Among the Living (20 page)

“Unless he thought …?” Malke said. “Ah, unless he thought I am dead.”

She said it so plainly that it took Jesler a moment to answer. “Yes — I didn’t mean it that way. I’m sorry.”

With a strange sort of cheeriness, Malke added, “Well, I am not dead. I am sitting here with you.”

Jesler felt Pearl’s hand on his lower back, a tightening of her fingers. It was clear this woman had been through the worst of it. Even with the rouge and the lipstick — and whatever else she had done — the face was gray and drawn, contorted. The eyes, worse still, looked as if they were on alert, for what Jesler didn’t care to imagine. It was as if someone had taken the trappings of good health and style and draped them over a translucence that didn’t have the strength to hold them up.

Pearl said, “You’ll stay with us, Miss Posner.” Jesler tried to hide his shock and again Pearl ignored him. “We have a room. It was Yitzhak’s so maybe you’ll feel more at home there. My husband will go out and track him down — just as soon as he can — so we can clear all this up. Would that be to your liking?”

Malke sat with this barrage of words for several moments before saying, “Thank you. Yes. I am quite tired. Perhaps I could rest.”

“Of course,” Pearl stood. “I’ll take you up right now. Abe, her bag.”

Malke stood, and said, “Pardon, but what is ‘Ike’?”

“Oh —” Pearl said. “Well … that’s just what we call Yitzhak. It’s easier for us here in the United States.”

Malke seemed no less at a loss but tried a smile. “I see. Ike.”

And, finding her own reserves of optimism, Pearl said, “But what a joy for us to have you come all this way and with such wonderful news. Isn’t it wonderful news, Abe?”

Weiss read through the pages for a second time while Goldah sat across from him at the desk. Goldah had offered to wait outside but Weiss said he liked having the writer watch as he read through a piece like this. It helped with the editing. So be it.

Weiss kept the blinds of his office drawn — against the heat, he said — and relied on two dim lamps for light. A single fan droned from the corner.

Weiss finished and said, “It’s a striking piece. Odd but striking.” He leafed through the pages, stopping on a phrase here and there as he spoke. “It’s not fully clear to me which way you’re leaning. I might need you to be a little clearer on where you stand.”

“I was hoping the power might be simply in presenting it.”

“I can see that, yes. Still … you’re saying something with this. You need to say it with a bit more clarity.”

“So they’ll know which side I’m on?”

“Something like that.” Weiss set the pages down and flipped open his cigarette box. He offered one to Goldah. “First time out, you’re presenting yourself as much as the piece. Readers like to know who you are.” They lit up. “It’s going to happen, you know. The mandate expires in, what, nine months, then the fighting will get a whole lot worse. The Arabs won’t go willingly.”

“I’m not sure that’s the point, is it?”

“The point?” said Weiss. “You think the Arabs shouldn’t have a say in this? I believe they’ve been in Palestine for quite some time.”

Goldah was impressed. He had never imagined that a Jew, in the safety of America, would have a care for the Arabs one way or the other. “So you’re concerned for the Arabs?”

“I’m not concerned, Mr. Goldah. I’m a realist. There are a million Arabs living there. A few pieces of paper aren’t going to convince them that the land isn’t theirs. I don’t have to care about them to see that. It might be better not to have a state at all. But who am I to say that?”

Goldah said, “It’s still not the point.”

“Really? Then what is?”

“Guilt.”

“Guilt? That’s a bit wide, isn’t it?”

“Perhaps.” It was a long time since Goldah had spoken like this — ideas with scope and import and anything beyond his own small self. He found it invigorating. “It’s the first time in history the Jews can ask for something and the rest of the world will give it. It’s a moment of universal shame. I’m not convinced shame and pity should pave the way for a nation-state.”

Weiss was equally struck by the candor. “Surely it’s more than that. You really think Weizmann and the Zionists will care either way?”

“They can’t deny it. Guilt lasts only so long. Are we really so weak? Who’s to say we should want this handed to us because of a momentary crisis of conscience.”

“Given the last ten years, I’d say yes, I think we are. Question is, why draw all this attention to ourselves?”

“Spoken from the very comfortable chair of the American South.”

Weiss needed another moment to sort through Goldah’s unabashed bluntness. “Fair enough,” he said. “Still, nothing is getting handed to us — believe me, just ask the Arabs — except maybe a spotlight.”

“And yet isn’t it that spotlight that makes sure the world doesn’t allow this to happen again? Keep the light on and they have no choice but to let the Jews survive.”

“You see — that’s what I mean. You’re playing both sides.”

“And if I say print it the way it is?”

Weiss tapped out some ash. “Not a little shoe salesman anymore, are you?”

Goldah took a draw on his cigarette and crushed it out. “I apologize. It’s a muscle. It atrophies but comes back strong. If it’s too much —”

“No,” said Weiss, enjoying this. “It’s exactly what I wanted. I won’t change a word. It’s always fun to see readers play with a paradox. Wait until the letters start coming in.”

Goldah remembered moments like this, and the pride. He also remembered Jesler. “You’re giving me too much credit,” he said. “Maybe we should have another set of eyes take a look at it?”

“What — you don’t trust mine?” Weiss smiled.

“Not at all — of course — but I think we both know there’s more at stake here than the column.” Goldah heard himself pause for just a moment. “You have a political man, don’t you?”

“For the local stuff. Why?”

“I’ve read some of his pieces. Thomas. They’re good.”

“They’re
very
good, that’s why I pay him, but this isn’t really his sort of thing.”

