War and Remembrance (78 page)

“Hello, Mrs. Henry.”

Her dark hair, still damp despite furious towelling, was swept up over her head. He remembered this heavy beautiful hair, and the slant of the huge eyes, now twinkling at him in the friendliest way, and the shape of the generous mouth when she smiled, and the way her cheeks curved. The feel of her brief cool handshake was enchanting.

“I’ve got a surprise for you,” she said, setting Louis down on the brown grass. “Stretch out your arms to him.”

Rabinovitz obeyed. She let go, and Louis, with a keen excited look on his chubby face, took a few uncertain steps and fell into the Palestinian’s arms, laughing and crowing. Rabinovitz swept him up.

“He’s starting to talk, too,” Natalie exclaimed. “Imagine, it’s all happened in one week! Maybe it’s the Corsican air. I feared I was raising an idiot.”

“You never did.” Jastrow sounded indignant.

“Say something,” Rabinovitz told Louis, who was inspecting him with sharp eyes.

Louis pointed a finger at Rabinovitz’s broad nose. “Daddy.”

Natalie turned scarlet. Even the Castelnuovos, sitting in glum silence, burst out laughing. Natalie gasped, “Oh, God! I’ve been showing him a snapshot of his father.”

Delighted with the sensation he had produced, Louis shouted, “Da-dee! Da-dee!” pointing at Castelnuovo and at Jastrow.

“Horrors, that’ll do, you little beast!”

The old man and Pascal ate in farming clothes. Pascal, grimy and tousle-haired in his old goatskin jacket, was giving Natalie his Valentino looks again. In his father’s presence he had until now been more careful. The dress, she thought uneasily, was setting him off, and she kept glancing at Rabinovitz, who took no visible notice. The conversation around the table was about the war news. The latest rumor in Corsica, said old Gaffori, was that all the North Africa hints were a deception. The Allies would hit Norway, drive across Scandinavia and Finland, and link up with the Russians. This would relieve Leningrad, open up a good Lend-Lease supply route to the Red Army, and put Allied bombers close to Berlin. What did Monsieur Rabinovitz think?

“I don’t believe the Norway story. Too late in the year. Your son and I once served in a freighter that made port in Trondheim in November. We got icebound for weeks.”

“Orlanduccio told us about that,” said Gaffori, reaching for a stone jug and filling Rabinovitz’s glass and his own. “He told us about some other things, monsieur, such as the little affair in Istanbul.” He raised his glass to Rabinovitz. “You are always welcome in this house, as long as you live. Thank you for sending us the great American author and his friends.”

Jastrow said, “We feel we’re a burden.”

“No. You may stay, monsieur, until we are all freed together. And now Pascal and I must go back to work.”

Natalie said quietly to Rabinovitz as they stood up from the table, “I must talk to you. Have you time?”

“Yes.”

He walked with her up the steep cobbled steps of the street outside, which led to the open gateway of the ruined fortress. “Shall we climb up?” she said. “The view is marvelous from the top.”

“Okay.”

“What was the business in Istanbul?” she asked as they began to mount a narrow stone staircase along an inner wall.

“Nothing much.”

“I’d like to know.”

“Oh, well, this guy Orlanduccio used to drink a lot and raise hell when we made port. This was before he married and settled down. I was on deck working on a broken winch, and I saw him come staggering along the wharf about midnight. Some hoodlums jumped him. Those waterfront rats are all cowards, they pick on drunks, so I just ran down there with a crowbar and broke it up.”

“Why, then, you saved his life.”

“His money, maybe.”

“And the Gafforis are being kind to us on your account.”

“No, no. They’re in the Resistance, the whole family.”

On a level terrace choked with brown grass and weeds, goats were wandering in and out of the broken walls of a roofless stucco structure with bars in the windows.

“Guardhouse,” said Rabinovitz. “Not much good now.”

“Tell me about the
Izmir,”
she said, leading him across the terrace to another staircase that went higher.

“The
Izmir?
That’s long ago.” He shook his head, looking sad and troubled. “It wasn’t so bad when we started out, but the weather got pretty wild by the time we reached Haifa. We had to unload the people into boats at night in a storm. That damned Turkish captain was making trouble, threatening to leave. There were some drownings, a few, I don’t know just how many. Once the people reached the shore they scattered. We never got an accurate count.”

