Max in the House of Spies, page 4
All the boys laughed.
Suddenly, Master Yarrow looked at Max. “Did you follow, Herr Bretzfeld?”
Max had not.
Master Yarrow then lectured for two consecutive hours. Max understood almost nothing of what he said. It was slightly entertaining, though, because Berg crawled off his shoulder—which created a weird empty sensation and made Berg instantly disappear—and knocked Master Yarrow’s book off his desk and onto the floor. Master Yarrow picked it up and put it back, then turned to continue his lecture—and it fell off again. The schoolmaster cursed floridly and picked the book up again. As soon as he resumed the lecture, Berg again knocked it to the floor. Yarrow screamed and turned and looked at the kids as if they’d done it. But no one appeared to have moved at all. When Berg reappeared on Max’s shoulder, Stein flashed him a tiny grin.
Then Max said to Stein, “Why do you let Berg make all the mischief? Isn’t that your job, too?”
“Me? No! I don’t make mischief. I just sit here and make sure you feel terrible. How am I doing?”
“Great,” Max answered truthfully.
Berg flashed Stein a tiny grin right back.
Around eleven the boys were let out into a wet courtyard with gray flagstones for a break. Ancient gray buildings rose up around them. The Houses of Parliament were visible over slanting, wet roofs. It seemed to Max that everything was wet and gray in England.
During recess in Berlin, the boys played violent games like soccer and Hit the Yid, where the non-Jewish boys would chase Max and his Jewish classmates around the yard trying to punch them. But here, instead of playing, the St. West’s boys seemed to be loitering. Just hanging around, looking bored and mean. Even the younger ones. Max saw Anthony standing under a dripping tree like he was just waiting to be let back into class. What kind of recess was this?
Suddenly a tall boy with freckles and curly black hair loomed over Max. The boy was in his class. His name was Circuitt.
“Scis are allowed in the yard now?” Circuitt said.
Max gazed up at the large, sneering boy. He didn’t understand. So he asked: “What is a sci?”
Circuitt snorted. “He doesn’t know!” he announced to a short boy standing at his side. The short boy was called Bonner and his forehead hung over his nose like a cliff about to fall into the sea. But Circuitt was kind enough to explain it to Max: “A sci is a boy who doesn’t belong here. Not knowing the word sci proves you’re a sci.”
But Bonner disagreed. “No, Circuitt. He’s not a sci. He’s a spy.”
“Is he?”
Other second formers saw that something was happening around Max, and they hurried over to join the fun.
“A German spy,” Bonner went on. Suddenly, he reached out and pushed Max’s shoulder. “A bloody Nazi spy.”
The boys of the second form had made a ring around Max. Max could feel their body heat and tension on his skin. The circle slowly tightened as boys from other forms rushed over and pushed in from the back, trying to see.
“Say something!” Berg urged Max.
So Max said, “How could I be a Nazi? I am Jewish!”
Bonner and Circuitt hesitated for a moment. The army of boys appeared to waver. In the back, Max could see David covering his face with his hands. Anthony had come over, too. He was standing on his tiptoes, wanting to catch Max’s eye.
And then Circuitt made his hand into a fist. He raised it . . .
And placed it on the end of his own nose. Next, with the index finger of his other hand, Circuitt stroked the top of his fist.
“Groo,” Circuitt said, rolling the r. “Groo groo.”
The other second form boys, except for David, all copied Circuitt at once. They put their fists to their noses, stroked the tops of their knuckles, and said, “Groo groo.”
“Uh . . . Max? What are they doing?” Berg asked.
Stein guessed, “Pretending to be elephants?”
“This is your big nose,” said Bonner, indicating his closed fist. “And groo is you scheming to steal our money. It’s what you Jews do, isn’t it?”
Max had heard every foul thing anyone could say about his people. He’d grown up in Nazi Germany, after all. These idiot boys had nothing on Joseph Goebbels and Adolf Hitler.
