The ramblings of an old man. It is hard to be in this big flat with no one to talk to. Tell me if you have clearer plans for returning. I know your work there is important. But we have refugees here too. You could do so much. And then, not in the least, is your Mama. She misses you, my love. You don’t need to worry about me. I have even come to like cooking. I can get around. I have all the physical comforts. Physical. But it would be a blessing to have my daughter back.
I hear from Teddy and Moira every few weeks. Teddy brought over a lovely apple pie. Neither of the girls is married yet, which surprises me. There is a rash of weddings. I am not so surprised about Teddy. But that Moira is a pretty one.
Well, this paper is running out. And Jack Benny is coming on the radio. One of the few bits of company in a week. I send the best from Mama and me. Love, Papa.
She lay back, spent.
Reuben reached over and carefully retrieved the letter.
She could not open her eyes. She didn’t want him to see the tears. She rolled over and wiped her face on the pillow case. But she could not stop crying. So she remained on her side, thankful he didn’t reach over to touch her. She needed to release the anger and frustration of Papa. Finally, she turned back to Reuben, almost unashamed.
‘You see why the decision about Leah is so hard.’
He nodded. ‘Somewhat.’
‘I’ve started to tell you about Papa several times. But he is so much more revealing in his own words.’
‘Most people are.’ He took her hand.
She wept again.
‘All right,’ he whispered. ‘Nothing to be embarrassed about. Cry. It is cleansing.’
‘It’s the flu,’ she began.
‘It’s the family.’
‘Yes,’ she admitted. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Finally, when she opened her eyes, he was still there. ‘I feel so selfish,’ she said. ‘I mean this is nothing compared to your family.’
‘You have much pain,’ he murmured.
‘I don’t know what will happen to Leah, if she keeps hanging on like this. I mean we could just send her to a family. We could tell her it’s for her own good.’
‘We tried that with the Rosen children. You remember. No, we want her to want to go. We have some time. She will be young a while longer. And today is not the day for decisions.’
She nodded, holding open her eyes with great effort.
‘In fact,’ he pulled away and regarded her seriously, ‘today is the day for you to sleep. I don’t know what I am thinking — coming to the sick with problems.’ He shook his head and stood, filling the room with a powerful vitality. ‘You have enough … nourishment,’ he considered the rice less critically now and she imagined he was happy she could eat at all. ‘I will ring tomorrow.’
‘I’ll see you at work on Monday.’
‘No, you won’t. You’re going to sleep here until Tuesday and maybe Wednesday if necessary. Your Papa is right about one thing; you worry too much about too many people and not enough about your home — yourself. Now I will ring, and you must tell me if you need anything.’
‘Yes,’ she agreed, raising herself and regarding him with affection.
‘Farewell.’ He bent to kiss her forehead.
‘See you Tuesday,’ she said with determination.
London hadn’t changed much in the last week, Ann considered as she rushed to the tube. Seven Sisters Road was still dark and clamorous. She had an even harder time inhaling the soot because she had grown used to the relatively clean air of her room. But she was eager to return to work. Just thinking about the files on Esther’s desk created knots in her stomach. She was looking forward to catching up on Esther’s news and to seeing Reuben. He had kept his promise, ringing every day, but not returning. What an endearing mixture of formal reserve and insistent intimacy. Quiet man on the brink of explosion.
Ann was the first one at the office, as she had hoped. Setting out the biscuits she had brought to surprise Esther, she started the kettle. She surveyed the empty room and was struck by its dinginess. No one had washed the outside windows for years. They seemed to be streaked a permanent grey, intensifying the wintry landscape. British people didn’t find heat or light essential. On mornings like this, Ann longed for the daily presumptions of California. She could almost taste a nectarine. Never mind that Californians didn’t eat nectarines in winter. What she tasted was a life she missed more than she ever predicted. Waiting for the water to boil, she sorted through the post on her desk. At the bottom of the pile was a piece of lined yellow paper, folded in four. She opened it to find a child’s drawing: a woman holding the arm of a little girl. Ann’s hand shook. It was too early to think about Leah. She shoved the picture in her top drawer, grateful for the high pitched distraction of the kettle’s whistle.
