by Julie Thomas
‘Do you wish you could tell Feter Levi?’
Kobi nodded. ‘Him most of all. I promise you I will Skype with Lisle tomorrow and ask her to organise for Mum and Andrew to be there the day after so I can tell all three.’
George patted the bed beside him. ‘And I don’t suppose I can persuade you to come back here in the meantime?’
Kobi grinned. ‘Be patient.’
‘You know that is my least apparent quality,’ George said, smiling back.
Major Stratton studied the six faces around the table. Simon, David, Cindy and Daniel Horowitz, Kobi Voight and Elzbieta Liswski. They held the key to what he wanted to do and he had no idea how they would react to the request.
‘Thank you for gathering here once again,’ he started. They all acknowledged his words, either with a smile or a nod.
‘We brought you here and showed you this film because we wanted you to know the truth about what your brother, uncle, great-uncle and friend did during the war. We believed that you should know. If some of it caused you pain, I apologise sincerely. Obviously Levi had his reasons for keeping his war a secret, and I believe that part of that was to spare you, particularly you Simon, some of the grief these revelations have brought.
‘But now that you do know, I have something to ask. This is a different age for the military. But we still need our heroes and we still need to remember the sacrifices of the past. Our technical department works with an outside production company to create recruitment and training films. And we would like to make a programme about Levi, using some of his debrief, and filming some interviews with you, Simon and you, Elzbieta. The piece would be scripted and you would be able to vet that and your questions in advance.’
He paused.
‘What would be the point of such a film? What would you use it for?’ David asked, his tone neutral.
‘Well, good question. It has an internal use for the army, but it would also be shown to the general public, open recruiting days, available for purchase on iTunes, maybe even shown by the BBC.
‘We find that some of our recruits today have limited knowledge of last century and the risks taken to keep this country free. Levi’s story is one that is easy to relate to. He was a member of the public, and yet he showed enormous courage and initiative. And it includes some of the major figures of the Axis war effort: people we simply read about in books come alive with his descriptions.’
‘Would you include the fact that he was gay?’ Kobi asked quietly.
Simon turned towards him. ‘Absolutely not! He didn’t live the majority of his life like that, and it is a private matter.’
Simon’s anger was plain to see.
Kobi shrugged. ‘And yet if you want to show truthfully what his war was like, that part, his relationship with Erik, had a huge effect on him, on the decisions he made.’
‘But does it honour his memory?’ Cindy asked.
‘Does it dishonour it?’ Kobi snapped back at her.
‘Who has the final say?’ Simon asked the major.
Stratton hesitated. He had anticipated that this might arise. ‘Theoretically the film created in 1945 belongs to us, but as he has descendants, we would, naturally, consult with you.’
‘What are you trying to do with it? Recruit homosexual soldiers and show them they can be spies?’ There was a bitterness in Simon’s voice that hinted at much deeper feelings.
Major Stratton coughed. ‘If I gave you my word we would not use anything that pertained to his sexuality, would you be happy for us to make the film?’ he asked.
Kobi slammed his fist down on the table. ‘But that’s not being true to Feter Levi! If he didn’t want the truth to be recorded, in all its personal agony, he wouldn’t have mentioned it. He wasn’t making it for us to see, he was making it for the army. I don’t think he was ashamed of his relationships. Remember he was talking in a time when this was simply not mentioned. Had he and Erik walked down Oxford Street hand in hand in 1945 they would have been arrested. And yet he was brave enough to admit he loved the man on a debriefing film!’
There was an uncomfortable silence. Finally, David turned to his cousin. ‘Why does it matter so much to you?’ he asked.
Kobi shook his head. ‘Oh no, you’re not going to cloud the issue by bringing me into it. This is about Feter Levi and how he honoured who he truly was.’
Simon looked at Kobi. His colour was high and his eyes were bright with anger. ‘I understand what you’re saying, but the final decision is mine. I am the curator of Levi’s legacy in this world, and I say that any public release of the film will be about his time in Berlin and his time in Italy. In the first part it will showcase his ability as a pianist and his conversations with Hitler, in the second it will tell the story of Assisi and the heroes he worked with and the partisans he fought with. His sexuality will not be mentioned. My word is final.’
