The Price of Escape

by David Unger

Was this naïve?

  Samuel relished the thought.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Unencumbered by dreams, Samuel slept like a log. In the morning, as he washed his face in the basin of his room, he heard a brisk knocking. He dried his face and opened the door. Sunlight streamed in.

  It was Lewis, wearing a freshly pressed light blue shirt and a small fedora on his head. His eyelids were thick and pasty. Before Samuel could say a word, the American began speaking. “I wanted to say goodbye before leaving,” he said slowly, as if weighing each word. “The Banana Reefer is loaded up to the brink and will be setting out for New Orleans in another couple of hours. I’ve got to go back down to Puerto Cortés in Honduras for the day, to finish up some old business, then get back here tonight.”

  “Won’t you come in?” Samuel asked, squinting.

  “Nah, I can see you’re busy.”

  “Not at all. I insist.”

  Lewis shrugged, walked into the room, and sat down on the rattan chair. He took off his hat, laid it across his lap, and began to twirl his thumbs nervously.

  “I feel terrible for what happened last night. I talked to George this morning. He said I flew off the handle—not his words—and let my mouth run loose all over the place. Berkow, I hope I didn’t come down too hard on you.”

  “You don’t have to explain yourself,” answered Samuel, leaving the door open.

  “I’m not apologizing, Berkow, don’t get me wrong.” His little eyes narrowed and he paused. “I am not in the habit of apologizing for anything.”

  Samuel felt he had to say something. “Liquor loosens the tongue and isn’t too particular about how things are said.”

  “Right-o,” Lewis replied quickly. “I thought you’d understand. Look, I’m beyond making amends with George and Willie. That pickaninny Kingston? Well, he’s another story. He was a good worker till he let some of those unionists twist out the little sense he had in his head.” A smile slid across his face and he stretched his neck a couple of times. Samuel saw that he was cleanly shaven now and neatly dressed. “Berkow, you and me, well, we’re cut from a different cloth. It may have to do with color.”

  “That may be, Mr. Lewis.”

  “I just came to give you some advice, straight-from-the-shoulder advice, the only kind I know how to give.” Lewis kept fidgeting. “Sit down, Berkow. You’re making me nervous.”

  Samuel sat on the bar of his bed, rubbing the towel, which he had placed on his lap. He knew he was being set up for a long sermon.

  “Look, when I came to Puerto Barrios twenty years ago, there was nothing here. Well, there was this pier built out of rotting planks and natives living in their stilt houses under the palm trees. You’d have thought they were still living in the Stone Age, running around half naked. As you can imagine, things have changed. You have this hotel, though you might not think too much of it. We’ve put up some decent housing for the stevedores—wooden army barracks, that sort of construction—away from the water so that if a hurricane blows in, they won’t all be wiped out. And in time, restaurants and cantinas and a few churches opened up. Ten years ago, it looked like we might turn this cesspool into a paradise.” Lewis moved his chair closer to Samuel.

  “One or two concrete buildings were built, for the mayor and the police. Why, we had a big old fancy whorehouse with girls coming from as far off as New Orleans and Gulfport, just for us Americans. The prettiest ones stayed for only a few months—malaria and whatnot—but never mind, we had a rollicking good time.

  “We tried our darnedest to make a go of things here. We drained the swamps to get rid of the breeding grounds for the mosquitoes. We gave the workers plots of land so they could grow their rice, plantains, and beans. We truly tried building schools and churches and whatnot. I don’t know if it was the diseases or the inherent laziness of the workers, but all we did was tread water. Then the Company decided to move headquarters inland to Bananera, so that the big chiefs would be closer to the banana plantations. Personally, I wouldn’t have minded the change myself, but my bosses felt I should stay here and take control of port operations. Berkow, do you know what I’m driving at?”

  Samuel touched his neck. He was hungry. Two days with no food. Yet all he could do was listen. “I’m afraid not.”

  Lewis tapped his legs. “Of course you don’t. I can see it in your eyes. This is a new world for you. I remember the feeling. Hopping with hope, dreams of bliss, eh?”

