Beautiful Illusion_A Novel

by Christie Nelson

  “Yes, about where you were born.”

  “Ah, what I remember would fill a thimble. Vilnius, a city of steeples, cathedrals, and synagogues blackened by soot, forbidding to a child’s eye. But there was a golden summer after a winter so cold I thought my toes would fall off.” She shuddered. “Snowdrifts piled higher than windows. My father was a tailor, never enough money to buy food or keep us warm. We fled. Everywhere, hatred and persecution. Borders shifting—turmoil, despair, war.” Sadie shook her head. “Did your father tell you I was a Jew?”

  “No,” Lily whispered.

  “Who told you?”

  “Herman.”

  “Of course he would. Was it a shock?”

  “The shock was finding out you were alive.”

  A tremor passed through Sadie’s body. “I’ve done you harm.”

  Lily drew another blanket up to her chin. “What is past is past.” She laid her hand on Sadie’s arm. “Please, try to tell me more.”

  “We boarded a ship to Ellis Island. The crossing was miserable. Families carrying what they had in suitcases tied with rope. Children crying. Women wailing. An interminable wait on the island.” Sadie squinted, as if trying to recall a past she had buried. “My parents lied about my older brother’s health, fear draped on them like shrouds. Somehow we got through. The relief was joyous. My parents took the best of their heritage—laughter, food, music—and discarded the laws. Like many Jews, they gave up their identity to be free. It was a miracle to be in America. We took a train to Pittsburgh, where a cousin took us in.”

  “Pittsburgh?” Lily asked.

  “A factory town where my father could get work. Our family crowded in with his family. I was no older than five. But it was too late for my older brother. He died of consumption. My father’s heart was broken. His health failed, and he died, too. My mother carried on. A more courageous woman, I have never known.”

  “I wish I had met her.”

  “She brought me to this beautiful city.” Sadie craned her head toward the open window. Rays of sunlight spilled across the windowsill and onto the floor. “I had never seen a sky so wide and an ocean so sparkling. And there was music in shanties and saloons, on street corners and halls. I remember my mother singing, always singing. Folk songs from the old country, and waltzes, too.”

  “And you sang.”

  “Like a Siren, music lured me. All of it—blues, ballads, love songs. Do you know ‘Melancholy Baby’? I sang that with Bob Crosby’s band. I thought I was headed for the big time.” Her voice trailed off, and she seemed to collapse into herself. “It saved me from your father but tore me from you.”

  Lily stroked her arm and, without knowing why, began to hum. At first the notes were random, rising with each inhale, fading with each exhale. Then the melody from “My Funny Valentine” issued from Lily’s lips, and in a faint voice she sang, “My funny valentine, sweet comic valentine, you make me smile with my heart.”

  Sadie cocked her ear, and, without opening her eyes, she began, “Your looks are laughable, unphotographable,” in a pure soprano. The phrasing was sure, the pitch true. Lily lifted her chin, her voice growing sweeter and stronger, as together they sang, “Yet you’re my favorite work of art.”

  The song ended, and Sadie drifted off to sleep, her mouth gaping in a hollow, half-open O. Lily was still suspended in reverie when she felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to find Maxine looking down at her.

  “Hi, kid,” she gulped. “So, this is Sadie?”

  Lily smiled weakly.

  Maxine pulled up a chair, sat, and threaded her arm through Lily’s. “She’s all done in, isn’t she? I remember my mom and her friends talking about her. ‘What a stunner,’ they’d say. Then my mom would tell me to scram.”

  “You never told me.”

  “Somehow I knew it wasn’t something to talk about.” Maxine spoke in hushed tones, her face registering dismay. “She doesn’t look so good now.”

  “When I met the grocer who lived across the street from us when I was a baby, he said I looked just like she did then.”

  Maxine hugged Lily. “If it’s any comfort, you were always my mom’s favorite. There wasn’t a day when she didn’t stick an extra sandwich or apple in my lunchbox. ‘This is for Lily,’ she’d say. ‘Don’t be eating it yourself or palming it off to anyone else.’ Or, ‘Set an extra place for Lily and bring her back for dinner.’”

  “I wanted to live with your family.”

