As Time Goes By

by Michael Walsh

  “Oh, hi, Ricky,” she said, brushing back her hair.

  “Did you have a good time tonight?”

  “I had a wonderful time,” she replied.“The play was swell. Thanks.”

  “Yeah,” he said.“I hope dinner was, too.”

  She said nothing, just bowed her head slightly, waiting.

  “I’m sorry I had to run out on you like that,” he said, trying to preserve what little dignity he had left.“Business. You know.”

  “That's okay,” she said.“Look, Rick, I better be getting upstairs. It's late. I’m going to have a hard enough time explaining everything to Papa as it is.”

  Rick scuffed his shoes on the pavement.“How are you going to explain him?” he asked. He couldn't bear to utter his name.

  “Robert said he'd like to see me again,” she said.“With Daddy's permission, of course. He's going to call me tomorrow.”

  “Ain't that swell?” was all he could think to say.

  In one horrible evening, Rick Blaine was seeing his whole carefully planned fantasy go up in smoke. The way he had it figured, he was going to rise and rise in the organization until Solly had no choice but to bestow his only daughter upon him, the way the Protestants did in business downtown. Marry the boss's little girl: that was his goal—and not just because she was the boss's daughter, either. Because he was in love with her and had been since the day they'd met.

  He had never considered the possibility that she might not be in love with him. They both had their eyes on a bigger prize—except her prize didn't include him. Nor did it include anything around here: didn't include the rackets, didn't include Harlem, and damn sure didn't include the Bronx. From the shtetl to the state house in one generation: that was Solomon Horowitz's goal. And Lois's as well.

  He could see why. As he'd sat in his car, waiting for her, he had had a chance to look the neighborhood over. Many more black faces were appearing on the streets than before, making Rick wonder how long the Horowitzes were going to stay. The Jews were clearing out, evicted or evicting themselves. Maybe his earlier ruminations were right. Maybe it was time to get out. Maybe it was time to grow up.

  “Nice night, huh?” he said.

  “I gotta go,” she said.

  No. Not yet.

  “Let's take a walk around the block. I’d like to have a smoke.”

  “Rick.”

  “For old times’ sake,” he begged.“I got something to say.”

  “Okay.”

  Rick lit a cigarette as they started down the long block.“Lois,” he began,“I was going to ask you something tonight. Before … before …”

  “I know,” she said.

  “You do?”

  “Sure.” In the glow of the streetlights, she looked more beautiful than ever. Her black hair had melted into the ink of the night, her pale, almost ghostly white face framed in purest ebony. She was Rachel, she was Sarah, she was every beauty of the Torah. Perhaps she was even Lilith; he didn't care.

  “You want to know what Daddy thinks of you,” she said confidently.“Well, Rick, let me tell you: he's crazy about you. He talks about you all the time. About how far you're going to go. About how happy he is that you and I met that day, about what would he do without you. Is that what you wanted to know?”

  They had stopped walking, and she had turned to him. Her face was looking up at his. It might not be what she was expecting, but it was now or never.

  “No, Lois,” he began,“that's not it. There's something else I’ve wanted to say to you for a long time.” He tried to collect his thoughts, sort out his emotions, marshal his argument, and screw up his courage. He failed miserably.

  “I’m in love with you,” he blurted.“I’ve always been in love with you. From the first time I saw you on the el, even before you fainted.” Impulsively he swept her up in his arms.“Marry me,” he said.

  He kissed her, the way he had seen Meredith kiss her. That would tell; a woman could never disguise her feelings in her kisses.

  She kissed him back, but perfunctorily. Then she broke away.“Stop,” she said.“Somebody might see us.”

  “So what?” he said, his passion rising.“Marry me.” He tried to kiss her again, but she deflected his pass.

  “Please, Rick, please!”

  “Marry me, Lois,” he asked, begging now.

  “Rick, no,” she said.“I can't.”

  “Can't or won't?” he asked.

  “Both,” she said, and he knew he was finished.“Besides,” she said,“I never knew you thought of me that way before. Not really.”

