“One Jew one Thaler, two Jews two Thalers—simple arithmetic,” snickered the guard.
Zorn paid the price in silence.
“How about a few Pfennige for Trinkgeld—what do you say? I could have kept you waiting here all night. And tomorrow is Easter.”
Zorn handed him a few more coins and cleared his throat as if something was choking him.
Schultz led the horses by the bridles a few steps. There was another guardhouse inside the gates.
“Dovidle, stick your nose out—a couple of Jews for Easter,” the guard called in a piping, mimicking, sneering voice, and pounded on the casement.
A door opened and out came a little man.
The little man greeted Zorn kindly, extending his hand. “You must have come a great distance or you would have known better than to come so late.”
“Since when have they re-established the Ghetto?” asked Zorn tremblingly.
“As soon as they chased the French out,” replied Dovidle in a saddened, low voice. “Yes, they have hemmed us in again;” the little man sighed. “They are at their old tricks again, fleecing and torturing our poor people. Oh, God, will there ever be an end?”