XVI Contact Problems
He looked around the hall with a kind of nervous eagerness, as if he had arrived early for an audition. “Are you Mrs. Loewenthal, perhaps? Or a daughter?”
“Mr. Radbuka-or is it Mr. Ulrich-who invited you here?” I wondered wildly if that was what Lotty and Max had been fighting about-Max had found the guy’s address and invited him to come while Carl was still in town; Lotty, with her intense fear of reawakening the past, strenuously objected.
“No, no, Ulrich was never my name; that was the man who called himself my father. I’m Paul Radbuka. Are you one of my new relatives?”
“Why are you here? Who invited you?” I repeated.
“No one. I came on my own, when Rhea told me that some of the people who knew my family, or perhaps are my family, were leaving Chicago tomorrow.”
“When I talked to Rhea Wiell Friday afternoon, she said you didn’t know there were any other Radbukas and that she’d see how you felt about meeting them.”
“Oh. Oh-you were part of that meeting with Rhea. Are you the publisher who wants to write my story?”
“I’m V I Warshawski. I’m an investigator who spoke to her about the possibility of meeting you.” I knew I sounded chilly, but his unexpected arrival had me off-balance.
“I know-the detective who went to see her when she was talking to her publisher. Then you’re the person who is friends with the survivors from my family.”
“No,” I said sharply, trying to slow him down. “I have friends who may know someone from the Radbuka family. Whether that person is related to you would depend on a lot of details that we can’t really get into tonight. Why don’t you-”
He interrupted me, his eager smile replaced by anger. “I want to meet anyone who could possibly be a relative. Not in some cautious way, going back to you, finding out who these other Radbukas are, checking to see whether they could really be related to me, whether they want to meet me. That might take months, even years-I can’t wait for that kind of time to pass.”
“So you prayed and the Lord directed you to Mr. Loewenthal’s address?” I said.
Spots of color burned in his cheeks. “You’re being sarcastic, but there’s no need to be. I learned at Rhea’s that Max Loewenthal was the man who was interested in finding me. That he had a musician friend who knew my family, and that the musician was here only until tomorrow. When she put it like that, that Max and his friend thought they might know someone of my family, I knew the truth: either Max or his musician friend must be my missing relation. They are hiding behind a cloak of pretending to have a friend-I know that-it’s a common disguise, especially for people who are frightened of having their identities known. I saw I would have to take the initiative, come to them, overcome their fears of being found out. So I studied the newspapers, I saw the Cellini was visiting from England, with their last concert today, I saw the name Loewenthal as the cellist and knew he must be Max’s relation.”
“Rhea told you Mr. Loewenthal’s name?” I demanded, furious with her for breaching Max’s privacy.
He gave a supercilious smile. “She made it clear she wanted me to learn it: she’d written Max’s name next to mine in her appointment book. Which made me sure Max and I were linked.”
I remembered reading her square hand upside down myself. I felt overwhelmed by his easy manipulation of facts to suit his wishes and demanded sharply how he’d found Max’s house, since his home phone isn’t listed.
“Oh, it was simple.” He laughed with childish delight, his anger forgotten. “I told them at the symphony I was Michael Loewenthal’s cousin and that I badly needed to see him while he was still in town.”
“And the CSO gave you this address?” I was staggered: stalking is such a serious problem for performers that no symphony management worth its salt gives out home addresses.
“No, no.” He laughed again. “If you’re a detective, this will amuse you, maybe even be useful to you in your work. I did try to get the address from the symphony management, but they were very stuffy. So today I went to the concert. What a beautiful gift Michael has-how wonderfully he plays on that cello. I went backstage afterward to congratulate him, but that wasn’t so easy, either-they make it hard to get in to see the performers.”
He scowled in momentary resentment. “By the time I got backstage, my cousin Michael had left, but I heard the other performers talking about the party that Max was holding tonight. So I called the hospital where Max works and told them I was with the chamber players but I had lost Max’s address. So they found someone in the administration-it took a while, because it’s Sunday, that’s why I’m late-but they called me with the address.”
