Out of Such Darkness
Page 26
All faces have turned to watch him. He removes a thick coat and stands in a black jacket extending to his knees. There’s a collarless, white dress shirt beneath it. His head is covered by a wide-brimmed fedora.
If he had ringlets it would be a caricature. Fremde, étranger, stranger. Glüklich zu sehen, je suis enchanté, happy to see you, bleibe, reste, stay.
To the left there’s another commotion. A wheelchair emerges from the crowd around one of the tables. ‘Push me to him, Amber. Now – before it’s too late,’ Willy says. Amber steers him in the direction of the rabbi. Jay recognises Willy and steps forward.
Rabbi Stern addresses the people gathered around. ‘I know what’s just happened in there. I could hear you from the car park. I know how the first half ends. You’ve been screaming and shouting your support for Nazism. You’ve been applauding a Jewish boy wearing the Hakenkreuz. You should be ashamed.’
Now my cast is assembled …
Willy Keel is in front of the rabbi and saying, ‘Brake, Amber! Put on the brake.’ And as she fiddles with the handle he’s already struggling to stand. ‘David!’ he says. ‘You’re the one should be ashamed.’
It unfolds exactly as to my direction.
The rabbi looks at Willy and his eyes widen as if he’s in the presence of an apparition, ‘Wolf!’ His voice is dull, registering resignation rather than surprise.
Willy is now standing upright. His right hand is hidden inside his jacket, Napoleon-style.
… holding the gun.
‘You’re the one in the wrong here! You’re the bigot – the fascist!’
‘You silly, old fool. You dare to call this to me.’
‘I saved you, David,’ the old man hisses. His right arm moves. ‘Did we survive – your mother and me – to put you here … in this place?’
Yes. You served your purpose, Willy. And now, Jay, it’s your time.
Jay takes another pace forward. He’s responsible for bringing Willy; he’s the one to take him away.
‘Oh yes. You saved me,’ Rabbi Stern says, ‘but you abandoned me as soon as Mom died.’
‘You said I was an abomination! You lied about me! You and Zion and your fucking destiny. I can stop you …’ He’s pointing a Luger pistol at Rabbi Stern – at his stepson. ‘You’re as bad as them …’
Jay’s heart stutters. The heat in his chest is furnace-high. He’s lost his hearing as if his ears have popped.
Now!
Jay moves alongside the wheelchair and turns to face Willy. He sees out of the corner of his eye that Mr Costidy has come through one of the auditorium doors and is approaching. The performers of the play cluster by the entrance. They want to see what the fracas is about. Ben is there still wearing the Hitler Youth uniform.
Now each person is positioned on the stage exactly as I wish. It is just for the rabbi to say his final words:
‘You sick old fool. With that gun drooping in your scrawny hand. You threaten me while filth oozes from your pores. You dirty faggot.’
Willy tightens his grip.
This is your moment, Jay!
Jay steps forward at the instant Willy’s finger closes. The old man senses that somebody has crossed the line of fire but the signals travel too slowly in his worn-out nerves and he’s unable to stop the muscles in his hand. His arm stiffens to absorb the recoil.
Jay’s mind is once again back twenty years standing in his Student Union bar watching a stray dart embed itself in the soft panel of a loudspeaker. The unseen bullet plunges into his body below his ribcage. It snicks his aorta and bursts from his back amid a spray of blood and flesh particles. He falls to the floor.
The gun’s explosion freezes the crowd. Their faces are empty – uncomprehending. One person steps forward. It’s Ben. ‘Dad!’
Rachel screams, ‘Jay!’
My man is resigned for this moment. He understands that he’s been living on borrowed time. He knows that Willy didn’t mean to shoot him. Jay knows all of this and he knows none of it. I’m thinking for him.
Ben drops to his knees and cradles his father’s body. Jay’s heart is pumping faster, faster. It’s not able to comprehend that this only causes the blood to spew more rapidly through the breach in his artery. A carmine puddle spreads on the tiled floor. As his blood pressure drops, Jay’s heart pumps faster still. It’s a race it can never win.
Jay’s eyes roll and the insignia on his son’s arm burns into his retina.
The bullet that mortally wounded Jay was diverted from its original path barely at all. Its energy mostly spent, it hit Rabbi Stern in the chest with only enough force to lodge between two of his ribs. He fell because of the shock of the impact.
The MC stands by the rabbi and notices the reflection of Ben’s uniform in Jay’s glossy eyes. Like so many of our tribe, Jay’s last sight is the red, black and white of the swastika. The MC makes this idea echo between Jay and the rabbi. It fades in one as a closing thought and assails the other as an opening salvo. If the last thing you see as you die is the symbol that characterises evil – does this make you Jewish enough?
But his hypothesis strikes a solid wall of resistance. There’s no crack in the rabbi’s certainty – no chink that the MC can exploit to worm his way in. He has to acknowledge that his role as destiny’s agent is over. There’s nothing left for him but to share Jay’s fate. It’s time to rest his weary spirit.