  “Over Chris’s dead body, hey?” Maxine shook her head. “You got a bad break, Lily.”

  “Don’t we all?” Lily answered.

  Just then, Sadie stirred, opening and closing her hands, her mouth working furiously.

  Lily pressed the button. Sister Bridget rushed in and took Sadie’s pulse again. Looking up with tenderness, she said, “It won’t be long now, love.”

  “Are you sure?” Lily asked.

  “Take comfort. God works in mysterious ways. Shall I ask Father Corrigan to give her last rites?”

  “Thank you, Sister, but I don’t think so.”

  “As you like, then.” Sister Bridget paused. “Mr. Packard and his friend are in the hall, inquiring if it’s all right to come in now.”

  “Please tell them yes.”

  Woodrow and Rosy tiptoed into the room and stopped at the end of the bed. Woodrow gripped the brim of his hat between his fingers, glancing at Lily and then down at Sadie. The color drained from his face. He moved to Lily and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. Rosy stood close by, his sunken, dark eyes grave with sadness.

  “Is it okay with you, Miss Lily, if I say good-bye?” Rosy asked.

  “Certainly,” Lily answered. “You were her friend.”

  Rosy inched forward to the head of the bed, laid his hand on Sadie’s shoulder, and bent down toward her ear. “See you, old girl, on the other side. Be waiting for me at St. Peter’s Gate. I’ll need a song to get me through them pearly portals.”

  He stepped back, and the four of them, linked in unspoken agreement, waited. Sadie’s breathing was labored, her eyelids fluttering. The minutes crawled. Rays of sun that had filtered across the floor dimmed, the tangy sea breeze sub-sided, the acidic scent of disinfectant clogged the air.

  Sadie’s face was waxen; her breath rose, ascending to a full, gasping throb, hovered, and held.

  Maxine gripped Lily’s hand.

  Suddenly Sadie’s eyes flew open, focusing straight ahead. “Motino!” she shouted.

  Lily started and stared in wonder.

  Sadie’s eyes squeezed shut, followed by a long, slow exhale, and then her face collapsed into itself.

  “Motino?” Lily whispered.

  “That’s Lithuanian for ‘mother,’” said Rosy.

  Lily gazed at Rosy in amazement. “She saw her mother?”

  “Must be, Miss Lily. Sometimes that happens at the end. Her mother came to usher her to heaven.”

  Sister Bridget appeared and swept Rosy aside. She felt Sadie’s pulse at her throat. “Praise God, love, your mother has been promoted,” and she made the cross over Sadie’s body. “In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Ghost, rest in peace.” She glanced at Lily. “Take as much time as you like to say good-bye, love. When you’re ready, let me know. I’ll be out in the hall.”

  No one moved until Lily spoke. “Could I please be alone for a moment?”

  One by one, they murmured condolences and shuffled out the door.

  After a time, Lily slowly lifted a corner of the blanket and took her mother’s hand, which, to her surprise, was still warm, and, although the skin was discolored, the fingers were pliant, the nails smooth. She marveled at the work they had done, the people she had touched, the musical scores she had handled. Then she forced herself to look at Sadie’s face. All the lines and creases that had been etched into her skin before were wiped clean, and her face was as smooth as alabaster. She seemed at rest, her spirit taken flight, her body an empty vessel.

  Lily closed
her eyes and sought the words in her heart. After a time, she bent her head and whispered, “I forgive you, Mom. I wish we could have stayed together, but it wasn’t meant to be. No matter what, I’ll always love you.”

  SISTER BRIDGET WAS busy at the nurses’ station as Lily approached. She patted Lily on the back. “Your mother is with God now. But she knew you were beside her. I’m sure that’s why she went so quickly. You can go now. I’ll take over.”

  They embraced, and Lily moved along the hallway, past a crucifix on the wall and, underneath it, a vessel of holy water.

  Maxine, Woodrow, and Rosy waited in a clutch at the end of the hall.

  “You okay, doll?” Maxine asked.

  “Sure, I’m okay.”

  Woodrow stepped next to her, his eyes moist, his voice thick. “You showed great courage.”

  “That’s right, Boss,” Rosy chimed in. “Courage, pure and simple. Ain’t easy. No sirree.” Sheepishly, he hemmed and hawed. “Damn, I sure could use a stiff one.”