‘I might have expected this,’ Esther said, shaking her curly head and removing her overcoat. ‘Not only do you return to work too soon, but you arrive early. I’m surprised you’re not scrubbing the floor.’
‘Hi there.’ Ann was glad to see her friend, aware how much she admired Esther’s bright sarcasm. She reminded her of Moira in her liveliness, with a touch of Teddy in her maternal qualities. She looked a little like the early pictures of Mama — round face and sturdy body, rich, red-black hair, high color in her cheeks. ‘Don’t worry, I’m just fine. Needed a little vacation from this place I guess.’
‘From what Reuben reported, you needed two weeks in hospital. He was worried.’ She paused and, apparently deciding Ann didn’t want to talk about him, continued, ‘We all were.’
Ann set a steaming cup on Esther’s desk.
‘Thanks.’
Ann smiled, pondering the ease she felt with Esther. Was it simply the consequence of being Jewish in an overly polite country which didn’t even pretend to be courteous about its anti-Semitism? Americans were bigoted, all right, but she had never felt so alien there, perhaps because there were so many other kinds of aliens. At first Ann thought her strangeness here came from being American, but gradually she understood that it was often her Americanness that saved her from being too Jewish in the eyes of many English people. She loved Esther’s expressive hands and her passionate responses to everyone around her. Ann cleared her throat and listened carefully, lest her friend think she were still dozy from the flu.
‘Is it still OK for me to go up to the meeting at Birmingham next week?’
‘Sure, sure,’ Ann answered. ‘I should have this cleared away by then. Any new developments?’
‘No. Got a nice letter from the Cohen kids. They’re fine. And Mrs Goldman rang yesterday. She thought she could take another. She inquired about the six year old she met.’
Ann stared at her hands. ‘Leah?’
Esther nodded. ‘By the way, Leah’s been asking for you every day.’
‘How do you think she would do at the Goldmans’? Is the house large enough? Would she get along with little Sarah?’
Esther stared at her. There was something of Teddy in the way she looked straight through you.
‘Sure these are the appropriate questions?’
‘Oh, Leah and I. Esther, that’s crazy. We both know it. Aside from anything else, it’s very unprofessional.’ She swivelled in her chair and stared out the dirty grey windows across the dirty grey city and wondered whether, in fact, she was well enough to be at work today.
‘Professional? No, love isn’t professional.’ Esther’s scrutiny was softer now, but equally intense. She sipped her tea and waited.
‘How do we know that child loves me? Maybe she just identifies with me.’ She was breathing too fast.
‘I wasn’t talking about her love.’
‘Oh.’ Ann blushed and took another draught of tea. ‘Yes, I adore her. But I don’t trust that. A person gets lonely far away from her family and friends. Of course I have you and Sheila and Judith, but
most of my roots are back home.’
‘Yes.’ Esther nodded patiently.
‘How do I know what I feel for her, this little child, isn’t some kind of personal need?’
‘Don’t most people come to each other out of need?’
‘Yes, but when they’re adults that’s all right. When one of them is twenty years younger than the other, it’s not very equal.’
‘Equal or not, you have a date with her this morning.’ Esther evaded Ann’s eyes. ‘I couldn’t help it. Every day she asked after you. I promised you would say hello on your first morning back.’
Ann swept her hand across the stacks of reports and papers on her desk.
‘She’s counting on you, Ann, fifteen minutes won’t hurt.’
‘You’ve missed your calling, Esther. You would have made a brilliant schochkin.’
‘I come from a long line of matchmakers.’