Kobi slumped back in his seat and said nothing.
Major Stratton gave a brisk nod in Simon’s direction. ‘So be it.’
‘I feel betrayed and I feel as if they have betrayed Feter Levi,’ Kobi said. He took a sip of his cocktail and sighed.
‘I can see why,’ George commented.
‘It is homophobia and it comes from my own family. Not the military, or the production company who seem keen to include the parts about Erik. My own family!’
George reached across the table and covered Kobi’s hand with his own. ‘I know what it’s like to come out to family, you don’t. Often it is the hardest thing a gay man or woman ever does. The opinion of those you love means so much more.’
‘I don’t feel I can tell them now. I just don’t trust them.’ Kobi pulled his hand away. ‘I feel angry, like I want to kick something, hard!’ He put his drink down and scrubbed his face. ‘And I feel sad, too, ashamed of them.’
George smiled at him. Those lazy, sexy hazel eyes that made his pulse race. ‘I think you might find they already know. Is there one of them you could tell, just to break the ice?’
Kobi shrugged. ‘I don’t know. We’ve had so many secrets in this family for so long, it feels wrong to burden someone with another.’
‘I have a question for you,’ Major Stratton asked as he watched the soundman position the microphone on Simon’s jacket lapel. Simon looked up at him.
‘Yes?’
‘I did a digital cross-check with Levi’s name to see if we had any other records anywhere and I came across a letter sent by the Red Cross in Jerusalem in 1957. The writer was asking about Levi Horowitz on behalf of a Mrs Elizabeth Bernstein. I have no idea why the Red Cross was referred to the army or who she was. A letter was written back stating that Levi Horowitz was on record as a partisan fighter, parachuted into Europe, and there was no record of him returning to England, so it was assumed he died fighting. I imagine that the clerk responsible didn’t make more than a cursory check of the records, otherwise they would have discovered the recording. Does the name Elizabeth Bernstein mean anything to you?’
Simon frowned. ‘No. The letter doesn’t say who she was?’ he asked.
‘No. Just that the request for knowledge was placed on her behalf. Never mind, it was a long shot.’
‘I do remember the lady who bought my aunt and uncle’s house after they died stopping us once at Shul and telling us they’d had a call from a lady in Israel. They couldn’t remember her name. They’d told her that Uncle Avrum and Aunt Sarah had died and had had no children. She apologised because it hadn’t occurred to her at the time to tell the woman about us. Probably not the same person,’ Simon mused, almost to himself.
The soundman stepped back. ‘There we are, Mr Horowitz. Just one moment,’ he said. He went to look at a screen over to the side of the room and fiddled with a couple of buttons. ‘Could you say something for me, sir?’ he asked.
‘My name is Simon Horowitz and I am Jewish and German,’ Simon said.
The sound man nodded. ‘Excellent. If you could keep your voice around about that volume pleas
e, sir.’
A young man sat down opposite Simon. He had an iPad in his hand.
‘Right, are you comfortable, Mr Horowitz?’ he asked.
Simon smiled at him. ‘Please, call me Simon. I am perfectly comfortable, thank you,’ he said.
‘Good. If you want to stop at any time, you just have to ask. We can take as many breaks as you like. I want to start by asking you about your life before the war and what you remember of Levi.’
Berlin, 1930
Simon watched the preparations for Levi’s Bar Mitzvah with a keen eye. He knew that when he reached his thirteenth birthday it would be his turn, and he wanted to be ready. Levi went with Papa to the Neue Synagogue on the Oranienburger Strasse to practise. On the Sabbath closest to his birthday he would ascend the platform and read from the Torah, and then there would be a wonderful party at their home. Simon knew that his parents had bought two leather tefillin boxes for Levi. They contained parchment scrolls, and he would wear one on his head and one on his arm. When Simon had asked what he could give his elder brother as a Bar Mitzvah present, his mama had said that he could join with Rachel and David and give Levi a beautiful new fountain pen.
The day itself was hot and cloudless. The synagogue was huge and ornate, with a massive gold dome that could be seen from all over the city. It seated over three thousand people, and was the largest synagogue in Germany. He knew Levi was very nervous, and his papa was so proud Simon thought he would burst.
