The Last Paradise

by Antonio Garrido

  Though the surprise was mutual, Elizabeth Hewitt seemed less pleased by their reunion than Jack. The young woman kept her composure just the same and took her seat next to the guest of honor. Jack, meanwhile, barely dared look at her, still embarrassed by his ridiculous performance at the market. He doubted she recognized him, and if she did, it was just a matter of time before she made a mockery of him. Fortunately, at that moment Wilbur Hewitt asked Jack about his skills, making him forget his fears.

  “You might not believe it, but this young man is a diamond in the rough,” Hewitt said about Jack. “Kid, I still don’t know how you managed to dismantle the machine I was trapped under. You said you had mechanical expertise, but, by God, in twenty-five years of running factories, I’ve never seen anything like it!”

  “Well, to be honest, it was a coincidence, sir. I knew that machine because we repaired a similar model in the workshop where I was employed.” Jack lied about his past in Dearborn to prevent anyone from connecting him to the murder of his landlord.

  “A coincidence? Don’t be so modest, kid! That machine was the latest Cleveland model, a technological marvel, and I’m told you dismantled it like someone taking the chain off a bicycle. A guy winning the lottery without buying a ticket would’ve had less luck than me. What do you think, Elizabeth? Am I right or wrong when I say this kid’s a diamond?”

  His niece examined Jack with an air of self-satisfaction and smiled. “Uncle dear, I think the morphine they’ve plied you with is making you indulgent. Judging by his appearance, this workman’s more rough than diamond.” She smiled again.

  They all laughed at her witty remark. But the tone in which she’d said the word workman cut Jack to the core. For him, working with one’s hands was something nobody should be ashamed of. On the contrary, he was proud to have started out as an operative, just as he was proud to have worked harder than Wilbur Hewitt’s niece could ever imagine. He considered answering back but decided to remain silent. Had it been a man, he would have made him blush with shame for saying those words, but as at the market, her mere presence perturbed him.

  The lunch consisted of fresh sea bream dressed in lemon, French wine, and clams. Jack would have preferred a succulent Montana beef hamburger and a cold beer, but he appreciated the elegance of his surroundings and the delicacy of his meal all the same.

  For all the shiny silver cutlery, fine crockery, and fragile glassware, what fascinated him the most was Wilbur Hewitt’s niece. Observing her out of the corner of his eye, Jack admired her polite gestures, the exquisiteness with which she handled the cutlery despite the ship’s lurching, and the elegance and distinction of her language. It was an elegance that contrasted with the riotous spontaneity of her uncle, who, though obviously an educated man, expressed himself as if he’d grown up among Brooklyn’s longshoremen.

  As he savored the delicious champagne sorbet that the waiters served between courses, Jack imagined himself enjoying the same luxurious life that Wilbur Hewitt led. He examined the executive: his gold monocle, his matching cuff links, his tiepin . . . His impeccable suit alone probably cost more than a year’s salary at Jack’s old job, and the pocket watch he wore on his vest probably double that. Despite his apparent familiarity, Jack got the impression that Hewitt was the kind of man who was not only in complete control of his own life, but also comfortable deciding the fate of others. And he admired that. He didn’t mind admitting that he was attracted to luxurious watches, exotic delicacies, and tailored clothes. But what he really envied was something that only men like Hewitt possessed, and that he longed for with a passion: position. Because if there was one thing Jack had learned from the Depression, it was that, even if the world turned into a wasteland overnight, Hewitt’s kind would never find themselves in Jack’s position: jobless, up to his neck in debt, on the verge of begging for crumbs. That was why ordinary men envied people like Hewitt. For his unobtainable position. That was why they admired and respected him. Jack looked at Elizabeth and took a deep breath. It was also why he was prepared to overcome any obstacle that got in his way to win the respect of others.

  He was still absorbed in his thoughts when Elizabeth Hewitt called the waiter over and said something into his ear. The waiter nodded with a severe expression and then disappeared, before returning a few minutes later with a tray of ice, upon which lay a plate of caviar.