  Never knew? How could a woman not know how a man felt about her, not read it in his eyes, not hear it in his voice every time he spoke to her? How could she fall instead for some phony like that putz Meredith, O'Hanlon's nachshlepper, a man without even a mind or will of his own?

  He tried to put his arm around her, but she shrugged him off. It was no use: the moment had passed.

  “Look, Rick,” she said,“even if I wanted to, I couldn't marry you. You know that. We both know that.” She smiled at him, that killer smile that matched her old man's killer eyes, that smile that no man alive could possibly refuse, even if he wanted to, which he didn't. But he could not tell if it was a smile of affection or a smile of pity.

  “Ricky,” she said. She leaned forward and gave him a little kiss, the kind you'd give a child.“You're sweet. Very sweet. I think you're swell. But you're not for me. It's not that I don't like you—or even …” She hesitated for a moment, searching for the right word.“Or even that I don't love you, a little. You're a stand-up guy, and my dad thinks the world of you, and so do I. You're going places.” She had stopped smiling.“It's just that the places that you're going and the places that I’m going aren't the same places.”

  “Where's Meredith going?” Rick asked bitterly.“Can he take you to the right places?”

  “I don't know,” she said honestly,“but he's got a better chance than you do. Isn't that what life is all about? Chances? Opportunities?”

  “Yeah,” he said.“I guess that's what life's all about.”

  “Well, I’ve got to grab my chances when they come along!” she said excitedly.“Don't you think I know what I face if I don't? Do you really think I want to spend the rest of my life up here, living like an old maid in a third-floor walk-up, and not knowing whether my father is going to come home alive each night? Has it ever crossed your mind that that's no life for a girl? And that Daddy knows it? And that he's trying to do something about it? And that it's selfish for you to try to take that away from me, no matter how you feel?”

  Rick knew he had lost the battle, utterly.“I guess I never thought about it that way.” He hung his head.

  Lois kissed him once, quickly, on the cheek.“You don't have to look like your dog just died,” she said.“Buck up. Things are going great. In fact, you know what?”

  They were walking again and were almost back to her front door.

  “What?” he said dully.

  “I think that tough guy O'Hanlon's kind of impressed with you. Oh, I gathered tonight that he and Daddy don't get along all that well, but they've been doing business together for years. You could be some kind of go-between for them. Heck!” she exclaimed.“You could end up runnin’ the whole show after the old geezers quit if you play your cards right.”

  “I never thought of that,” Rick admitted.

  “Of course you haven't, you silly boy,” said Lois as she walked up the front stoop.“You need a woman to think things through for you.” She looked at him one more time in the glow of the city's lights.“It's just that it can't be me, is all.”

  She kissed him again, this time the way he had always wanted her to kiss him. He drank her kiss in deeply, because he knew it would have to last him a lifetime. At that moment, he didn't care if Solly came down with a hand cannon and blew him into the street; it would have all been worth it for this kiss, this one kiss.

  She pulled away again, this time more slowly, her lips th
e last part of her body to separate from his.

  “Come on, let me go upstairs, lover boy. It's chilly out here, it's late, and I’ve got to get my beauty sleep.”

  He stood forlornly on the sidewalk, across from his one-thousand-dollar DeSoto, and watched her walk up the stairs and out of his life.

  One thing bothered him, though: Which was her real kiss? The first one, or the last?

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Major Sir Harold Miles reviewed their assignments one more time. They had already been over them on a dozen occasions, but once more wouldn't hurt. Who knew, it might even do some good. Maybe it would keep some good boys from getting killed unnecessarily. Still, Rick didn't hold out much hope. Good boys got killed because they didn't pay close enough attention, and no one could do anything about that.

  Jan KubiŠ and Josef GabcÍk had joined them, and Laszlo introduced them to Rick as members of the Czech resistance movement in London whom he had hand-picked as his chief operatives. Together with Laszlo, Renault, and Rick, they would be parachuted into Czech territory by a Royal Air Force plane. The drop was to take place near Prague, at a small village called Lidice, where KubiŠ and GabcÍk were from. It was a small, tightly knit town of no more than a few hundred souls, all of whom, Laszlo had assured everyone, were deeply committed to the cause of repelling the Nazi invader.

