Kingdom of Twilight

by Steven Uhly

  When Eleazar ben Judah dies many years later, the young emperor is long dead, another crusade is underway, Jews are once again slaughtered like swine in some European town, the lorries have just left the devastated city of Worms behind.

  70

  The sun had almost set when the convoy reached the French border. In the warm twilight the forest animals came to life, there was a rustling throughout the entire land, and then the lorries arrived at the next barrier, where impatient soldiers now waved through anybody who wanted to come in. Almost devoutly the Jews crossed the invisible line between two countries, two languages and two guilts. The Sarfatis had been expelled from here six hundred years earlier, many generations had fought their way eastward until finally arriving in Palestine. Now they were going back, but the goal was the same, the death that lay behind them was the same, the flight had included pauses, some lasting a hundred years or more, as if they had all fallen asleep and thought they were living. Time and again they were awoken by a kiss from traitors, time and again they had to move on. This now would be the last of all flights, the flight home, this was their undertaking.

  71

  The convoy drove to a small station to the north of Strasbourg. There stood the train to the south, organized by the Institution for Immigration B. It had come from Paris and was waiting in a siding. The train was long, longer than the local ones that usually stopped here. The black steam engine at the front looked as if it were wearing metal blinkers, behind it lined up dark-green carriages.

  The lorries parked in a semicircle, happy people climbed out, people who had finally left Germany. Only here in Kassuta did Peretz understand why they called it Hanan when they spoke on the telephone: God is gracious, gracious is God, because we can leave Hanan behind, because we did not die in Hanan, in and of and by Hanan.

  The passengers were temporarily reunited with their luggage. They watched the drivers from Peretz’s Berlin Bricha say goodbye. Small, stocky Avi and tall, elegant Peretz had a brief embrace then Avi got back into his lorry, Peretz took a bulging army kitbag and his loudhailer from the passenger seat and put both on the ground beside him. He slammed the door shut, See you soon! he called out, waving at Avi, but that was a lie, both of them knew it, that had been settled here and now. Avi waved back, then he was gone.

  Before they crossed the tracks, the Jews watched the German drivers invite unfamiliar men into their lorries, men in tatty clothes, men with haunted looks. Where had these men come from? Nobody knew, all of a sudden they were just there and had leaped into the empty lorries before the eyes of the arrivals, They’re German, someone said, They’re not kosher. Then the lorries drove off, back to Hanan.

  It was only later that Peretz learned from Ephraim Frank that these were S.S. men, escapees from labor camps in the south of France. The Nazis have their connections too, he said.

  On a train at last! At last not being freighted like cattle or goods, but in a proper train for human beings who can sit, look out of the window and go to the lavatory whenever they feel like it! Seven of them sat in the compartment—Anna, Shimon, Sarah, Ruth, Aaron, old François, Peretz—and traveled through France, which was so beautiful, as a country could only be if one did not have to hide. Ruth smiled at Anna, You’re pregnant, she said, You’re not getting off that easily this time. Peretz opened his mouth, he almost asked, Is this one mine? He doesn’t know, exclaimed Ruth, who had been watching him, and Aaron said, Ho ho! as if trying to insinuate something. Sarah gave a confused laugh, what did that mean for her, was she still Peretz’s and Anna’s daughter?

  Anna knew who the father was, at any time she could point a finger at him and say, He’s sitting here. But who really was the man who had lain on her at the precise moment of conception? Which face had he worn on his skull? If only she had been holding a stopwatch, if only she had been able to freeze time at the pivotal moment, to check where the sperm was. Was it still making its way through her abdomen or had it already arrived? And whose breath had mixed with hers at the moment of fusion? Had that been possible she would now know the true name of the father. And she had been concentrating! The woman in her who never looked away had listened to the man’s panting with the coolness of a scientist, had felt the pain between her legs, had measured the time it took for the burning to become a sort of pleasure, the pleasure of enduring the unavoidable, the pleasure of returning to that sofa in that city, that country, a pleasure more forbidden than any sin known to man.