  “I couldn’t resist.” She gave her uncle a mischievous look, as if waiting for approval that she didn’t really need. “I hope our guest likes beluga.” She smiled.

  Jack blushed. For a moment he thought Elizabeth was going to ridicule him by recounting the embarrassing episode at the fish market, but to his surprise, not only did she not do so, but she graciously served him a spoonful.

  “Thank you,” was all he managed to stammer.

  He ate as he listened to a conversation on the marvelous deeds of the Soviet regime. Again, Wilbur Hewitt mentioned the Avtozavod, the gigantic factory that he was going to run and the difficulties that he would have to overcome. The latest inspections had revealed that the majority of the machinery being transported in the ship’s hold had been rendered unusable, and Dearborn had informed him by radio message that no new supplies would arrive for up to three months.

  “And then there are the disappointing production figures I’ve been shown, so you can see why I’m concerned. I’m not questioning the Soviets’ organizational capacity”—he looked at Sergei as he spoke—“but we’re talking automobiles here, and I get the feeling they need an American with the guts to get what looks like a school yard the size of Wisconsin in order,” he crowed.

  Sergei finished chewing a piece of fish he’d just put in his mouth.

  “In our defense,” said the official in his Slavic accent, “I should say that Soviet Union is a young, inexperienced country, but full of energy, and like all hotheaded young persons, its enthusiasm sometimes take it down tortuous roads.” He wiped his mustache with his napkin. “We make mistakes, sure, but we can admit them, and then, fix them. Our hospitality and generosity for all who want to build future is great. But do not doubt it, Mr. Hewitt, I repeat, do not have any doubt whatsoever, that our leaders could not be more determined to ensure that Soviet people progress until inequality and poverty are wiped from face of earth.”

  Wilbur Hewitt was silent for a moment, as if pondering Sergei’s prophetic words. Then he raised his glass.

  “Well, I’ll toast to that.”

  They all repeated Wilbur Hewitt’s toast in unison, raising their glasses as one. Sergei smiled as if he approved of the industrialist’s gesture, but Jack had a feeling that if hyenas could smile, they would undoubtedly look just like the Russian.

  After dessert, the diners congratulated Jack, before leaving the room for their own cabins. Elizabeth, who was waiting with her uncle, held out her hand to Jack for less time than he would’ve liked, and she left with the same gracefulness that had captivated everyone when she came in. For a moment, Jack stood in a daze, unaware that Wilbur Hewitt was waiting to say good-bye to him. He only realized when he heard a little cough behind him. Jack, who had already put his hat on, took it off again.

  “Mr. Hewitt.” He cleared his throat. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am for giving me the opportunity to share a table with you. It’s been an unforgettable experience. I would—”

  “Kid, save your soft-soaping for another time. If you get like this over lunch, I dread to think what you’d have done if I’d invited you to my house in the country.”

  “Pardon me, sir?”

  “All I mean is, if there’s anyone here who should be grateful, it’s Wilbur Hewitt, the man who, thanks to you, can still get himself dressed in the morning. The man who still has his own two hands. Tell me something, kid: How did you do it? How in hell’s name did you know what parts to dismantle to take apart a thirty-ton machine in five minutes? And where did you learn Russian?” Hewitt stood waiting for a reply from Jack, who was slow to answer.

  “My par
ents were Russian. And I worked at a Buick supply workshop, sir,” he ad-libbed.

  “Buick? Look, kid. I know those turkeys well, and they wouldn’t know a kingpin from a kingfisher. It’s all right,” he grouched, “if you don’t want to tell me, don’t. But I don’t like owing favors to anyone.” His hand went to his wallet, and he pulled out a hundred dollars. “Here.”

  Jack flinched, as if he’d been offered stolen money.

  “I . . . I can’t accept that, sir,” he stammered.

