Kingdom of Twilight

by Steven Uhly

  Lisa checked in her suitcase, the lady behind the desk handed over her boarding card. They headed for passport control. Together they stood in the queue and tried to engage in small talk. Orthodox Jews had gathered in one corner, men in black coats and hats, they were singing together loudly, Americans, Oz said, who’ve been here on a pilgrimage and are now going home. Lisa caught snippets of Yiddish conversation, I thought that had died out. Weeds never go away, Erez joked, but his father shot him a stern look.

  They were not allowed to accompany her to the gate, Sorry, said the customs officer, a man in military uniform, Security regulations. They embraced, Come back, I will, thanks so much for everything, Any time, I really mean that. Bye! Lisa went, she waved at the people waving, then their farewell was over, she continued down the corridor, she clutched her handbag, all at once she realized how at ease she had felt, a Jew amongst Jews, Now I know what it’s like.

  There were many people at the gate, including Germans, Lisa could not tell if they were Jews, I expect that’s true of me too, she thought. The time ticked away, Lisa wondered whether she should write in her diary. But then the boarding announcement came, people rapidly formed a queue, each of them was wished a good flight, Lisa too. She stepped onto the tarmac, behind her was the airplane that would take her back to Germany, Lisa felt the urge simply to stay, not to fly back, she thought, I could ring Grandma. But then she pictured her grandmother in her mind and kept walking. Slowly she ascended the aircraft steps. She was welcomed on board by the stewardess, she looked for her seat, Row 13, Seat D, she sat down and looked out of the small window. Outside the sun of Israel was shining, the sun of the Mediterranean, light like this did not exist in Germany, I’ll miss it, she thought, but she meant much more than that.

  Over the public address system a quiet voice said, Boarding completed, it was addressed to the crew. The stewardesses began to close the heavy door, but soon stopped, there was a pause, Maybe they’re still waiting for someone, speculated Lisa’s neighbor, a German traveling with his wife. A stewardess came down the aisle, wearing a professional smile, and bent to her.

  “Are you Lisa Kramer?”

  Lisa nodded, surprised.

  “There’s an important message for you,” the woman said. “Would you follow me please?” Lisa stood up, all of a sudden worried, What if something had happened to her grandmother? What if she arrived too late? She was gripped by anxiety, her heart pounded faster, she followed the woman to the front. There she was met by a man who introduced himself as a security officer.

  “The message is from Anat Almog in Jerusalem. Do you know this person?”

  Lisa nodded. An accident! Thoughts and images jostled for position in her mind, the yellow Saab, Oz, Binah, Erez.

  “It reads: ‘Anna Sarfati has got in touch. She would like to see you.’ It gives an address in Tel Aviv. Will you accept the message?”

  Lisa nodded silently, she took the piece of paper the officer held out to her. She looked around helplessly.

  “It refers to a request broadcast on Kol Yisrael,” the officer said to the stewardesses standing next to them.

  “Aha,” the women murmured, their expressions toward Lisa changed.

  “If you’d like to stay in Israel we’ll fetch your case from the hold,” the officer said.

  Lisa nodded without thinking.

  “Please, come with me.”

  The stewardesses wished Lisa the best of luck, she thanked them in a daze, then went down the steps and followed the man who walked ahead with rapid steps, back to Israel.

  126

  They cycled through the city with spring all around them, sprouting trees, young greenery, people coming back to life after a long, cold winter, shining wet asphalt after the last rainfall, the sun was shining as if it too had become youthful again.

  They cycled through the city, Ben in front, Gudrun behind, she knew the way but did not want to remember it, for a while at least she wished to act as if she had no idea where they were going. Ben had insisted on this outing, Although my parents pretend to be very progressive I know they’re not. Gudrun had shrugged, If needs must, since she had been together with Ben she had learned that such things were not inevitably unpleasant, You’ll like them, he had said, Even if I don’t, was her reply. He had laughed and taken her in his arms, she loved the fact that he took every opportunity to do this, she could say what she wanted, he found it all funny or charming or sexy, his love for her seemed to be so immense she sometimes found herself doubting it was genuine. You’re my sanatorium, she had said, Come on, sanatorium, show me who built you.