  Her gaze fell on Shimon, who was sitting on Sarah’s lap opposite, looking at her attentively. She smiled at him as if the two of them were on their own in the compartment. But then François cried, Mazel Tov! Leaping from his seat, he pulled her up and the others started singing and clapping in time. Anna had to dance with him in the cramped compartment and then out into the corridor to the others, while outside the sunny country flew past with its open mixed woodland, its narrow country roads, its whitewashed houses, its golden fields. France, Anna would tell her grandchild one day, is like being able to forget.

  Peretz celebrated with the others, he shook hands and returned embraces, and yet he was alone with his thoughts. The secret calculation had been made, the silent promise honored, he was getting his own son. Anna really was his wife now, for a moment he felt his heart grow so big that even Shimon would have fitted inside had their eyes not met and Peretz’s chest not contracted again.

  The Abramowiczes came over, their faces writ large with happiness, a child was so much more than a child, it was a victory over almighty death, what could be greater? You deserve it, Mr. Abramowicz said, slapping Peretz on the shoulder. Even Shimon was congratulated, because he was going to get a baby brother or sister, whether he understood it or not.

  Strasbourg, Mulhouse, Belfort, Besançon. The day disappeared behind the treetops, behind the curvature of the earth. The train was old, the compartments had no lights, the pioneers tired in the darkness. One after another they fell asleep, Anna’s head rested on Peretz’s shoulder, perhaps she was dreaming, perhaps the child inside her was dreaming, of what?

  Peretz sat at the window, listening to the monotonous rattling of the train, watching the sleeping faces. He looked out of the window at the dark landscape, a village here and there, a solitary house, a car, flickering night of candles behind small windows, headlight night on the streets, the train headed unerringly southward. Peretz had the map in mind, he had the address in his head, Rue de la Vieille 13bis, in the middle of Lyon old town. That is where they were going.

  If everything went according to plan.

  How come he, Peretz, was worried? He saw warships in the dark-blue sea, each one in view of the next, a swimming chain of gray-painted steel with turrets bearing twin cannon. Far above flapped the Union Jack, far beyond lay Palestine. How were they going to get there, he and Anna and the child in her belly, his child? The Haganah’s last few ships had all been captured, the internment camps in Cyprus were overflowing with homeless Jews—what was awaiting them in the Promised Land? The Arabs and the British again. How was it going to end?

  Peretz sat there, wedged between the wall of the compartment and his pregnant wife, unable to find peace of mind. Thoughts assailed him like wild animals, they tore him open from inside, making him sore and vulnerable. He should have been carrying a loudhailer in his head and screaming into it, to drown out everything else, keep everything else under control. But Peretz was as mute and helpless as a little child, and the world was big and confusing and full of dangers.

  When finally he fell asleep he also dreamed, incoherently and threateningly.

  72

  Frau Kramer stood up straight. She was dirty and soaked through, but did not care. She had come here because she was looking for support to help her along the difficult path to the truth. She sighed, glanced at the grave, she opened her hands and let the weeds she had plucked out fall to the ground. The rain fell and fell, as if it would never stop, the puddles grew, if it went on like this everything would soon be flooded.<
br />
  Frau Kramer went to her granddaughter, still standing there uncomprehendingly with the umbrella, and hugged her.

  “Child,” she said softly, “how did you come to me?” She shook her head as if unable to believe it. “Without you I might have closed my eyes to what happened here.” Resting her head on Lisa’s and closing her eyes, she said, “The British brought us here, to Pöppendorf, to a transit camp for refugees from the east. Everything’s going to be fine now, I thought, the British will look after us. But in the autumn we suddenly had to move on, no one gave us any explanation, they just said, You’re in your own country, you don’t need a camp anymore. All at once we were back on the streets. And there were so many of us. More and more people came pouring in from the east. No one gave us any food, no one wanted to take us in. The British didn’t know what to do with us. And then I heard about the Jews who were being brought to Pöppendorf. A few thousand. And we’d already been there. I just had to go back! I had to put all my eggs in one basket.”

