The Ocean Liner

by Marius Gabriel

  He had never heard from his mother and his father again, nor from anyone else in his immediate family. After the war, the Red Cross had informed him that they had all perished in the camps. Though he had made two pilgrimages back to the places where they had died, there had been no graves, no markers, no place to lay flowers. All he was left with were the memorials in various public sites, where their names figured along with the countless millions of others whose lives had been consumed.

  There had been other losses, too. He had never married, never had children of his own. There simply hadn’t been time. His life had been study and work, work and study. He had given his best years to the space program. There had been nobody else to give them to.

  He entered his house, finding it air-conditioned to his specifications, softly lit just the way he liked it. He’d programmed computers to regulate most of the functions of the house. They switched things on and off, paid the bills, kept the pool pristine. They even controlled the large tank in which brilliant tropical fish drifted, the only living things with which he shared his life.

  Lined on the wall were photographs of the people he’d worked with over the years: John Glenn, Alan Shepard, Neil Armstrong, Sally Ride, others who had been places he would never go, while he watched from his desk. Smiling in their sky-blue space suits were the seven Challenger astronauts who had died in 1986, two women, a black man, an Asian, two white men, a cross-section of America.

  He ate a breakfast of cereal standing in the kitchen. He was thinking of that remark, almost a cliché: You’re going to miss all this, Tom.

  It opened the question which, strange to say, he hadn’t considered until this moment – what he was going to do with the rest of his life. He was healthy, fit, active. The question was going to become pressing. But it was time to sleep now. He would start thinking about that when he was rested.

  He cleared away the tiny disruption he had caused in the kitchen and went to his computer to check his messages before going to bed. He’d been using email for over ten years. Now, in the era of AOL, Prodigy, CompuServe and Hotmail, it was becoming the norm for millions of Americans.

  Most of his mail was work-related. Already, messages of appreciation for his lifetime’s service to the space program were starting to flood in. But one message stood out because it contained a name he hadn’t heard for decades.

  He opened the email, and read it. Then he clicked on the attachment, and found himself looking at a face that for over half a century he had only seen in dreams.

  New York

  The ceremony at Juilliard had been a heady occasion. The mediaeval splendour of so many colourful academic gowns, blue and red predominating, had been a feast for the eyes. There had been wonderful music, inspiring words that had brought tears to her eyes, the joy of seeing her granddaughter graduate among the flower of her generation.

  At her age, Masha was inevitably reminded of another generation, which had been cut down in full flower; but now was not the time to dwell on the past. Now was a time for rejoicing, for new beginnings. The past could wait until later.

  She’d taken her daughter and granddaughter to lunch, and had bathed in the light shed by youth and hope. Mariam was a gift to the world, as beautiful within as she was on the outside. Her musical talent had shown itself almost from infancy. If it was a genetic inheritance, it had skipped a generation, because her mother, Masha’s daughter Judith, had never been particularly musical.

  So it had fallen to Masha, the devoted grandmother, to nurture the flame and fan it into a blaze that would endure a lifetime. It had been a labour of love. After Dale’s death in 1973, at the age of only fifty-seven, it had turned from a labour of love into a sacred duty. Today was the culmination of all that hope and devotion. There was no more she could do for Mariam now except watch her soar.

  Lunch ended late. Judith and Mariam had shopping to do with Mariam’s partner, Kevin. Then they would be meeting Mariam’s father – amicably separated from Judith for two decades and more – and continuing their celebrations into the early hours.

  ‘Sure you don’t want to come along, Granma?’ Mariam asked, tugging on her grandmother’s arm the way she’d done ever since infancy.

  ‘I’ll only slow you down,’ Masha said.

  ‘Take that back. None of this would have happened without you.’

  Masha smiled. ‘Okay, I take it back.’

  ‘What are you going to do now?’

  ‘I’ll just rest, I think.’

  ‘You’ve never rested a day in your life,’ Judith scoffed.

  ‘Well, maybe now’s a good time to start.’