“How did you know where Mr. Loewenthal works?” I was reeling so hard in the face of his narrative that I could only grasp at the corner points.
“It was in the program, the program for the Birnbaum conference.” He beamed with pride. “Wasn’t that clever, to say I was one of the musicians? Isn’t that the kind of thing an investigator like you does to find people?”
It made me furious that he was right-it’s exactly what I would have done. “Despite how clever it was, you’re here under a false impression. Max Loewenthal is not your cousin.”
He smiled indulgently. “Yes, yes, I’m sure you’re protecting him-Rhea told me you were protecting him and that she respected you for it, but consider this: he wants to find out about me. What other possible reason could there be than that he knows we’re related?”
We were still standing in the doorway. “You yourself know there’s a party going on. Mr. Loewenthal can’t possibly give you proper attention tonight. Why don’t you give me your address and phone number-he will want to meet you when he can give you his total attention. You should go home before you find yourself in the embarrassing predicament of trying to explain yourself to a room full of strangers.”
“You’re not Max’s daughter or his wife, you’re only a guest here as I am myself,” Radbuka snapped. “I want to meet him while his son and his friend are still here. Which one is his friend? There were three men of the right age playing in the concert.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a couple of people drifting back from the dining room toward the front of the house. I took Radbuka, or Ulrich, or whoever he was, by the elbow. “Why don’t we go out to a coffee shop, where we can talk this over privately. Then we can figure out whether there’s any chance you could be related to-anyone in Mr. Loewenthal’s milieu. But this public forum isn’t the best way to do it.”
He wrenched himself away. “How do you spend your time? Looking for people’s missing jewelry or their lost dogs? You’re a property investigator. But I am not a piece of property, I am a man. After all these years-all these deaths and separations-to think I might have some family that survived the Shoah, I don’t want to waste one more second before seeing them, let alone one more week or years, even, while you file information about me.” His voice thickened with feeling.
“I thought-in your television interview last week, you said you’d only recently discovered your past?”
“But it’s been weighing on me all this time, even though I didn’t know it. You don’t know what it was like, to grow up with a monster, a sadist, and never understand the reason for his hatred: he had attached himself to someone he despised in order to get a visa to America. If I had known what he really was-what he had done in Europe -I would have had him deported. Now, to have the chance to meet my true family-I will not let you put any barriers in my path.” Tears started down his face.
“Even so, if you leave your details with me, I will see that Mr. Loewenthal gets them. He will arrange an appointment with you at an early date, but this-confronting him in a public gathering-what kind of welcome do you think he would give you?” I tried to hide my anxiety and dismay under a copy of Rhea Wiell’s saintly smile.
“The same welcome I will give him-the heartfelt embrace of one survivor of the ashes to another. There is no way you can understand
that.”
“Understand what?” Max himself suddenly appeared with the Cellini oboist on his arm. “ Victoria, is this a guest whom I should know?”
“Are you Max?” Radbuka pushed past me to Max, grasping his hand, his face shining with pleasure. “Oh, that I had words to express how much this night means to me. To be able to greet my true cousin. Max. Max.”
Max looked from Radbuka to me with the same confusion I was feeling. “I’m sorry, I don’t know-oh-you-are you- Victoria -is this your doing?”
“No, it was all mine,” Radbuka crowed in delight. “ Victoria had mentioned your name to Rhea, and I knew you must be my cousin, either you or your friend. Why else would Victoria be trying so hard to protect you?”
Radbuka adapted himself quickly to the environment: he hadn’t known my name when he arrived; now I was Victoria. He also made the childlike assumption that the people in his special world, like Rhea, must be familiar to anyone he spoke to.
“But why discuss me with this therapist at all?” Max said.
The crowd growing behind him included Don Strzepek, who stepped forward. “I’m afraid that was my doing, Mr. Loewenthal-I mentioned your first name, and Rhea Wiell immediately guessed it was you because you’d been on the program at the Birnbaum conference.”
