The old man walked on. Emil and Karl trudged after him, heading in no particular direction, down streets that didn’t seem to lead anywhere. The boys had no idea where they were going and they didn’t care.
Emil was no longer scared. What had happened to him that day was worse, much worse, than anything he had ever feared. He walked with indifferent steps; it didn’t matter to him in the least where they led.
Emil felt that now he was quite grown up. He even decided he would not cry any more. He looked at his reflection in a window as they walked along and was surprised to see that he hadn’t grown any taller. It was reassuring, though, when he noticed that the old man was also short, not much taller than Emil himself.
The old man couldn’t stop marveling at them.
“You’re such wonderful boys, may God watch over you! You’re going to make your parents very happy. May you only have God’s help, may He only have mercy on us.”
“We don’t have any parents,” Karl said.
The old man stopped and stood still.
“No mother and no father?”
“No,” Karl answered.
“Not you and not him?” the old man asked in a frightened voice.
“Our fathers are dead, and our mothers are gone, too.”
“Orphans—poor things, no parents at all,” the old man said, as if to himself.
Emil wanted to tell him what had happened to his parents and to Karl’s parents, but he felt that it would be too much to explain. And now it didn’t matter to him, nothing did. He didn’t feel like saying a single word.
Karl was the first to cry out when he recognized the street.
“Look, Emil, we’re not far from your home. And from there it’s only two steps to mine.”
“Whom do you live with, boys?” asked the old man.
Karl felt somewhat embarrassed about getting so excited and shouting “your” home and “mine.” He lowered his head.
“We used to live here,” he said, adding, “but now we’re staying with some friends. The janitor of the building where I used to live took us in. He’s a good man, and his wife is, too.”
“Thank God. Thank God,” the old man said. “Well, of course—after all, are there no decent people left at all? There are still some good ones here on earth. They’re still here,” he said, and his face glowed with happiness.
“So, I bid you farewell. May God watch over you,” the old man said.
“Good-bye, Zeyde,” said Emil.
“You’re a fine young man,” said the old man, happily, giving his cheek a pinch.
As the old man walked away, Karl wondered what the word “Zeyde” meant. Emil explained that it’s what they used to call his grandfather.
Karl didn’t want to be thought any less of than Emil, and he ran after the old man.
“Good-bye, Zeyde,” he said, panting. “You’re a Zeyde, you’re my Zeyde, too.”
A smile spread over the old man’s entire face. He stroked his beard and started to say something, but he couldn’t. He patted Karl’s head, and then he began to sing the little melody that he’d sung as they were scrubbing the pavement.
Karl suddenly felt so happy! Now that he heard the melody one more time, he was sure that he’d never forget it.
“Your song is very beautiful,” Karl said, delighted.
“What, do you think it’s just mine?” said the old man. “Believe me, this melody is even older than I am. My father used to sing it, and his father did, too.”
“It’s a Zeyde-song,” said Karl.
“That’s it, you’ve got it. Now, do you know what I wish for you? I hope that you will grow up and, someday, you’ll be a Zeyde yourself.”
When Karl returned to Emil, he found his friend standing in the same place, lost in thought.
“I like him,” said Karl.
“Me too,” said Emil.
“We’re never going to forget him,” said Karl.
“But we don’t even know his name,” Emil observed.
“Didn’t you say that his name is Zeyde?” Karl wondered out loud. “That’s really easy to remember.”
They walked toward the building where Karl lived. Everything there was still. All the windows were shut. The only living creature they saw was a kitten warming itself in the sun and yawning.
“You see,” said Karl, “there’s the kitten from the cellar. It’s waiting for us.”
They walked down the few steps to the cellar and opened the door.
The janitor’s wife jumped up.
“Where have you been, children? I didn’t know what to think. You’ve been gone for over five hours.”
Emil was surprised to hear her say “over five hours.” To him it seemed as though five weeks had passed since he and Karl had wandered away from the house. And what hadn’t happened to them in those five hours!
Karl started to explain, but suddenly he saw that Berta’s eyes were full of tears.
“Where is Josef?” he asked, frightened, looking around the dark basement room.
The janitor’s wife suddenly burst out crying. She sobbed and sobbed, unable to control herself.
When she began to calm down, she told them that a few hours earlier storm troopers had come and arrested him. They’d also arrested Herr Schneidmesser, who lived upstairs.
“Herr Schneidmesser is the man who gave us the meat,” Karl said softly to Emil.
Karl didn’t know what came over him. He wanted to kick someone, to scream at someone, but he didn’t know whom. Who was doing all of these things? He looked up at the ceiling, and it seemed to him as if the entire building would collapse any minute. The place was full of holes. His own apartment was empty, the Gutenglass’s apartment was empty, Herr Schneidmesser was arrested, Josef was arrested. There was no way that building would be able to withstand it. It would have to fall down.
The janitor’s wife washed both boys’ hands gently with warm water. She looked at their red, swollen hands and cried once more.
Emil’s pants were torn at both knees; Karl’s were torn only at the right knee. She undressed them both and put warm compresses on their wounds.
She gave them hot soup to eat. Emil ate without much appetite, but Karl ate heartily, and he continued to talk about washing the pavement, the overseer who saved them, and Zeyde.
Later she put the two boys to bed and mended their torn trousers.
“It’s still early,” Berta said, “but you must be very tired. Just lie in bed if you can’t fall asleep.”
It felt so good to be in bed. The warmth helped soothe their aching bones.
“My feet and hands hurt,” Karl complained.
“I hurt all over,” Emil responded, “My head, too.”
The janitor’s wife quietly sewed patches onto their pants and listened as Karl talked and talked. From time to time she asked a question without raising her head from her work.
“What did the overseer who saved you look like?” she asked.
“Oh, he was older than the others, and his face was hard, it looked so serious. I would recognize him if I saw him on the street,” Karl said.
“Me too,” Emil added.
“And I would definitely recognize Zeyde,” Karl said, “But not the others. They all looked the same, they all had the same uniform and the same face.”
“That’s very true, only good people have a face. You can recognize good people, but bad people all look the same,” she said quite softly, as if to herself.
Karl thought about what she said, and Emil was quiet, too.
“It’s strange, but that’s really the way it is,” said Karl, recalling how all the good people he’d met had looked. He even remembered the rabbi who had been in Emil’s home. But he couldn’t recall the faces of the three men who had taken away his mother.
When Berta had finished with their trousers she put out the lights.
“It’s late,” she said in the darkness. “Tomorrow will be sunny, and we’ll figure out what to do with you. I have to go to my mother’s; there’s nothing for me to do here. I’m all alone here, and my mother lives far away. It takes four, five hours by train. But I won’t abandon you, you can be sure of that. Good night, children.”
Karl began to feel very sad. He was worried about what the next day’s plans might be.
“Good night,” he answered.
He listened and wondered why Emil didn’t say anything. But then he heard him breathing heavily, like someone fast asleep.
“Emil’s sleeping,” Karl said, explaining why his friend hadn’t said good night.
“Poor little boy,” Bertha said. “He’s completely worn out.”