  “Don’t be a fool, kid. If you don’t think it’s enough, you’re an idiot, and if you think it’s too much, well, I can assure you my arm’s worth much more. Take it. It’s not the first time I’ve traveled to the Soviet Union, and I can tell you without fear of being mistaken that you’re going to need every last dollar you can find.”

  “I don’t understand, sir.”

  “Oh, you will, son. You will . . .”

  The five-thousand boiler horsepower generated by the SS Cliffwood’s mighty GE Curtis turbine snorted away, driving the vessel at a speed of ten knots through the icy waters of the North Sea on the final stretch of the crossing. Wrapped in his jacket, Jack strolled around the bow deck, enjoying the light drizzle that landed on his face. With each spatter, he imagined the water washing away the misery that had clung to him, making him a new man, clean and different. Because that was how he now felt. He could still taste the salty flavor of the caviar and the champagne’s delicate sweetness. Remembering the lunch, Jack saw himself among the elite, accepted by all of them, speaking as an equal with those he envied, admired by them and receiving their praise. It was an intoxicating feeling, more so than anything he’d felt before, than anything he could have imagined.

  His watch showed five o’clock in the afternoon and it was pitch-dark. He decided it was time to return to his friends and share his experience with them.

  As soon as he entered the communal dormitory, the noxious smell given off by the dozens of scrawny men, women, and children tore Jack from his daydream. He was surprised, because he hadn’t noticed it before. In fact, since their departure, he would have sworn that they were eating enough, that they traveled with dignity, and that their lives were moving toward a brighter future. But after experiencing the sumptuous luxury of the officers’ dining room, after savoring the succulent delicacies and enjoying exquisite company, he could see the true face of his reality. A squalid existence, a world of poverty, hunger, and misery, a world of immigrants without hope. That was the world he belonged to.

  He found Sue and Walter gnawing at some salt herring next to a porthole through which they looked out at the blackness of the sea. As soon as she noticed Jack, Sue turned away. But Walter stood to greet him and offered him a piece of fish.

  “I . . . I don’t know what to say, Jack,” he admitted. “Anyway . . . I’m sorry for this morning. Really, I don’t know what came over me. I’m not used to drinking like that, and from what Sue tells me, I behaved like a chump.”

  Jack was pleased to see Walter back to his usual self. He accepted the herring and sat down beside him.

  “We all make mistakes. Me more than most.” He looked at Sue to make sure she was listening. “You’re a fantastic girl,” he said apologetically. “I was angry, and I blew a gasket. Any man would be lucky to have you. I’m—”

  “That’s enough of the schmaltz!” Walter feigned a serious expression. “If there’s one thing everyone in New York knows better than the Yankees’ lineup, it’s that my friend Jack Beilis is king of the chuckleheads.” He gave Jack a wink and hugged him.

  As they ate the fish, Jack gave his traveling companions a detailed account of his meeting with Wilbur Hewitt, immediately arousing the interest of Joe Brown and the Smith brothers. His fellow passengers’ eyes were wide, eager for gossip, but Jack, who knew the hardship they suffered, avoided mentioning certain details of his lunch, such as the abundance of food and the high quality of the dinner service.

  “So, this Hewitt really is the big boss?” asked Walter at the first pause.

  “So it seems.”

  “And do you know if he’ll be able to help us?”

  “Well, I didn’t have a chance to—”

  “Did he say anything about workers’ salaries?” Joe Brown cut in.

  “Did he say whether we’d get a house and medical care?” put in Brady, a miner whom they all called Silicosis.

  Jack shook his head. When he admitted he hadn’t found the right moment to bring up those subjects, he could see the disappointment in their faces. He looked at the rags that hid their starving bodies and lowered his gaze.

  “But he assured me that Americans with guts would be needed to get that factory working like it should.” He raised his voice. “And we’re going to be those Americans!”

  That night, Jack was unable to sleep. They were a day’s sailing from Helsinki, and he sorely regretted wasting the one opportunity he was likely to have to better his situation. He should have followed Walter’s advice to make the most of his meeting with the executive, but instead, he had allowed himself to be bewitched by the man’s niece, and failed to make any kind of approach. Now it was too late. After they disembarked in Finland, their chance of running into the executive again would be remote at best, though as Hewitt himself had mentioned, he and his niece would remain in Helsinki until his injuries had healed.

