Authors: Belva Plain
Evergreen (37 page)
So that was how it had come about. They had left the will with him and he supposed that, given their attitude, they had forgotten about it. As a matter of fact, he had forgotten about it himself until the night of the accident.
“And so,” Joseph said, “there’s nothing that can be done to change it.”
“Well, as I’ve told you, anyone has a right to contest a will. But you certainly couldn’t show undue influence in this case, could you? These people didn’t even know about it.” Mr. Andreapoulis’ hooded eyes were mournful. “And they really want the child, you see. Although any court would give you visitation rights, of course.”
“In their house?”
“It would have to be, wouldn’t it?”
“Like visiting in a jail,” Joseph muttered.
“Well, do you want to fight it? I don’t hold out much hope, but you never know.”
“Courts and lawyers. A dirty business. Excuse me, nothing personal, only—”
“I know what you meant. It’s all right.”
“A dirty business,” Joseph said again. His eyes filled.
The young man looked away. He waited.
Joseph stood up. “Well think it over,” he said, “and let you know. Come, Anna.”
* * *
On the wall behind the doctor’s desk hung an arrangement of diplomas, forming an impressive frame for his head. The bookshelves on the side nearest Joseph and Anna were filled with texts, the doctor’s own and many more.
The Psychology of the Adolescent
, Anna read, and
The Psychology of the Pre-School Child
.
“Yes, I would say this baby has suffered trauma enough,” the doctor said. “Of course I know what I’ve told you is not what you were hoping to hear.”
Anna wiped her eyes. “No, I believe it’s right. I can see that it makes sense. Splitting the time would be no good for him even if the court were to allow it, which the lawyer says they very likely wouldn’t, anyway.”
“That’s mature thinking. Courageous, too, Mrs. Friedman.”
“And yet I don’t know!” she cried out bitterly. “If the will had read the other way I wouldn’t have treated those people the way they’re treating us!”
“But I would,” Joseph said. “I would have done exactly what they’re doing. And that’s the truth.”
“Which proves,” Dr. Briggs remarked, “why the child ought to be spared exposure to such hostility. He’s had enough confusion and shock in his little life already. The kindest thing, if you really love him, and I see that you do, would be to bow out and leave him alone. Let these other grandparents rear him and give him stability. He’s not a prize to be fought over.”
“Not even to visit,” Anna said.
“I wouldn’t, if I were you, in these circumstances that you’ve described. How would he cope with so much hatred? And why should he be forced to take sides? When the boy is older he’ll want to see you. Teen-agers are very concerned with identity. Then that will be another situation entirely.”
“Teen-agers!” Anna cried.
“It’s a long time to wait, I know,” the doctor said.
* * *
At home Anna mourned, “If we hadn’t known him, it wouldn’t hurt like this. He was starting to call my name, did you know that? He called me Nana the last time I saw him.”
I never knew I loved Maury so much when he was alive, Iris thought. But when I remember Eric, his little face, his little hands, I know how I loved my brother. And now that they have taken Eric away, it’s like losing my brother twice over.
After the first blinding pain of loss came long, desolate nights and days. Why? Why? And no answer. Nothing anymore. Never. It was too much effort to eat, too exhausting to dress or go down to the market, a burden to answer the telephone.
Then one morning there came to Anna a stirring of desire to feel again. And she took out a sheaf of letters, tied together, that had arrived from Europe during the terrible time when Maury had been struck down. Voices called out of the dark: her brothers’ (Eli and Dan, snub-nosed, freckled boys in their mother’s kitchen and suddenly, in Vienna, as old as their father had been when he died); Liesel’s (Eli’s fair, silvery little girl); the unknown voice of Theo, the little girl’s husband.
1
.
Vienna, March 7, 1938
Dearest Uncle Joseph and Aunt Anna,
Now that I am actually sitting down to write you a letter I feel ashamed and must begin by apologizing for not having written before, except for the note in which I thanked you for the beautiful wedding gift that you sent to Theo and me. I suppose my only excuse for not having written in all these years, and not a very good one, is that Papa writes to you, and it seemed that he was really writing for all of us. Anyway, here I
am, your lazy niece Liesel, sitting in the library, looking out at the melting snow and the little garden room where we had afternoon coffee when you were here. Was it really nine years ago? I was such a baby then, staring at the relatives from America! And here I am, married; our boy Friedrich, Fritzl, we call him, is thirteen months old, just starting to take a few steps, and now
we
are going to America! I can’t believe it.
For that is what I want to write to you about. Theo left for Paris by train this very morning. He will take a ship from Le Havre, arriving in New York on the nineteenth. He has your telephone number, so don’t be surprised when you get a call! He spent three years at Cambridge and speaks English beautifully, not like me. (That’s why I’m writing this in German; because I remember that you were able to understand it very well.) I know you will like each other so much.
The reason Theo is making the trip is to make plans for our immigration. As you know, he is a doctor, and has almost finished his work at the clinic here, studying plastic surgery. I saw the work he did on a child with a burned arm; he is so talented and loves his work! He needs to find out how you go about getting a license to practice in the U.S. and perhaps he might find a doctor who needs a young assistant.… It is all quite unsettled, as you can imagine. So I thought that maybe among your many friends you might know a doctor who could advise him. Also, we shall be needing an apartment. Theo wants to sign for one and have everything ready; then he will come back and get Fritzl and me, and arrange to have all our furniture shipped. Perhaps you could tell him where to look for an apartment.