I made a helpless gesture. “I’ve tried to suggest to Mr.-Radbuka-that he come away with me to talk over his situation quietly.”
“An excellent idea. Why don’t you let Ms. Warshawski get you some supper, and go up to my study where I might be able to join you in an hour or so.” Max was off-balance but trying to handle the situation gracefully.
Paul laughed, bobbing his head up and down. “I know, I know. Rhea suggested you might be reluctant to be public with our relationship. But truly, you have nothing to fear-I am not planning on asking for money, or anything of that nature-the man who called himself my father left me well off. Although since the money came from acts of monstrosity, perhaps I should not be taking it. But if he couldn’t care for me emotionally, at least he tried to compensate with money.”
“You came to my house under false pretenses. I assure you, Mr. Radbuka: I am not related to the Radbuka family.”
“Are you ashamed?” Paul blurted. “But I’m not here to embarrass you, only to finally find my family, to see what I can learn about my past, my life before Terezin.”
“What little I know I will tell you another time. When I’m at leisure to attend to you properly.” Max took his elbow, trying futilely to propel him to the door. “And what you know about yourself you can tell me. Give your phone number to Ms. Warshawski and I will get in touch with you. Tomorrow, I promise you.”
Radbuka’s face crumpled, like a child about to cry. He reiterated his speech about not being able to wait one more minute. “And tomorrow your musician friend will be gone. What if he’s the one who is my missing cousin-how will I ever find him again?”
“Don’t you see,” Max began helplessly. “All this flailing around with no information is only harder on you, harder on me. Please. Let Ms. Warshawski take you upstairs and talk to you in a quiet way. Or leave your number with her and go home now.”
“But I came here by taxi. I can’t drive. I don’t have a way home,” Radbuka cried out in a childlike bewilderment. “Why won’t you make me welcome?”
As more people finished dinner, they began filling the hall on their way to the front room. An altercation at the foot of the stairs was a lightning rod for attention. The crowd began to grow, pressing against Max.
I took Paul’s arm again. “You are welcome-but not arguing in the hall in the middle of a party. Rhea wouldn’t want you to be so distressed, would she? Let’s sit down where we can be comfortable.”
“Not until I meet Max’s musician friend,” he said stubbornly. “Not until he tells me to my face that he knows me, remembers the mother whom I saw pushed alive into a pit of lime.”
Lotty had appeared at the door connecting the living room to the hall. She pushed her way through the group to my side. “What’s going on, Victoria?”
“This is the guy calling himself Radbuka,” I muttered to her. “He got here through some unfortunate fast footwork on his part.”
Behind us, we heard a woman echo Lotty’s question to someone else in the crowd. And we also heard the response: “I’m not sure; I think this man may be claiming Carl Tisov is his father or something.”
Radbuka heard her as well. “Carl Tisov? Is that the name of the musician? Is he here now?”
Lotty’s eyes widened in dismay. I whirled, determined to deny the rumor before it got started, but the crowd surged forward, the buzz catching like fire on straw and spreading through the room. Carl’s appearance at the back of the hall caused a sudden silence.
“What is this?” he asked gaily. “Are you having a prayer vigil out here, Loewenthal?”
“Is that Carl?” Paul’s face lit up again. “Is it you who is my cousin? Oh, Carl, I am here, your long-lost relation. Perhaps we are even brothers? Oh, will you people please move out of the way? I need to get to him!”
“This is horrifying,” Lotty muttered in my ear. “How did he get here? How did he decide Carl was related to him?”
The crowd stood frozen with the embarrassment people get when confronted with an adult whose emotions are running wild. As Paul tried to push his way through the throng, Calia suddenly appeared at the top of the hall, shrieking loudly. The other small ones followed, yelling just as loudly, as she pelted down the stairs. Lindsey was running after them, trying to reestablish order-some game must have gotten out of hand.
