by Maisie Mosco
“My big brother,” Nathan said tersely. He got up and walked to where David stood. “Why’re you spying on me?”
“I came to tell you Rachel’s dead. Unless you want to miss the funeral you’d better come with me.” David turned on his heel and strode off along the path, a picture of the girl’s pretty, bewildered face floating before his eyes.
“I thought you were a united family,” Mary said in a strained voice when Nathan returned to her.
“That’s the trouble!”
She played with a corner of her starched apron thoughtfully for a moment, then looked up at him. “It’s me, isn’t it?”
Nathan averted his eyes.
“I’m the trouble.”
He picked up his attaché-case from the bench without looking at her. “I’ve got to go, love. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
Mary watched him run to join his brother as if he were being pulled by invisible strings back to the mysterious and powerful unit which dominated his life. The knowledge that this was so had dawned upon her gradually as her relationship with Nathan had deepened.
He could never see her on Saturday afternoons, or take her with him to the weekly gathering of the clan. Her Christianity prohibited it. Friday nights were struck out of the week, too. But she did not need these twice-weekly reminders of her enemy, as she had begun to think of it. Its power and presence hung like a protective pall around the man she loved, even when he held her in his arms.
How the power was wielded she could not fathom and doubted if anyone who was not Jewish ever could. Lately, she had felt Nathan fighting to free himself, but had said nothing to lend support. It had to be his decision, she did not want to be blamed if later he felt it had been the wrong one.
She got up and began walking slowly towards the park gate, numbed by intuition that Nathan would never be free, even if he alienated himself from the tribe and married her. The invisible strings would still exert their age-old pull on him. But she would give him all the love she had, to compensate.
David did not speak to Nathan when he got into the car. He was waiting for the apology he did not receive.
Both brothers stared tensely through the windscreen as though the other were not there, in a silence thick with animosity. Then David fumbled for the packet of Gold Flake in his pocket, thrust a cigarette between his lips and lit it.
“A nice day to bury someone you love!” he said roughly as he started the engine. The sun was shining through the glass into his eyes. “I can’t believe Rachel’s gone. It’s like a light going out that’s always been there.”
A sense of loss briefly replaced Nathan’s anger, then he saw his brother’s set expression and could not resist playing with fire. “You almost had her for your mother-in-law, didn’t you?”
David’s hands tightened on the wheel. “Almost is a very common word.”
He’s telling me nothing’s absolute until it’s actually happened, Nathan thought. Warning me, but still skirting around the subject, even though he’s seen me with Mary. “Why don’t you say what you really mean, David?”
“You might not forgive me if I do. In your present state.”
“I’m not going to finish with her.”
“Oh aren’t you?” David was trying to control himself, but it was not easy. Was the young fool going to bring disgrace on himself and all of them, after what had been sacrificed to elevate him to a position of respect? “What’s she got that’s different from the kind of girls you’ve been brought up with? Except that it’s not kosher?”
“Stop the car!”
“What for?”
“I’d rather walk.”
“And miss the funeral of a woman who was like your second mother? You would, wouldn’t you? Nothing matters to you right now except what you’ve got between your legs!” David put his foot down hard on the accelerator and the car shot forward suddenly as his temper rose. “Believe me, it makes no difference where you put it! And you’re hearing it from one who knows!”
His words shocked Nathan into silence. Crudeness was foreign to David’s character. What had happened to make him reduce love between a man and a woman to nothing more than that?
“In a few years’ time you’ll be able to look at her and she’ll be just another girl to you.”
“If what you’re talking about was all I saw in her.”
“It wasn’t all I saw in Miriam, either. But time’s a great healer.”
“Don’t give me platitudes!”
“That one’s worthy of remembering. I’ve proved it. When I see Miriam now, she’s someone I still care about, but not in the way I did. I’m married to Bessie and Miriam’s just my sister-in-law, our Sammy’s wife.”
“You couldn’t have loved her the way I love Mary.”
“I loved her so much I’d have gone to the ends of the earth for her. But if I’d married her she’d have destroyed me. Just like in another way marrying this girl would destroy you.”
“I’ve made up my mind to.”
They had just turned from the main road into Heywood Street and David pulled up the car. “You ungrateful little bastard! Just because you’re the youngest you’ve had everything poured into you, the blood, sweat and tears of the whole family. I won’t let you do it!”
Nathan recoiled from his livid expression. When had he first begun to hate David? The sudden knowledge that he did was like a physical blow, knocking the strength from him. How could you hate the person who’d done everything for you? Even though you hadn’t wanted some of the things he’d done. “I’m not giving her up,” he heard himself say, but his voice sounded a long way off.
David looked at the fine-boned face and the new lines of pain beside the mouth which had a trace of weakness about it, and recalled the boy Nathan had been trying to comfort him after he ended his affair with Miriam. “You once said you’d do anything for me, Nat. Here’s your chance.”
“Not this. I can’t.”
“Haven’t I told you there’s no such word as can’t?” Fury and desperation caused the blood to rush to David’s head. Somehow he must stop Nat from committing the terrible sin he was contemplating. “I had to swallow that pill because you were born!”