  For an operation of this magnitude, the equipment was surprisingly simple. The assassination device was a bomb of British manufacture that would be tossed into Heydrich's open car as he rode into town toward his office in Hradcany Castle. It had to be tossed in because Heydrich's car was an armor-plated Mercedes-Benz designed to roll over land mines and drive away unscathed.

  “Don't they know how to make bombs in Czechoslovakia?” asked Rick. A bomb seemed to him a cowardly way to kill a man.“I thought the Czechs were supposed to be good at things like bombs.”

  “Not an explosive device like this,” interjected Major Miles.“Even the Germans don't have a bomb like this one.” He seemed very pleased about it.

  The major held a disarmed sample in his hands. At least Rick hoped it was disarmed, because Sir Harold proceeded to set the timer.

  “Listen very closely, gentlemen,” he said. Rick glanced at Laszlo to see if he could detect any fear in the man's face, but his gaze was riveted on the bomb.

  For ten agonizing seconds silence reigned in the room. At first, Rick wasn't quite sure what he was supposed to be listening for; then he figured it out: he was supposed to be listening for nothing, and nothing was exactly what he heard.

  “Absolute quiet,” said Sir Harold,“and absolutely reliable. Failure rate: zero. The Germans and the Czechs have handheld bombs, of course, but they make the most frightful noise. As you have just heard, this bomb makes nothing of the kind. You could slip it into your wife's purse and she'd be none the wiser until the thing went off. Silent and deadly.” He permitted himself a small chuckle.“Let's hope the Irish never get hold of one.”

  Rick could think of one Irishman who probably already had: the same Irishman who had advised him, so long ago, to go with a winner, and whose advice he had studiously avoided taking ever since.

  On the wall, Major Miles indicated a large map of Prague.“We have considered a number of possible sites for the attack,” he began,“but we are all now agreed that this is the best one.” He tapped with his pointer at the Karluv Most, the Charles Bridge, the most famous and beautiful bridge in the city, spanning the Vltava in a baroque orgy of statuary.

  “Thanks to Miss Lund, whose progress in infiltrating Prague Castle has been extraordinary, we know that Heydrich rides in from his country villa to the castle by the same route every day. As you can see”—the major tapped the map with the tip of the pointer—”as he approaches the bridge, he must pass by the Clementinum, then make a sharp left onto Krizovnická, and another sharp right onto the Charles Bridge. Even if his security men were able to clear the bridge of all civilian traffic—which so far they have shown no inclination to do—his Mercedes would still have to come almost to a complete stop to make this turn without throwing the Protector into the river.

  “We have something else working in our favor. The Protector is extremely punctual. He hates lateness in others, and he absolutely detests it in himself. He crosses the bridge each morning at precisely seven-fifty, so he may drive through the gates of the castle at the stroke of eight o'clock.” The major seemed personally very pleased by his opponent's punctuality.

  Armed with automatic pistols, KubiŠ and GabcÍk would man the posts on either side of the bridge while Laszlo stepped forward, as if he were about to cross the street once the Hangman's car had passed. When the car had achieved its lowest possible speed, when the driver's concentration was most focused on negotiating the curve, Renault would step but in front of the vehicle, forcing it to come to a stop. Laszlo would then move briskly behind the car, drop the bomb inside, and walk smartly away. The ten-second delay meant everybody would have to hurry.

  A secondary diversion was to be provided by Rick, who, seconds after Laszlo had delivered his package, would lay down a smoke bomb just ahead of the car's path, on the bridge proper. As the car's occupants dealt with the perceived threat from the front, the bomb would go off in the backseat. That would give the conspirators the chance to disperse, and by the time the police were picking up the pieces they would be far away in different directions, later to reassemble in the sanctuary of the Church of St. Charles Borromeo.

  “One last thing,” said Major Miles.“Despite all our best efforts, there is always the chance something could go wrong. If it does, you will all be in the greatest danger.”

