“Damn. It was a goddamned tragedy.”
During the next few weeks Becky made several brief trips to Canada. She fast-talked for cash to help pay for the refitting of the Baltimore excursion ship. Her contributors hinted that they expected Pickman’s to throw some extra business their way in exchange. She told them they would do business with the store for as long as she was president, privately hoping that that would be for years to come.
In Canada she avoided Herschel Kol, not trusting herself to see him and not wanting to distract herself from her Palestine work in case she was ousted and lost the store’s clout. There would be time enough in the near future to see Herschel—if he was still interested when she was no longer powerful, but merely a woman.
She relied heavily on Phil Cooper and gave him enough authority to run things smoothly, enough even to flatter him. She could hardly do less, and that was as likely to persuade him to back her as anything. Unless they offered him a fortune—or the presidency.
Norman Collins let her know the vote would take place in his office at ten o’clock Friday morning, May thirtieth. Becky, who had already arranged for Collins to have power of attorney to vote her shares, reiterated her decision not to attend.
On Friday morning, the last day in May and possibly the last day in her job, she arrived at her office an hour before opening, just as usual. She had already decided that she would simply not come in on Monday and that would be that. Carl had left her wealthy, but what she was going to do with her life was a question she hadn’t yet addressed.
She tried to busy herself in paperwork but gave up. What was the point? The hands on the clock inched along towards ten and she waited for Norman’s call.
It came at ten-fifteen.
“They’re still sitting shell-shocked in my outer office,” Collins chattered giddily. “Phil Cooper voted for you, Becky. He voted for you!”
“Norman? I’m still in? Why? Why did he do it?”
“Don’t know.” Collins laughed. “You ask him. He’s on his way back.”
He hung up and Becky asked Millie to let her know when Phil came in. Not much later Becky found herself in Phil’s office, asking if she might sit down.
“Sure, help yourself.”
“I want to thank you, Phil. I know you don’t like working for me, and it must have been a temptation to get rid of me.”
“My pleasure,” he drawled, eyes glinting wickedly.
“Okey, Phil, what’s the joke?”
He laughed. “Gertrude Pickman is. You’ll never guess what she offered me. Notice how nice I’ve been lately? You’ll see why in a minute.” He laced his hands behind his head and leaned back luxuriously.
“Apparently you suggested she make me president if they ousted you. Thank you. That was very generous and unselfish of you. If she had taken your advice, I certainly would have voted against you.
“Apparently she recognized the merit of your counsel, but it’s against her principles to do anything you say. She decided on a compromise.”
Becky was leaning forward in her chair, entranced.
“She said Robert would be president and hold presidential powers but that he would allow me to run things without interference. In plain English, I would have all the responsibility and no authority. In return, they would sell me your stock.”
“My stock! And just how, pray tell, were they going to get it in the first place?”
“Well, apparently you intimated to Gertrude that you wouldn’t trust Meltzer. She figured you’d sell out and I couldn’t turn down your shares.”
“Why did you? You’d have controlling interest. You could kick Robert out and rule the roost.”
“Precisely what I was supposed to think. That’s what tipped me off. The Pickmans were never going to give me controlling stock if they wouldn’t trust me with the presidency. It was all pie in the sky. Besides, what if you decided to sell away from the family? I would, in your shoes.”
“She’s got a nerve, all right.”
“Well, I had another reason, too. You know, Becky, you have no social graces, no clothes sense and no tact. On the other hand, you’re the best retailer in the city and I’d be a fool to pass up the reputation and the education I’m getting under you.”
That weekend she received word that the refugee ship she had worked so hard to get overhauled and refitted had set sail at last, rechristened the Exodus.
Chapter 60
In July Danny Herodetzky, like most of the civilized world, was appalled by the newspaper accounts that serialized the sorry fate of the refugee ship Exodus. Upon its arrival in Palestine’s waters its forty-three hundred passengers were taken off the ship by force and loaded onto three British transports.