  As they got closer, and when Gudrun saw the street, her ease dissipated, she got off her bike, What’s wrong? Ben called out, I need to do this very slowly, she explained, I can only go step by step, not on wheels, who cycles back into childhood? She put out her arm, A beggar always use to sit there, with a goatee and hat, not just a tramp but a real beggar, like in a book. Ben got off, they walked together, he shook his head, I don’t remember him. You didn’t go and share your break-time snack with him every afternoon, did you? Did you do that? Gudrun nodded, Don’t imagine I had a strong social conscience. Why did you do it, then? She shrugged and drew down the corners of her mouth. Ben smiled, he liked the faces she made, they were all so expressive, what appeared normal in other people made her look as though she were a character actress on stage, with him sitting in the front row of the stalls. She was now walking very slowly, I think, she said, I felt he was the only person who was genuine. Ben nodded, I think I feel that I understand what you mean. Gudrun smiled, over there stood the house, she had avoided it until today, just as she had avoided Kaufingerstrasse, it appeared unchanged, she knew from Heinrich that her parents no longer lived there, not anymore. I’m an orphan, she thought, I expect I always was. Ben grabbed her arm, Here it is, he said, pointing to the house she had almost walked straight past, Gudrun collected herself, Right then! Ben did not move, he took several deep breaths.

  “There’s something you need to know before we go up.” Gudrun’s eyes widened, That would have been my line, she thought, if these were my parents.

  “We’re Jews,” Ben said, “but nobody knows.” Gudrun stared at him. A laughter was triggered inside her, a laughter she knew well, that third laughter for which there was no explanation, a terrible laughter whose violence frightened her, she had learned to control it, but she could not hold back the tears it produced. Ben stared back in horror, What’s wrong? She shook her head, she must not speak if she wanted to confine the laughter, the violence, the terror to her mind.

  After a while she was able to breathe again. Noticing Ben’s confusion, she hugged him, Sorry. Ben wanted to see her face, he took her by the shoulders, she smiled at him, her eyes were still gleaming wet, What’s up, he asked emphatically, Is it because I’m a Jew? She shook her head.

  “No,” she said. “It’s because our father murdered Jews.”

  127

  Peretz stood in the doorway of his house. The woman before him unbuttoned her headscarf, her serious face was wet below the eyes, she took off the headscarf, thick black hair flowed out, she shook it and stood there and said, Shit! Peretz opened his mouth, he wanted to say something, he noticed the man on the street in the background and gazed at him, but the young woman before him was too strong, her power did not release him from its grasp, her voice was dark and melodious, without any accent she said, I grew up here, this house will never be yours, yours and your family’s, you will never be happy in this house, the fact that you stole it from me and my family will make you ill. She spoke softly and intensely, as if in a trance, as if she really could see into the future, as if the future stood written in Peretz’s eyes and all she had to do was read it and convey it to him out of cool compassion, as if she were trying to say, You’d better leave here before you’re destroyed by bad luck. Peretz tried to wriggle free, he forced out words, he said, We bought it from the state. The woman did not react, she looked at him with her dark ey
es whose beauty Peretz felt like a pain. Her full lips quivered faintly, Peretz saw the gentle arch they formed, in its perfection this face was an epiphany, unchallengeable in every respect, and Peretz felt that if she kept standing here any longer he would snap like a piece of wood, all he wanted was for her to go and never come back, yet at the same time her force attracted him, a force in which there was no doubt, no hesitation. Coward, she said, spitting the word at his feet and grimacing, which would have made him recoil had he not been so paralyzed. Turning away, she replaced her headscarf and left, and Peretz stood in the doorway, he watched her go, he watched her walk down the street beside Abdulha Al Sayyed toward the sea, wondering whether she was his daughter or his wife, he felt a vague relief because Anna and Sarah were not at home, closed the door, and leaned against it from the inside, trying to calm down. But no matter how deeply he breathed, the anxiety in his chest remained.