“What do you mean?”
“Why d’you think I had to leave school? It wasn’t just poverty, they’d’ve kept me there somehow. But it was out of the question when Mother got pregnant with you. My earnings were needed to help to support the new baby. I’m still supporting him, aren’t I? And the way to repay your debt to your family, Nat, is to bring them pleasure not heartache!”
He hated David because he gave with one hand and took back with the other, always demanded a price. “I’ll never forgive you for what you’ve done to me, David.”
“I thought that about you when you were a child.”
“A child isn’t responsible for the effect it has on people’s lives. A man is.”
“I hope you’re responsible enough to do what you have to,” David said brusquely, starting the engine. “Unless you want to put Mother where Rachel’s going.”
The price of David’s bounty was obligation. The everlasting family trap.
Marianne had guessed Bobbie Rachel was going to die last night. Martin was put to bed with her brothers and a scary feeling hung about the house after Auntie Miriam brought him and went away.
She had wished she needn’t sleep in her little room alone, though usually she didn’t mind. Being on your own let you think about things and most nights she lay making up stories until she fell asleep. But last night she’d thought about death and it reminded her of her friend Marjorie who had died a few weeks ago.
“I don’t want to go to Auntie Bessie’s for tea,” she said to Martin as they trudged along Bellott Street after school.
“They call it supper at Auntie Bessie’s house.”
“So did we used to, but Mam says it’s our tea now, like the Christian neighbours call it.”
“Auntie Bessie won’t be there, will she?” Martin pointed out.
Lizzie was waiting for them on the doorstep. “Trust you two ter lag be’ind t’others!” she chided them. “They all came straight ’ome, like good bairns.”
“Could me and Marianne go to the park for a bit, Lizzie?” Martin asked her.
“I should think not! Playin’ out’n mekkin’ a show o’ yerselves wi’ a family burial goin’ on!”
“We’ll just sit down and talk,” Marianne promised.
“Please let us, Lizzie,” Martin pleaded.
The kind-hearted girl was touched by his expression and remembered that he was the one who had lost his grandmother, though all the other children had adopted her as theirs, too. “All right,” she nodded. “But don’t go mekkin’ a muck o’ our Shirley’s frock, Marianne, mind!”
Marianne’s navy-blue smocked dress was one of Shirley’s castoffs. She always protested to her mother about having to wear them, but Esther’s pride was in accordance with her pocket and Marianne was told to think herself lucky she had a cousin several sizes bigger than her, who owned a different dress for every day of the week.
“I wear your Arnold’s things, don’t I?” Martin said to comfort her as she tramped by his side to the park.
“That’s different,” she replied. She could not have explained why, but knew he understood.
There were many things Marianne could not explain, because they were just feelings which made her happy or sad. And sometimes they frightened her, like the time she had seen her father’s shoes drying in the hearth, with gaping holes in them. She was too young to realise he could not afford to have them mended, but the sight of them somehow made her feel afraid.
She cared for her father differently from the way she loved her mother. Mam was the one who told them what to do and made sure they did it. She cooked lovely meals and saw that Marianne always looked nice, but never hugged her as she did the boys. Daddy didn’t make a fuss of Harry and Arnold, but liked to kiss his little girl and once, when she had wakened in the night with toothache, crying because it hurt so badly, he had appeared magically in her room and rubbed her gum gently with his little finger until she fell asleep. They always had a special smile for each other and she felt upset when he came home very tired, looking as if he had a lot to worry about.
She had not mentioned the holes in his shoes, something had told her he would not want her to, but she still thought about them sometimes and a tenderness would well up inside her. Not until many years later would the incident fall into place in the full context of her childhood memories and cause her to weep.
“You’re very quiet,” Martin said as they squatted on the grass beneath their favourite tree.
She had been thinking about the shoes again, but was unable to share the thought even with him. “So’re you,” she replied watching him select a blade of grass which looked juicy enough to chew. “I wonder if there’ll be blancmange for tea, like we have at Shirley’s birthday parties.”
“Uggh!” he shuddered.
Shirley’s parties were their yearly torture and not just because they loathed blancmange. Their cousin always ordered everyone around even more than usual and nobody could object as she was the birthday-girl. Some of the other guests were the children of Auntie Bessie’s friends, who went to a private school and seemed to think it made them better than those who did not.
“I don’t care what we have for tea,” Martin declared. “I want to tell you about my dream.”
“When did you dream it?”
“Last night.”
“Why did you wait so long to tell it to me?”
Martin chewed the blade of grass thoughtfully. “I’ve been thinking it over.”
Marianne smiled with anticipation. “I hope it’s as good as your last one.”
“It’s better. You know how people go to Heaven when they die, Marianne?”
“Of course I do.” She looked up at the clouds. “I expect Bobbie Rachel’ll be there by now. I wonder if she’s met Marjorie yet? I miss Marjorie, Martin. She was my very best friend, why did she have to get the diphtheria and die?”
“I don’t know. I miss Billie Higgs and Johnny Watson.”
“Bobbie Sarah says they got it because Christians don’t eat tsimmes and kefulte fish to make them strong.”