So you’d think Max wouldn’t feel hurt by something so immature, so stupid.
But for some reason that Max could not understand, it never hurt any less.
“Groo groo, Jew,” Circuitt said. “Groo groo.”
CHAPTER
Eight
That afternoon, as Mr. Ken drove them home in the spacious Rolls-Royce, everyone was lost in their own thoughts: David stared out the window and thought about the rugby trials on Thursday. Anthony thought about whether a Tyrannosaurus rex could kill a blue whale. Berg thought about a very beautiful river spirit he’d met seven thousand years ago, who had complimented the shape of his nose, and he wondered if, had he returned the compliment, they would still be in love to this day. (He had instead asked her what the little fish he’d caught in his hand was . . . and when she’d come over to look, he’d squirted water in her face. Which was pretty funny and almost as good as falling in love forever.) Stein thought about the moment just after he’d been created and wondered again if God had given some sort of instructions or a lecture or some guide and how Stein could have missed it. And Max thought about his school.
Not St. West’s. His school in Germany.
* * *
—
Max was sitting in the last row, as always. His teacher, Professor Goldenschaft, was writing something on the chalkboard.
Professor Goldenschaft stepped aside so the students could see what he had written.
On the dusty chalkboard, in large yellow letters, were the words JEWISH SCIENCE.
Max and the three other Jewish boys in the class sank down in their chairs in the back row. They did this whenever the subject was Jewish anything.
“Actually,” Professor Goldenschaft said, “we should write: so-called Jewish science, shouldn’t we? Who can tell me why?”
Pause. Max knew exactly what was coming.
He tried to slide a little lower in his chair.
“Max? Why should we write the words ‘so-called,’ before ‘Jewish science’? Explain!”
There were rumors that Professor Goldenschaft had been a good teacher once. In fact, when he was not teaching from the Nazi curriculum, but instead teaching something neutral like grammar, he was still a good teacher. Not kind, but clear and precise and fair.
But when Professor Goldenschaft was teaching from the Nazi curriculum, he changed. He became . . . cruel.
“I don’t know, Herr Professor. Why should we write the words ‘so-called’ before ‘Jewish science,’ sir?” Max did his best at these times to be as respectful and invisible as possible. If he could manage to repeat the exact words Professor Goldenschaft said, he was less likely to make a mistake. As long as he watched his tone. If he repeated Professor Goldenschaft’s words with the wrong tone, he was liable to get slapped with a ruler on the ears. Or, worse, the non-Jewish boys in class would chase him around at recess until they caught him and jumped on him and pummeled him.
Professor Goldenschaft glared at Max, as if measuring whether his tone was respectful enough. At last, he must have decided that it was. Barely. “Because the ‘science’ that the Jews pretend to do is ersatz science. Fake. Imaginary. Who is the most famous Jewish scientist?”
The rest of the boys in the class were tapping pencils on their desks, or staring out the window. Hans Himmerl, in the first row, was picking his nose with the lead of his pencil.
“Max?” said Professor Goldenschaft.
Max did not know why Professor Goldenschaft liked to pick on him more than on Felix or Benjamin or Walter, the other Jewish boys. But he did. Perhaps it was because he suspected that Max was smarter than he was.
“Albert Einstein is the most famous Jewish scientist,” said Max.
“Correct! And what did Albert Einstein supposedly do?”
No one said anything.
“Max?”
Max tried not to sigh audibly. “He discovered the theories of general and special relativity.”
“No! Wrong! He did not discover them! He invented them! He invented theories of imaginary physics! And the worldwide Jewish conspiracy praised these theories, as if they were works of genius, when in fact they cannot be tested! They are unprovable! Pure fantasy!”
Max was fairly certain that Einstein’s theories had been tested, and proven, many times. But he didn’t dare say so.