  ‘You’re up to something,’ Judith said, eyeing her mother keenly. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘I don’t believe you.’

  ‘Well, if there is something, it’s my business. Now go on, enjoy yourselves.’

  Loud with city noise, the air was mild. She felt buoyant, like a woman who had discharged her duty and had time to burn. There was still warmth in the day, still sunlight in the afternoon. It slanted across the green spaces of Central Park, between the towers and down the canyons of Columbus Avenue. She enjoyed the energy of the city. Walking the streets of New York had never lost its thrill for her. She had spent much of her life in a small, leafy, upstate town, where such things as the quality of life and the cleanness of the air were treasured; but she was a Berliner born, and had always considered herself a city girl. Grime, noise and seething energy were her natural habitat.

  She walked briskly, reached the sprawling complex of the Lincoln Centre and climbed the steps into the main plaza. The great space, surrounded by the palaces of the new American Renaissance, never failed to inspire Masha. She sat on the wall of the fountain in front of the high arches of the Metropolitan Opera. To one side of her was the New York Ballet, to the other the New York Philharmonic. She watched the people who passed by – visitors, artists, lovers; those who had come to dance or sing, and those who had come to be part of the performance.

  So many lives, intersecting through the power of art. Sometimes the intersections were momentary, lasting no longer than a single performance; other intersections lasted a lifetime, becoming partnerships, enshrined in memory, perpetuated in beauty, never dying or fading away. At the heart of it all was art, that strange endeavour of the human species, which had no other end than itself, but which brought out the best in a race of beings all too prone to dark deeds.

  She was lost in her own thoughts when she heard her name spoken. She looked up. Thomas König was standing in front of her, a tall, slim, grey-haired man in a seersucker suit.

  ‘Thomas!’ Masha got up and hugged him. ‘How wonderful to see you.’

  ‘It’s been a long time,’ he said formally. He drew back and studied her with grave, grey-blue eyes. Then the dry landscape of his face was lit by a smile. ‘You never change.’

  ‘Oh, such nonsense.’ Masha laughed a little breathlessly. ‘You needn’t flatter me. Change comes to us all.’

  ‘Some change is natural and therefore pleasing,’ he replied.

  ‘Ah, what tact. I’m so glad you came.’

  He looked around. ‘So am I. I’ve never been here before. This place is amazing.’

  ‘You must be used to amazing sights, Thomas.’

  ‘True. But this is different.’

  ‘Yes, I imagine this is different. You didn’t become a watchmaker, after all.’

  ‘No. I took your advice and went big.’

  She took his arm. ‘Will you come with me? I want you to see something.’

  The Stravinsky exhibition was well-attended. Masha had taken the precaution of getting two tickets well in advance. They made their way through the crowds who surrounded the collection of photographs, paintings, scores and other original documents from the period of Stravinsky’s association with the New York Philharmonic.

  She led him to a glass case, where several pages of a musical manuscript were laid out under soft lighting
. At first he wasn’t sure what he was looking at, and then he saw the museum card:

  Original Manuscript, Igor Stravinsky ‘Symphony in C’ (1939/1940)

  On loan from Masha J. Morgenstern

  ‘You kept it all these years,’ he said quietly, bending to get a closer look.

  ‘What should I have done, sell it? No, no. It was a gift, a treasure. A mitzvah. I’ve kept it safe, all my life. It will go to my granddaughter when I am gone. She can trade it for a really good violin.’

  ‘Is she that talented?’

  ‘She’s that talented.’

  Thomas stared at the scrawled and blotted pages. ‘I remember running to get this from your cabin, the night of the submarine.’

  ‘Oh, I remember that, too. I will never forget it. There are so many things about that voyage that I will never forget. They’re as fresh in my memory as though they happened yesterday.’

  He nodded. ‘For me, too.’

  ‘There’s something else I’ve treasured all these years. The ticket you gave me to the World’s Fair.’

