‘I’m sorry.’ He reaches out but she shrugs his hand away. ‘She was there … she–’
‘Don’t!’ Her eyes are wild. Her voice is still low but each consonant carries a fury. ‘Don’t blame her. It better be over. It better be fucking over. Because, if you ever do anything like this again, I’ll cut your balls off before taking you for every fucking cent of your fucking three fucking million fucking dollars.’
It’s as if her venom enters his blood. His head buzzes and his chest is constricting. Is this what a stroke feels like? A heart attack? He manages to mumble, hoping that if he talks long enough he’ll become coherent. ‘Never … I’ll never … it was a one-off … I didn’t mean to hurt … I’m sorry.’ His tears are falling now.
‘You’d better have that shower. You make sure you load the washing machine with your stuff. You get that suit dry-cleaned tomorrow. You get her stink out of my house. And you can fucking-well sleep in that sodding den tonight.
Jay slinks away from the table and makes for the bathroom, undoing his tie.
We’re not having the best of days.
It’s not funny. It’s your fault.
How do you make that out? You’re the one with the penis. Put it all behind you. Rachel will come round.
I love her. I wish I’d never …
Don’t we always. Teri’s toast. She’s served her purpose.
Jay stands motionless beneath the shower jet, his head bowed. You’re right I can deal with Fothergill for what’s left.
Not only that. She’s done what was needed. Stamford is over. We move on.
And Rachel?
What you told me about love – tell her. Any barriers she puts up … she’ll regret them. She will. Trust me.
The next morning it’s frosty both inside and outside the house. While Ben’s at school, Rachel makes clear that Jay’s behaviour means that she alone will decide when they return to the UK. She sits at the computer booking their flights on Christmas Day. She views rental property near their UK house and instructs the agents to give the tenants notice to quit. They have the money. She will get them back on track.
The following day is Thanksgiving and the Cochranes have invited them to their house to share their meal. Bob is keen that Jay joins him for the traditional American football game. By the time Thanksgiving night arrives, Rachel and Jay have reached a truce and share the marital bed. She allows him to cuddle against her back but her body is rigid.
Jay visits Willy Keel on the first two Sundays in December and at the beginning of the second meeting, Willy announces that he would be happy for Jay to publish his biography as long as it doesn’t happen until after his death. They agree to work on it together and to overcome the problem of Jay’s return to the UK as and when it presents itself.
They’re in Willy’s room. An old-person fug hangs around them. Jay is in the guest chair – the same plastic-covered, high-seated institution furniture as in the meeting room. He’s swung the bed-table across in front of it so there’s a surface to write on and a place for his recording machine. Willy is not in the bed which is crisply made. He slumps in his wheelchair wearing a zipped shell-suit – blue with white stripes down the sides. His feet are in slippers. There are two books and a spectacles case on top of the bedside cabinet. The books are piled with their edges squared. The spectacle case is set parallel. Jay wonders whether this precision is the effort of a nurse or the remnants of Willy’s military discipline.
‘I’d like to talk today about your escape from Germany,’ Jay says.
‘Well, first I had to make it back home – to Berlin. This was long before the Wall, you understand. The whole east of the country was under Russian control. There were ways to get into Berlin if you were resourceful enough. I went through the sewer system. My home from before the war was destroyed. My family was gone. All dead.’
They were Nazis from the beginning, Jay. The worst sort – the believers. No need to mourn their passing.
As Willy talks, Jay glances to check that the recorder light is on and tries to recall when Willy had told him about his family background. How can the MC know that they were early sympathisers unless he does?
Willy mentioned it before.
‘It looked as if the Russians had deliberately set out to flatten every single building in the city but a few survived and by some miracle the house where Cameron lived was one of them. The Green House we called it.’
‘Which sector was it in?’
‘The British. This was very lucky for me. It made it easier to get out later. It was there virtually unscathed, overlooking a burnt out Russian tank on the rubble that used to be Steinplatz. Even the wooden tobacco kiosk – it was still there.’ Willy’s eyes look out into the past.
