The Yellow Sailor
Page 10
“Fraülein Geiger,” Bernai said. “Have you been to the city of the Jews?”
Dr. Dehmel stopped pacing.
“Budapest?” she said.
“No. Prague.”
“I rarely leave Hainfeld.”
“During the day the Jews eat fish and sell leather and trade currencies. But at night they run through the ghetto and beat their chests with rocks.”
“Why?”
“For killing God.”
“Do they?”
“Yes.”
She looked at Dr. Dehmel. He shook his head. She turned back to Bernai.
“I don’t believe you.”
Dr. Dehmel tapped his head.
“Herr Bernai has fantasies.”
Bernai drank more cognac.
“Jews suffer Judenschreck,” he said. “Horror at being Jews.” Isn’t that true, Dr. Dehmel?”
“No.”
“That is why they love blonde women. But they are a morbid race. They experience God, not the woman.”
Dr. Dehmel sniffed the red gladioli.
“You’re an idiot, Herr Bernai.”
Dr. Dehmel opened the balcony door. He stepped out. Elise joined him. It was cold. Stars were out. Pine trees were black. A bird called.
Elise turned to Bernai.
“Herr Bernai.”
“What?”
“Please. Join us.”
“No.”
Bernai refilled his glass. He sang a rude Viennese cabaret song.
As she turned around in the wriggle-polka
Undiscovered,
Ha! Imagine it, he suddenly pulls a knife
out of his trench coat
O, pity
Bernai drank cognac after cognac. Dr. Dehmel put his arm on Elise’s shoulder.
“Then congratulate us, Herr Bernai,” Elise said.
“Why?”
“We are to be engaged.”
“Mir zum Ekel,” Bernai said. “I loathe it to nausea.”
“Please—wish us happiness and a long life.”
Bernai parodied the Ybbs valley dialect.
“Ick jratuliere,” he said, “aber een langst Leben wunsch ick dir nich.”
“Thank you for the congratulations,” Elise said. “I’m sorry you don’t wish us a long life.”
Bernai staggered.
“The k-k-kacke—the scheisse—!” he said. “Everything was b-b-beautiful! But now it’s scheisse!”
He grabbed his head.
“Was there lightning?”
“No.”
“Is Austria on fire?”
“No.”
“Then take me home.”
Dr. Dehmel drove Bernai to Kurhaus Traibaisen.
“I apologise for the outburst,” Bernai said.
“You should.”
“Something brightened in the mind.”
“You’ve been pushing yourself, Herr Bernai.”
“You can’t marry her,” Bernai said.
“Why not?”
“You’re a Jew.”
“I’m converting,” Dr. Dehmel said. “I’m studying with Jesuits.”
“You disgust me.”
“Why?”
“You had a God-given nature.”
Dr. Dehmel parked at Kurhaus Traibaisen. Somebody had removed Eros.
“I’ll bring up a bottle of wine,” Bernai said. “We’ll toast your engagement.”
“No.”
“Let go of me, Dr. Dehmel. I am a rich man. I do what I like. I will get my best wine. And we will be friends.”
Bernai went down to the Kurhaus crypt. There was a chopping block, iron sink, salt cutter. He lighted a candle. There were wine specialties from Gasthaus Stadler. Old German script was hand-painted on the vault: None has built his house. Now none CAN build his house.
Bernai felt his way up the steps to Dr. Dehmel’s study with two bottles.
“One question, Dehmel.”
“Yes?”
“Were you the seducer or the seduced?”
“Both.”
Dr. Dehmel got a corkscrew. He took two crystal glasses from a cabinet. Bernai uncorked a bottle.
“She’s pretty,” Bernai said. “… very … pretty …”
“You liked her, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“She liked you, too.”
“She’s sweet.”
They drank.
“She blows her hair off her forehead.”
“So?”
“It’s provocative.”
“Were you provoked?”
“No. But others could be.”
“You were provoked.”
“She has a loud laugh for a small woman,” Bernai said. “It grated on me.”
“You were tense.”