It went without a hitch, and all Papa’s friends crowded around Levi to congratulate him and shake his hand. Then it was back to the house for a feast and much celebrating. Simon watched the men carrying Levi aloft in a chair, following traditions that were centuries old. Not for the first time he felt blessed to be Jewish, to be part of this universal culture that honoured their G-d and lived by his laws. He could see himself marrying and giving his parents grandchildren, being part of a family circle that would include Levi and Rachel and David, that would honour his parents in their old age and continue the circle forever. It never occurred to him that life could take any other path.
It was a hot summer and Simon was bored. His younger brother and sister were in the nursery with Nanny. Rachel was giving her dolls a tea party, and David was playing with his new train set. He’d tried to interest Simon in joining him with the promise that he could move the signal flags up and down and guide the trains onto their separate tracks, but Simon knew he was too old for trains.
He wandered down the staircase and into the entrance hall. The sound of music drew him through the drawing room and into the music room. This was his favourite place on earth. The painting on the ceiling was worth lying on your back and staring at. It showed the Greek god Apollo playing a lyre made of gold, cherubs blowing trumpets surrounding him on all sides. But he loved the wallpaper even more. It was covered in music notes in gold leaf, and the silk was cold to his touch. The curtains were red and made of velvet, and there was a huge sparkly crystal chandelier in the centre of the room.
The room was full of instruments, precious architects of sound that his parents had collected. A 1586 Flemish double virginal with two keyboards and beautifully decorated panels sat at one end, and a huge grand piano at the other. In between were glass cases holding a tenor recorder, a wood-and-ivory serpent, an Italian lute and two magnificent violins.
The source of the music was his elder brother, Levi, who was having a lesson on the grand piano. His teacher, Herr Fleischer, was a young man, only about ten years older than his pupil, supplementing his meagre income with teaching. He was earnest and tried far too hard at times, and Levi and Simon used to imitate him when no one else was around.
Simon slipped into the room and sat on one of the chairs against the wall. Levi lifted his hands from the keys.
‘Good, but you need to be a little slower here,’ Herr Fleischer said, pointing to the sheet music. Levi nodded.
‘See this, this slur, it is telling you legato. So you need to be smooth and gentle. Try it again, from there.’
He pointed to the music again and Levi settled down and started to play.
‘Good . . . better . . . even more glissando. As if it were a nocturne . . . yes! That’s better.’
The music was lovely, but Simon was hot and fed up with being on his own. He slid off the chair and made his way out of the room and through to the kitchen.
‘Hello young Simon, how are you?’ Cook asked. She was peeling apples over a bowl at the table.
‘Bored. What are you doing?’ he asked.
‘Making strudel. Are you hot? Would you like an iced lolly?’
He grinned at her. ‘Yes please,’ he said.
She got up and went into the cold pantry. He reached into the bowl and took a large slice of apple. It was tart and juicy.
‘I saw that! Keep your hands out of that bowl,’ Cook’s voice came booming out of the pantry.
Simon laughed. ‘Just one,’ he said.
She came back with a square of muslin and unwrapped it to display a red chunk of ice, which she gave to him.
‘A strawberry iced lolly,’ she said. He held it by the muslin and sucked on the ice.
‘Thank you,’ he said.
‘Where’s Master Levi? Still at the piano?’ she asked.
Simon nodded. ‘He’s playing a piece that is so slow it’ll be Christmas before he’s finished,’ he said.
She laughed heartily. ‘Well, if it’s still summer when he’s free, tell him to come and have a lolly with me. He likes stirring the strudel.’
Berlin, 1935
It was one of the Horowitz music nights and the house was full of people. The Nazis had been in power for two years, and some of the restrictions were harsh. But these people were well-known and rich; they might not be able to practise as doctors, lawyers, dentists or teachers anymore, but they were creative. They loved music and theatre and cabaret and art. Among this crowd were composers, conductors, singers and instrumentalists. Their passion for classical music united them all.
