Free Mendelssohn is on the Roof by Jiří Weil

understand what the Rottenführer meant by ‘learned Jew’. Apparently that’s what he had been told at the command headquarters of the Elite Guard to get. Another message revealed that Dr Rabinovich had, indeed, returned, but in bad physical condition and that he had not been able to identify the statue.
    The nerve of the Elite Guard and the Municipal officials! They have no right to encroach on his jurisdiction. The Jews have been specially assigned to him. If he doesn’t call the Elite Guard on this little affair, soon they’ll be wanting a share of the spoils, or they’ll begin to confiscate things on their own authority. But this isn’t Poland. Here the Elite Guard doesn’t have that sort of power. After all, the Acting Reich Protector himself lives here and he won’t stand for any irregularities. He’ll give them hell, no matter what their rank.
    But wait a minute. The Acting Reich Protector, why that’s where the original order comes from. The head of the Central Bureau had also been at the opening of the German House of Art and he had heard Heydrich’s speech. Afterwards someone, maybe it was Geschke from the Gestapo, had told him that the Acting Reich Protector had had a fit when he saw a statue of the Jewish composer Mendelssohn on the balustrade. That’s it – those imbecilesfrom Municipal didn’t know what to do, so they turned for help to the Elite Guard. And it was easy to understand why they went to the Elite Guard and not to the Gestapo or his own branch. Because they were afraid that Heydrich might hear of it. Therefore this is not an important matter at all, just a stupid little thing. He’ll deal directly with the commander about it and won’t drag in anybody else. But he mustn’t let the Elite Guard get away with anything – he’ll rap their knuckles soundly for this. Still, it was gratifying to hear that the ‘learned Jew’ hadn’t managed to identify the statue. How could he identify it, when he was a Talmud scholar and hadn’t the foggiest idea about worldly subjects like music. It didn’t matter in the least that they beat him up. A few blows wouldn’t harm him.
    The last entry in his daybook was a private matter: a present for his mother’s birthday. The head of the Central Bureau daydreamed for a moment. The image of a white-haired lady, the widow of a university professor, floated before his eyes. She lived in the small family home in a university town and took meticulous care of his father’s library, though it never occurred to her to look at a single book herself. Daily she dusted the desk and the armchair as if the old man were to return any moment. She wouldn’t allow any of the maids to touch a single object that he had ever laid a hand upon. Several times a day she looked at his portrait in the large gold frame hanging above the mantel. But she also took the same care of her son’s old toys and school notebooks. She pulled them out of the cabinet occasionally and leafed through them lovingly. The old lady lived in her memories, and her one and only hope was her son. She was better off than others in the Reich. The criminal pilots hadn’t reached her city yet, and she hadenough food, because he sent her weekly packages from the Protectorate.
    He thought a great deal about what sort of present to send her. Then he remembered that his mother was very fond of old Meissen. All the cupboards and cabinets and shelves in her house were filled with figurines made of Meissen porcelain. He must find the most beautiful piece of all the confiscated Jewish property. Such a piece was surely to be found in the warehouse. The rich Jews had good taste sometimes. He gave the job of finding it to Fiedler, comparatively the most intelligent member of his staff. Once he had been an official in the Prague German Bank, and he came from a fairly wealthy family. He knew porcelain trademarks and was unlikely to bring him an imitation or a tasteless modern piece of junk. Better to wait