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atop the Half-Moon Hotel, Woody mixed two glasses of rye and Coke.
    â€œWho can we get for torches?” Menter said as much to himself as to Woody. “Good outside pros will cut the profit. Any local talent?”
    â€œThere ain’t nothing here but dumb working stiffs and horny freaks,” Woody snapped.
    â€œFreaks? In winter?”
    â€œYeah, Vic, there’s a whole house of ’em livin’ here now. The ones who work the sideshows in the summer. Fifi, she’s French, a Frog fat lady, bought a house on West Eighth and rents out to her freak buddies. Makes a good buck, too.”
    â€œWho lives there?”
    â€œLet’s see. There’s Olga, the World’s Ugliest Woman; Jo-Jo,the Dog-Faced Boy; Albert-Alberta, the Half-Man Half-Woman; the Blue Man; the boy with two mouths; Otto, the Strongman and, oh yeah, Lohu and Mohu, the Japanese Siamese Twins, and maybe some more.”
    â€œThey’re the torches,” Menter said, grinning.
    â€œAre you kiddin’? Those geeks couldn’t light a cigarette.”
    â€œI can teach ’em.”
    â€œWhat makes you think they’ll do it?”
    Menter squared himself against the back of his wheelchair.
    â€œIn Coney, they do anything Victor Menter tells ’em to do. They’re nothing but a bunch of prick suckers, thieves and fags. And them that ain’t, my cops will say they are. Freaks don’t talk back to Victor Menter. They do as told.”
    â€œBut after, Vic, they could squeal.”
    Menter smiled.
    â€œWe’ll make sure they can’t.”
    â€œHuh?”
    Menter clapped his hands loudly.
    â€œI hate freaks! Almost as much as kike doctors!”

I N THE C HERRY T REE : F EBRUARY 1, 1936
Aba:
Ivan Pavlov has died.
Harry:
Who was he?
Aba:
He was a Russian who tortured dogs.
Harry:
Was he punished?
Aba:
On the contrary, he was greatly honored all over the world.
Harry:
By people who hate dogs?
Aba:
Probably most deeply by those, but everyone declared him a genius
for proving that a human being can fool a dog into thinking that
it is about to be fed, not by showing it food, but by ringing a bell.
Harry:
All dogs?
Aba:
Up till now, only the dogs he tortured. But there is no reason to
believe that any dog could stand up to Comrade Pavlov’s methods.
Harry:
What about cats?
Aba:
What about human beings?
Harry:
They are different from dogs.
Aba:
How so?
Harry:
Well … they speak. They would tell each other: Don’t let Pavlov
fool you, there is no food.
Aba:
And what if they were so hungry that they wanted to believe there was food, even if they knew there was not?
Harry:
I
would never believe it.
Aba:
And what about God?
Harry:
Ha. I know that one. A boy in school told me. Dog is God spelled
backward.
Aba:
That is not what I meant, wonderful American boy. Now listen carefully: On Sunday bells ring all over the world and when goyim hear them they believe there is a God. Correct?
Harry:
Yes.
Aba:
And on Saturday, Jews believe there is a God. Correct?
Harry:
Yes.
Aba:
So who is the right God: the Sunday God or the Saturday God?
Harry:
The Saturday God. The God of the Jews.
Aba:
Heshele, did you hear a bell ring?
Harry:
No.
Aba:
You must listen more carefully.

CHAPTER
4
    A DISTANT PHONE RANG, INSISTENT AND ANGRY, LIKE A BABY’S hunger wail. The governor was calling to commute Harry’s death sentence for an unspecified crime Harry had not committed. Harry strained against the straps that lashed him into the electric chair. Only he could answer the phone and save himself. He tried to call for help, but his lips would not part.
    He awoke screaming but heard no sound. Wet, fuzzy cotton coated his pillow-buried lips. The ringing went on. He stumbled toward the phone in the living room.
    â€œHello,” he said.
    â€œAllo, Meester Kaatz.”
    â€œThe name is Catzker.”
    â€œNo. No. Ze name is Kaatz. Believe me.”
    â€œOK. But this is not he. I’m his