“And this is the man that they hold up as proof of Jewish contributions to science! Einstein’s theories cannot do anything! They cannot make a boat float. They cannot help an airplane fly! They couldn’t make something explode if you wrapped them in dynamite! They are nothing! Useless!”
Which was when Max raised his hand.
He didn’t know what made him do that. He never raised his hand. Ever.
Felix and Benjamin and Walter saw this and all ducked their heads at once.
Professor Goldenschaft stared.
Some of the non-Jewish boys turned around and stared, too.
“Yes, Max?” Professor Goldenschaft said, very softly.
“The Aryan scientists are the ones who do real things,” said Max.
Professor Goldenschaft hesitated. “Yes . . .”
“Such as Fritz Haber, who discovered how to use poison gas against enemy soldiers.”
“Haber was a great German,” Professor Goldenschaft agreed cautiously.
“Or Alfred Nobel, the Swedish scientist who discovered dynamite, which he said would end all wars.”
Professor Goldenschaft was really not certain where this was going. “Indeed, Nobel was a genius.”
“And Richard Willstätter,” Max went on, “a good Aryan German, who invented the gas mask, thus saving millions of German lives when the cowardly French and English used poison gas against our heroic soldiers!”
“Of course!” said Professor Goldenschaft, apparently not aware of the contradiction of praising the inventor of poison gas, Fritz Haber, and then calling the use of poison gas “cowardly” moments later.
“Wait!” said Hans Himmerl, who had finally taken his pencil out of his nose. “I thought Willstätter was a Jew?”
“Nonsense!” bellowed Professor Goldenschaft.
“How dare you!” Max bellowed at Hans.
Now all the boys were confused.
Max went on: “How dare you say that the great German scientist who invented the gas mask was Jewish! Ridiculous! Insane! Professor Goldenschaft just told us that so-called Jewish science isn’t science at all, but just make-believe! Are you calling Professor Goldenschaft a liar?”
Hans was completely at a loss, the rest of the boys were mumbling to each other, and Professor Goldenschaft looked like he had no idea what was going on.
“Yes! No! Are you?” Goldenschaft demanded of Hans.
Hans said, “No! Yes! Of course not! I just thought . . .”
“Thought what? That the inventor of the gas mask was a Jew?” Professor Goldenschaft bellowed. “You think Willstätter is a Jewish name?! IT’S NOT!”
He yelled this part too loud. Which was not surprising.
Everyone knew that Professor Goldenschaft was so militant in the classroom about Jews because he was constantly asked if Goldenschaft was a Jewish name. Many Jews in Germany had names that started with “Gold.” Goldman, Goldstein, just plain Gold. Professor Goldenschaft was quite plainly insecure about his name. The last thing he wanted was to be mistaken for a Jew. Not in Germany. Not these days.
“This is easily solved,” Professor Goldenschaft snapped, and he turned to the set of encyclopedias behind his desk. He grabbed the volume labeled W and started flipping the pages. Max slid so far down in his seat that he nearly disappeared behind his desk.
“Here!” Professor Goldenschaft barked. “ ‘Richard Willstätter. Discovered chlorophyl, the naturally occurring chemical that makes plants appear green and allows them to process sunlight as food.’ ” He looked up. “Did you know that? Write that down! Another Aryan discovery!”
The boys all opened their notebooks and began to scribble that Willstätter the German Aryan scientist had discovered chlorophyll. If only they could figure out how to spell chlorophyll.
“ ‘Also created a model of gas mask that was widely used during the World War to protect German soldiers from chlorine and other nerve gases. Write that down, too! Born of a Jewi—’ ”
Professor Goldenschaft stopped reading.
The room was so silent they could all hear the air whistling in and out of Professor Goldenschaft’s nostrils.
Professor Goldenschaft smacked Max on his ears over and over with a ruler as the boys watched.
Max had gone home that day with bloody streaks crisscrossing his head.
They were completely and totally worth it.
