Free Judenstaat by Simone Zelitch

against the note. She heard herself say, “This isn’t the right place,” all the while fighting back whatever was rising in her. Hans could be behind that door. But what if he were someone she couldn’t even recognize?
    â€œKnock,” Shaindel said.
    Before Judit could turn around or lift her hand, the door was opened by a short man in a skull-cap with a wild red beard. He wore a caftan that looked as though he’d slept in it. In Yiddish: “ You’ve got the wrong apartment. ”
    He wasn’t the man who left the note. The voice was an octave lower and the shape was all wrong. He looked like an angry dwarf. It was hard for Judit to justify remaining now, but Shaindel made escape more complicated, so she asked, “ Do you sell films here? ”
    â€œ You speak Yiddish like a German, ” he said, and like the man in the junk shop, he kept his eyes averted, but he opened the door a little wider. Then he caught sight of Shaindel. “ Up to your mischief again? ”
    Shaindel said, “ Uncle Moishe, would it hurt this lady to take a look? She came all the way here. And she’s not going to be all sexy. ”
    â€œ Who taught you to talk like that, Shaindel? ” Moses Kravitz said. He gazed at some middle distance, and with a small wave, motioned them inside. He closed and latched the door. “ I’m overloaded, lady. Every day new shipments. You want, you take. ”
    The kitchen table was littered with bright slipcases of videos, some German, some French, most American. Judit knew just enough English to decipher a few titles: Top Gun, An Officer and a Gentleman. Some of the cases still held videos, and some were empty and propped up to display their lurid, shabby covers. Through the door, Judit could see a bathroom stacked floor-to-ceiling with loose, black tapes, tapes in the bathtub, tapes piled on the toilet and leaning against the wall.
    Now that the door was closed, Kravitz seemed more inclined to engage Judit in conversation, and his tiny eyes flashed up like needles. “ I get plenty of men here but never ladies. Maybe you want a little something for your husband. Maybe he sent you. Or maybe, ” he said, “ you have your own little collection. ”
    Shaindel said, “She wants to see the room where that man was.”
    Judit was speechless. Moses Kravitz frowned and shook his head. Judit could tell that he was reassessing her. She wasn’t Stasi. He’d met those types before. She wasn’t a prostitute. No prostitute would wear that coat. What was she then? Judit watched him flick through those limited categories and wondered if he’d come to a conclusion that would make him take out a gun. He probably owned one.
    Shaindel tugged at Judit’s sleeve, and said, in clear German: “Isn’t that what you want? To see the room? He’s gone now.”
    â€œ Good riddance, ” Kravitz said. “ He drove away my other customers. ”
    â€œWas he a bad man?” Shaindel asked.
    â€œ He was like all men, ” Kravitz said. “ He wasn’t good, he wasn’t bad. When he first came here, he was scared of his own shadow. An outsider. ”
    Shaindel added, “He would watch movies all the time. That’s all he did. The sexy movies.”
    Judit asked, carefully, “Where is he now?”
    Kravitz shrugged and answered in Yiddish. “ What’s he to you? He owes me money. You want to pay his bills? ”
    Now she felt she had little choice, and hadn’t come prepared. In her wallet she had maybe thirty Judenmarks, a twenty and assorted singles. She took the money out. She knew that Kravitz wouldn’t touch her hand, so she laid it on a pile of videotapes. He twisted his mouth into that full red beard, and put the money in his pocket.
    Shaindel watched this exchange with fascination and horror, and she broke in: “ Uncle Moishe, can’t you tell she’s a pauper? Look