The Devil's Madonna

by Sharon Potts

  Please God, let this nightmare end.

  She collapsed in the rocking chair and let Dorothy’s eyes accuse her in the darkness. Low, mumbled sounds were coming from the backyard and Lillian tensed, then relaxed. The voices were soothing. She closed her eyes and heard her mother’s lullaby.

  Leli felt different this evening, almost happy. For the last few hours, while she and Wulfie strolled along the Wannsee enjoying the cool days of autumn, she had even been able to laugh. Had pushed thoughts of her parents to the back of her mind.

  She stopped at the edge of the lake, holding tight to Wulfie’s arm. The sun was setting. The bare, delicate branches of the trees behind them, like filigree against a golden orange sky, were mirrored in the still water. A breathtaking double image.

  “You’re so beautiful today,” Wulfie said, stepping back from her. “There’s a radiance about you.”

  He glanced from her to the water. The orange was darkening to pomegranate. “Two of my lovely Leli.”

  She reached out her arms toward him. He took her hands.

  “I must paint you. Now, tonight.” He looked again at her reflection in the crimson water, then pulled her against him.

  She buried her face in his woolen overcoat, feeling warm and safe.

  Leli’s neck, back, and arms were stiff and she wanted desperately to get up and walk around, but she dared not move.

  Wulfie had arranged her on the sofa in his studio, draped in a white sheet, her curls loose on her shoulders. She had been posed like this for hours, but Wulfie seemed to have lost track of time as he worked on the tiny canvas.

  He had taken off his jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves, working with an intensity she’d never seen before in him. He hunched over the canvas dabbing paint here and there, his palette in one hand, sweat glistening on his brow.

  The room was lit by several lamps, one directed on the canvas, another behind Leli, burning through her back.

  So hot. So stiff. And the smell of oil and turpentine was making her lightheaded.

  “Please, Wulfie, may I get up and stretch?”

  He looked startled at the sound of her voice, as though he hadn’t realized he was painting a living being.

  He glanced at the painting, then over at her.

  “Ach, Du lieber,” he said in the softest voice. He put the palette and brush down. Tears rolled down his cheeks from behind his spectacles.

  “Wulfie, are you all right?”

  She jumped up to go to him, clasping the sheet around her.

  He held up one hand to stop her; the other covered his eyes.

  “What is it?” she asked. “What’s wrong? My God, you’re bleeding.”

  “It’s nothing.” He turned away from her as he stuck his finger into his mouth. “Please, just give me a moment.” He took out a handkerchief and wiped his eyes.

  She stood on the back side of the easel. The tiny painting rested on the ledge, barely extending beyond the wood support.

  Wulfie blew his nose in the handkerchief, adjusted his glasses, and patted his goatee.

  “Is everything okay?” she asked.

  “Everything is perfect.”

  “May I look?”

  He nodded, bringing his hand in front of his mouth to hide a shy smile.

  Leli stepped around the easel. She felt a rush of heat as she looked at the postcard-size painting.

  A woman with long golden curls covering her shoulders, the draped sheet looking very much like a flowing robe.

  Leli let out a tiny gasp. How much the face resembled her own mother’s!

  The background was pomegranate red and a brightness radiated from behind the woman like a sharp ray of light. Like a halo.

  But the rest of it. Leli leaned closer.

  The painting wasn’t complete, but she could make out the outline of something that went far beyond a simple portrait.

  She felt confused, betrayed. Was this how he saw her?

  She bit her lip, trying to hold back her tears. Thinking about her parents, whom she had forgotten about today.

  And she began to cry.

  Wulfie took her in his arms and patted her back. “There, there, my lovely Leli. I’m so glad you feel it too.”

  Lillian smelled paint. She opened her eyes. She sensed a time shift, then her mind went blank. Had someone been holding her? Comforting her?

  She was in the rocking chair in Dorothy’s room, sitting in the darkness. She heard light footsteps climbing the stairs. For an instant, she thought it was Dorothy home from school.