The hostel felt particularly chilly this morning. They had been saving money by heating only the rooms where the children were playing or sleeping. Now with all of them in the recreation room, the little dormitory was cold and damp. She considered the beds, so neatly made, in almost military precision, yet touched with personal mementoes — a teddy bear here, a picture taped to the bedpost, a special pillow case. They had each made their own beds private territories, claiming what individuality they could. What would it be like to sleep with these other bodies each night? Did you hear the others tossing and coughing? Or did the even breathing of the bodies help you sleep? How long did the kids whisper after lights out? Ann used to dream of being sent away to summer camp, where everyone slept together, where kids told ghost stories and played pranks with each other. She had heard marvellous tales from Daniel about Boy Scouts. But Mama would never let her go away. There was so much that Mama felt Ann couldn’t handle until Mama became unable to handle anything herself. Was this why Ann took on so much responsibility nowadays? She looked around again. Yes, her concern for these children in their impersonal dormitory was mixed with a little envy from her own missed adventures. She shivered and walked faster toward the recreation room.
The kids were scattered around the room playing games neither she nor they had heard of before landing in England. Ann loved to run the names through her head — rounders, tig, whip and loop, ludo, snap. In the corner a group of girls stood singing. This was a game Mrs Weinstein had taught them and Ann always smiled to hear their perfect English sentences. Esther had told her Mrs Weinstein had cleaned up the jingle a little.
Jolly old sailor took a notion,
For to sail across the sea.
There he met his dearest Susie
Wishing you to marry me.
Weep no more my dearest Susie
Take the dolly on your knee.
I’ll be back six months later,
Wishing you to marry me.
Arthur and Robert stood watching the girls, poking each other and laughing. Ann felt a pang, remembering how the boys had been sent back after six months with their family in Penge because both mother and father had contracted tuberculosis. What must it feel like to be abandoned by two sets of parents? Well, as Esther had pointed out, at least they had each other. Standing against the wall, she tried to divine whether these kids felt happy or at least safe. Did they lose themselves in the games and the Saturday movies of Hop Along Cassidy and Gene Autrey? As Ann watched two girls giggling in the game, she was surprised by a tug on her skirt.
‘Anna, Anna!’
She looked down at the curly head which caught light in a half-dozen shades of gold. Leah’s brown eyes were set in an expression of wide watchfulness. As she smiled at Ann, the eyes disappeared and her cheeks grew pinker giving her a grave vibrance.
‘Honey.’ Ann patted her head. ‘How are you doing today?’
‘Better? Is Anna ill?’
Ann considered that Leah had more of an English accent than a German one, but then she had been here for four years. And, like Arthur and Robert, she had spent time with an English family before they had to return her to the hostel. Would Leah recognize her German mother, if she ever saw her again? No matter where these kids grew up it would be tough.
‘No, I’m fine now. Just fine. And how are you?’
‘Good now. You’re here! Pick me up! Pick me up!’
Ann bent down, studying the child with concern. She saw such affectionate expectation that she was caught between delight and fear.
‘So we play now? Go for a walk?’
‘No, I just got back to work. I came to say hello because Esther said, well, because I missed you too.’ She regretted the acknowledgement immediately. She wanted to ask Leah if she remembered Sarah, if she would like to live with her and Mrs Goldman in a nice house with a garden. But she couldn’t trust herself this morning.
‘Tomorrow? Tomorrow?’ Her dark eyes were filling. ‘You’ll come back tomorrow?’
For a six year old, Leah had a remarkable memory. Maybe not; maybe all children were like this, Ann didn’t know. But of course tomorrow was Wednesday and she always taught history on Wednesday. Afterwards she and Leah usually went for a walk around the neighborhood.
‘Yes, tomorrow, honey, I’ll see you tomorrow.’ She set the child down.
But Leah held on to her skirt. ‘You’re not still ill?’
‘No, Leah, I promise. I’m better. All better. Now, go play with the others.’
She waved to Mrs Weinstein and turned quickly without glancing back at Leah. Wiping her eyes, she hurried through the dormitory. Maybe Esther was right. Maybe they did belong together. Yes, she did feel love for the child. Clearly it was returned. How could they manage? Well, she could bring her back here every day. And if Mrs MacDonald objected — no, she doubted that would be a problem — but if she did they could find another place to live. Still, was it good for a child to be brought up by a single woman? And what would this do to her own plans of returning to the States and studying and teaching? The questions raised more questions, like scratching after poison oak. Whatever the answers, she knew she could not cope now.