  Jack tossed and turned in his bed, thinking of Elizabeth’s perfect face and wondering where she had come from and why she was accompanying her uncle to such a far-off country. Was she promised to anyone? What did she like? What were her motives? He sat up, despairing. He had a thousand more important problems to deal with, and instead of trying to solve them, he was spending his time getting worked up over a woman who’d barely noticed him and whom he barely knew. What he did not doubt was that, because she saw him as nothing more than a worker, he would never know her.

  He was sick of the straw mattress. He took off his only blanket and got out of bed in the middle of the night, trying not to make any noise. Walter snored nearby, hugging his pillow like a child. Sue did the same in the top bunk. He hoped that their peaceful sleep might be at least in part due to the hundred dollars he’d shared with them. As he’d done before, he headed to the hold door to look through the porthole, and observed the containers destroyed by the storm. Standing there for a long while, until the cold began to make his fingers numb, he contemplated the machines that had been rendered useless. Suddenly, his heart started thumping. Perhaps it was madness, but he had to take a chance. He opened the door and snuck into the forbidden hold.

  8

  The Port of Helsinki woke to a sky dark with menacing gray storm clouds, like inhospitable guards that glared watchfully at the passengers of the SS Cliffwood. From his hiding place, Jack breathed in the clammy smell of fish and petroleum. While he waited under the tarpaulin that covered the lifeboat, he rubbed his grease-covered fists. Disobeying the order that all passengers were to remain in their quarters until the ship had been moored, he had gained access to the bridge in the hope that he would find Wilbur Hewitt. But he had been freezing to death for an hour without any sign of the industrialist. He observed that the ship was being tugged burdensomely through the foggy waters by a minuscule barge that deftly dodged the many islets that dotted the bay. The image of that giant of the ocean led by a miserable packet boat made him think that, together, the destitute of America who had been forced to leave their country might be able to play a key role in the development of the Soviet Union.

  P“Sorry, kid. I’m busy with the unloading now.”

  “Pardon me, sir, but what I have to say is very important,” he insisted.

  “Are you deaf?” Sergei intervened, irritated.

  “Mr. Hewitt, at lunch I forgot to tell you, but I’m traveling to Gorky, too, to work at the Avtozavod, and I want to make you an offer,” Jack yelled, trying to make himself heard over the noise of the cranes.

  “An offer? You? And what would that be?”
Hewitt asked in astonishment. He gestured to Sergei to let the young man speak.

  “I’d like to work for you directly.”

  “Shucks!” He raised an eyebrow. “If that’s the way you do business, you aren’t going to get very far.” He turned back to the boatswain to continue directing the unloading of the machinery.

  “Sir, you said that production would be delayed by three or four months, until a new consignment of parts arrived, did you not?”

  “Sure, that’s what I said. But what does that have to do with—?”

  “I can fix the machines.”

  Wilbur Hewitt looked up from the cargo list and fixed his gaze on Jack.

  “What did you say?”

  “The damaged machines. I can repair them,” Jack repeated. “The Cleveland press. The one you got trapped under. I worked on it all night, and it’s almost fixed. If you hired me, I could—”

  “You fixed the Cleveland?”

  “I sure did. Well, a few heavy parts require assembly, but the main issues have been rectified now. With a little soldering, it’ll run good as new. As for the other machines that were damaged in the storm, if you could provide me with a winch, a milling machine, and a few workers to help me, I could repair them all in three or four weeks.”

  “I don’t know why you listen to this charlatan,” Sergei broke in. “We run late and—”

  “Please, be quiet for a moment!” said Hewitt, before turning to Jack. “Look, son, I’m extremely busy, but I’ll spare a moment to ask you this one question: Are you saying you could get that heap of junk in the hold working?”

  “With total confidence, sir.”