Natalie asked soberly, “Then I was right to get off, after all?”

“Who can say? Here you are in Corsica now.”

“Yes, and what happens next?”

The higher staircase, its steps ground deep by climbers, was very steep. He spoke slowly, breathing hard, “The American consul general in Marseilles knows you’re here. He’s a good fellow, James Gaither. I’ve had dealings with him. He’s all right. Some of the other people in that consulate are no damn good. He’s handling your problem himself, on a strict confidential basis. When all your papers are in order you’ll come to Marseilles and proceed by train the same day to Lisbon. That’s Gaither’s idea.”

“When will that be?”

“Well, the tough thing is the exit visa. Up to a month or so ago you could have gone by train to Lisbon like any tourist. But now the French have stopped issuing exit visas. German pressure. Your embassy can get things done in Vichy, so you’ll receive visas, but it’ll take a while.”

“You’ve already managed all that!”

“Don’t give me credit.” It was a sharp sour reply. “Gaither had a cable from the U.S. legation in Bern to be on the lookout for you. When I told Gaither you were in Corsica, he said, ‘Hooray!’ Just like that.” They were at the top now. Over windswept battlements, they looked down on a valley floor of farms and vineyards, surrounded by wild forested mountains. “Well, I see what you mean. Fine view.”

“What about the Castelnuovos?”

He cupped a cigarette in his palms to light it. “Much tougher proposition. The German armistice commission made a raid on Bastia in September, because refugees were escaping to Algeria through there. That broke up my arrangements, so you got stuck in Marciana. Still, it’s good they left Siena. The OVRA started pulling in Italian Zionists in July. They’d be in a concentration camp by now. I’m working something out for them, so please try to keep the doctor from getting impatient. If the worst comes to the worst, the Gafforis will always look after them.” He puffed the cigarette and glanced at his watch. “We’d better start back. You wanted to talk to me? The train leaves for Ajaccio in about an hour.”

“Well, yes. That young fellow, Pascal —” she hesitated, gnawing a knuckle.

“Yes, what about him?”

“Oh, hell, I must confide in you. And I couldn’t talk in the house. Night before last, I woke up and he was in my room, sitting on my bed. With a hand on the covers. On my leg.” She began rushing out the words as they went down the windy steps. “Just sitting there! My baby’s crib wasn’t two feet from us. I didn’t know whether I was dreaming or what! I whispered, ‘What is it? What are you doing here?’ And he whispered,
Je t’aime. Tu veux?’
“ Rabinovitz stopped short on the steps. To her astonishment he was
blushing. “Oh, don’t worry, he didn’t rape me or anything, in fact I got rid of him.” She tugged at his elbow. Frowning, he resumed the descent. “It may have been my fault. Even in Elba he was making eyes at me, and on the boat he got sort of fresh. I did one damn fool thing when we got to the house. The trip was over, I’d made it safely, and I was grateful to him. I kissed him. Well, he looked at me as though I’d taken off my skirt. And since then, it’s as though I’ve never put it back on. And now this thing the other night —”

“How did you get rid of him?”

“Well, it wasn’t so easy. First thing I whispered was, ‘It’s impossible, you’ll wake my baby.’ “ Natalie took a quick side glance at Rabinovitz. “Now, maybe I should have gotten on my high horse and just thrown him out, yelled for his father, whatnot. But I was sleepy and surprised, and I didn’t want to wake Louis, and I felt more or less at these people’s mercy. So then he whispered, ‘Oh, no, we’ll be as quiet as two little pigeons.’ “ Natalie nervously giggled. “I was scared as hell, but it was just too ludicrous,
’deux petites colombes’
—”

Rabinovitz was smiling, but not pleasantly. “So what broke it up?”

“Oh, we whispered like that, yes, no, back and forth. He wouldn’t leave. I thought of appealing to his Corsican honor not to harm a fugitive under his roof. Or threatening to tell his father. All that seemed long and complicated. So I just said, ‘Look, it mustn’t be, I’m unwell.’ He snatched his hand off my leg and jumped from the bed as though I’d pleaded leprosy.”