  “To be honest—”

  Lewis quieted Samuel with a wave of his hand. “You don’t have to fake it with me, I’m an old dog myself. But listen to me. It’ll save you a lot of grief, especially when you are dealing with some of these unsavory critters who aren’t even grateful to the mothers who gave them life. I’ll give you an example. We put up a hospital in Quirigúa, which the natives can go to anytime they feel sick. We pay the pickers a wage, which they never had in their whole lives. We’ve built schools right out in the fields and tried to get schoolteachers to teach the children how to read. We’ve created hundreds, maybe thousands of jobs, pumped money into the economy, turned jungle into fields—did I tell you that there’s a nine-hole golf course in Bananera?”

  Samuel shook his head.

  “Amazing, really, to see this short little grass growing and have sand dunes in the jungle. Well, all the Company has ever asked for is to have the right to do business as we see fit without interference from the government. There are some busybodies who go around stirring up the workers by claiming that we own too much land; that we meddle in politics to get laws passed that only benefit us; and that we deal brutally with the workers. Well, they don’t have a clue what it’s like to try and keep this banana business going. If it’s not Panama Disease or sigatoka attacking the crops, it’s malaria or scurvy attacking our employees. If it isn’t disease, it’s a worker riling up the other workers instead of putting in a day’s honest labor. Berkow, you have no idea how many headaches we have. Have you heard of Ubico?”

  “I think my cousin mentioned him in a letter.”

  “Well, he’s the big boss in Guatemala, the president. I gotta laugh when he puts on his military uniform with all these medals making his blue shirt sag and goes clopping on his horse down the middle of the streets as if he were Napoleon. Berkow, it’s a sight.

  “Anyway, the highland Indians call him Tata—something like Pops—because he’s a half-breed like most of them and he knows them inside and out. Why, this year we had a vagrancy law passed that says the Indians must actually get jobs and make money or else they’ll be forced to build roads for the country. No more idling around, growing crops in your yard, practicing your Indian mumbo-jumbo, cutting off the heads of chickens. And to show his good faith, Tata cancelled the debts of all the Indians—something I wouldn’t mind him doing for me!

  “This is the kind of legislation that will produce results. Free labor won’t work in Guatemala like it does in the States. If meddlers had their way, they’d take back the lands that we acquired legitimately and parcel it out. But them Indians plant just enough corn to keep their families alive—they have no idea how capitalism works. I ask you, is this any way to run a country, having people living in their little huts and praying to stones?”

  “Mr. Lewis, this is all so new to me. What do I know? I’m from Hamburg. What you’re saying makes sense—”

  “I knew you’d agree!” Lewis beamed. “You’re an intelligent man. Someone I can talk to.”

  Samuel felt hot inside. He felt like rushing out of his room and jumping into water. Or better yet: going to the train station!

  “You see, Berkow, I need you to understand me. Despite what I may sometimes say—I’m not careful with my words like a university professor—I care very much about the natives. I believe that everyone should be lifted out of poverty. I do. I even have a personal letter from President Ubico thanking me for my help in drafting and instituting the vagrancy law—to be honest, all I did was make a trip to Guatemala City with several dozen enve
lopes that Sam the Banana Man asked me to bring him. Old Ubico liked that and I got a bit of a kickback, to be honest … So to show all my gratitude, I’ve decided to will my money in my mother’s name to a small Protestant mission on the Guatemalan side of the border with Honduras, to be used to educate the Indians so that they drop their heathen ways. It’s an uphill battle, but it’ll be my small way of giving thanks. I certainly don’t want Esther to get ahold of my money!”

  “That’s generous of you.”

  “Yep,” Lewis said, breathing in as he spoke, “I’ve no wife and no children, so what the hell.” He placed his hat back on his head. His shirt was already patched with sweat. “I just wanted someone else to know how I feel deep inside. No one but Esther ever did, and you remember what she did to me. You do understand, Berkow, don’t you? People get the wrong impression of me.”

  Lewis stood up, and Samuel followed. Lewis was so overcome with emotion that he raised his arms to hug Samuel, but then clumsily dropped them to his side.

