The Entertainer and the Dybbuk by Sid Fleischman

your Nazi murderer was in my shop in Zurich. He was trying to sell me valuable stamps. He said he had an Inverted Jenny.”
    â€œA what, sir?”
    â€œAn American airmail stamp. Extremely rare, eh? Much sought after, yes? It shows an American airplane. A Jenny, it was called.One sheet of stamps was printed upside down. So you have a great error. Only one hundred Inverted Jennies exist on the face of the earth. Can you imagine how expensive?”
    â€œVery,” replied Freddie.
    â€œMore than very.”
    â€œYou bought it?”
    â€œNo,” said the stamp dealer. “I assumed it was stolen. I could see from the numbers on the man’s wrist that he was a concentration-camp survivor. The first letter, the J, told me at once he was a Jew. So I began talking to him in Yiddish. He didn’t even seem to know ‘nu’ and ‘shlemiel.’ I smelled a rat. I suspected he was trying to sell stolen stamps. I said I’d need time to raise such a great amount of money if Ichose to buy it. He said I’d better get busy, as he’d be leaving for New York in a few days, and he might sell it there.”
    Freddie paused briefly. “Did he smoke Egyptian cigarettes?”
    â€œYes. What Jew after the war could afford Egyptian cigarettes?”
    Freddie’s stomach tightened. Or was that the dybbuk doing handsprings? He’d found his man!
    â€œHe was an SS officer,” said Freddie. “Do you know where he’ll be staying in New York?”
    â€œMe? No. But he won’t be hard to find.”
    â€œReally?” Freddie thought the dybbuk must be holding his breath.
    â€œTwo months later, the stamp was sold inNew York, big news in our world. The buyer was well known. Look up Dr. Jameson T. Wixson in San Francisco, yes? I have seen in the press that he continues to buy rarities from the counterfeit Jew. He undoubtedly knows your man’s whereabouts.”
    Freddie nodded, smiling. “Leave your card, sir. I’ll make sure you receive a reward.”
    â€œFeh,” he said, a grin on his lips. “I’m not tempted by your reward. Give it to a Jewish charity, eh?”
    Within an hour, Freddie had posted a cable to the doctor in San Francisco. The following evening he received a cable in return. The German dealer in rare stamps was standing trial for murder in Phoenix, Arizona.

CHAPTER 18
    W hen Freddie told his girlfriend that he had bought a ticket on the Mauritania to New York, her face blossomed into a sunflower smile. “You darling man, we can have the captain marry us!”
    Freddie averted his eyes. How could he face her? “Polly, I love you like in that Portuguese sonnet, but we can’t get hitched yet.”
    â€œFreddie, what kind of a stall is this?”
    How do you break the news that you are possessed? She’d be marrying the dybbuk without knowing it. When she found out, live steam would shoot out of her ears.
    â€œI should be back in a month or so.”
    â€œWhy can’t we marry now?”
    â€œTrust me.”
    There was no mistaking Polly’s look of distress. “Freddie, I think you’re a dog that won’t hunt! Another woman? Here’s your ring back.”
    â€œNo other woman. I didn’t give you a ring.”
    â€œWell, if you had, here it is back!” And, lifting her chin like the prow of a ship, Polly sailed away.
    Freddie watched her go and spiraled down into a funk. He stood on a trafficky corner, unsure which way to turn. A wind off the river blew his hair about like a head of snakes. Taxi horns blew him across the street. What should he do?
    He loved Polly. She needed to know about the dybbuk. He must tell her before he left. Okay. He’d risk it. He’d do it.
    For ten days Freddie was unable to reach her by phone. She was even avoiding their restaurants and cafés. She seemed to have vanished in an angry puff of smoke. Had she slipped out of town? Not even her