The British announced that they were taking these people not to Cyprus but back to Germany. The voyage took forty-six days, during which the British endured attacks by the press for their “floating Auschwitzes” and more bombing by an enraged Irgun. Even the usually sanguine Haganah was sufficiently outraged to use limpet mines to send the British vessel Empire Lifeguard to the bottom of Haifa harbor. In all thirteen British lost their lives and scores were wounded in Exodus-related attacks.
To retaliate the British announced that three Irgunists who were imprisoned on unrelated charges would be hanged. This execution was so unjust as to impel the superintendent of Acre Prison to resign his office rather than comply. The hangings were carried out under the supervision of the new prison warden. Hours later the Irgun announced the executions by hanging of two British sergeants, and so the cycle of destruction and death continued unchecked.
It was during this time that the UN committee on Palestine was touring that country in preparation for issuing its recommendations. Danny read about the supposedly secret meeting between Ralph Bunche and Menachem Begin, during which the renowned black spokesman shook hands with the Irgun commander, declaring, “I understand you. I too am a member of a persecuted minority.” In England there was a torrent of criticism against the meeting and against the Bevin government. How had Bunche found Begin so easily when the task seemed beyond the capability of the British authorities?
In the fall of 1947 the committee submitted to the General Assembly its report recommending the creation of independent Jewish and Arab states in the territory west of the Jordan and the internationalization of Jerusalem under UN trusteeship. In response Arab leaders such as Egypt’s Mahmoud Fawzi and Prince Faisal of Saudi Arabia warned that they would not be bound by any partition proposal and threatened war if the General Assembly should vote to carry it out.
As debate proceeded, England announced that she would not cooperate with a multinational peacekeeping force in Palestine but would end her mandate on May 16, 1948. Russia made it known that she advocated the partition plan. Meanwhile everyone waited, wondering what position the United States would take.
Danny Herodetzky wondered if he’d ever be free of his waterfront duties and if Herschel Kol would ever make good on his promise to get Danny flying.
Once Danny’s flight records had been checked out, Milty helped him apply for his passport, coaching him in what to say so that the State Department, which was fervently anti-Zionist and very suspicious of young Jewish men who wished to travel abroad, would not deny his application. Now that he had his passport, it was burning a hole in his pocket. When would he be allowed to fly? All Herschel would say was that Danny was needed in New York while he himself was occupied with the Canadian project.
His desire to quit his present duties and resume flying was not purely selfish. Newspaper editorialists pointed out that the United Nations had no armed force to impose peace on Palestine. The Jews would have only themselves to depend on if they were to survive the allied Arab attack to come in the wake of the British departure.
Danny had studied maps of the proposed partitioning. The Jews would be surrounded by hostile Arab nations on three sides and would have their backs to the Mediterranean. They would need air transport to move essential s
upplies over enemy lines and fighter planes if the Egyptians’ strafing runs were not to cut the new nation into bloody ribbons.
Danny understood all this, but try as he might he could not turn Herschel’s attention away from his gun project. “A little longer, a little longer,” he would snap, then turn his back.
On Saturday evening, November twenty-ninth, the General Assembly approved the partition plan by a vote of thirty-three to thirteen. The historic event was broadcast on radio. Danny and his Upper West Side volunteers huddled around the old Philco with the cracked dial as the votes were tallied in Flushing Meadow.
As France, one of the last countries to vote, announced that it was for the partition plan, a cheer went up in the apartment. The students began hugging and kissing. They twisted the corks from several bottles of wine and began passing them around.
Danny watched quietly from the sidelines, feeling much older than these exuberant youngsters. He accepted some handshakes and a drink, wondering why these kids were congratulating him. He hadn’t done anything special—yet.
On Saturday night Becky sat alone in her living room and listened to the live broadcast from the United Nations. She wanted to celebrate, but she didn’t know how. There was no one with whom to rejoice, she was all alone.