  “So we need an abort signal,” Rick said.

  “Mr. Blaine is right,” replied Sir Harold.“Such a signal must be clear and easily understood, and invoked only in absolutely unexceptionable circumstances. In our planning we have relied absolutely upon Heydrich's German sense of punctuality. Through a prearranged signal, Miss Lund will confirm contact. The team will depart for the staging area in Lidice upon reception of her message, and the assassination will take place as soon as possible thereafter. Therefore, Mr. Laszlo and I have agreed that if Heydrich is one second past five minutes late, the operation is to be considered compromised and everyone is to stand down at once. Any questions or objections?”

  Rick's voice broke the somber stillness.“Just a couple, Major,” he said.“How can we be sure that we won't all be arrested the minute we hit the ground, and shot on the spot?”

  Sir Harold looked only mildly discomfited at the thought.“We have no reason to suppose anyone is talking out of school,” he said.“A British gentleman's honor is paramount in these matters.” He waved his hand in the air as if to brush away the very notion.

  “Another thing,” continued Rick.“As Louis has already pointed out, how are we all going to live with ourselves—assuming we live at all—when after losing their beloved Heydrich, the Germans decide to get even by killing hundreds, maybe thousands, of innocent people in retaliation? They've done it before, and there's no reason to think they won't do it again.”

  Now it was Laszlo's turn to reply. He rose to his feet.

  “Monsieur Blaine,” he said,“your concern for the welfare of others touches me deeply, especially insofar as it appears to be a recently acquired characteristic. You would obviously prefer to let this monster continue to walk the sacred earth of my homeland. Do you have any idea who this man is?”

  Rick said that he had some idea.

  “Not as I do. You were not at Mauthausen.”

  “No, I wasn't,” Rick shot back.“But I was at Addis Ababa and at the Ebro River. Do you think I haven't seen what you have? Do you think I haven't seen men suffer and die?” He smacked his fist on the table.“Get the chip off your shoulder. You're not the first guy who's ever had some tough luck, and you won't be the last. The way I see it,” he said,“if I’m sticking my neck out, I have just as much right to an opinion as you do.”

  L
aszlo had never heard Richard Blaine speak with such passion.“Let me tell you how the Nazis amuse themselves in Mauthausen,” he said.“They take a man to the bottom of a deep stone quarry and then force him to walk to the top, carrying stones weighing twenty-seven kilos on his back. Every step of his journey is accompanied by blows. When he finally gets there he is sent back to the bottom again, and loaded down even more heavily for another ascent. When he stumbles, as eventually even the strongest man must, he is beaten with a bludgeon. So it goes until he is dead. One morning I counted twenty-one bodies lying on the side of the road. There were times when I almost wished myself among them.”

  Laszlo sat down.“I am grateful for your willingness to assist us in this matter. I do not flatter myself that it is I whom you think you are helping. Frankly, I don't care. Whatever occurred between you and my wife happened in the past. Understand this, however …”

  His voice dropped low, as if he and Rick were the only two men in the room, perhaps in the world.

  “I could not care less what happens after we kill Reinhard Heydrich. When I was in Mauthausen, the death of this man was my sole reason for living, and I swore to myself that should I escape, I should not rest, should not flee, until I saw him dead. Now I have him within my grasp. I will not let you or anybody else dissuade me from my task.

  “If I die, so be it. If you die, or even if Ilsa dies, that is the price we must be willing to pay for the greater good of eliminating this man. And if it also means that others, innocents, must die in order that he does, too, then that is the price they must pay as well.”

  “Sounds a little steep to me,” said Rick.

  “Who are you to judge? What do you know of the enemy whom we face? What do you know of the suffering of the people of Europe? Do you know how long they have been waiting for this moment, waiting for a few brave souls to strike a blow against the oppressor and to give heart to everyone else? Within Germany itself there are those who are on our side—Hans and Sophie Scholl of the Weisse Rose, Bishop Galen, Professor Huber—but who outside Bavaria knows their names? And what, in any case, can they do?