* * *
—
As the Rolls-Royce pulled up to 28 Kensington Court, Max was smiling.
CHAPTER
Nine
The next day Max stood in St. West’s yard during break, warily eyeing Circuitt and Bonner. The other second form boys followed them like remora fish around sharks. David stood at the edge, trying to laugh at some joke that he clearly didn’t think was funny.
“Why do people like bullies?” Max asked Stein and Berg.
“Because everyone is scared,” Berg replied. “All you humans. All the time. You are scared of being beat up, or of being alone, or of your own thoughts. At least if you’ve got a bully on your side, you’ve got one less thing to be scared of.”
“Huh,” said Stein. “I never thought of it that way.”
“You don’t think very much, Stein,” Berg replied. Stein didn’t disagree.
Just then, Max saw the first formers walking across the yard in twos and threes, going back into a building for class. Anthony was there, laughing with another boy. Just as he drew even with the group of second formers, there was a shout.
“You!”
Anthony froze.
The scrum parted, and Circuitt emerged. Bonner was glued to his hip, as always.
Anthony’s little friend scurried away.
“Are you the little Montagu?” Circuitt asked. Anthony nodded and looked for David—but David was melting into the back of the group of second form boys.
“Montagu isn’t even his real family name,” said Bonner. “Their grandfather changed it from Samuel. That’s what I heard.”
Bonner put his fist to his nose and stroked it. “Groo groo,” he purred.
Circuitt said, “This place is lousy with Yids. And you’re bringing more in, what with that Kraut Jew Herr Bretzfeld. Thanks a lot for that.”
“I’m not a Yid!” Anthony said. “And neither is Max!”
Max was certain that Anthony did not know that Yid is a hateful word for a Jewish person. But clearly Anthony could tell that it was something unkind, because under the straight dark fringe of Anthony’s hair, his forehead was turning red. Max could see it halfway across the yard.
Max lifted himself off the wall he’d been sitting on.
“You say you’re not a Yid,” Circuitt went on. “All right, then. So you won’t mind saying, ‘Jews are the scum of the earth, and long live Adolf Hitler.’ ”
That, little Anthony understood.
He stared up at Circuitt and Bonner. He tried again to see his brother, but David had now completely dissolved into the group.
“Go on,” said Circuitt to Anthony. “Just say it. They’re only words.”
Anthony swallowed hard. His face and neck were crimson. He opened his little mouth. “Jews—”
“Excuse me,” said Max, sliding his body between Anthony and Bonner and Circuitt.
Everyone was very surprised.
“Do you know,” said Max to the two big boys, “what we ‘Kraut Jews’ do to bullies who pick on little children?”
Circuitt and Bonner were still too surprised to answer.
“We take a penknife and we jab it into the bully’s kidney.” Max made a quick, underhand stabbing motion with his fist. Circuitt and Bonner each took a swift step backward, their eyes bulging.
“That is not true,” said Berg.
“I know,” said Stein, “but it sounds great right now.”
Max was saying to the boys, “I’ll do it. What would happen to me? I’m just a child. Would they expel me? Fine with me. I would love to get out of this place. Send me back to Germany? I wish.” He was gazing up into Circuitt’s eyes and not blinking at all.
Circuitt and Bonner both took another step backward.
“Pick on me if you want to,” Max concluded. “I don’t mind. But if you ever speak to Anthony again, you won’t even have time to regret it.”
Max turned his back on the bullies. He knew that it was risky to turn your back on an enemy. Circuitt and Bonner could smash him over the head. But Max didn’t look over his shoulder. He had learned long ago not to show fear. “Get to class now, Anthony,” he said.
Anthony stared up at him. Max couldn’t recall the English word for Anthony’s expression.
And then he recalled it. The word was awe.
* * *
—
As the boys slid into their desks after break, Master Yarrow stood with his hands behind him at the front of the classroom, rolling from his toes to his heels and back again and smiling like he was looking forward to something.