  Then she remembered.

  44

  Kali picked up the bag of clothes she’d left in the front foyer, then went slowly up the stairs, suddenly unsure about what she was planning to do. When she left Neil a few minutes ago, Kali had been eager to show her grandmother the films, expecting that once she saw them she would explain the mystery behind her secret acting career and admit to being Jewish. But now, Kali was uneasy. Hadn’t she felt like this hours before getting the news that her mother was dead, or was that something she’d imagined remembering in retrospect?

  But what could her grandmother possibly reveal that would be so life altering? Kali had already converted to Judaism, so knowing she was born Jewish shouldn’t make a difference to anyone. And yet—There was a fluttering in her chest. She had read and studied Jewish history and culture in her conversion classes. She knew about the Diaspora—how the Jewish people had been exiled and persecuted since the beginning of time. And then, in recent years, how they had suffered unbearably during the Holocaust. And Kali had felt sadness for them.

  For them. Not for herself. Because, as much as she had learned about the Jews during her studies, she never really identified with them. It was like watching an unhappy movie and crying in empathy for the characters. But you were still on the outside, an observer. Now for the first time, Kali realized everything she had learned about “them” could very likely have been about her.

  But if it was true that she was Jewish, why wasn’t she experiencing a sense of elation about finally belonging? Why did she have this feeling of dread?

  Kali reached the top of the stairs and stopped abruptly. The person standing in the doorway of her grandparents’ bedroom was very different from the daunting presence Kali had been conditioned to expect since childhood. This tiny old woman was hunched over her walker, her short, white hair combed haphazardly, a bruise on her forehead. She was dressed in slacks and a stained white blouse with its buttons misaligned.

  “So many hours to pick up a few things?” Lillian asked.

  Kali glanced at the bundle in her own arms, remembering that she’d told her grandmother she was going home to get some clothes. That was almost three hours ago. “Sorry. I was talking to Neil. I thought you were still sleeping.”

  “I haven’t slept at all.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Are you hungry?”

  “Starving.”

  Kali considered the logistics of serving her grandmother dinner, then watching the films. The only VCR and TV were downstairs. “Would you like me to bring something up, or would you rather eat in the kitchen?”

  Lillian’s face brightened. “Kitchen.” She pushed the walker to the stairwell with surprising speed, perhaps worried Kali would change her mind.

  Kali threw the bag of clothes on her bed. She felt a flurry of palpitations. It’ll be fine, she told herself. Everything will be fine.

  Lillian held the banister with both hands and gingerly felt for the next step with her right foot as Kali stood on the stair below ready to block if her grandmother lost her balance. Kali glanced down the steep stairwell. Although Lillian was a small woman, if she fell on Kali, she could theoretically hurl them both down the stairs. Kali tightened her grip on the banister and braced herself. She wasn’t going to put her child in jeopardy for anything.

  Lillian settled her right foot one step down, then slowly brought the left foot beside it. The process took close to a minute.

  “Tha
t’s good. Take your time.”

  Her grandmother sucked in her lips, a determined expression on her face. Kali noticed she was holding the railing tightly with her right hand and barely holding on with her left, which had been weakened by the stroke. She took another step, pulling her left foot down next to the right with a satisfied grunt. “Who would believe I used to be a dancer?”

  Of course, Kali thought, first a dancer, then an actress. That made sense.

  Lillian went down the next few steps more quickly, then stopped to catch her breath. Kali marveled at her determination to get downstairs.

  It was almost eight by the time Kali settled her grandmother at the kitchen table. “Mitzi brought Cornish hens and chili,” Kali said, taking the food out of the refrigerator. “What would you prefer?”

  “Just a piece of bread and cheese.”

  “You said you’re starving.”

  “I am.”

  Kali dumped the chili in a saucepan to heat and put a piece of buttered bread with a slice of Swiss cheese on a plate in front of her grandmother.

  Lillian ate it all in a few bites.