“Her mind shows no culture.”
“It knows joy.”
They drank.
“So,” Dr. Dehmel said. “What do you think?”
“Sublato lucerna nullum discrimen inter feminas,” Bernai said.
“When lights go out, women are the same.”
Dr. Dehmel laughed.
“You don’t know.”
Bernai drank.
“She’s a figment of your imagination, Dr. Dehmel.”
“Oh?”
“Your Austrian beauty.”
“Well, that’s what she is.”
“Elise Geiger will not save you from Jewishness.”
A clock ticked.
“Would you like a wedding in the Domkirche?” Bernai said. “Augustiner choir? Boys’ choir? I can get it for you. I can get you anything you want.”
“Elise wants a country wedding.”
“I see. Have you planned your honeymoon?” Bernai said.
“Trieste.”
“Was that her idea?”
“Yes.”
“You’ll like Trieste. So will Elise. I gather she doesn’t travel much.”
“No.”
Bernai was very pale.
“I’ll be cured,” he said. “Would you like that? I’ll be cured for your sake.”
“No.”
“I’ll be feminine.”
“No.”
Dr. Dehmel looked out at the dark rose garden.
“Perhaps you and I did not flourish as we had hoped, Herr Bernai,” he said. “Frankly, it would not have worked for either of us.”
“No.”
Dr. Dehmel closed the study curtains.
“I can’t give you a sedative,” he said. “You’ve drunk too much.”
Bernai uncorked the second bottle. He poured for himself, not for Dr. Dehmel.
“Don’t drink any more, Herr Bernai.”
Bernai drank.
“You know what brought you here,” Dr. Dehmel said.
“Yes.”
“And what will happen if you don’t calm down.”
Bernai drank.
“Elise Geiger will be bored with your Jewishness. You will be crushed with guilt.”
“Guilt?”
“After all, I was your first love.”
Bernai stood. He held on to the red settee.
“Do you know what the Kurhaus needs, Dr. Dehmel?”
“No. What?”
“Equestrian entertainment.”
Bernai left. He went down the black-and-white-tiled corridor to the curved stairwell.
INTO THE DARK
NICHOLAS ROBBED Frau Rosengarten and bought a boat ticket to Dessau.
Deutsche Helden went down the Mulde. A ruined cloister passed. Marigolds dotted a crypt. A horse nibbled thistles. Nicholas wiped his mouth. Sweat poured down from his hair. Whirlwinds spun down the river road. A horse defecated as it pulled a cart.
The Mulde joined the Elbe. Nicholas transferred to Vier Jahrzeiten. Flies settled on his head.
“God, it’s hot.”
A hunting lodge passed. It was thatched, planted with bamboo and fenced around with black iron irises.
Vier Jahrzeiten smoked up the Elbe. A boy car
ried beets in a wicker basket. A barge pulled itself upriver by a chain in the Elbe bottom. Swamps passed. At Schönebeck a tanker bumped a barge coming out of the Saale. Potatoes spilled, floated, then sank. There were no more dikes.
Nicholas turned to a German man with a bicycle.
“Is that Magdeburg?”
“No. Dömitz.”
“Where are we?”
“Eighty kilometers from Lauenburg,” the man said. “One hundred sixty-five kilometers from Hamburg.”
Dömitz’s four-arched iron bridge crossed the river. Twilight came. The river turned opalescent. Fires burned on sandy shores. A Potsdam restaurant boat came down a canal from Berlin. A string quartet played. Magdeburg’s black eagle flag fluttered over the docks.
“Magdeburg!”
It was night. There was a two-hour stopover. Nicholas walked down the gangplank onto the Magdeburg embankment.
Moldau schleppers brought harnesses, leather, saddles from Prague. Gun-drilling machines came from Plzeň. A donkey carried munitions canisters. Troops were on night maneuvers. Privates carried pails of water.
Slavic missionaries, back from Poland, carried black suitcases. Beggars crowded.
“Money!”
“Prayers!”
“Love!”
Nicholas stopped a priest.