  Lisa pushed her grandmother away slightly so she could look into her eyes. “So that’s what you did?”

  Frau Kramer nodded.

  “And they took us?!”

  “Yes, they did.”

  “But Grandma, what’s so dreadful that you haven’t been able to talk to me about it all this time?”

  “Oh, my child. I met a woman there. She had a little boy. You played together. He was a very quiet boy but his eyes were so alert! You liked him straightaway. His mother was one of the few Germans amongst the Jews who’d been brought there.”

  “So she wasn’t a Jew either?”

  “Yes, she was. They were all Jews. But most of them spoke Polish, Russian and Yiddish.”

  “And you became friends?”

  “You became friends.”

  Frau Kramer shook her head and continued, “I have to tell it to you properly. When I heard about the Jews I went with you back to Pöppendorf. A day and a half it took us. It was a long way and you were too small and weak to walk. I had to carry you most of the time. It was hot, a storm broke that evening. I was going to give up and go back to Lübeck. But where? There wasn’t anywhere for us to go! Absolutely nowhere!” She sighed. “So on we went.” She stopped as if to listen to the echo of these last few words. Her gaze seemed to lose itself in the rain. But then her eyes returned to Lisa.

  “If there are Jews there, I thought, then it can’t be the same guards working at the camp. They won’t recognize us. And I was right. But they weren’t British. They were German.” She paused briefly as if now, many years later, she understood it all much better. “When I arrived at the gate with you on my arm, at the place in the forest where we were today, I told the guard on the other side that we were Jews. But he didn’t believe me. And why should he? We were so destitute that he must have realized I’d do anything to get a bite to eat.” She looked at Lisa so despondently, as if everything she was saying was happening again right now.

  “I was about leave, but you were starving! You wouldn’t stop whining. I couldn’t bear the idea that you’d go the same way as your mother. That on a road somewhere you’d just . . .” She went quiet. Taking a deep breath, she said, “I turned around again and screamed as loudly as I could.” Frau Kramer let go of Lisa, she took a couple of steps back, stretched out her arms and screamed into the rain, screamed to the dead Jews lying in their hundreds there in the graves, screamed at her granddaughter.

  “We’re Jews! We’re Jews! We’re Jews!” She broke off and let her arms drop again. Lisa stared at her grandmother. Then she looked around bashfully.

  “I screamed and screamed until I caught the attention of the people in the camp.” Frau Kramer said. “You weren’t crying anymore, you were screaming blue murder. Not just because you were hungry, but because of the way I was behaving, I expect.” Now she smiled and looked so sad that a tear appeared in Lisa’s eye. Frau Kramer resisted the impulse to hug her granddaughter. Only continuing the story would be of any help now.

  “A crowd of people gathered on the other side of the gate. The guards became nervous because the people demanded they let us in. But they didn’t move a muscle. And then . . .” She paused again.

  “. . . and then a woman with a little boy in her arms emerged from the crowd and came up to us. In front of the guards she opened the gate and invited us in.” Frau Kramer swallowed, she forced herself not to lose her composure. “You saved me, Lisa. I thank you for that.”

  “Me? Grandma! You’re mad!”

  “No.” The old woman shook her head. “It’s only because of you that we got back into Pöppendorf. Only because of you.”

  73

  Knock knees!

  Little piggies!

  Knock knees!

  Little piggies!

  Gudrun had an earworm. She was the only one in her class who knew that you could get these from nursery rhymes as well as music. She also knew that an earworm was wicked, something you had to get rid of before it burrowed deeper and deeper into your head. Gudrun was walking down Thierstrasse, she was on her way home from school. Hello, she called out to the beggar, who always sat in the same place, Hello, the beggar said, returning the greeting. Gudrun sat down beside the man, she rummaged around in her satchel and pulled out a paper bag.