  Thomas laughed. ‘Masha, that’s not quite on the same scale as an original Stravinsky manuscript.’

  Her face stayed serious. ‘To me it is. It was also a mitzvah. A gift from the heart that gave me strength when I didn’t want to go on.’

  ‘To tell you the truth, I was amazed when you showed up at Flushing Meadows.’

  ‘I would never have failed you. That is another occasion that stands out in my memory as though it happened yesterday.’

  ‘I remember the smell of onions on your breath,’ he said, almost to himself.

  ‘What!’

  He looked embarrassed. ‘From the hotdog. When you kissed me goodbye.’

  ‘There are some memories that ought to be suppressed,’ she exclaimed. But she was also touched that he had recalled something so personal and intimate. ‘I always had the feeling that your visit to the World’s Fair didn’t quite live up to your expectations. In more ways than one.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I guess I felt you were disappointed in it.’ She hesitated. ‘And in me.’

  ‘You couldn’t have been kinder to me.’

  ‘Oh, I think I could. I could have spared your feelings more.’

  He didn’t ask what she meant. ‘I was very sorry to hear that your husband died so young. You never remarried?’

  Masha shook her head. ‘I never wanted to. And I had my hands full with Mariam.’

  ‘Your granddaughter?’

  ‘Yes. Judith wasn’t really into the whole stay-at-home-Mom thing. She was more interested in self-exploration. She and Mariam’s father separated when Mariam was around five. Judith followed her own course in life for years – ashrams, religious retreats, Buddhist monasteries, artists’ colonies, you name it. She was away in India for nearly two years. Then she went to a commune in New Mexico for another three.’

  ‘So you were more mother than grandmother?’

  ‘Effectively.’ Masha held up a slim hand. ‘I don’t want to make Judith sound crazy or anything. They’re a lot closer now. And I loved being there for Mariam, especially after Dale died. He died of a work-related illness, so there was compensation. That meant I could quit my job to be there for Mariam.’

  ‘That was a big sacrifice.’

  ‘I never begrudged one moment. Talking of souvenirs, you’ll never guess what Rachel kept all these years: the swastika pin you gave her.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Really. Her partner Dorothea recently asked her why she kept such an ugly thing. She said it was to remind her not to jump to conclusions about anybody.’

  Thomas smiled slightly. ‘That’s a good lesson. To answer your question, I wasn’t disappointed in the World’s Fair. That visit helped me distinguish between fantasy and reality – what was impossible and what could really be achieved. My ideas about technology had come out of comic books. After the World’s Fair, I knew that wonderful things were going to be done, and that I could be part of them. They were just going to be different from what I had dreamed.’

  ‘But you were disappointed in me.’

  He thought for a moment. ‘I would say you also showed me the difference between fantasy and reality. What was a dream and what could really be attained.’

  ‘That must have been a hard lesson,’ Masha said gently.

  ‘It needed to be learned.’

  ‘It’s funny,’ she said, as they moved away from the glass case, ‘the age difference between us now seems irrelevant. Back then, it was unbridgeable.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘In fact, you’ve gained authority now. I feel humble next to you.’

  His features, refined by age and self-discipline, expressed surprise. ‘Why should you feel that?’

  ‘You’ve achieved such amazing things. The whole nation has watched them on TV. All I’ve been is a quiet little music teacher in a quiet little town.’

  ‘We’ve both launched others on their life’s voyages. There’s nothing more valuable. We can both be proud of that.’

  ‘That’s a very nice thing to say.’

  ‘It’s true.’

  She hesitated. ‘You never married, Thomas?’

  ‘You know I didn’t.’

  ‘Was that my fault?’

  He smiled slightly. ‘You had something to do with it. I wouldn’t say it was your fault, exactly.’

  ‘I would hate to think it was. Was there never – somebody?’

  ‘Oh yes. There were a couple of somebodies along the way. Just never anybody I wanted to make a life with. Besides, I was married to NASA. None of the possible incumbents were prepared to play second string to a space agency.’