“Where is a restaurant?”
“In the Jewish quarter.”
The priest pointed.
“Follow your nose.”
A crescent moon slid behind a cathedral with a Judensau—Jew sow—carved on its steeple. Chairs were set up under electric lights. Magdeburg staged anti-Semitic plays. Nicholas went to the Jewish market.
Saffron, red peppers, black pepper, dried fish, were piled on sheets under orange lights. Jewish porters and Rüthenians carried trunks. Jews carried goats, chickens, and live lambs. Romanies and Gorgios—Romanies who lived in houses—fist-fought.
Nicholas went into a café. The Kaiser’s portrait still hung by the kitchen. The counter was piled with red peppers, onions and lemons, dried fish. The cook read a Yiddish newspaper. Nicholas sat. A waiter came.
“The moon shines,” a waiter said.
“What?”
“You don’t speak Jewish?”
“No.”
“I know that. What do you want?”
“Jewish brandy.”
“It’s too strong for Germans.”
“Bring it to me.”
Nicholas wiped his neck with his hand. His hand came away gritty.
“Bring me a whole bottle,” he said.
“Where are you going?” the waiter said.
“Munich.”
“Why?”
“Germans are more German there,” Nicholas said.
“My cousin lives in Munich.”
“How is it?”
“Dirty.”
“That’s not what I heard,” Nicholas said.
Nicholas drank three glasses of Jewish brandy. He turned. Men played zithers as they walked down a lane. Cartel Jews picked their teeth, or chewed sunflower seeds, and walked past amusement booths.
“Who are they?”
“Criminal Jews.”
“Criminals?”
“They move prostitutes, pearls, and ammunition up and down the Elbe. Their headquarters is Prague.”
Nicholas snored, cheek on the table. The waiter squeezed his arm.
“What are you doing?” the cook said.
“Waking him.”
“Why?”
“He’ll miss his boat.”
Nicholas slipped to the floor.
“Let him lie where Jesus flung him,” the cook said.
“He suffers.”
“Nu?”
The waiter shook Nicholas.
“Don’t die here,” the waiter said. “We’ll be arrested.”
“Wha—?”
“You’ll miss your boat.”
“Oh.”
Nicholas paid. He counted his change twice. He went back to Vier Jahrzeiten. His suitcase was still under a deck chair. Vier
Jahrzeiten left the dock. It was one A.M. Nicholas drank with a German businessman.
“Were you a soldier?” the businessman said.
“Merchant marine.”
“It was a bad time,” the businessman said. “Christ’s religion took a pasting. Are you going far?”
“Munich.”
“Go to Bohemia,” the businessman said. “A German can do well there. And when you go, climb Schneekoppe.”
“Schneekoppe?”
The businessman poked Nicholas’s knee.
“It’s the Elbe’s source!”
“Our Elbe!”
Nicholas and the businessman sang.
Rich cities send their greetings
Bells ring from cathedrals
Young and old of all kinds
Say “God’s greetings, Elbe River!”
Jews rumbled in a wagon to Prague. The businessman turned his chair so his back was to the road.
“Schneekoppe is on the Polish border,” he said. “On a clear day you see the White Mountains of Prague. Or north to a factory in Zobten, Silesia.”
The businessman winked.
“Do it!”
“I will! Schneekoppe!”
“Promise.”
“I do!”
“While you’re young!”
Thunderclouds rolled from Polish Silesia. Plzeň beer came downriver. Nicholas took a pack of cards from his pocket.
“Do you gamble?” he said.
“No.”
A shadow fell.
“I do.”
Nicholas turned. A Jew in black glasses stood in front of the deck light.
“Komm, Christenmensch,” the Jew said.
“Why?”
“To gamble.”
“Don’t gamble with Jews,” the businessman said.
“I’m smarter.”
Nicholas followed the Jew to a table with other Jews in third class. Nicholas sat. The Jews nodded.
“You’re from the North?” a Jew said.
“Hamburg.”
“And now you’re on the Elbe?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Going to Dresden,” Nicholas said.