A month ago she had dismissed the housekeeper. It made Becky nervous to have her around all the time. She preferred cooking her own meals to having somebody cook for her and then watch her eat. She’d begun to think about moving out of this apartment into a one- or two-bedroom place with less elegance and more real comfort.
Becky supposed she could call her father about the wonderful news. Yes, she would call her father. She was just about to pick up the telephone when it rang. “Hello?”
“It’s me,” Herschel Kol said. His voice was breathless, triumphant. “I’m in a telephone booth. I have turned all my money into Canadian silver in order to call you. You’ve heard the news, of course? I had to talk to you. There is no one else I wanted to share this moment with.”
“I’m so glad you called. I can’t tell you what it means to me. You must be so happy. Your whole life you’ve been waiting for this day.”
“So I have, Becky, but it is only the beginning of a far more difficult struggle to come. You have seen the maps of the planned partition, yes? Tell me then, how can there be a Jewish state without Jerusalem? All of Palestine should be Jewish.”
“Do you believe the Arabs will go to war?” Becky asked.
“It’ll be a fight to the death. I am sorry for that, but there’s no help for it. Let’s not talk about death tonight, Becky, not when the homeland has at last been born. I have more good news. What you and I began here together is also practically finished. In another couple of weeks, I believe, my work in Canada will be done.”
“That’s wonderful. I’ll be in Canada on business in two weeks. Will I see you?”
“I’ll be here. We’ll celebrate together,” Herschel said quietly. “Becky I . . . I miss you very much. I have missed you these last few months.”
“We can talk about it when I see you.”
“No, it’s easier for me to say these things on the telephone tonight. The grand news has given me courage. Do you believe me—will you, if I say now what I said that night? I love you.”
Becky gazed at her reflection in the gilded mirror above the mantel. Why didn’t she feel anything? She wanted to, so why couldn’t she? Why was she so frightened?
“I understand,” Herschel said listlessly after an eternity of crackling silence over the wires. “Yes, I understand.”
“I’ll see you there,” Becky managed, her voice cracking. Don’t be a fool, she thought. You mustn’t let him think that you don’t care.
He hung up.
Becky listened to the static for a moment, then set the receiver down in its cradle. She lit a cigarette and watched the blue smoke curl into nothingness. I’ll see him in a few days’ time, she told herself. It’ll be different then.
The sad sound of Herschel’s voice came back to her and she wondered why God had given her so much and yet seen fit to curse her. She wanted to surrender herself to the passion she felt for Herschel, but something about him made her hold back.
On Saturday night Benny Talkin listened to the UN proceedings over his car radio as he drove out to Stefano’s home in Sheepshead Bay. He didn’t want to make this trip—not that he ever wanted to go there—especially not tonight, just two days after a torturous Thanksgiving holiday there. Stefano had been impossible the entire time. He and Tony Bucci spent most of the day behind the closed door of Stefano’s study, excluding Benny from their discussions. He knew how worried Stefano was about the D.A.’s vendetta against him, but his father-in-law still should have been more considerate of his feelings. How humiliating to have to sit with the women and children while Stefano and Tony discussed business. All of them, including Dolores, treated him like a second-class citizen.
He nosed the Caddy convertible along the driveway. Tony was at the open front door before Benny switched off his engine.
“Nice of you to come out on such short notice,” Tony Bucci said, for all the world as if he were the host and this his house. He was wearing a dark business suit and a tie. Benny at once regretted showing up in casual clothes.
“What’s going on, Tony? Trouble?”
“You could say that,” Tony removed his glasses to polish them on his tie, squinting like a mole in sunlight. “Stefano’s upstairs in his study. I gotta warn you, Benny, he’s been acting a little crazy since he found out.”
“Found out what?”
“Who the rat is. Who’s been informing on us to the D.A.”
“No shit!” Benny exclaimed. “Who?”
“I’ll let him tell you. Just remember, don’t act like you think anything is unusual with him, all right?”
Benny thought that he detected a note of pleading in Tony’s voice. “Sure, Tony.”
