come to take you there.

“You have no choice. It is best to prepare yourself for this.”

“Of course I have a choice. I will not go.”

Ignored

Jacob Stein ignored her and went on. “Your brother Mendel is in the same position. He too is an enemy alien.

“But I shall do my best to make sure his work continues to keep him out of Glasgow. Away from the shipyards and out of trouble.

“He uses a small cottage in the countryside near Oban for his base while he’s out travelling. He can stay there in the meantime. No one will know to come looking for him.”

“Perhaps Martha can join him there too?” Papa Kahn suggested.

Jacob Stein looked at Madame Kahn. “Well? What do you think of this idea?”

“I … I … I will not run away to the Highlands like some … like some kriminell.”

“Hrrmph. Have it your way. But, there is also the question of the children.”

“The children were born here,” Papa Kahn said quickly. “That is good. But what about the boy?” “Which boy?” Papa Kahn asked. “The footballer. Avram. Have you formally adopted him?”

“We wanted to,” Papa Kahn said. “But we believe his mother might still be alive.” “So he is not legally registered anywhere?” “We are known as his guardians at the school. But officially registered? No.”

Jacob Stein thought about this information. “Good. Then he will not be on their list. A minor. A visitor.

“If the police come, don’t say a word about him. He doesn’t exist. He is a nothing.”

When the police came, Avram hid in the coal cellar. Through a grille just above pavement level he could still see and hear Madame Kahn as she was led away.

“I am not an alien,” she screamed, wrenching herself from the grasp of the accompanying constables.

She walked proudly to join the rest of her compatriots in the horse-drawn police wagon.

Unafraid

“I am not an enemy,” she announced to neighbours who had come to watch. “I do good works for this country.

“I make uniforms. I work hard for the war effort. I work until my fingers bleed.”

She shook these very fingers at the onlookers. “Jah! I am not an alien. I am not a kriminell.”

Even after the police had gone, Avram stayed down in the dust and the darkness. He was as unafraid, unaffected and as unemotional as the lumps of cold black coal piled all around him.

When he returned to school the next day, he found he now belonged to a group of immigrant children taunted and branded ‘aliens’ by the others.

But for him, the humiliation was far worse than that. For he knew that he wasn’t even worthy of being an “alien”. He was a “nothing”.

Avram crept into the bedroom. Nathan lay on his bed staring at the ceiling.

Since the outbreak of the war, the boy had steadily become more morose, declining into a consistent melancholy until eventually he was confined to his bed.

“I know what’s wrong with you,” Avram whispered.

Nathan turned to him, his eyes sunk deep into potholes of misery.

“Do you hear me, Nathan?” He wanted to shake him, to spark some life into the lethargy of the boy he now thought of as a young brother. “Do you hear me?”

Nathan rubbed his head against the pillow in a nod causing a blob of spittle to escape from his mouth, roll down his chin.

“I learned this English language,” Avram said. “And you lost your language. Don’t you see? I have stolen your words. Do you hear me?”

Silence.

“And you are stealing my suffering, Nathan. Somehow you know how I feel. Deep inside.

“You know that I am a nothing. It is because of me you have all this pain.”

Nathan’s dry lips began to mouth some syllables.

Avram moved his head in closer, trying to decipher meaning from the hoarse rasp at his ear. He pulled away.

“I can’t hear you. What are you saying?”

Hard times

Avram was as unafraid, unaffected and as unemotional as the lumps of cold black coal piled all around him.

The sound from Nathan’s throat breathed stronger and Avram leaned in again.

He wasn’t sure what he heard but he thought Nathan had said, “I forgive you, Avram. I forgive you.”

“These are hard times,” Papa Kahn said, as he stood in the centre of the sitting room flapping a letter from Madame Kahn.

Papa Kahn had come to appear less grand to Avram now.

The man’s features had grown more sallow and his beard more untidy, lines that had once danced fleetingly on his forehead now formed permanent trenches of anxiety.

He was surrounded by a perpetual gloom that buckled his shoulders, seeped into his spirit.

The Credit Draper is the first in a trilogy by J. David Simons. He has written five novels and is published by Saraband. His work can be purchased at saraband.net