  ‘But you finally left the space agency.’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘So there’s hope for some lucky somebody?’

  ‘The age of saints has passed, my dear Masha.’

  ‘I’m going to sign you up for a dating agency.’

  ‘Please don’t.’

  ‘A seniors’ dating agency.’

  ‘Was Hänschen nicht lernt, lernt Hans nimmermehr.’

  It was the first German he had spoken, and Masha snorted with laughter. ‘You can’t teach an old dog new tricks? I wouldn’t count on that.’

  Twilight had fallen by the time they left the building. The plaza was a spectacular sight. The fountains were illuminated, the great halls on three sides blazed with light. Laughter and music were everywhere. They stood together, enjoying the evening and its magic.

  ‘Thank you for bringing me here,’ Thomas said. ‘I might never have come.’

  ‘Next time we’re here we’ll do a concert or a ballet.’

  ‘That’s a deal.’

  ‘Good. I owe you that.’

  ‘You don’t owe me anything, Masha.’

  Her face, still heart-shaped and pretty, was sad for a moment. ‘Over the years I’ve become more and more conscious of the debts I owe to others. To my family, who gave up everything to save me. To Rachel, who kept me strong. To Stravinsky, who was so generous to us all. And to you. Your kindness stands out as one of the defining moments of my youth. I revisit it often, and each time it means more to me.’

  ‘I’ve been thinking,’ Thomas said. ‘About what to do next. I sat at my desk for a lot of years and watched a lot of people leave for exciting places. Maybe it’s my turn now.’

  ‘You want to travel?’

  ‘I thought I might see a bit of the world. Paris. London. Rome. And yes, Berlin. Maybe even Tokyo, Singapore.’

  ‘That sounds wonderful, Thomas. I’ve always been a city girl, myself. I’d like to do that too.’

  He was watching the fountains, the dancing lights reflected in his eyes. ‘There’s no reason why you shouldn’t.’ He paused. Was it too late for him to have these feelings? Was he making a fool of himself – an old fool, this time? He decided to go ahead. ‘We could go together.’

  ‘No reason why not,’ she said quietly.

/>   He felt his heart soar. ‘No reason in the world.’

  She took his arm. ‘How about a hotdog? I promise to skip the onions.’

  ‘I think we can do better than a hotdog these days.’ He looked down into her face. The soft glow had given her back her youth and beauty, or perhaps his own eyes were blurring, because she didn’t look a day over twenty. ‘And you have no idea how I long to smell onions on your breath again.’

  ‘Let me see what I can do about that. Shall we go then, you and I?’

  They walked down the stairs, which sparkled with lights, and out into the glittering tide of noise and life in Columbus Avenue.

  Wisconsin

  Cubby Hubbard had to plan his visits with more care these days. After the decades of near-isolation, people had dredged Rosemary’s name out of their memories and had started calling to see her. Her family had begun to drift back around her. Or at least some of her family. She had already outlived her parents. Her father, devastated by a stroke a few years after Rosemary’s lobotomy, had ended up in a worse condition than she, unable to talk or walk. Her mother, once so sharp and ambitious, had declined into dementia. From what the nuns had told Cubby, Rosemary had never forgiven either of them, despite the irony of their fates. Of Rosemary’s siblings, four had already died, in accidents or at the hands of assassins, giving the family name, which had once been so proud, the ring of tragedy.

  Those who remained had begun to show an interest in the recluse at St Coletta of Wisconsin. They came to see her and sometimes they took her on outings, to revisit the places of her youth, or to see new ones. There was even a tendency to turn her into a cause célèbre, and make her suffering an emblem of compassion – she who had received so little compassion in her life, except from strangers.

  So Cubby had to plan his visits with a little foresight so as not to coincide with other visitors, or find Rosemary not there. It wasn’t too difficult, because Rosemary’s visitors and outings were not so common – she still spent most of her time alone – and with the help of the nuns, something could always be arranged. But it was a long journey to make, and he didn’t like to make it in vain.