  The kitchen filled with the smell of spices as the chili heated. Kali poured some into two bowls and set one in front of her grandmother with a spoon.

  Lillian eyed it.

  “You don’t have to eat it,” Kali said, sitting down across from her. She lifted a spoonful of chili to her mouth and blew on it.

  “Doesn’t chili have meat?” Lillian asked.

  “This is vegetarian.”

  “You should eat a little meat. Especially with the baby coming. You don’t want to get anemic.”

  “I’m taking multiple vitamins. And kidney beans are very nutritious.”

  “Still,” Lillian said, putting her spoon into her own bowl. She sniffed the chili, then tasted it. “Meat’s important. I don’t understand why you have such an aversion to it.”

  “So did Mom.”

  “Your mother was no better than you. At least when she was growing up, I’d make her eat lamb chops and hamburgers.”

  Kali’s mother had once told Kali about the forced meat feedings and how they sickened her. She’d spit the food out in her napkin, then throw the napkin away.

  “What about when you were growing up, Lillian? What did your mother make for you?”

  “Oh, my mother was the most wonderful cook.” She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them. “She made the most delicious chicken with onions fried in schmaltz.”

  “Schmaltz?”

  “You know, chicken fat.”

  Chicken fat. Was that unique to Jewish cooking or could it also have been used in German recipes, Kali wondered? “What else did she cook?”

  “Mashed potatoes with schmaltz. Sometimes she’d put in peas and carrots.”

  “Sounds delicious,” Kali said, though the idea of chicken fat in potatoes turned her stomach. She took another bite of chili, then put her spoon down.

  “It was delicious.” Lillian was smiling at something only she could see.

  Kali thought about the meal Mitzi had made the other night. It seemed like the quintessential Jewish dinner. “Did your mother make kugel?”

  “Kugel? Of course. Potato kugel, lochshen kugel with noodles she made herself and the plumpest raisins.”

  Kugels were uniquely Jewish, weren’t they? Or could they be a German food as well?

  “And she baked like an angel,” her grandmother continued. “The lightest, fluffiest cakes.”

  “Did she teach you how?”

  “Of course. I was the only daughter.”

  Kali felt a thump of anticipation. “But you had brothers?”

  “Just Joseph. You know.”

  Kali didn’t know. This was the first mention of her grandmother’s brother. “Was he older or younger?” Kali asked.

  “Much older. Five years. And so handsome, all the girls would come around looking for him.”

  So Kali had had a great-uncle she’d never known about. It was unlikely that at ninety-eight he’d still be alive. “Did he ever marry?”

  Lillian studied her chili.

  Wrong direction, Kali thought. Her grandmother was clamming up.

  “Tell me about your father,” Kali said. “Was he also a handsome man?”

  She didn’t answer. Kali was afraid she’d hit another dead end.

  Then her grandmother looked up. Her eyes were red rimmed. “My father had the kindest face. A gentle face. His students worshipped him.”

  A new revelation. “What did he teach?”

  “Languages.” Lillian held out her hand and counted off on her fingers. “He spoke German, Russian, French, Polish, English.” She went back to her thumb. “Yiddish.”

  “Yiddish?”

  Her grandmother pushed the bowl of chili away. “This is tasteless. How can you eat chili without meat?” She looked angry.

  “How did he know Yiddish?”

  “I told you. He was a linguist. He knew all the languages. Latin, Greek, many others. I’m still hungry. Is there any more bread and cheese?”

  “Sure.” Kali got up and brought her grandmother another slice of bread and cheese. It was possible her great-grandfather, being a linguist, knew Yiddish without being a Jew. The old films would hopefully shake the truth loose.

  They finished eating without talking, the air conditioner humming.

  “Would you like to watch TV?” Kali asked.

  “We could do that.”

  “Or we could see a film Neil gave me.” Kali wondered if her grandmother could pick up on the awkwardness in her voice.

  “If you want.” Lillian pulled herself up using the table, and reached for her walker.