  Later he would think, Little Arab bitch! Later he would become furious because she had dared confront him in this way. Later he would think of words he could have said to her, he would have said, No! would have bellowed, No! Go away! Or I’ll give you and your father a good hiding! The force of his voice would have swept the little Arab bitch away from his door and out of his front garden like a strong gust of wind. Later he would try to laugh about them, Let them curse us, he would think, These Muslims, he would think, trying to believe the feelings he wished to generate with his words.

  128

  “Anna?”

  “Ruth! Shalom! How lovely of you to call!”

  “Anna, you’ve got to come to Haifa.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “The old man’s dying. He wants to see you.”

  “What? So sudden? I . . . I don’t know what to say.”

  “Say that you’ll come, obviously. Please! It’s important to him.”

  “What about Peretz?”

  “He didn’t mention Peretz, just you.”

  “Alright, I’ll come.”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “So soon?”

  “If you want to see him alive you’ve got to come tomorrow.”

  “Fine, I’ll come tomorrow.” She hung up. She looked around the sitting room. She checked the time, it was late, Peretz was not yet home, Shimon already asleep. She went into the bedroom and packed a small bag with the essentials. Then she went to bed.

  129

  “Anna Sarfati?”

  “Speaking. And you’re Lisa Kramer?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where are you now?”

  “At Tel Aviv airport. I was already on the plane when I got your message.”

  “We were lucky then, weren’t we?”

  “You bet. I would have stayed longer, but Frau Kramer’s daughter died and my grandmother is now all alone in Lübeck.”

  “I understand. It’ll only be a brief delay, one or two days, maybe, then you’ll fly back to Germany.”

  “Yes. Should I come round?”

  “That would be lovely. You’ve got the address, haven’t you?”

  “Yes I have.”

  “How will you get here?”

  “I can take a taxi.”

  “Great. It won’t take you more than an hour. I’ll get the guest room ready for you and make you something to eat. See you soon!”

  “Bye!”

  130

  We’ll work it out!

  I don’t care!

  You’re not your father!

  I’m not interested in what my parents think!

  I love you, Gudrun Kruse, not your Nazi father.

  Gudrun was lying in bed, hearing Ben’s words over and over again. She had requested some time out and had moved back into the room next door. And now, for the first time, she was frightened.

  No, it’s got nothing to do with the fact that you’re a Jew!

  I’m not my father!

  I love you, I couldn’t care less what your religion is or which people you belong to!

  I just need some time to digest it all!

  “What is there to digest? We love each other and that’s that!”

  Oh, really quite a lot, my love. Have you ever asked yourself why a covert Jew should fall in love with the daughter of a covert mass murderer? Why the daughter of the covert mass murderer should return the love of the covert Jew?

  She did not say this. She did not dare, and yet this was precisely what was nagging at her. What is love? Why does love do such things? Is it coincidence? It can’t be coincidence? And now they were lying in separate beds again, because she, Gudrun Kruse alias Ranzner, wished it thus. Why should it be the daughter of the mass murderer rather than the Jew?

  She tried to sleep, but could not. She turned herself and her thoughts and her feelings from one side to another. A shot of something now! Of what? Heroin or lead? To dive, to dive down again and feel nothing, to slip back into the ocean again, to swap her legs for fins and go under, far away from everything, from everyone, especially herself. To marvel at her own death like a miracle.

  Late that night she went next door to where Ben lay in his bed, writing in his diary. They looked at each other. A smile darted across Gudrun’s face and vanished.

  “I can only do it with you,” she said. “Not on my own.”

  “What luck! Come here!”