‘What happened?’
‘Another miracle. Cameron’s landlady still lived there. Frail and so old. But not too old for the Russian soldiers to have ignored, she told me. She was so ashamed. And she had hidden my passport. She still had my passport.’
‘Why was it there – at the Green House? ’
‘It wasn’t my German passport. It was English.’
‘A British passport. How?’
‘Questions!’ He waves a hand as if swatting away a persistent wasp. ‘It’s a story for another time.’
‘But it meant you were able to leave?’
‘It wasn’t that easy. I still needed money to bribe my way out. You have to understand in those days there were very few honest people in Berlin. One of them – a good man – Bernie Gunther helped me. He’d been a Friedrichstrasse ‘bull’ – a police detective – before the war and had served on the Eastern front with the SS. He’d come back to Berlin to be a private investigator – lots of work for him with so many missing. He found me a widow with money. Her husband had been a big player in the black market – after the occupation the Western sectors were rife with corruption. He was killed and left her a stash of US dollars. Her money, my passport – we could escape.’ The ‘w’ in ‘we’ sounds like a sibilant ‘v’.
‘So what happened?’
‘Bernie Gunther took us to Osnabrück and Brits there smuggled us into Holland. We married in Enschede and ended up in Ostend where we waited for a boat.’
‘But now you were out of trouble.’
He shakes his head and tears appear. ‘It was still a lawless time in Europe – like the Wild West. Some GIs passing through attacked us. I was beaten up and they held me down while they …’ his voice broke, ‘my wife … I couldn’t help her.’
‘I’m so sorry’
‘It didn’t end there. Geraldine was pregnant. She had the boy. We brought him with us.’
‘To America?’
‘By the time we got to England her money was nearly spent. We couldn’t afford to stay hidden – on the run. We decided to own up to who we were. So we went to the British Red Cross. We changed our names to Keel before we came to New York.’
‘It’s an amazing story. What happened to your son?’
‘We lost touch after Geraldine died.’
‘That’s sad.’ Jay turned the pages of his notes. ‘This Bernie Gunther, the policeman. What happened to him?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe the authorities caught up with him. If the Russians found out he was SS …’ he drew a finger across his throat, ‘… kaput.’
‘It was amazing you got through the war.’
‘Yes, I was the great survivor … Geraldine too.’
‘It’s funny we’re talking about the past – about the Berlin you know at first hand – and you’re going to see it in the musical. How will you feel?’
He shrugs. ‘Who knows?’
‘You were part of all the things that Rabbi Stern is protesting about. You were there.’
Willy sighs and shakes his head. ‘Don’t remind me. I was young. I’m older and wiser now. I was in Oranienburg. The same prison they shot all the communists. I hated the Communists. I hated their flag but now I would stand for their right to parade it in the str
eets.’
‘And back then?’
He nods. ‘Maybe not so much, I admit it. But I wouldn’t have wanted them to be arrested and executed without trial. I don’t think so.’ He studies his slippered feet wedged in the stirrups of the wheelchair as if they hold an answer to thoughts that trouble him. ‘Yes I was in the Hitler Youth but after what the Nazis made me go through nobody hates the swastika more than me. How can you defend wrapping yourself in a flag? You must be able to laugh at any flag – yes, even the Stars and Stripes.’ He looks round as if he could have been overheard even though they’re alone. ‘And I only say this because you are English.’ He sniggers and wheezes.
‘So you’re coming to see my son on Saturday?’
‘Try and keep me away.’ He smiles and pats Jay’s hand.
And he’s sure the picket won’t put him off?
‘And you’re not worried by the picket?’
‘I’m old. I’m going to be scared away by a bigoted young rabbi who doesn’t know shit from Shinola? Now get out of here. I’m tired; I need to sleep.’
The first performance of Cabaret approaches and Ben is involved with rehearsals every afternoon after school and at weekends. His progress is the only subject that keeps Rachel and Jay communicating, this and the interference from Rabbi Stern’s congregation. The family feeds on the rabbi’s opposition. Rachel’s frost softens as the weather outside grows harsher.