The next morning as she arrived at work, she was startled to see light coming from under the door. Since she had made a special effort to get here early, she was concerned as well as curious.
Reuben stood looking perplexed with the tea pot in his hands. Rarely did she see Reuben out of control. She burst out laughing.
‘The tea strainer,’ he muttered. ‘Damn thing broke open when I poured. English devices! Never trust them. What a mess.’
‘Easily mended,’ she said, relieving him of the pot and dumping the mess in the sink. ‘What are you doing here so early? I thought you were down in Eastbourne until late last night.’
‘Couldn’t sleep,’ he said. ‘I wanted to talk with you. Didn’t want to wake up dear Mrs MacDonald, or gallant Mr Speidel, for that matter. So I knew I could catch you here before Esther came.’
‘Something wrong?’
‘I’ve been thinking about Leah,’ he said.
‘Yes,’ she answered slowly. ‘What about her?’
‘She needs a home,’ he shuffled over to the window and studied the street below. ‘She’s too young for that hostel. Can you imagine the nightmares it will give her when she is older?’
‘Yes, I know. I know.’
‘She needs you.’ He spoke quickly. ‘You need someone else to take care of both of you.’
She could think of nothing to say, so she focused on making tea. Each small task required her whole concentration. She understood what he was saying. Yes, she would have to respond, but she was silenced by people from home. Mama in that damn bed in the warm, white room. Teddy, crouched down in the garden. Wanda, peering through the barbed wire. Moira dancing wildly with herself on the living room floor. He knew who she was now, but he did not know where she came from or where she was going. It was far to
o soon to talk of things like this. She wanted to be rational and explain that she wouldn’t really be ‘adopting’ Leah, that she couldn’t do that until they had official word from the girl’s family. But he knew that. He was talking about a foster home. Yes, she needed to make a decision. Leah had made her decision. Reuben had made his decision. Now it was up to her.
She held the pot in both hands, feeling the warmth from Reuben’s failed tea. Warm and empty. She set the pot on the edge of her desk. She was old enough to make decisions. Despite all her friends, despite the love she felt from Reuben and Leah, she had to make these decisions alone.
Chapter Eighteen
Summer 1944, San Francisco
GENERAL STRIKE IN DENMARK
US FORCES LAND ON GUAM
DE GAULLE ENTERS PARIS
ALLIES MOVE TO GERMANY
MOIRA WOKE AT DAWN with a heaviness throughout her body. She felt as if she were being pushed through layers of sleep. Much too early for breakfast. Breakfast, that did it. She was at the toilet in a flash, throwing up the remains of the previous night’s fish stew.
She wiped her face with a warm cloth. Then she sprinkled Dr Lion’s toothpowder on her brush and scoured her mouth, but she could not erase the sour taste. Her watch read 6 a.m. There was still an hour of sleep left, if she could catch it.
Moira tossed on the bed. 6.08. It would still be night in the Pacific. Randy would be asleep in his tent or, God forbid, in some freezing damp trench. Moira would have preferred Europe. She could imagine France or Italy or Germany. But who could imagine anything as huge as ‘The Pacific?’ She pulled the blanket closer, as if protecting both of them, and whispered, ‘Be safe. Be warm. I’m waiting.’ She remembered his bravado their last night dancing at Pluto’s before he shipped out from his recent leave. Out where? Every time she heard about sea casualties, she shuddered. He was in the middle of the blue, on one of a thousand secret islands in the ceaseless ocean. She knew she could communicate better if she were told his location. And if he wrote more. It felt like ages since she had had a letter. ‘Be safe,’ she whispered. ‘Keep warm. I’m waiting.’ She lay there conjuring his face, a strong face that had grown in character over the years. He still had those teasing eyes, but he had become much more mature, much kinder too. The sort of guy she sometimes supposed her own father was, her real father. Oh, she loved Daddy; but her real father wouldn’t have waited twenty-four years to stand up to Mother. Randy had a confidence to him, yet a softness.
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