“Why?”
“To catch a train to Munich.”
“Why?”
“So I don’t end up like you,” Nicholas said.
“Shuffle.”
Nicholas shuffled.
“You speak German,” Nicholas said.
“When we have to.”
“Cut.”
Nicholas cut.
“Deal.”
Nicholas dealt. He got drunker on Jewish brandy. A Jew picked up a mandolin.
Nu horet die angestlichen chlage
diu an dem arteillichen tage
uber die sodomiten gat
Now hear the complaint
which goes these days
about the homosexual
Jews snickered.
“Was that about me?” Nicholas said.
They played.
“Ha.”
“Ha ha.”
“Ha ha ha.”
They played.
“Nu will ich hie Konig werden, und du solst das Schwein bey der Saue seyn,” a Jew said. “Now I will be king, and you, the pig from the sow!”
“How?”
“I win.”
“No,” Nicholas said. “I win!”
Nicholas showed his cards.
“Dass Euch die Fels Krankheit,” a Jew said. “May you get epilepsy.”
Nicholas scooped up money. He got dizzy. He held on to the table. Rain-mist spattered a castle.
“Does this journey never end?” Nicholas said.
“Es sei oder nicht,” a Jew said. “It may or it may not.”
“May not?”
Rain hit hard. Croatians huddled under a deck tarpaulin. Jews on shore slipped through oaks and elms. One bowed this way and that, depending on which way
the wind blew.
Nicholas jumped up.
“Hey!”
“What?”
“Look at the cards!”
Nicholas pointed. Angels on the backs of aces had no hairlines. Queens’ hair had no part. Spades’ angel breasts had no nipples.
“You cheated!”
“Beisz in mein Schwanz,” a Jew said. “Bite my ass.”
“Give me my money!”
“Shoot dice.”
“What can I bet?”
“Your destiny,” a Jew said.
“What?”
“Your stupid destiny!”
The Jews gave him more Jewish brandy. The dot in the three was hollowed to take a mercury bead. The four tended to turn up. Nicholas grabbed the money.
“Swindlers!”
A Jew pulled a revolver.
“Geld her Brumm oder bet’ dein letztes Vaterunser,” he said.
“Give your money, or pray your last Our Father.”
Nicholas cupped his mouth.
“Help! I’m being robbed by Jews! And I’m a young Aryan!”
“SHUT UP!”
The Jew put the revolver away.
“Friss Du den Dreck,” a Jew said. “Eat excrement.”
“Ha.”
Nicholas stuffed money in his pocket.
“You know,” he said, “there are people who live but shouldn’t.”
Nicholas went to the first-class lounge.
“Gott geleite euch,” a Jew called. “God guide you.”
“Where?”
“Somewhere else.”
Nicholas drank German champagne. A steward played a piano. A woman turned. Her forefinger moved around the top of a champagne glass. Nicholas bought her another glass.
“Where are you going?” Nicholas said.
“Prague.”
“Does the Elbe go that far?”
“No. It’s passable only to Mĕlník. Then the boat goes up the Moldau to Prague.”
Vier Jahrzeiten chugged into Dresden: baroque towers, cathedral, villas. The boat docked. Nicholas went from lamppost to lamppost to the Dresden train station. He passed out on his suitcase. Foreigners stepped around him.
“God, please don’t make me be sick.”
But he was.
LOVE IS STRONGER THAN OPIUM
JULIUS BERNAI’S COAL mines ran east of the Elbe, between Opole and Nowa Ruda in Polish Silesia.
It was four A.M. Jacek jotted notations of tubs and tonnage. Fossils and quartz stood in a cabinet. Photographs of skin diseases, mottled flesh, tumors, irruptions of blisters hung on twine.
Poles picked up wood mallets, wedges, and hand drills. They crossed the compound.
They went down in the cage. Jacek waited until the empty cage came back up and then he went down. A priest performed mass. Poles knelt by a wax statue of Saint Anthony hauling a miner from a crevice. They crossed themselves. Jacek clapped his hands.