  “Here’s half my break-time roll, like I promised!” she said, beaming at him as if it were Christmas and she the Christ child come down to earth to give presents to the poor and disenfranchised.

  The beggar was an old man. He could no longer remember how he had become a beggar. His bones felt as if they had been sitting here for an eternity, as if nothing else existed and time were standing still until the end of days. Of course he knew that this was not the case, for everything had a cause and effect, I must have done something wrong, he would sometimes tell himself, but now he was happy because this little girl had taken him into her heart.

  “Tell me, how old are you?” he asked Gudrun as he chewed on the roll with the few teeth left in his mouth.

  “I’m seven,” came the answer from the child’s mouth.

  The beggar laughed. “I could be your grandfather, little girl!”

  Gudrun nodded and said nothing.

  The beggar ate.

  All of a sudden she said, “I’ve got to go now.” She stood up, went on her way and the beggar watched her in amazement. He could not know that the earworm in Gudrun’s head had gone quiet, he had no idea that he had paid for his meal.

  74

  Darkness had now fallen and the skyscrapers of the towering city sparkled from countless lightbulbs and neon tubes. Lisa could not remember how long she had been standing and waiting in this same place—hours, days, weeks? It depends on how you look at it, she thought. She had been living in this two-room apartment for weeks, she had been waiting for a call for days, she had been at home for hours. She had watched the sun until it disappeared and now a half-moon was rising. The earth turned, the cars drove through the streets of New York, trains trundled beneath the surface, boats sailed on the Hudson River. But she sat on this chair like a fixed star and everything was turning inside her head.

  She closed her eyes. Why could she not simply make her peace and live her life? Why did she always have to wallow in the past?

  Noises came from the neighboring room. She stood up and made her way quietly to the door, opened it slightly and peeked in at Tom. He seemed to be having an unsettling dream. His face was moving, he was breathing noisily, beneath his lids his eyes were darting from one corner to the other. Lisa looked at him. How big he had grown in the short time! Big and critical. Not a day passed without his reproaching her for having taken the decision to move to this city. Every free hour without my friends is lost time, he had said when he came home from school that afternoon. And every day just with you, he added, and she nodded and sighed. Then he had disappeared into his room and she could only guess at what he was doing there, listening to music, playing his guitar, reading, writing letters, sleeping. It was h
is form of protest, the protest of a powerless individual. Hopefully it’ll pass soon, Lisa thought.

  And what if the only point of life was for it to continue? If all her efforts, as meaningful as they might seem to her, were ultimately a waste of time, because in the end all that mattered was what was happening here and now?

  She closed the door again and leaned against it. I ought to go to bed, she thought. But she returned to her place by the window.

  75

  The sun had not yet risen when the new lorries drove through the narrow streets of Lyon’s old town on their way to the Jewish house. The bleary-eyed pioneers were standing tightly packed on a small square in rue Bouteille, and waiting. Once again they handed over their luggage and climbed onto the loading ramps, unaware that Shmaria Zamaret, the agent in Marseille, had paid a lot of money to get the French drivers to work on this particular day, July 10, 1947. For a strike had been called in France, which meant these were strike breakers who now drove out of the sleeping city and headed south toward Valence and Orange, Nîmes and Montpellier.

  Most of the passengers went straight back to sleep, not to awaken again until the convoy reached the quayside of Sète port later that morning. Many of the passengers wondered briefly, Why Sète, why not Marseille? and had there been time for explanations Peretz would have told them about the British, who were using all their power and diplomacy to pressurize the French into preventing the Jewish ship from departing, he might have said, Sète isn’t in the jurisdiction of the Marseille authorities, they can’t touch us here. But there was no time for such conversations.

  When Anna saw the large ship, towering above her as high as a house, with its three decks and mighty funnel, rising exactly in the center, its length of one hundred meters and one thousand nine hundred tons, she momentarily forgot her own weight. For a moment the impossible seemed to have come within her grasp, for a moment she sensed the hope that everything would turn out well in her life.