  “Bye, Berkow. You’ll be heading inland today?”

  “Yes, on the train.”

  “The trains,” Lewis said, bobbing his head. “They’re terrible. We own them, but can’t find anyone responsible to manage them. Conductors are always hitting the bottle. Must be boring work, I guess. Well, if I don’t see you again, best of luck. Write to me when you get to the capital. Who knows? I may have to go there soon to deliver a few more envelopes, if you get my drift. And if you come through Puerto Barrios, look me up. I’d be glad to see you again.”

  Samuel held open the door. Lewis stepped out into the corridor, turned around, and gave him a fake jab to the face.

  “So long, buddy. Keep your chin down and your guard up. And don’t forget my advice. It comes from experience.” And off he went.

  Samuel shook his head: Lewis had begun by asking him for permission to give him advice and ended up delivering a full speech. No matter what the situation, Lewis was always searching for an audience.

  Samuel was pressed for time, but felt too deflated to begin traipsing around Puerto Barrios. He slumped into his chair and stared into his palms, unable to rally his strength.

  He remembered the time he had gone with his Hochschule friends to visit a palm reader. All the preliminary hocus-pocus had bored him, but his interest had perked up when the gypsy indicated the significance of each crease in his hand. She prophesized financial ups-and-downs, but improving prospects if he ever decided to stop traveling so much. As to love, the lines were inconclusive—they pointed out much heartbreak, betrayal, though if he could learn to trust, he would find a loving mate. If he wanted to have a long life—which was possible—he needed to avoid conflicts, develop some sort of quiet hobby like chess or stamp collecting, and live far from the sea … He could learn to avert conflict and misunderstanding by developing calmness, poise, and balance.

  With his left forefinger, Samuel now traced the lines of his right palm. He couldn’t remember which line stood for what—at the time, the gypsy had been so explicit. Now they all seemed to run in circles, merge, veer off, shatter into so many fragments and wrinkles. He sneered, as if this would dismiss the palm reader’s prophecy from his mind. Besides, what could a puckered woman with too much cosmetics and weighed down by trinkets know about his future?

  Patience is the best remedy for trouble, she had said.

  White light was pouring into his room. Samuel walked into the corridor and gazed out. A pair of frigate birds soared high in the milky sky above Amatique Bay. Beyond the shabby little park and the dense vegetation along the shore, he could see the Chicacao still flush against the long pier. Across from it, standing huge and monumental, was the Banana Reefer surrounded by tiny stick figures—stevedores loading the last fruit into the hold of the ship. Funny, the pier was so close by—no more than three hundred yards from the gatehouse, where he had bribed the immigration agent, to the steps of the hotel. The walk had seemed so endless last night, desolate. For a brief moment, he forgot how he had made it to the International Hotel—had Lewis accompanied him or had he come by carriage or taxi? Now he remembered Mr. Price—a nasty little man with no pride. His body tightened with rage.

  Samuel went back into his room. There was an oval mirror with a carved frame just above his chest of drawers. He glanced at himself. He was still handsome, some might say. His dark brown hair, though receding, didn’t have a fleck of gray. He touched the skin around his cheekbones—it was a bit loose and there were small bags under his eyes. Such beautiful eyes, Lena had said, green like fine China jade.

  Despite the weight in his heart, the world still offered him infinite possibilities. That was it—Samuel had to seize the reins and not be afraid to take the big step. He shouldn’t live like a mole in the recesses of darkness.

  Samuel stepped back from the mirror, still admiring himself. Though he had a boyish, slender build, he had the bad habit of bunching his shoulders and leaning forward as if unreasonably burdened by responsibility. His nose in this downward posture seemed too fleshy and dipped, but if he straightened, tilted his chin upwards, he seemed altogether dignified. Lena had been right—with a little bit of grooming, he could have joined her brother and kept company with the Prince of Wales. It was in part a question of his wardrobe, for sure, but most of all his posture: Stand up straight, chin up, let your lips hide your crooked teeth!