  She climbed in and lay beside Ben in bed. He switched off the light and took her in his arms. They lay awake for a while before falling asleep.

  131

  Jaffa, 11th June, 1966

  What a day! I must try to describe it as precisely as I can, and not leave out any details.

  I took a taxi from the airport to Tel Aviv, my heart was thumping and my mind spinning, what would I find out, what would Anna be like, who would Anna be?

  Tel Aviv was jammed with people and vehicles, as if in the short time I’d spent in Jerusalem another hundred thousand people had immigrated and were now buzzing around all over the place in search of the things one needs to live. Perhaps that was just my impression, because I was in such a hurry that the traffic made me impatient and nervous.

  When we finally got to the narrow streets of Jaffa I was astonished. I’d never expected to find a place like this in Tel Aviv, so old, so different from the part I’d got to know after my arrival in Israel.

  The taxi stopped outside the house, the driver pointed and said, Here it is. I thanked him and was just about to pay when the front door opened and a middle-aged woman came out, her shoulders hunched forward, slim, tall. She quickly wiped her hands on a white apron, then opened the gate to the front garden. Her eyes, I thought as she came closer and smiled. Her voice, as she said something in Hebrew and paid the taxi driver. Then she switched languages, gave me a friendly look and said, Come in! I had only a hazy memory of her, back then I thought she was a giant, but now she was standing in front of me and I was as tall as she was. She hugged me, held me tight, while the taxi driver took out my case and put it down beside us.

  “Welcome, Lisa!”

  “Thank you.”

  “Please, do call me Anna, it’s what you used to do.”

  I nodded silently, behind me the taxi drove off. Suddenly the two of us were standing alone in the street, the sun was shining, it was hot.

  The house was beautiful, the decorations in the floor. The inner courtyard with a cistern in the middle. It was cool, that was the most astonishing thing.

  “This house used to belong to Arabs, and sometimes I wonder if that isn’t still the case.”

  This is what Anna said, with an air of resignation. She showed me the guest room to the rear of the house, it was small with a window looking out onto a vegetable garden belonging to the neighboring house.

  “Shimon’s bedroom is right next door,” Anna said with a smile. “If he hadn’t heard your announcement on the radio you wouldn’t be here now.” She shook her head and said softly, as if to herself, “It’s a miracle that it hadn’t completely disappeared from his memory.”

  We went into
the kitchen where there was a small, square wooden table with three chairs. I saw modern appliances, a mixer, a fridge, an electric cooker. The dresser looked old, the walls around it even older—judging by the window alcove at the front they must be thick.

  “This is where we eat when we’re in a hurry, or when I’m alone with Shimon.”

  “Where is Shimon?”

  She sighed. “Either he’ll come or he won’t.”

  I looked at her, an image flashed into my mind, her on a pallet bed with sunken cheeks, deathly pale after losing all that blood, my grandmother on a stool beside her. That must have been after the stillbirth. Shimon and I in the snow, but I can only feel his hand, I can’t actually see him. I can picture Anna coming out of the corrugated-iron hut, tall and well wrapped up, offering a weak smile.

  We sat down. Anna Sarfati. We looked each other and smiled as if trying to gauge how we felt about this.

  “Funny, isn’t it?”

  Those were her words. I nodded. Yes, it was funny, but the funny thing was not that it had happened. The funny thing was that to me it seemed the most natural thing in the world, a result of this result of that result, endless, and our meeting, too, seemed nothing more than a knot in a long thread. But at that moment we were sitting in the absolute here and now, with no idea about the future.

  Anna got up, she opened a cupboard and took out two plates.

  “The cupboard and the plates belonged to the Arabs too.”

  “How can that be?” I asked, surprised. Anna put the dishes on the table, she looked at me with her eyes that I’ll never forget, eyes like an abyss, green and shining, far apart, large eyes, sad eyes. Resting her hands on the table, she let her shoulders slump forward.