Several shops refused to serve them, and some were shopkeepers who knew that their gentile customers were staying away, but the Jewish population was large enough to keep most in business. They hated Hitler and the Nazis, and knew that fully paid-up members of the National Socialist Party followed their leader’s example and hated them back, but on a night such as this it didn’t matter.
Cook had worked her magic with limited supplies, and the canapes were beautiful. Benjamin had opened the champagne and the cognac from his cellar. Elizabeth wore her green silk, her auburn hair swept up into a French roll and her magnificent pearls around her elegant throat. Benjamin, in his suit, was, as ever, round, jolly and companionable.
To begin the evening’s entertainment, Franz Reinhardt played the Steinway and Lillian Hauptman played the Amati violin. Simon was thrilled to be allowed to stay up and watch. He was entranced by every note, and knew that he would discuss each piece in detail with his music teacher during the days to come.
But tonight was a special night. Simon had been bullied at school and on his way home, for being a Jew. His parents were horrified, and as a treat he was allowed to play the Guarneri violin for the first time. He played Debussy’s ‘The Girl with the Flaxen Hair’. When he finished, everyone clapped and he took his first bow. But most of all his papa and mama both hugged him, and Levi was so excited for him he was nearly in tears.
Berlin, 1938
Simon and Levi had gone through the Kristallnacht together. Levi had gone out with friends without telling his parents where he was going. When Herr Reinhardt, the pianist, had rung and told them about the rioting and suggested they came to hide in his shelter, Simon had escaped before his parents were ready, and had gone out on his own to hunt for Levi. The streets were a screaming, smoking mass of shattering glass, burning synagogues and storm troopers rounding up Jews and taking them away in black vans.
Simon had managed to avoid capture and made his way to the café where he guessed Levi
would be hiding with his friends. Rolf had wanted them to stay, to be sheltered by their gentile companions, but both boys knew that their papers would give them away if the group was confronted. Their only hope was to make it home.
But they hadn’t reached the haven of their front door. Instead they’d been taken in by Maria Weiss, a gentile, who’d offered them chocolate cake and chicken sandwiches and coffee. They’d discussed all the subjects they loved with her, music and art and history and literature, and she’d shown them her late husband’s collection of first edition books and played them his radiogram. They’d stayed the night, and in the morning she’d cooked them breakfast. Simon had often wondered if she had any idea how much her kindness had meant, but when he saw her again in Berlin after the war he’d realised that her fate and that of the Horowitz family was interconnected from that night.
The next day Levi had left for London. It felt very strange to know that his elder brother wouldn’t be there anymore. He’d watched Levi pack and watched their father strap documents around his son’s chest and hang a pouch in his armpit. There was so much he suddenly wanted to tell Levi, fears, hopes and dreams. Levi had told Rachel that Simon would take care of her and she was to take care of David. It felt like a huge responsibility. The house would sound so empty without Levi’s piano practice, and Simon would miss going to sleep with his brother’s snoring from the room next door. But leave he must. They had waved him goodbye from the doorstep. His mother had given him her blessing.
‘G-d will take care of you, my precious firstborn boy,’ she had said to him. Simon would never forget the desolation on his mother’s face as she watched Levi depart.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Vermont, USA
November 2017
David enjoyed the drive north to see his father. It gave him some thinking time. All in all the trip to London had been a great success. Parts of Feter Levi’s interview had been hard to see, and he’d felt for his father, learning all this new information and having to process and accept it. But Simon’s brain remained as sharp as a tack, and he had reserves of personal strength and courage that his son found awe-inspiring. David very rarely let himself think about the secret he carried in his heart: that Simon was in fact his Feter and Levi had been his father. Biology meant nothing, nurturing was all that he cared about and both men had fathered him in different ways. When the family had undergone DNA testing to establish the authenticity of the Voights’ claim to be related through his Aunt Rachel, David’s good friend and Daniel’s conductor and mentor, Rafael Gomez, had discovered the truth. David knew he could trust Gomez to keep his secret, it wasn’t a hard one to hold, and in many ways David liked having something that no one else in his immediate family knew. He loved his wife dearly but she was a controlling person, and this was a fact that she didn’t have access to; it belonged to David alone. He wouldn’t dream of revealing a truth he knew would break Simon’s heart, so he let it be.