“But Andrew Lensky got it as well.”
“Perhaps he always left his on his plate.”
“Anyway, Marjorie’s in the Christian Heaven, isn’t she, Marianne? So Bobbie Rachel won’t be able to see her. I dreamt about our Heaven, the one we’ll go to when we die.”
“Hurry up and tell me what it was like!” She had not expected to find out until she went there.
“Very, very beautiful.”
Marianne felt comforted to hear this.
“The buildings were made of flowers, and music like Zaidie Sigmund plays on his gramophone was playing all the time.”
“Did you see God?”
“He had His back to me, but I knew it was Him because He was sitting on a big golden throne wearing a very long tallith. And listen to this, Marianne. All the angels were eating Sachertorte.”
“Perhaps the one who does the cooking made it because she knew Bobbie Rachel was coming today.” Marianne’s eyes shone with excitement. The dream was as real to her as it was to him.
“If you had lovely dreams you’d want to fall asleep quickly, instead of lying making up horrid stories.” Martin dreamed often, but Marianne never did. “Why don’t you make up nice ones, instead?”
“Horrid ones are more exciting. I like to see everyone’s face when I tell them,” she giggled.
“You shouldn’t be laughing today,” he said solemnly.
“Why not? If Bobbie Rachel’s gone to such a beautiful place? You ought to tell Zaidie Sigmund about it, then he won’t worry about her.”
“I’ll tell him tonight, when we go to see him,” Martin promised as Harry came to fetch them for their meal.
Usually, Martin would not eat fish unless it had been filleted, but he ate the fried plaice which Lizzie gave them for their tea. Marianne thought it was because he was not worried about choking on a bone anymore, now he knew Heaven was such a nice place.
Chapter 10
No flowers adorn the graves in an orthodox Jewish cemetery and the dead, whatever their station, are laid to rest in simple coffins of unpolished wood, vested with no more riches than those with which they came.
Rachel’s son and the three Sandberg brothers who had loved her bore her to her resting place and lowered her into the earth.
The timelessness which David always experienced on religious occasions assailed him as he stood at the graveside between Sammy and Nathan. The grey, Mancunian sky above his head, the clay beneath his feet, the ancient Hebrew prayer the rabbi was intoning, would be unchanged by his brief span on earth. Only the earth’s inhabitants changed, playing their infinitesimal parts in the scheme of things between the coming and the going.
Nathan stood with his head bowed and David could feel the emotion emanating from him. Was it affecting him, too? Causing him to see his love or duty conflict in its true perspective? Would he let duty win because that was how it had always been for Jews?
Sigmund leaned heavily upon Abraham, his face distorted by silent grief; he was not a man to weep in public. Carl, too, contained his sorrow within himself. Only the sobs of Isaac Salaman, who always wept at funerals, and the guttural voice of the rabbi punctured the solemn peace.
David became aware of Sammy putting a shovel into his hands. Jewish tradition is literally to bury their own dead, every man present taking his turn to pile soil into the grave, in the order of his kinship to the departed.
Sigmund had been unable to cast more than one shovelful and was led away by Abraham. In lieu of blood relatives, the Sandbergs were next in line to Carl and the brothers helped him complete the harrowing task when everyone else had left.
“We’ve been like one family, Abie,” Sigmund sa
id feelingly to his friend as they stood together on a grassy incline watching their sons.
“Even the quarrels. So what can you do?”
“The caring makes up for it. Come, we’ll say goodbye to her.”
The two ageing men walked slowly to the graveside.
David watched a bird soaring with timeless grace high above their heads as they made their final farewells.
Sarah had remained at the Moritzes’ home with Miriam and Helga. Esther and Bessie were there, too, and several neighbours and friends who had come to comfort Rachel’s daughters whilst they awaited the men’s return. Custom forbade the presence of females at a burial and the interment of a Jewish woman was never witnessed by her own sex.
Every mirror in the house had been covered with a white cloth as tradition decreed. The four low stools for the mourners were placed in a row beneath the window and candles burned in the brass candlesticks Rachel had brought from Vienna in 1904. The Yartzheit light in its thick, glass tumbler, which was her everlasting memorial, flamed too as it would throughout the Shivah and every year another would be kindled on the anniversary of her death.
Sarah and Esther had prepared the ritual meal Sigmund and his children must eat on the men’s return, though they would have no appetite. Hardboiled eggs which signified Life, salt herring symbolising tears and hard-crusted bagels, painful to swallow as the loss of a loved one, had been laid with primitive simplicity upon an upturned wooden box.
The black dresses Miriam and Helga wore had been jaggedly ripped at the neck with a knife by the rabbi, finalising their severance from the departed before she was carried from the house and Sigmund and Carl’s waistcoats had received the same treatment. The days of sackcloth and ashes were long gone, but the spirit remained.
Rachel’s old friends from Vienna, of whom she had seen little in recent years, were clustered around Helga.
“You don’t know how much we loved your poor, dear mamma,” Paula Frankl sobbed behind the veiling of her smart hat.
Helga remained silent, but thought a good deal. Like her mother, she had lost respect for them.