The denizens of Burford Lakes go about their business with hardly a glance in the Halprins’ direction. The gentiles, Presbyterians and Baptists, Evangelicals and Episcopalians, stand alongside Rabbi Zwyck’s reform Jews in respecting that the family is taking a stand against prejudice – the prejudice of Nazism in the play and that displayed by the rabbi.
Their neighbours are anticipating the school’s Holiday production as never before. The Edlers and the Cochranes have their tickets. In the house opposite, Melissa Rosenberg sits at her computer setting up the review she’ll write for the Buzz. She’s already written the headline: Jefferson Joy. But she has a backup Cabaret Calamity just in case.
Ben comes home after the first performance with a make-up tide mark above his collar. There’s cuddling and congratulation while he assures his parents that it went well. They settle around the table to hear him tell his story and let his nervous tension subside. Rachel and her son have mugs of Cadbury’s drinking chocolate. Jay has a crystal glass with a finger of single malt whisky.
Ben is explaining that some cast members asked why his parents weren’t there. Rachel rests a hand on her son’s arm. ‘Maybe we should have booked tickets for every night as well.’
Ben dips his spoon into his drinking chocolate and licks it. ‘No! I think it’s real strange that they go every night. And Kimberley Arnott who plays Sally is going to get a bouquet from her parents every show.’
Jay snorts. ‘Let’s get this straight. What you’re saying is that all the parents of the cast members go to the show all three nights and that Kimberley’s parents take along a bouquet each time?’
Ben nods. ‘That’s what it looks like.’
Do they bring the same bouquet?
‘The same bouquet?’
Rachel laughs. ‘Jay!’
‘What d’you mean, Dad?’
‘Is it a new bouquet every night or do they put the old one in water when they get home and bring it back next day?’ He’s accentuating his dead-pan voice to emphasise that he’s being ironic but it doesn’t seem to be working.
Ben sighs. ‘I don’t know, Dad. I’ll check it out for signs of droop tomorrow?’
‘The point is, Jay, that they expected us to be there tonight. They think we should go tomorrow as well as Saturday. But I’m a Brit and I don’t care what they think.’ She straightens her back and lifts her chin. ‘We will show restraint.’ She nods in affirmation. ‘We’ll stick to our plan – Saturday only.’
‘Good,’ Jay says. He turns to Ben. ‘How was Rabbi Stern’s demo?’
‘We – the cast – didn’t see anything. They were only there for later – when the crowd arrived. They’d gone home by the time we left. It’ll be worse Saturday, though.’
‘What do you mean?’ Jay asks.
‘Well, they’re not going to be there tomorrow because it’s Friday?’ He lets the implication of this sink in. ‘But Saturday they reckon to stay outside all through the performance chanting so they’ll be heard in the auditorium.’
‘How do you know?’
‘One of the Jewish kids in our year has an older brother who’s in Stern’s crowd.’
‘But it went well tonight – your part?’ Rachel asks, not for the first time.
Ben nods. ‘Yeah. Like I said – it was good. My song ends the first half and the audience whooped and hollered – like it was the Letterman show on TV? There was a standing ovation at the end. You’re gonna have to let go when you come – not stay in your seats clapping politely like English people.’
Jay and Rachel look at each other and smile. Can they fake it – American exuberance? ‘We’ll see what we can do,’ Rachel says.
Jay stands and tousles his son’s hair. ‘Sounds like you did well, son. We’re proud of you.’ He tosses back the last drops of his whisky. ‘I’m for bed.’
Rachel takes the two cocoa cups to the kitchen. She calls out over her shoulder. ‘I’ll be up as soon as I’ve rinsed these.’
Next day Jay is on the telephone to Willy Keel. ‘I can pay for the taxi.’
‘You think I can’t afford a cab from White Plains?’
‘It’s not that–’
‘I make sure the car takes my wheelchair, no problem. Order it special.’
