At the door, Mr. Smith handed Samuel his bag.
“We’ll be in touch,” the old man said, flipped his sunglasses down. “Have a good flight.”
The limousine took Samuel to the airport and a red-eye flight home.
7
I’m back, dad.
Why don’t we go to the drugstore and get a chocolate milkshake?
Wasn’t that your favorite?
You said so. We were eating, you, me, and mother, and I remember you telling her she should switch to black ones. That means you must have liked chocolate and what’s better than a chocolate milkshake!
We never did share one.
We can now. I’ll get two straws.
I’m back, so you can’t be dead.
Will you play catch with me?
I’ll grow up liking baseball and hockey.
8
Early Tuesday morning, clouds across the sun, the ocean flat and gray, Samuel walked with Margaret along an empty beach. Neither spoke. He thought about his father.
Near a closed ice cream stand Samuel stopped and looked at her.
“Why aren’t I sad? Is there something wrong with me?”
“We all grieve differently,” Margaret said quietly. “He was your father. You loved him. Maybe you feel something greater than sadness.”
That I’m incapable of loving anyone?
“Which is what?”
“Peace. Your spirit knows he is in heaven.”
“I dated this woman, Glenda. I remember what she said. You have to believe in Jesus to have everlasting life. That’s heaven, isn’t it? My father wasn’t even a good Jew.”
“Jews and Gentiles are one in God. In his Nostra Aetate, Pope Paul VI stated that God did not withdraw his covenant from the Jewish people who He holds most dear. Jews reach heaven. That is part of the mystery of faith. But there is no mystery to this: we cannot know God if we do not love. Through the shared blood of Christ which is in you and by your personal choice, you are a loving person, your father’s son who is now with his Father.”
Samuel looked at the ground.
“Are you working today?” Margaret asked him.
“No…”
“Let’s go back to my room.” She took his hand.
Two beds. Two Magic Finger vibrators. Samuel stood near the open door. Margaret walked over, closed it and the drapes.
“Let’s sit and talk.” She sat at the foot of one bed, Samuel on a chair he moved against the far wall.
“I spoke about your spirit.” In the room’s half-light, her hands clasped on her lap, Margaret looked at him with large eyes, intense and kind. “It’s important for me that you know what I meant. Our spirit connects us to God. It is not the soul. Our soul is our mind, body, and emotions. Peter said we need to purify it by loving one another with a pure heart. This is what I want to do. With you.”
“You want to pray?” Samuel asked.
Margaret stood and took off her long dress. Naked and pale, she walked toward him. Leaning back quickly, Samuel bumped his head against the wall.
“I care about you, Samuel. I have no experience with men but I know what I feel for you is true. I also have another feeling. Lust. It pollutes the soul and prevents the spirit from communicating with God. I need your help. It won’t be easy. Will you lie beside me?”
Samuel couldn’t talk.
Margaret got into bed and pulled the covers to her neck. His legs heavy, Samuel trudged over.
“You need to take your clothes off too,” she said.
Samuel disrobed and sliding beside Margaret made sure not to touch her.
“I hope this isn’t torture. That’s not my intention.”
“I’m fine,” Samuel said, his erection making the covers look like a tent. He took deep breaths, then gradually, shallower ones while trying to match Margaret’s calm respiration.
She’s so close, so still…
He remembered what Gary had told him at the train station the last time they’d been together.
“Never pass up a lay.”
Samuel moved his hand half an inch—and stopped.
I have to think about something else!
Vietnam. War. Why did he die? Because he believed the communists were going to take over New Jersey.
Margaret’s breasts…
No! Mr. Gleba…He fought the Germans. They really did invade his country. I’ve read about them. Middle-aged family men, the reserve policemen who didn’t want to fight in the Wehrmacht, gladly killed babies because Jews were the enemy. They locked men, women, and children inside a synagogue and burned it down.
Blood lust.
Lust. The opposite of what I’ve always wanted…
This. Love beyond flesh.
I want to help Mr. Gleba…he only guarded potatoes.
I can do this…I can…
I’m back.
Kate rises from the mist of the Gables Court pool.
“I’m so glad you didn’t get drunk in Key West,” she says, her eyes filled with moonlight.
“Why spoil the weekend?” I tell her. “Too bad about Peter. You didn’t meet him.”
“Not even once.”
“You found the ring.”
“The most beautiful one I’ve ever seen. The ruby eyes glow in the water. Our children will love it too.”
“How many should we have?”
“Two more,” Kate answers while slowly sinking back into the pool.
Two more.
Samuel cried in his sleep…
Awakened by her touch, he looked up into Margaret’s eyes.
“I lost my father too,” she said, her hand still resting lightly against his cheek. “Thank you, Samuel. I knew I could trust you. You are my friend. Let’s get dressed.”
They did, and after hotdogs at Lums went for a walk among the palms, plants, and flowering vines of Fairchild Gardens. Margaret wanted to see everything. She breathed in the scent of the allspice tree, examined the orchids, strolled through the rainforest immersing herself in its sounds, colors, and smells.