  Kali followed her into the TV room, waited until she was settled comfortably on the sofa, then pushed in the first Leli Lenz cassette.

  “What movie is this?” Lillian asked.

  “You’ll see.”

  The tape came on, sputtering black-and-white. Kali fast forwarded to the first Leli Lenz scene, then she hit the play button.

  She watched her grandmother’s face as the young, pretty actress walked into the scene where two men were speaking German.

  At first, Lillian looked baffled. Then the camera went in for a close up of Leli Lenz.

  “My God,” her grandmother whispered, her eyes wide as she stared at the screen.

  Kali paused the film.

  “That’s you, isn’t it?”

  “Oh, my God, dear God.” She grabbed Kali’s arm and shook it. “Where did this come from?”

  “From Neil. I told you. It’s okay. I know you’ve been hiding your career as an actress, but there’s no need to anymore.”

  “Why does Neil have this?”

  There was a tightening in Kali’s chest. Maybe she shouldn’t have shown her grandmother the film. Maybe it was too much for her after her stroke.

  Lillian’s fingers dug into Kali’s arm. “Why? Why does he have this?”

  “We found an old cigarette card with Leli Lenz on it. She looks a bit like me, so I ordered the films she was in.”

  “You ordered the films?”

  “Yes.”

  “So why does Neil have them?”

  “I had them sent to his house.” She didn’t want to explain about keeping them away from Seth.

  “To his address? Next door?”

  “That’s right. Why are you so upset?”

  “He’s looking for me. I’m sure he’s looking for me.”

  “Who’s looking for you?”

  Lillian brought her hands to her head and pulled on her hair. “You have to go away. You have to hide.”

  “Hide from whom? Are you afraid someone will find out you’re Jewish?”

  Lillian’s mouth was open, but she made only tiny simpering noises.

  “It’s okay. There’s nothing to fear. I understand you hid your Jewish identity so you could be an actress, but that was many years ago. No one cares about that anymore.”

  Lillian shook her
head. Tears were running down her wrinkled cheeks.

  “It’s true, isn’t it?” Kali said. “We’re Jewish, aren’t we?”

  Her grandmother nodded.

  The fluttering in Kali’s chest was back. “Please don’t be upset, Lillian. You’re not in danger. I’m not in danger. Everything’s going to be fine.”

  45

  Her bedroom was dark, the only light coming in from a streetlamp and occasional headlights from passing cars. Kali sat in the rocking chair in front of her mother’s photo-portrait.

  “It’s okay, Mama,” she said softly. “It’s a good thing. We’re part of something bigger than ourselves. We belong to a people, a race. Maybe Moses was our great-great-great-great-great grandfather. Or maybe we’re descended from the prophetess Deborah and we’re destined to lead our people to defeat the bad guys, just as she did.”

  In the dimness, she could make out the half smile on her mother’s face. Had her mother known she was Jewish? Had she been aware of Lillian’s secrets? About being an actress? A Jew? Would the truth have made any difference to her?

  Would she still be alive today?

  Her cell phone rang. Seth. Finally.

  “Hi,” she said. “I’m so glad you called.”

  “Kali?” His voice was muffled, as though he was crying.

  She tensed against the chair. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Where are you? What’s happened?”

  He didn’t answer. She could hear traffic noise in the background.

  “Seth. Tell me where you are.”

  “North Miami.” He took in a gasping breath. “I never meant—”

  “Listen to me.” She checked the time. Almost eleven. “There’s that diner that stays open late. It’s right between us.” She gave him the address. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

  He was breathing hard.

  “Seth. Do you hear me? Meet me there. Whatever’s happened, we can figure it out.”

  She slipped on her sneakers, ran down the stairs, and went to check on her grandmother, who was asleep in the TV room. She debated calling Neil to come over, but she didn’t want to keep leaning on him. Instead, she wrote a note and left it on the foyer table in case Lillian woke up. Kali hated leaving her, but she had no choice. This time, Seth really was the emergency.