  For a final few seconds, Samuel stared deeply into the mirror, as the gypsy had into his palm. How horrible! He saw a shrunken old man with choppy white hair staring back at him. A dark mole crowned his forehead. His face was textured like burlap, and the corners of his mouth pulled down in a sour, glum expression.

  He closed his eyes and groped for the towel he had left on the bed. When he found it, he brought it back to the mirror and draped the towel over it. He certainly didn’t need to see himself in this figuration.

  He remembered that after his grandmother had died, all the mirrors in the apartment were covered for the sitting of shivah— yes, some Ashkenazi ritual that went back to the Middle Ages. Some more hocus-pocus. Mirrors, dwarves, stupid gypsies, a man named Kingston with a smashed voice box, a pet iguana—where was he, he questioned himself bitterly, part of a traveling circus?

  Samuel went over to the sink and poured himself a glass of water from the pitcher. He then poured a bit more water into the wash bowl, dipped the towel into it, and scrubbed the back of his ears. Now he was clean.

  And for one of the only times since his war days, he didn’t shave. He simply didn’t have the spunk for it. Besides, who would even care?

  He was ready to go out and face the world. He placed his passport in his shirt pocket—it would be dangerous to be picked up without proper papers—and stuffed all the dollars he had into his pants. He latched the door shut from the outside, knowing that if a thief got in, he had no real protection. He did this simply to keep the door from flapping in the wind.

  As he walked down the corridor toward the staircase, he started humming “Himmel und Erde”—Sky and Earth—which was literally a recipe of apples, onions, and potatoes, but also a lovely German song which somehow made Samuel feel bold and confident.

  From somewhere in the bay, a horn sounded.

  The Chicacao had steamed out.

  Day had begun.

  CHAPTER TEN

  It was already late in the day. Samuel should have gone directly to the train station, with suitcase in hand, but instead he sauntered into the hotel dining room. He was hungry, but it wasn’t that. He felt that he wanted to sit down and eat as if to prove to himself that he was entitled to be properly served. He settled himself at a table along one wall and waited as if he had all the time in the world.

  The light blue room was spacious and airy, with a high wooden ceiling, like those dance halls so popular in Berlin in the 1920s. While he waited for the waiter to bring him a menu and take his breakfast order, Samuel recalled that his first official date with Lena had ended in a club called the Top Hat in the Ree
perbahn. They had arrived around midnight, after dinner and a variety show at La Boheme, and danced tangos—the new rage—till five in the morning. Lena danced dramatically, hooking a leg around Samuel’s, bringing him closer to her face and her downcast eyes. And whenever Samuel tried to kiss her red lips, Lena would open her eyes, her sparkling green eyes, and spin Samuel gracefully away from her. This sort of tease continued, on the dance floor and at their little candlelit table, till all the other couples left and they were alone.

  The musicians were putting down their instruments when Samuel called the violinist over and offered him a fat tip to play a private serenade for them. He played a Grieg solo and as they listened to the plaintive violin, they held hands and sipped apricot brandy. Samuel was particularly happy, having played the role of the attentive gentleman: gratifying Lena’s whims even before she pronounced them, combining elegance and flair on the dance floor, and tipping generously.

  When the solo had ended, Samuel escorted Lena arm-in-arm out of the club. It was morning. The city, under clouds and fog, was already charged with life: street sweepers were sweeping paper and leaves into piles, milkmen rattled empty cans in their wagons as they made their deliveries. Samuel whistled, waking up the driver who had dozed off atop his cabriolet in front of the club. They climbed into the cabin and he asked the driver to take the long way along the river to Lena’s brother’s apartment. Snow had begun falling, swirling in the air like feathers, leaving no more than a light dusting on the streets and sidewalks. At seven, he tried kissing Lena on the mouth, but she turned, so that his lips landed on her cheek. As he moved away from her, she grabbed him by the shoulders and put her lips and tongue on his mouth. They stood quietly deepening their kiss by the open oak door as if no one else on earth existed.

  When they parted, Samuel asked: “Do you love me?”

  Lena looked at him and answered: “Very much.” She then laughed aloud, childishly so, and scurried into the house.