  Maxine’s eyes bulged in surprise. “That sounds like just the ticket. All right with you, Lil?”

  “Why not? I’ve got a hunch Sadie would approve.”

  “Approve?” Rosy boomed. “Hell, she’ll be on the barstool right next to us. No doubt about it!” He grabbed Maxine by the arm and marched her out of the ward and toward the steps. “Come on with me. I know just the place.”

  Woodrow took Lily by the hand, and as they walked in silence, Lily moved his hand up around her waist, to her hip. “That’s better,” she said.

  At the top of the marble stairs, she stepped down first and faced him so that they were face-to-face. She draped her arms over his shoulders and looked into his eyes. With her fingertips, she traced the bony orbit of his eye, beginning at the corner of his eyebrow, over its arch, down his nose, past his cheek, to his lips.

  “This is feeling like good-bye,” he said.

  “No good-byes between us, only hellos.”

  “I want to believe you.”

  “I know,” she said. “I know.” And together they walked down the stairs, past a tall statue of the Virgin Mary at the high-ceilinged entrance, through the glass doors, and into the remaining afternoon. Momentarily blinded by the light, she breathed deeply, carved clean from the inside out, whole and free.

  LILY PAUSED ON the corner of Market and Front Streets, clutching a briefcase. Midmorning traffic rumbled by—automobiles, trolleys, cyclists jockeying for position, pedestrians clogging the sidewalks, flower venders hawking carnations. A black sedan rolled up to the curb and stopped. Lily popped open the passenger door and slid in. Instantly, the clamor of the street ebbed. She laid the briefcase on the seat and patted it.

  Adolph glanced at the briefcase, grinned at her, and pulled into the traffic lane, cutting off a cabbie. “Good morning, Lily.”

  “Same to you,” she answered. “You look like the cat that swallowed the canary.”

  “Well, my dear, I’ve been waiting for your call a long time.”

  “Nothing escapes you, does it?” she inquired, a smile curving her lips.

  “May I remind you it’s been months since I suggested you join our efforts?”

  “You mean the night at the St. Francis? That feels like eons ago.”

  “Exactly. But, as with many things in life, timing is everything, and you had to come to this moment your own way.”

  “I didn’t have anything solid. I only had suspicions, and then, well, I let my guard down.”

  “We had our eye on you.”

  “Oh God, I guess you know all the gory details.”

  “No need to elaborate. I had faith you’d come through.”

  “Did Bunny?”

  “Did Bunny what?”

  “Have faith?”

  “She admitted that the man had a certain charm and it was best to, shall we say, bide our time.”

  As Adolph drove along the Embarcadero, Lily silently watched the sights roll by: ships tied at the docks; trucks rumbling along, carrying loads of cargo; steamships plowing on the water. The sedan swept through traffic until Adolph turned in at a pier, where the dockworker saluted him and waved him on.

  “Nice to have friends in high places,” Lily commented.

  “You bet. The clothes business has certain benefits.” He pulled into a parking space that faced the bay. Before them, Treasure Island glowed in the sunlight. He turned off the engine.

  “Tell me one thing,” she asked. “Was I hand-picked?”

  “Your activities signaled potential. Even before the Expo opened, you had a proclivity for causing disturbances—a news conference at the pavilion where you jumped into the fray, and a couple of break-ins. When I saw you at Forbidden City, I knew you were in over your head. That raised some eyebrows, as did a few motor trips.” He regarded her with tender approbation. “Then at Christmas you took a turn, and we lost you for a while.”

  “But not completely.”

  “Dangerous exposure, my dear. We were concerned. So, what turned the tide? The excursion at Battery Townsley, then?”

  “Completely,” she admitted. “In fact, I’ve brought you a few items.” She unsnapped the metal clasp of the briefcase and removed a black, leather-bound journal. “Here’s Tokido’s logbook. All in Japanese. I’m sure translators will have no trouble deciphering the information.”

  “Lovely,” he said. “Well done.”

  “One more little item.” She withdrew a small camera and placed it into his palm. “I saw him drop this into his boot before the MPs arrested us.”