For a seafaring man, she thought, Rabinovitz was oddly prudish. He looked very ill at ease at this.

“Then he stood over me and whispered, ‘You’re telling the truth?’ ‘Of course.’ ‘Madame, if you are simply refusing me, you are making a grave mistake. I can promise you ecstasy.’” She assumed a baritone voice. “
’Je peux te promettre l’extase.’
His very words. With that, thank God, he tiptoed out. I fear he’s going to try again. What shall I do? Shall I talk to his father? The old man’s so formidable.”

Rabinovitz was rubbing a palm on a very worried face. “I’m thinking where I can put you in Marseilles. Unless you want to try that ecstasy.” She said nothing, and again the puffy face reddened. “Sorry, I shouldn’t make fun of you, I’m sure it’s distressing.”

She replied a touch mischievously, “Oh, well, it’s made me feel young and so forth. But no, I’ll forgo Corsican ecstasy.”

He gave her a curious smile, with much sadness in it. “Good. Not for nice Jewish girls.”

“Oh, you don’t know me,” Natalie retorted, though not — to her surprise — annoyed by the description. On Rabinovitz’s lips the words had a caressing sound. “I’ve always done exactly as I pleased, or God knows I wouldn’t have married Byron Henry. Or put myself through other wringers
that nice Jewish girls usually avoid. Anyway, you think you’ll move us to Marseilles?”

“Yes. I don’t want trouble with the Gafforis. They’re very important to me, especially Orlanduccio. And at the moment they’re my one sure place for the Castelnuovos. Orlanduccio’s told me about this Pascal, he’s no good. You might be better off in Marseilles anyway. When your papers come through, you can leave, one two three. That’s an advantage.”

“And the Castelnuovos?”

“They stay here.”

“But I don’t want to abandon them.”

“Abandon
them?” Rabinovitz’s voice turned harsh as they walked across the terrace past the tumbledown guardhouse. “Don’t use such a silly expression, please. The U.S. consul general will step in for you if anything goes wrong, but they’d have no protection, none whatever. Marseilles is full of police and informers. I can’t possibly move them there. Please don’t encourage the doctor with such ideas. I’m having enough trouble with him as it is.”

“All right. Don’t be angry with me. Louis and Miriam are like brother and sister now.”

“I know. Listen, that Bastia raid was rotten luck. If the doctor will be sensible, he and his family will be all right.”

“While we’re in Marseilles, will we see you now and then?”

“Sure.”

“Well, that will be good.”

He hesitated, and spoke very gruffly. “I was disappointed when you left the
Izmir.
”

Natalie suddenly kissed his cheek. It felt bristly and cold.

“Mrs. Henry, doing that is what got you into trouble.”

“I don’t think I’ll wake to find you in my bedroom.”

“To a Frenchman that’s no compliment.”

They smiled uncertainly at each other, and descended into the town.

That evening it was Natalie’s turn to cook. As she served out a scrappy ratatouille in the little upstairs kitchen, a recipe from her Paris days, there was little talk. Even Miriam was grave. She went off to bed while the adults lingered in the kitchen over a coffee substitute made of roasted grains, mere sour brown water. Castelnuovo said, “Well, it’ll be hard on the children, won’t it?” This was the first open reference to their coming separation.

She had stopped noticing his appearance from day to day, but now she was struck by the alteration in him since Siena. Then he had been a self-assured, charming, handsome Italian doctor. His good looks were fading, his eyes were hollow, the lids were heavy.

“It’ll be hard on me, I know that,” she said.

Aaron Jastrow said, “Isn’t it possible we’ll still rejoin, and go out together?”

Castelnuovo’s headshake was slow, emphatic, and weary.

“What are his plans for you?” Jastrow insisted. “Can’t we be frank with each other?”

“In Marciana we still hoped to go by ship to Algiers,” said the doctor, “and make our way east to Palestine. But that’s closed off. It seems we can go out illegally either to Spain or Switzerland. People go in groups, with guides who sneak them through the woods. I guess Spain’s better. At least it’s on the way to Lisbon.”