‘If you’re sure. I’ve reserved you a wheelchair space at the end of a row so you can stay in it for the performance.’
‘I could have walked to a seat.’
‘I know, but it’s easier this way.’
‘Okay. But you don’t have to worry about me.’
‘I won’t. We’ll see you at the school then, Willy.’
‘One more thing, Jay.’
‘What’s that?’
‘I’ve sent you something in the post. It’s something written by my old friend Cameron – Cameron Mortimer. It’s a kind of life-story … Berlin. It will help explain everything.’
‘What do you mean everything?’
‘I’ll tell you after the show.’
Jay puts down the phone and thinks about his new friend. Willy will be alone again when they go back to England. He’ll have only the other residents in the home for company and half of them are gaga. He wonders whether he should offer to track down Willy’s stepson. Perhaps the boy – although he’d be a man now – would like to be in contact again. After all, he should be grateful that Willy was able to give him such a good start in life.
You should interfere? Your daydream could be Willy’s nightmare.
Jay dismisses the MC’s negativity and nods. Yes, he’ll visit Willy on the Sunday after Cabaret, and ask him for more details. He should have thought of it while they were on the phone. Willy could have held on to the Cameron papers – whatever they are – and handed them over on Sunday. Or why not Saturday at the show?
Maybe it would be too ambitious to aim for father and son to be reunited for Christmas but even after he’s gone back to England, with them collaborating on Willy’s life story, it’s the sort of thing he could do on the Internet. It’s a project for after the show.
Chapter 32
I trudged up the stairs to Leo’s studio when I returned to the Green House. He opened the door holding four brushes that he was cleaning with a colour-stained cloth. He looked at my face. “It didn’t go well, Cam.”
“So humiliating. The commandant was one of us – mine – you know. He gave me the impression …”
He sighed wearily, “What did you do?”
“Enough to feel very stupid and abused when he laughed in my face – just after he’d done something else in it.”
“Poor Cam.
Come here.” Leo held out his arms and hugged me close to him. It was the most unselfish act I had ever experienced. He knew what I was but he was able to comfort me. And it was comforting to lay my head on his shoulder sobbing, taking in the scents of paint and turpentine with each wracking breath.
“What will you do?” he asked.
“I can’t stay here with these dreadful people in charge.”
“You’re right. I haven’t given up on Berlin but I rather think that Berlin has given up on us.”
A tight feeling of dread invaded my chest and wrapped itself around my heart. “I can’t abandon Wolf.”
I think you’ll have to, old man,” he said, as he patted me on the back. “We’ll see Frau Guttchen and tell her we’re leaving.
That was July 1934. There was a tearful goodbye to Frau Guttchen at the end of September and Leo and I travelled back to Blighty together. I put Wolf’s passport in an envelope with a letter giving my London address and entrusted it to Frau Guttchen. When Wolf returned he would know where to find me. Torn apart by the feeling that I was abandoning my love, I returned to life in London. Leo and I went our separate ways.
The Glass Madonna Codicil, the Dexter Parnes I had written in Berlin, was published in 1936 and while I was waiting for it to come out I was approached by Associated Talking Pictures to write the screenplay for a film based on The Silver Eagle Device. All the while I pined for Wolf and I sent Frau Guttchen regular telegrams but I never heard news.
As Europe sped to war Peter Everley suggested that he could secure me a publishing deal in America and at the same time Warner Bros asked me to go to Hollywood. They liked what they had seen with the ATP’s Eagle and wanted me to develop a string of Parnes pictures for release as B-movies on both sides of the Atlantic.
Writing for Warner Bros was not a happy experience and the contract was rescinded by mutual consent. I entered into an agreement with Patriotic and with their scriptwriters doing the work there was no need for me to stay out west. I moved to the East Coast where I found the climate and artistic scene in New York much more conducive to my well-being and accepting of the sort of man I am. I kept Frau Guttchen aware of my whereabouts.
Out of Such Darkness Page 24