He followed Bucci into the house. The hallway was dark and there seemed to be no one else around, although Benny thought he could hear a radio faintly playing. He began to grow increasingly apprehensive as he followed Bucci upstairs. He didn’t want to face a Stefano who was able to upset a stalwart like Gemstones.
The door to the study was closed. “Okay,” Tony sighed, taking a deep breath. He opened the door.
The mahogany-paneled study was dimly lit. Stefano was sitting in a massive leather armchair drawn up to the wide picture window that looked out over the bay. He was funereally attired in a black double-breasted suit.
“Hello, Benny.” It seemed an effort for Stefano to tear himself away from his view. He stood up, offering his hand. “Would you like a drink?”
“Maybe later,” Benny said. He was intrigued by Stefano’s sudden cordiality. It had been years since Stefano offered to shake hands with him.
“Make yourself comfortable, then.” Stefano sat down in his armchair by the window. Benny took off his jacket and he and Tony took opposite ends of the long leather sofa.
“I’ve asked you to come here for a very important reason,” Stefano began. As he spoke he continued to gaze out the window at the dark bay. His grey hair and mustache, along with the gold buckles on his black patent-leather loafers, gleamed in the faint light cast by the lamp on his desk. “Benny, you know that we’ve been plagued by traitors in our midst. They are a blight, like—like gangrenous flesh that must be ruthlessly carved away if the healthy part is to survive. Do you understand?”
“Yeah, I guess.” Benny slowly nodded. “Anything I can do to help.”
“Thank you, Benny. There is something you can do,” Stefano said, at last turning away from the window to stare at Benny. “You must kill one of these traitors.”
“It’s Louie Carduello,” Tony Bucci interjected.
“Louie?” Benny issued a short bark of nervous laughter. “This is a joke, right? You guys are kidding me.”
Stefano shook his head.
“Louie’s worked fo
r you since—Jesus, 1925,” Benny insisted. “He’s been running that meat packing plant on Washington since—”
“Louie has had it in for me all these years because of a trifling misunderstanding a long time ago,” Stefano intoned. “I was going to put Abe Herodetzky in charge of that plant and make it up to Louie with cash payments. Louie said that would be all right, but he held a grudge.” Stefano paused and nodded calmly. “Yes, a grudge. Even when my plans for Abe fell through, Louie didn’t forgive me. He never has. It’s Louie who has been betraying me.”
“How could he?” Benny asked. “I mean, he’s not in a position to know all that much about you.”
“He knows certain things. But you’re right. There are other traitors. They’re jealous. They want to bring me down. It takes many to bring down a great man.” Sweat appeared upon Stefano’s forehead and drops of it glistened in his mustache. “Louie is one of the first who must die. I want you to kill him for me, Benny.”
Benny stared back at his father-in-law. He’s crazy, he thought. “Stefano, I can’t. I never did anything like that—”
“‘I can’t, I won’t,’” Stefano mimicked crossly. “That’s all I’ve ever heard from you, Benny. You’re a weakling. Before all these betrayals your incompetence didn’t matter to me. Now I can no longer afford incompetents.”
“Not ever having shot a guy in the back of the head doesn’t make me an incompetent,” Benny snapped. “Right, Tony?” Bucci pretended not to hear him.
“Ever since you and Dolores got married you’ve been holding back on me,” Stefano said accusingly. “I had big plans for you, but that’s not the issue now. Loyalty is the issue. I got to know who is loyal and who isn’t. I want you to kill Louie Carduello for me. Then I’ll know that I can trust you. You want me to trust you, right?”
“Yeah, sure. Jesus, sure.” He grinned uneasily. “I think I could use that drink now.”
“Get it for him, Tony,” Stefano instructed. As Bucci rose Stefano added, “Tony will help you with this if you’d like.”
Benny repressed a shudder. “No. If I’m going to do this for you, let me do it myself—to prove myself, understand?” He tried his best to smile and then gulped the neat whiskey Bucci handed him.
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