Calia stopped on the lower landing when she realized the size of her audience. Then she gave a loud whoop of laughter and pointed at Paul. “Look, it’s the big bad wolf, he’s going to eat my grandpa. He’ll catch us next.”
All the children took up the chant, pointing at Paul and screeching, “It’s a wolf, it’s a wolf, it’s the big bad wolf!”
When Paul realized he was the object of their taunting, he started to tremble. I thought he might cry again.
Agnes Loewenthal elbowed her way through the packed hall. She stomped up the short flight to the lower landing and scooped up her daughter.
“You’re over the top just now, young lady. You littlies were supposed to stay in the playroom with Lindsey: I’m most annoyed at this behavior. It’s long past time for your bath and bed-you’ve had enough excitement for the day.”
Calia began to howl, but Agnes marched up to the upper landing with her. The other children became quiet at once. They tiptoed up the stairs in front of a red-faced Lindsey.
The lesser drama with the children had unfrozen the crowd. They let Michael Loewenthal divert them into the front room where coffee was set up. I saw Morrell, who had appeared in the hall when my attention was on Calia, talking to Max and Don.
Radbuka was covering his face in distress. “Why is everyone treating me this way? The wolf, the big bad wolf, that was my foster father. Ulrich, that’s German for wolf, but it isn’t my name. Who told the children to call me that?”
“No one,” I said crisply, my sympathy worn completely thin. “The children were acting out, the way children will. No one here knows that Ulrich is German for big bad wolf.”
“It isn’t.” I’d forgotten Lotty was standing behind me. “It’s one of those medieval totemic names, wolflike ruler, something like that.” She added something in German to Paul.
Paul started to answer her in German, then stuck out his lower lip, like Calia’s when she was being stubborn. “I will not speak the language of my slavery. Are you German? Did you know the man who called himself my father?”
Lotty sighed. “I’m American. But I speak German.”
Paul’s mood shifted upward again; he beamed at Lotty. “But you are a friend of Max and Carl’s. So I was right to come here. If you know my family, did you know Sofie Radbuka?”
At that question, Carl turned to stare at him. “Where the hell did you come up
with that name? Lotty, what do you know about this? Did you bring this man here to taunt Max and me?”
“I?” Lotty said. “I-need to sit down.”
Her face had gone completely white. I was just in time to catch her as her knees buckled.
XVII Digging Up the Past
Morrell helped me support Lotty into the sunroom, where we laid her on a wicker settee. She hadn’t fainted completely but was still pale and glad to lie down. Max, his face pinched with worry, covered Lotty with an afghan. Always calm in a crisis, he sent Don to the housekeeper for a bottle of ammonia. When I’d soaked a napkin with it and waved it under her nose, Lotty’s color improved. She pushed herself to a sitting position, urging Max to return to his guests. After assuring himself that she was really better, he reluctantly went back to the party.
“Melodrama must be in the air this evening,” Lotty said, trying unsuccessfully for her usual manner. “I’ve never done that before in my life. Who brought that extraordinary man here? Surely that wasn’t you, Victoria?”
“He brought himself,” I said. “He has an eel-like ability to wiggle into spaces. Including the hospital, where some moron in admin gave him Max’s home address.”
Morrell coughed warningly, jerking his head at the shadows on the far side of the room. Paul Radbuka was standing there, just beyond the edge of the circle of light cast by a floor lamp. Now he darted forward to stand over Lotty.
“Are you feeling better now? Do you feel like talking? I think you must know Sofie Radbuka. Who is she? How can I find her? She must be related to me in some way.”
“Surely the person you are looking for was named Miriam.” Despite her shaking hands, Lotty pulled herself together to use her “Princess of Austria” manner.
“My Miriam, yes, I long to find her again. But Sofie Radbuka, that is a name which was dangled in front of me like a carrot, making me believe one of my relations must still be alive somewhere. Only now the carrot has been withdrawn. But I’m sure you know her, why else did you faint when you heard the name?”
Total Recall Page 15