Abe had given him Thomas’s name. “No, I realize that,” Goldah said, “it’s just that I like his approach, that’s all. I thought it might be good to have someone without the personal connection. But you’re right. We can just leave it the way it is.”

Weiss finished what was in his glass. “He’s not a Jew but he did go to Yale. Neutral and smart. All right. I can ask Thomas to take a look. I still won’t change a word.”

Goldah nodded, then tossed back the last of his glass and told himself the lightness in his head was from the booze alone.

“And this one,” Pearl said, “this was when he bought his first suit.”

She sat with Malke on the edge of the guest-room bed and ran her thumb along the crease of a photo album.

“Doesn’t he look smart in that,” Pearl said admiringly. “He’s filled out some now. Mary Royal and I saw to that but even
there he looks so handsome in it.” She stared a few moments longer, then flipped the page. “Oh, and this is at Johnny Harris. That’s a wonderful restaurant. Ribs and chicken. Do you eat beef and chicken outside the house? Anyway, those are our friends, the Fleischmanns — Herb and Fannie — and that’s the Kerns, Joe and Selma. They’re very good people. We’ll introduce you, take you and Ike. And there he is in front of our store. He ruined those pants doing some work on the door at the back, but that’s another story.”

Pearl smiled and, taking a deep breath, placed the album on Malke’s lap.

“Well, you’ll probably want to leaf through yourself, catch up on all he’s been doing.”

Pearl watched as the girl’s eyes moved vacantly from image to image. Malke fixed on one and brought her hand up to it — Ike on the porch, looking out at the garden. He had been with them less than a week at the time, pensive and serious, and Abe had caught him unawares. Pearl had never liked the photo, but Malke drew her thumb to it and began to rub it across his face.

“Careful, dear,” Pearl said, gently placing her own hand on the girl’s. “You’ll tear it if you do that.”

Pearl felt the small hand tighten beneath her own. The next moment Malke was screaming out, pain and fear like the last gasp of a drowning child. She darted to the wall, her back to Pearl, face hidden beneath her arm, as she stood there shaking in silence.

Pearl sat frozen. She had no idea what had happened or what she was meant to do. She saw the album on the floor, its pages bent. She thought to pick it up but she was terrified. She felt her own breath growing short just as she heard Abe racing up the steps.

“What’s going on, what happened?” he said, reaching the door out of breath. Pearl was shaking her head, her hand at her mouth. He thought she might cry. Jesler said with great care, “Hey, there, Miss Posner. Is there something I can do?”

Malke didn’t move and Abe slowly sat on the bed next to Pearl. He took her hand, brought the album back up and set it on the desk.

Pearl said, “We were just looking.” She was holding back the tears. “That’s all. I told her not to press so hard. And I touched her hand.”

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” He put his arm around her. “Miss Posner — Malke, dear — please, we didn’t know. We’re sorry. I’m sure everything’s okay. You understand?
Alles gut. Alles ist … sicher.
You’re safe here. Okay? Why don’t you come over here and sit down. Or have a lie-down. We can leave you to it. Have yourself a good
Schlaf
all by yourself. I promise … you’re safe here.”

Malke turned to them with a sudden hatred in her eyes. “I don’t know him!” she screamed. She jabbed her finger toward the album and screamed again, “I don’t know him!”

She started to move toward them and Jesler was on his feet, the girl’s hands raised as if to strike him. He reached out and held them there, hardly any strength in them, as he pulled her in, her screams and thrashing cradled in the thickness of his arms.

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” he said. “Get to the door, Pearl, get to the door.”

Pearl stood just as Malke’s body went limp. Jesler lifted her up and placed her on the bed, even as he heard Pearl weeping behind him.

An hour later Dr. Friedman told him she would sleep. He had found the medications in her bag, along with a letter from the Lubecks explaining the occasional bouts she might
experience. Dr. Friedman had given her an additional sedative so as to help her get through the night.

On the telephone the Lubecks were beyond mortified, apologizing and explaining that they had insisted Malke give the letter to the Jeslers immediately upon her arrival. They now realized how foolish that had been.

“She’s been so much better, you see, and we wanted to believe …”

Jesler was nothing but kind. He told them it had been only half a minute before she had fainted. She was resting. Everything would fine.

Now Pearl sat in her own bed, propped on a pillow and holding a whiskey, with Abe at her side. The doctor had given her a little something as well, and Abe told her the whiskey would help move things along.

“I’ve made a terrible mistake,” she said, her voice frail and distant. “I don’t know if I can handle a girl like that. What was I thinking? How could I know who she is?”

“It’s okay. Don’t worry.”

“You’re not going out now, are you?” said Pearl. “You can find Ike tomorrow. That’d be time enough, don’t you think? Dr. Friedman said she’ll sleep so no reason for Ike to see her.”

“It’s okay, honey. It’s okay. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be sitting right here until you fall asleep and then I’ll be right over there in that chair making some telephone calls. Okay? And Dr. Freidman said he’s coming back in the morning to check on everyone.”

“I’ve done some foolish things, Abe — I know I have — but this might just take the cake. I saw her there — and with the holidays coming up — and then knowing where things are with Ike, I just … I don’t know — I sometimes care too much, I do — and then that poor girl.”

Jesler nodded and gave the right responses. After a time, he stopped listening except to hear the waves of sound rising from the bed. Had there been a break he would have refocused his attention, but instead — and perhaps for the first time — he considered Ike and wondered how the boy could possibly manage this. All the time he should have been helping the boy and now Ike was helping him.