“Isn’t this amazing! Hear the birds? How can anyone look at the trees and this canopy with light shining through and not believe in God?” She squeezed Samuel’s hand.
At a stream leading to a small waterfall they sat on a bench made of sticks and branches. As Margaret spoke, Samuel heard in her words the sound of someone remembering a lost voice.
“My first grade teacher, Mrs. Teele, was getting married and I came home curious about how mom and dad met. Mom said it happened because of a book. She dropped it while walking home from high school and dad picked it up. They went to the prom together. As I got older, mom told me more about her and dad. He wore zoot suits, drove a red convertible, and wore his black hair slicked back. Tall, handsome, full of life, he once jumped out of a tree to scare her. Mom’s quiet, pretty, but not flashy. She likes to dance. Back then, he did too. It’s peaceful here, the perfect place to talk about the past.”
Margaret reached down and picking up a handful of dirt let it sift through her fingers.
“Mom knew when I was mature enough to hear more of our family’s story. She and dad married a few months before he left to fight in World War II. Mom attended mass two times a week, he never went. I remember dad as stooped and gray. I learned it wasn’t because of the war. After three years in the army when he returned home mom said he looked almost the same as when he left. Dad worked construction in Iowa where we lived. It was a hard job. He aged because of that.
“But the war had changed him. Once outgoing, he came back the silent man I had always known. And mom said he was different in another way. Captured by the Germans, dad became religious and turned to God. She spoke about his vow. His first night home he told her in their bedroom he survived the POW camp because he promised that his first born son would become a priest.”
“What did she think about that?” Samuel asked.
“What she told him. It would be a blessing if their son chose the priesthood. Although I was only eight at the time, mom explained to me why she believed we should pray and why sometimes our prayers are selfish. We are to thank God, express our love for Him, and open our hearts to His presence. He has own plan for our lives and doesn’t bargain. But she understood why my dad tried to. Hungry, suffering from dysentery, he’d asked for help. ‘I would have too,’ mom said. I understood the lesson. We are all imperfect. That humbleness gave her the strength to live with a man who believed he had given his son to God.
“Dad got up early, went to work everyday, came home expecting dinner to be ready. Mom talked to me about my day. He ate looking at his plate. The only time he showed any interest in me was on Sunday mornings. He’d knock once on my bedroom door. I knew what that meant. Time for church.
“At a jobsite one afternoon he fell off a ladder and hit his head. I was 11. I remember sitting by his bed in the hospital. I wanted him to look at me. He was in a coma and never woke up. I held his hand.”
Shadows cast by these memories drifted across her eyes usually so bright and alive. Samuel put his arm around Margaret’s shoulder. She moved closer to him.
“I thought I knew why he rejected me. I wasn’t a boy. I couldn’t be a priest. A few days after the funeral we were sitting at the kitchen table and I told this to mom. She rested her hand on mine. The cat clock ticked. I waited, then heard about Christopher and me. We were twins. After mom became pregnant, dad was again the person she remembered. He brought her flowers, told jokes, they went on picnics and even danced. When we were born he held us close. Mom tried nursing but we would immediately fall asleep. Tests showed our livers were failing. We needed transplants. Dad was the only match but couldn’t donate to both of us. Christopher was weak, on a respirator. The doctors informed my parents that even with a transplant he wouldn’t live. I was the best candidate. I got part of dad’s liver and Christopher died. Dad didn’t blame me. He hated himself. He felt he’d betrayed God.”
Margaret moved to the side. A slight gap now between her and Samuel, she turned toward him.
“I graduated college, taught kindergarten for awhile, then worked in a hospital as a donor support counselor. I kept thinking about my dad. When I told mom I wanted to become a nun she said I should do what I felt was God’s will. I joined the convent because of dad’s promise. I soon realized that was a mistake. Becoming a nun is a calling, not a choice. That’s what my mom meant about listening to His prompting. That is why I am here.”
“You left,” Samuel said. “I’m glad we met.”
“I’m away,” Margaret responded. “This forest soil is good for growing tall trees. Our past is like that. It can help us find heaven. Let’s drive to the ocean. I’d like to say Kaddish for your father.”
At sunset, the light a soft pink haze, Margaret stood facing the sea and in Hebrew recited the Jewish prayer for the dead, the melodious and mournful sound carrying out into the shiny water the sadness of an ancient people.
Behind her, Samuel closed his eyes and saw his father flying like Superman toward the stars.
9
“Come on!” Sullivan grabbed Samuel’s arm and with the policeman, Harley Clag, in front of them pushing reporters out of the way, they hurried to the back of the building and took the service elevator up.
Brandishing a large stapler over her head, a glowing cigarette butt in her mouth, Vera stood guard in the hallway.