White greasepaint collects in the deepening crevices of his face; his lips turn from red to blue. A yellow star shines on his drab, striped garb. The stench, the dejected murmuring, the palpable fear of the shuffling queue overpowers them both.
Burford Buzz – 17th January 2002
Melissa Rosenberg was there when BL resident
Jay Halprin was gunned down at Jefferson High
You all know what happened. A crazy old man shot Burford Lakes resident Jay Halprin during the interval of Jefferson High’s final performance of Cabaret. At the time the Buzz went to press we understand that the alleged perpetrator will plead guilty to manslaughter.
Jay Halprin died in his son’s arms. His wife was there. I saw her by the ambulance waiting to accompany her husband’s body to the hospital. His blood blighted the finery she had worn in anticipation of her son’s triumph. In her I saw the pale ghost of Jackie Kennedy – traumatised, shivering. The Halprins were visitors to our boro. It doesn’t seem so fair, these days. You explain it. I can’t.
When the police had finished interviewing witnesses I went back into the school’s auditorium. The stage was empty, set up for the second half of a musical that would never happen. Neither will there be further scenes in the life of Jay Halprin.
We in Burford Lakes knew Jay as our 9/11 survivor. Yet he only lived another three months. We can’t know why. We can only have faith that the God who blesses our sweet land and guides its destiny has His reasons.
Now the actors in our real-life drama have left the stage. Rachel Halprin came to our community as Jay’s wife and left it as his heart-broken widow. She and Ben will attempt to re-start their lives in England. The alleged killer Willy Keel is an old man – he’s going to die in jail. Rabbi Stern has already left us for his new life in Israel.
I sit here at my computer and, through my tears, I see across the street the home I still call the Halprin house. It’s empty, awaiting new tenants. The Stars and Stripes is attached
to the mailbox. I watched Jay fix it there after 9/11. It was good that our British neighbor stood shoulder-to-shoulder with us.
Jay was killed by a bullet alleged to have been intended for another man. September and January – editions of our community magazine that are the bookends to the life of a stranger in our country.
The first heavy snow of the winter is settling around the Halprin house at the close of a year that has brought us so much tragedy. The mood I’m in is captured by words that were never spoken the night Jay died because the school’s production never ended. In Cabaret the disillusioned American writer speaks them as t
he orchestra strikes up the finale. I’ve altered only the place-names:
There was a cabaret, and there was a master of ceremonies … and there was a city called New York, in a country called America … and it was the end of the world.
Acknowledgements
This novel started with the idea that a boy in the Hitler Youth probably would have sung a song similar to Tomorrow Belongs to Me in a German beer garden in the 1930s and that he could have been alive as we welcomed the 21st century. For this inspiration I have to thank Bob Fosse, the director of the film Cabaret and the songwriters, John Kander and Fred Ebb. They created something that makes my spine tingle every time I watch it.
As I wrote the chapters, I shared many of them with my colleagues in the Severn Valley Authors writing group: Chris, Linda, Tony, Annie and Izzie and they gave me positive support and many valuable suggestions. (Sorry for leaving you out last time, guys!) My writing chums Fiona Joseph and Bruce Johns have been constant sources of encouragement.
When I was researching Berlin I came across Philip Kerr’s ‘Bernie Gunther’ novels set in the period. They gave me huge enjoyment and provided valuable insights. I’m grateful to Mr Kerr for allowing me to give Bernie a cameo role here.
I asked members of my family to read the first manuscript – thanks to them all for their contributions. They will see that the book incorporates their corrections and many of their suggestions. Andy FitzGerald deserves a special thank-you for reading two versions.
I owe a big debt to Patricia Borlenghi, founder of Patrician Press, for her positive reception of the manuscript and her detailed critique. Her input has improved the book hugely. Thanks to Charles Johnson for the stunning cover artwork and to Chris Smith for proofreading the final manuscript and his other suggestions that positively affected the final product.
Finally, Val, David, Ruth, Charlotte. Yay! We’ve done it again. Thank you.
Tomorrow Belongs To Me
Wilkommen
from the Musical CABARET
Words by Fred Ebb
Music by John Kander
Copyright © 1966 by Alley Music Corp. and Trio Music Company
Copyright Renewed
All rights for Trio Music Company Administered by BUG Music, Inc., a BMG Chrysalis company
International Copyright Secured All Rights Reserved
Used by Permission
Reprinted by permission of Hal Leonard Corporation
Money, Money
from the Musical CABARET
Words by Fred Ebb
Music by John Kander
Copyright © 1972 by Alley Music Corp. and Trio Music Company
Copyright Renewed
All rights for Trio Music Company Administered by BUG Music, Inc., a BMG Chrysalis company
International Copyright Secured All Rights Reserved
Used by Permission
Reprinted by permission of Hal Leonard Corporation