I have such very mixed feelings about all this, I must admit. Theo is absolutely certain that the Nazis are going to occupy Austria within the next year or so. He has been saying it since before we were married, even when we first met. He is very interested in politics and
sounds too convincing; he is determined to save us by emigrating. My parents and all Mama’s relatives and Theo’s own parents, too, think his ideas are pure nonsense. They refuse to leave and they are heartbroken that we are going. For a while Papa was really angry at Theo because he is taking the first grandchild and their daughter away, but now that the actual time is drawing near, he is too crushed to be angry.
As for me, I shall miss my parents, my young brother and sister, most terribly. And Vienna. Theo’s father and Papa had arranged to buy a lovely small villa for us near Grinzing. Up to now we have been living in a very nice apartment only a short walk from the Ringstrasse. I shall miss it all so much.… And I forgot to mention I was invited to start next season playing with a small orchestra here. At last I felt I was really getting somewhere with the piano. It will be hard to start all over in New York.
But I realize, if it should turn out that Theo is right about the Nazis, our lives here would be in danger because of being Jewish. It’s strange, because I have never felt Jewish. I have always felt Austrian—Viennese, to be exact. Forgive me if I offend you, since I remember Papa said you are still quite religious. But then, I am sure you will understand; to be religious or not is entirely personal, is it not? And one does whatever makes one happy.
Speaking of religious people, you may not know that Uncle Dan has already left. He and his whole family went last month to Mexico. He tried to go to the United States but it was impossible because of having been born in Poland; the quota is filled for years ahead. Of course Papa thinks Uncle Dan is quite stupid—they never seemed to get along very well, did they? Anyway, I hope they will succeed there, better than they did here.
This has turned out to be a very long letter, longer than I intended. Now I hear Fritzl up from his nap. We
all thought he was going to have red hair like Papa and you, Aunt Anna, but his hair has turned quite blond, almost white.
I hope you are all very well, and I thank you so much for whatever help you can give to Theo. He doesn’t need any money, only advice.
With hearty greetings,
your loving niece,
Liesel Stern
2
.
Vienna, March 9th, 1938
Dear Sister and Brother-in-law,
Your letter came here this morning, and I am sick with sorrow. To lose your son, your dear son! Destroyed in a pointless accident! Not even in a war, fighting for his country! That would be painful enough, but at least there is some reason in it, and hence some consolation. But this! I am sick for you, heartsick, and so is Tessa, so are we all. (I understand that Liesel wrote to you only a day or two ago, not knowing.) If only I could do something for you, dear Anna, dear Joseph.
It seems that all of a sudden the world has gone mad with sorrow. Not that I compare my burden with yours, of course not, but we here are bent down with the grief of parting.… As you have learned by now, my son-in-law, a fine young man of excellent family, has got a wild idea into his head about going to America. Please do not think I am prejudiced against America. When you went, Anna, from where we lived, it was understandable. But to leave Austria, because some fanatic across the border makes threats—it’s absurd. Even if the Germans were to take Austria, and believe me, it would not be so easy, even then it would not mean the end of the world! Possibly some of the extremists here would deprive some Jews of their jobs; there’s nothing new about that. We’ve
always had that sort of thing in Europe, sometimes a little more, then again, a little less. It’s nothing that one can’t live through. And anyway, I tried to tell Theo, his own parents tried to tell him, with our family connections we are the last people to be brothered.
Tessa’s people have lived in Austria for so many centuries that nobody knows when they first came. Her father is a top-level official in the Finance Ministry. Her grandfather’s sister married a Catholic and converted; one of their grandsons just became a bishop! So much for Tessa. I can’t boast of any such connections of my own, unfortunately, but I have made my modest success. Also, as you know, I fought in the war and wear the Emperor’s Medal of Valor. Really, I can’t see any reason for this hysterical behavior. Ah, well, the young are often unreasonable, and so it is.
Forgive me for talking about all this when your hearts are so full. Please, take care of yourselves and your daughter Iris and the surviving grandchild. Know that we are thinking of you. We are with you, praying that you will find the strength to endure this terrible thing, and go on.
Ever your brother,
Eduard
3
.
Paris, March 15, 1938
Dear Aunt and Uncle,
I write in haste to explain my failure to arrive in New York. By now you must be wondering why I wasn’t on the ship, or perhaps you have understood from the news why I wasn’t.
The day before I was to sail Austria was occupied. I have been trying to get through by telephone to my house, to Liesel’s parents or to mine. But the lines are dead. I must assume that they have all left Vienna for
the country. Perhaps they have gone to Tessa’s people’s mountain house near Graz. At any rate, I am taking a train tomorrow for Vienna, where they must have left some message. I will write as soon as I know something.
Respectfully,
Theodor Stern
4
.
Paris, March 20, 1938
Dear Aunt and Uncle,
I write again in great haste because I can imagine how anxious you are. I am almost out of my mind. I can’t find out anything. It has been a nightmare. I tried to get back to Austria, but they told me in France here that if I tried I would be arrested on the train. I didn’t want to believe it, but then the papers here in Paris began to print names and incidents involving people who had tried to rush back to their families just as I was trying to do. And it’s true, they were all seized and imprisoned. So, obviously, that would not have done anyone any good. But I have some contacts here that will surely be of help. I shall keep you informed.
Respectfully,
Theodor Stern
5
.
Paris, March 26, 1938
Dear Aunt and Uncle,
Still nothing. The earth has opened up and swallowed all the people I love. But that’s not possible. I can’t believe it. I won’t. I am working day and night. I shall write immediately whenever I learn anything.
Respectfully,
Theodor Stern