“No ones coming by me, that’s for sure!” she said. “I’m not sitting, pretending to work while making sure my skirt is hiked up!”
“Hope I go blind first,” Clag said as they walked past her.
Sullivan locked the office’s main door.
“I tell them Mr. Baas isn’t here but they still ask questions!” Tammy said, looking nervous and confused. “The phone keeps ringing!”
“You’re doing fine, Sweetie,” Sullivan said. “Vera will handle it. Sit down and relax.”
Tammy went to her desk and holding her compact up so she couldn’t see the blinking lines, powdered her nose.
In Sullivan’s office, Clag turned from the window and grinned.
“Know what I’d do, Jimmy boy? Throw a few of them off the roof! The others would get the message!”
“I don’t think that’s an option,” Sullivan said leaning back in his desk chair, hands behind his head.
“Too bad, though. Works in other countries. You knew this would happen, didn’t you Baas? File your notice of appearance telling the world you’re representing a Nazi and every reporter wants the story! Bet most of them are Jews.”
“Like me,” Samuel stated.
“Exactly! That’s the hook! Jewish lawyer with a Nazi, war criminal client! Shit! I want to read about that myself!”
“He’s your friend,” Samuel said, looking at Sullivan.
“For over twenty years.”
“An anti-Semite cop on Miami Beach.”
“I’m surprised, Samuel. I never thought you were judgmental.”
“I heard what he said.”
“That Jews are reporters?” Clag stepped forward, his scarred, meat-face threatening. Samuel didn’t back up. “I’m going to tell you Baas what I really hate. Bullshit. People acting so proper, always saying the right thing and then the first chance they get, they fuck you over. I’m plain spoken. For me, things are black and white. I don’t hate Jews. I hate anyone who’s an asshole. Excuse me, I have a date.”
“You fought against discrimination,” Samuel said, confronting Sullivan after Clag left. “How can you be friends with a man like that?”
“I told you before, we live in a real world,” Sullivan answered. “No perfect laws, no perfect people. That medal you found, the one I got after the warehouse fire. Remember I said there was a cop at the scene who helped me? That was Harley. He risked his life to save that homeless man, who, by the way, was Jewish.”
“Clag didn’t know that.”
“That’s right. It didn’t matter to him who was in the house.”
“I can guess where he’s going now. To screw Ginger.”
“So?”
“I saw them in the elevator. He doesn’t care about her.”
“Should he? She’s a prostitute.”
“She wants more than that.”
“I know. Her tit surgery. We’ll see if that ever happens. You and Margaret are moral people. She really likes you. You two could have normal lives. I’ll be in Vegas for a few days. Think you can manage here without me?”
“I always do.”
“Looks like there’s something else on you mind. I hope it’s not about how I pay for my trips.”
Samuel saw it again, the intimating face of a boxer who would take ten punches to the head if he could land one, Sullivan’s carnation, tailored suit, law degree on the wall and ocean view office with leather and antiques, suddenly out of place, the decorative refinements of another man.
“Have a good time,” Samuel said. “I’ll see you when you get back.” He had decided not to tell Mr. Sullivan about the Family.
In his office, he called Gelba.
“Thank you Mr. Baas for the advice. A reporter was already here. I didn’t
speak to him. How is my case going?”
“I’m meeting with Mr. O’Malley this afternoon. Hopefully I’ll learn more about how the government plans to prove you were a guard at Treblinka.”
“There is no proof! Just the lies of Viktor Yarema, that snake and KGB puppet! You will destroy him! Slice him up in little pieces when he speaks about me in front of the judge! Cross examination! I know what’s it’s called! I watch television, see the shows with lawyers. You are better than any of them! I am safe in your palms.”
“Hands,” Samuel said.
“Yes! I’ve been thinking about what you told me when we first met. They might drop all this nonsense. And why not? This isn’t Russia! We live in a free country! Our government helps people, it doesn’t send them to Siberia or hang them in the streets!”
“What I said, Mr. Gleba, is that I would try and work something out.”
“Exactly what I remember! I’m innocent! Yarema’s the liar! He’s the one they should deport!”
“You still haven’t given me your daughter’s address.”
“I will, Mr. Baas. Nadya moved. I’m trying to find her.”
Vera croaked through the speaker:
“She’s calling,” immediately snapped the intercom off.
“I have to go,” Samuel told Gleba. “I’ll phone you after the meeting.”
“With sweet news, I’m sure! God Bless you sir and God Bless this wonderful country!”
Samuel picked up line two.
“Hi Kate.”
“Hello Samuel. Are you busy? I can call back.”
“No, I have time. How are you doing?”
“Fine. I was wondering—”
Sure, I can have lunch with you. How about tomorrow?
“—if you had a few bucks to spare. I could really use it.”
“Yeah, OK…”
“You’re a doll! I’d love to see you, but I’m really busy helping Rory with his art. I have a PO box. Would it be too much trouble to send the money to me? If you mail it today, I should get it tomorrow, right?”
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