  “You knew where to locate these items?”

  She shrugged, looking smug. “I had a hunch that panned out.”

  “Well, well, quite the sleuth. Excellent work, Lily.”

  “I suppose there’s no way to eliminate the one photo of my mug, so I’ll swallow and say c’est la guerre.”

  “That’s the spirit. In fact, there’s a contact in DC who wants to meet you.”

  “Really? You mean I’ll be promoted?”

  “Do you like to travel?”

  “Hmm . . . It’s on my list.”

  “Splendid.”

  “There’s one more thing,” she said.

  “You mean your mother?” A shadow passed over his face. “Yes, we heard. How hard that must be. We’re truly sorry about her passing.”

  “I’m still a little raw. It was for the best.” She smoothed the folds of her skirt. “Then you know I’m a Jew.”

  His face brightened. “I had my suspicions. Welcome to the tribe.”

  “I’m not exactly sure what it means.”

  “Give yourself time. It will be revealed. You’ll love the food.”

  “I already do.” She hesitated, twisting her mother’s ring on her finger. “I feel a little compromised here, but I suppose you know about Woodrow and me.”

  “He’s an excellent man. He’ll be one of our best.”

  She swung toward him and exclaimed, “I’ll be damned. Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

  “My dear, don’t you know? Discretion is the better part of valor.”

  Lily gazed out the windshield to Treasure Island, which appeared to float on the bay like a scene out of a fairy tale. “Look at it. The Magic City. It’s every bit of that and more.”

  “I doubt we’ll ever see such a vision of regal splendor rise in front of our eyes again.”

  “Yes, but will there be peace in the Pacific?” she asked.

  “San Francisco is making a grand show of it. Festivities from now until the Expo closes in November.”

  “I wonder what will happen to the island afterward.”

  “It’s anybody’s guess,” Adolph said. “Japan Day is in a few days. I suppose you’ll be covering it.”

  “Yes, I’ll be there.”

  “Mr. Okamura has returned to Tokyo.”

  “It had to be. I saw the Tatuta Maru when it pulled away from the jetty, heading back to Yokohama. I saw him on the deck, but he didn’t see me. I ma
de sure of that.”

  Suddenly, a Clipper at Treasure Island taxied away from its dock. Lily and Adolph spotted the great airplane as it began its gradual ascent, and both pointed in unison. “Look! It’s taking off!” They watched it skim over the water, silver wings shimmering in the sunlight, and lift into the sky. Together they tracked the airplane, sailing higher and higher out over the orange towers of the Golden Gate Bridge, toward the open sea.

  “Someday you’ll be a passenger on that beauty,” Adolph said.

  “I can’t wait.”

  “Just make sure you come back.”

  “You can count on it. I love this town.”

  Ralph Stackpole’s Pacifica

  A Historical Note

  The Golden Gate International Exposition opened on February 18, 1939, and closed six weeks early, on October 29, at the stroke of midnight. For all its showmanship (never-ending parades, fresh-air concerts, and visiting foreign dignitaries) and all its beauty (acres of ever-changing gardens, shimmering fountains, and exotic foreign pavilions), the Exposition was a financial flop.

  The Works Progress Administration had dumped nearly $3.8 million into the project, which included engineering the island touted as the future site of the San Francisco Airport. (This was never to be, in that by the time the Exposition closed in 1940, the proposed runways were too short for the size of commercial airplanes.)

  Business sponsors pitched in almost $800,000 to make the Magic City a reality. Attendance at the Exposition had been grossly overestimated, and concessionaires lost their shirts because of high rents and penny-pinching fairgoers, who mooched free food or brought their lunches in paper bags. In the first year of the Exposition, the city was over $4 million in the hole.

  But what it had accomplished in civic pride, employment of thousands, and demonstrations of the spirit of San Francisco as the city that knew how was inestimable. No one wanted to give up. The Pageant of the Pacific had celebrated the astonishing construction of two world-class bridges and signaled San Francisco as the Gateway to the Pacific.

  What to do? grumbled organizers and politicians. Give the people what they want! What did they want? More fun! More razzle-dazzle! More entertainment! The Exposition reopened on May 22, 1940, to high hopes and renewed vigor.