A little star

Jan Reisser pulled on his coat and went to the one place he was sure to find a man of God.

He thought he'd greeted their neighbor on the stairs, but in truth, he'd hurried past her with a stern expression and bloodshot eyes. She didn't care enough to inquire about his obvious distraught or even think about it further. By the time she'd closed her door behind her, she'd forgotten she'd ever run into the man.

The shadows grew longer as the sun set over Germany, and by the time Jan Reisser marched up the smallish hill to the old farmhouse, they had vanished entirely—or merged into the night. 

He knocked on the door.

He heard the click of a lock, and then the door was opened a sliver of an inch. "Who's there?" Asked a soft voice.

"Jan Reisser," Reisser answered with a sigh. "I was here once a very long time ago with my wife, Charlotte. The playwright."

"Oh! Yes! Come in!" The door opened wider, and Reisser stepped inside without a second thought. He looked into the beaming face of David Meltzer, who shut the door behind him and offered to hang his coat. "What brings you here today?"

"A favor, well, more of a question actually."

"Tell me about it. I'm all ears. Care for a cup of tea?"

"Yes, thank you."

"Sit down while I make it. I'll be back in a second." 

Reisser took the offer and sat at the smallish table. The chair was rickety, but he knew it wouldn't give in. The first and only other time he'd been to Rabbi David Meltzar's farm was over ten years ago. Eliora had dragged him there, saying she wanted to introduce him to an old friend. Reisser drummed his fingers on the table as he waited for the Rabbi to return. He felt guilty about his surprise that the farmhouse was still standing. Didn't everybody around know that David Meltzar was a Jew? His name alone gave it away, for God's sake-but before his thoughts could spiral further, David Meltzar returned with two steaming cups of tea.

"So, how's Charlotte? Did she send you?"

"No," Reisser said, cupping his hands around the warm tea. "She didn't. She's...dead." It was the first time he'd said it aloud to someone else. "One of the actors at her theater came in and...killed her."

The Rabbi was quiet for a few moments. "I'm very sorry to hear that; Jan. Eliora was a wonderful woman. And a good friend."

"I miss her," Jan said, his voice cracking. "Anyway, I don't have too much time. Not that I have anywhere to be but..." But the Gestapo will arrest me anytime now, "I wanted to ask you to give her a sendoff. She can't be buried in a Jewish cemetery because, well...you know why. And there aren't many standing nowadays anyway. I want to give her a nice funeral, you know?" He didn't realize that he'd started to cry. "She deserved it. She deserves a whole fucking cemetery to herself; I mean, she's one of the best playwrights in this fucking country." He noticed the tears and looked up, using the old trick to keep them from spilling. But they did anyway. 

"Watch out, or your tea will become salty," the Rabbi said with a smile as soft as his voice. He tilted Reisser's head to the side so that Reisser would look him in the eyes and not at the paintings across from where he sat. "And don't look at those pictures; they hold no sympathy for you. Look at me, Jan. I'm here." He reached out and held the widower's hand. "Do you want to talk more about it?"

"No. I, I just want her to be buried. Tonight, if possible."

"Of course, " the Rabbi said empathetically. He squeezed Reissers' hand and leaned forward. But we can give her a much better funeral than a field for herself."

"Really?"

"Eliora was a playwright; if there was anything she loved, then it was people. Especially Jewish people. I always went to all her plays. I've read a good share of our literature, and Eliora likes to add them into her work, unnoticeably, naturally, but if you know enough, you'll see it."

"That's true." Reisser choked.

"Several people have come to me over the years, people who'd lost loved ones. And behind this farmhouse, a little way into the woods, there's a small cemetery. I've buried seventeen Jewish people there in the last eight years. Do you think Eliora would like to have been buried there?" 

A secret Jewish cemetery. In the middle of a beautiful forest. Not too far from a Rabbi's farm. "It sounds perfect," Reisser answered gratefully. "Thank you, Rabbi." 

The Rabbi smiled and squeezed Reisser's hand again. "I'll fire up the car, and we'll drive to your place. You'll have to give me directions. All Eliora told me was that you reside in Berlin."

"Yes, I'll show you where." 

"Splendid. Would you like to finish the tea and then go?"

"Could we just go now?"

"Of course."