“You know,” he continued, “the sort who might be—” He was halted by his sister-in-law’s coughing.
“Are you all right, my dear?” their host asked, concern etched in his face.
“Yes. I apologize. I must have swallowed wrong,” she explained, smoothing the tablecloth. “Happens at my age.”
David snorted.
His wife raised both brows. “You doubt me?”
“Never,” the man said with a wink, which made Rebecca smile despite herself, even as a stale, sour sensation that had nothing to do with the food settled in her gut.
The conversation fell off as everyone continued eating for another few moments, which was good.
Except Rebecca could not seem to let the prior conversation halt.
Putting down her utensil, she turned to Roger. “You were saying something,” she prompted.
“Beg pardon?” he asked.
“Before,” she continued. “You were explaining what sort of Jews would be quite dangerous for the well-heeled gentiles in the better neighborhoods to catch glimpses of.”
A silence fell over the table.
“You were making an argument regarding an important matter to the community to a person who is part of the group who shall decide it,” she reminded him. “Thus, I’d like to hear the reasoning behindit.” Leaning forward, she rested her chin on her hands and stared at him. She was not using proper manners, but she had no desire to do so at the moment.
“Why?” His brow furrowed in confusion. “Would you be interested in attending services in the West End, instead of merely a block from your home?”
“Perhaps they’d hire interesting clergy,” she argued back. She cocked her head at him, ignoring the curious stares of the rest of the table. “You were saying?”
“I was saying that the intended location is on the outskirts of one of the finer neighborhoods of the West End,” he returned after another pause, “and the gentiles of that location have only had limited, carefully choreographed interactions with our kind.”
“You don’t say,” she retorted.
“Such is necessary,” he continued. “They have the ultimate power, and their favor is necessary for our survival.”
Rebecca sniffed. As if she didn’t know what strategy the community employed to maintain the little goodwill they were allotted.
“And you seek to convince them that we are precisely how they wish we’d be instead of how we actually are,” she finished with a roll of her eyes.
“I’d not say that,” he argued. “We’re just showing them our best, especially considering how many stories there are of our worst—real and imagined.”
“Or a combination of both,” she admitted. “That generally sells the most ‘news,’ after all,” she continued. “But you’re saying these gentiles don’t read? That they’re above lurid tales of our villainy that shape-shift to conform precisely to what the audience of the particular publication finds most contemptible?”
He took an infuriatingly deep breath. “I’m just pointing out that we don’t need to give them any assistance.”
“You believe you can control that by, what, hiding those of us that they deem monstrous by their current standards from view?” she couldn’t help but ask. “What an original idea.”
“There’s no wall, and there won’t be one,” he scoffed, obviously understanding her allusion to the ghettos gentiles had been forcing them behind for centuries, even while occasionally granting exceptions to a lucky few until they were no longer of use. A practice that had continued in more places than not, despite all the talk of “emancipation.”
She raised both eyebrows at him.
“You’re twisting my words,” he accused.
“Or perhaps they were not quite as carefully selected as intended,” the man’s brother suggested.
An odd shadow crossed Roger’s face. “Perhaps,” he admitted.
“Or perhaps we’re all just a touch tired from being trapped inside our houses for so long,” Mrs. Berab added brightly. “I know I am.”
