'Good afternoon,' he shouted.
'Good afternoon,' she replied, more cautiously.
'The Rosenfeld farm?'
She pointed up the road and turned her back.
It took him another fifteen minutes to reach his destination. Miriam's home was on the lee side of a hill, smoke drifting up from its chimney and into the light of the sinking sun. There was a copse of trees to the right, a single cow tethered on a long rope to one of the trunks. On the left was a sturdy wooden barn, beyond that what looked like a kitchen garden.
Another woman was watching him, he realized, hidden in the shadows of the east-facing doorway. He had a sudden inexplicable hope that it might be Miriam, but of course it wasn't. This woman had streaks of grey in her hair.
'Frau Rosenfeld?' he asked.
'My husband will be back in a few minutes,' she told him.
'That is good,' Russell said, stopping a few metres away from her. 'I wish to talk to you both.'
'What about? Who are you?'
'My name is John Russell. My brother-in-law Thomas Schade employed your brother-in-law Benjamin.'
'Employed? Has he lost his job?'
'I'm sorry, Frau Rosenfeld, but Benjamin is dead.'
Her hands flew up to her cheeks. 'But how…' she began, only for another thought to take precedence. 'Who is looking after my daughter?'
'That is why I'm here. I'm afraid your daughter has gone missing.'
'Missing,' she echoed. She closed her eyes, and for a brief moment she seemed to visibly shrink. Then, with what seemed an almost absurd effort of will, she drew herself upright. 'I will fetch Leon,' she said. 'Please…'
'I'll wait here.'
She strode off in the direction of the kitchen garden. Russell sat himself down on the front door step, noticing the mezuzah on the frame as he did so. You didn't see many of those in Berlin anymore.
He felt as if he had crossed into another world. He had known a lot of Jews in his lifetime, but most had been intellectuals of one sort or another, and all had been urbanised. The Yiddish-speaking Jews of the Pale, that vast expanse of plains stretching across southern Poland and Ukraine, were as much of a mystery to him as the Bushmen of the Kalahari.
Miriam's father came into view, half-running ahead of his wife. He looked smaller than he had in the photograph, but Russell could see the kindness in the face, even twisted as now by fear. The words came out in a rush: 'What is it that I am hearing? My brother is dead? My Miriam is missing? What does this mean?'
Russell told him. About Benjamin's murder and their worries about Miriam, about the police refusal to investigate. About the hiring of Kuzorra and the possible sighting, and the threatening of the detective.
Frau Rosenfeld mostly listened in silence, but her husband kept interrupting with hopeful questions, as if determined to find better explanations for what had happened. When Russell reached the present Leon Rosenfeld looked at the ground for the moment, then back at his guest. 'I thank you for coming,' he said. 'Now I must move the cow.'
Russell stared after him with astonishment.
'He needs to think,' Frau Rosenfeld explained. 'He will come back and announce that he is going to Berlin to look for her.'
'That…' Russell began, and hesitated. Wouldn't he scour the planet for Paul if his son went missing? He would, but that didn't make it wise for Rosenfeld to go charging off. 'I would do the same, but it would not be a good idea.'
Her look questioned his wisdom, if not his motives. 'Forgive me,' she said, 'but you are not a Jew. If she is with other Jews in Berlin, would not another Jew have a better chance of finding her?'
'I am not a Jew, but many of the men who work for my brother-in-law are. They knew Benjamin, and they have spread the word among Berlin's Jews. No one has heard from her, or of her. If your husband goes to Berlin…Let me be blunt – the police will not listen to him, and if he kicks up a fuss – which in any sane society he would and should – then they will punish him for it. The Jews in Berlin survive by keeping themselves to themselves. Your husband will be no use to Miriam – or you – if he ends up in a concentration camp. Or worse.'
'I don't know if I can stop him.'
'You must try. I will keep looking, I promise you. I will promise him.'
'I will try.' She sighed, and drew herself up again. 'Forgive me, keeping you outside all this time. Please, come in. A glass of water.'
Russell followed her into the farmhouse. It was as well-kept as the farm, and more comfortable than he had expected. The furniture was old but recovered; an even older-looking piano stood by the far wall. There was small case of books, and a game-ready chessboard on a narrow table. Vases of wild-flowers flanked the menorah on the mantelpiece.
Frau Rosenfeld had just given him the glass of water when her husband returned. He walked over to his wife and put his hands on her shoulders. 'Esther, I must go to Berlin.'
She shook her head. 'I have already told Herr Russell that you would say that. He said he would do the same, but it would not be wise.' She told him why.
It was his turn to shake his head, but he said nothing more. 'Where is my brother buried?' he asked.
'In the Jewish cemetery in Friedrichshain. In Berlin.'
'That is good. He enjoyed life,' he added, mostly to himself.
Outside it was growing noticeably darker. 'I must be going,' Russell said, 'but…'
'No, no – you must eat with us,' Esther Rosenfeld interjected. 'You can stay the night in Miriam's room. Please, it will give us time to decide what to do.'
Put like that, Russell could hardly refuse. Not that he'd wanted to.
The meal was simple but tasty, a rabbit stew with large chunks of home-made bread. The conversation was sparse – Russell guessed that Leon usually did most of the talking, and on this particular evening he seemed frequently – and understandably – lost in thought.
'I saw your neighbour on my walk up here,' Russell said. 'A woman.'
'Eva,' Frau Rosenberg said tersely. 'We were friends before all this, but now they seem afraid to know us. She does, in any case. Their boy Torsten came to see us last week. Miriam told him she would write to him, but she hadn't.'
Russell put two and two together. 'Did he go to Breslau with her? Someone thought they saw her with a boy by the station.'
'He works in Breslau. He was going to see that she got the right train to Berlin. She had only been to Breslau once before.'
'I'd like to talk to him. Do you know where he works?'
'In a big store. A really modern one, Eva told me. It was designed by a famous architect. You could ask his family, of course. I think they would tell you.'
They went to bed soon after eating. 'We live by the sun,' Leon Rosenfeld said simply.
Miriam's room contained an iron bed, a wooden chest of drawers and a small table. Russell lay in bed watching the candlelight flicker on the ceiling, listening to the shuffling of the horse in the barn outside. On the other side of the inner wall a conversation was being conducted in fierce whispers. He understood Leon Rosenfeld's desperate need to go looking, but he hoped Esther would be able to dissuade him. If she didn't, the only outcome of his own visit was likely to be a third family casualty.
He leaned over to blow out the candle, and thought about losing Effi. Her mystery meeting was tonight, he remembered. He wondered what sort of people she was getting herself involved with – many of her friends and acquaintances had a somewhat tenuous grasp of political realities. Effi was sensible enough when she took time to think, but…