by Orca Various
“He has an articling position, Uncle Gerry. And great prospects. Noah graduated at the top of his class.”
“When did you meet him? Why didn’t you mention him before?”
“We met two months ago—”
“Two months! What can you possibly know about a person in two months?”
“—and I didn’t mention him at Thanksgiving because I wanted to be sure.”
“And now you are?” Gerry throws up his arms in disbelief.
“We both are,” Noah says calmly.
Gerry shoots him a who-asked-you look. “It’s too soon. You don’t know him well enough to marry him. You’re far too young to even think about marriage.”
Katya has an answer to that. “We’re not planning to get married until Noah passes the bar. That will give us plenty of time. It will give you plenty of time, Uncle Gerry.” She goes up on tiptoe and plants a kiss on her uncle’s cheek. Gerry’s whole body relaxes a couple of degrees. “Give us a chance, Uncle Gerry. Once you get to know Noah, you’ll like him. I promise.”
Gerry looks far from convinced. He turns his back on Noah. “I’m going to go and get cleaned up.”
“Dinner is in fifteen minutes,” Katya tells him.
“Don’t forget to set an extra place for Rennie,” Curtis says, and just like that, the two of us are on everyone’s radar. Curtis introduces himself and me to Noah. Gerry glowers at me, but that’s nothing compared to the look Katya gives me. Now that her beloved is here, it’s clear she wants me gone. And, honestly, I’d be glad to oblige. But I haven’t figured out yet if Curtis knows something about Franken or if he’s playing with me. If I can get him to tell me what, if anything, he’s found out before supper is on the table, I’ll be glad to go. But he’s got his mind fixed on a nip. He offers one to Noah, who accepts, and shoots off to the living room, making remarkably good time with his walker. I try a couple of times to get his attention, but once he’s had one nip, he wants another. Plus he’s grilling Noah and succeeding in making him squirm—although if you ask me, it’s more out of irritation than nervousness.
Finally, I get a break. Noah excuses himself and heads for the kitchen and Katya. I lean into the old man to ask again about Franken. Eric chooses that exact time to show up with Puffy Jacket in tow.
“Just the guy I’ve been looking for,” Eric says to me.
“Yeah? What for?”
Katya calls everyone to supper. Eric catches sight of Noah.
“Who’s that?” he asks his sister.
Katya notices Puffy. “He has to leave,” she says, doing to him exactly what she complained her uncle did to Noah.
“He’s staying,” Eric says. He’s staring at Noah, plainly curious. Katya slams down another place setting, and we all sit.
EIGHT
The meal gets off to a bad start when Gerry, more out of sorts now than he was when he met Noah, ignores the food on his plate and says, “Noah what?”
“I beg your pardon, sir?” Noah is on his best behavior, but the respectful “sir” does nothing to placate Gerry.
“Noah’s your first name. What’s your last name?”
“Green.”
At the end of the table, Eric is talking low to Puffy Jacket.
Silence from Gerry. Then: “Is that the original name, or did your people change it?”
“Sir?”
“Uncle Gerry—”
Gerry’s face is all innocence when he looks at Katya and says, “I’m just asking.” But his eyes go hard when they skip back to Noah.
“I’m not sure I follow you, sir,” Noah says. There’s tension in his voice.
Katya, sitting opposite him, reaches for his hand.
“Noah. That’s a biblical name. Old Testament,” Gerry says.
“Genesis,” Noah agrees.
“In other words, not New Testament,” Gerry says.
Noah agrees again. “It’s not Matthew, Mark, Luke or John.”
“So I’m wondering about your last name, Green. Was it something else originally?”
“You mean, like Greenblatt or Greenberg, something like that?” Noah is still smiling, but his smile isn’t reflected in his eyes.
“Noah, this isn’t the time—” Katya begins.
Noah shakes off her hand. “Your uncle asked me a question. I have no problem answering it.” He turns back to Gerry. “It was Grunberg. My grandfather changed it when he immigrated here. I think he felt it would be better.”
“Better for who?” Gerry asks. “If you ask me, people who change their names have something to hide.”
“That may be true.” Noah sounds calm, maybe too calm, considering Gerry’s accusing tone. “But in my grandfather’s case, he changed his name to avoid the prejudice he suffered before and during the war. What about your grandfather?”
This gets Eric’s attention. He stares at his uncle.
“Noah, please!”
“What are you talking about?” Gerry thunders. “What are you saying?”
“It’s just a question, sir.”
Katya squeezes his hand. Her eyes are pleading.
“My grandfather came here right after World War Two, as soon as he was strong enough to travel,” Noah says.
“Strong enough?” Eric perks up. “He was wounded?”
“He was from Poland.”
Eric says nothing, waiting for more information, I think.
“He’s lucky he survived,” Noah says. “No one else in his family did.”
“What do you mean?” Eric asks.
“He was in a concentration camp.”
“Yeah? And he made it out? That’s something, huh?” Eric is impressed.
“I guess you could call it an accomplishment,” Noah says. “He was lucky. The guy in charge of the camp was one of those sadistic guys you hear about. A guy named Waldmann.” He turns to the old man, who is sitting at the end of the table. “Katya tells me you’re a real expert on the Nazis. She says your father was in that war. Did you ever come across the name Waldmann?”
The old man’s hand is clamped around his glass. He’s coming down to the bottom of his second nip, which is a pretty big one.
“Can’t say that I know the name.” He lifts the glass, thinks a moment and then shakes his head. “No, I don’t know that name.”
Noah glances at Katya. His smile is gentle, loving.
“Well, your grandfather may know a lot about the war, but he’s hardly the expert you make him out to be, Katya.” He says it casually, like it’s no big deal, but the old man stiffens as if he’s been slapped.
“I’m more of an expert than you’ll ever be, young man,” he says.
Noah shakes his head slowly. “I don’t think so.” He is respectful, as if he wants to make sure everyone understands that he’s not being critical. “An expert, someone who really knows the war and the National Socialist Party, would know that name. The man was notorious.”
“And I suppose you’re an expert?” The old man is taking it badly.
“Me? No. But my grandfather—now there was someone who knew everything there is to know. You could say he made it his business to know. His wife, my grandmother, was American. She didn’t go through what he went through. She tried to understand. But how can anyone understand something so incomprehensible?” He looks fondly across the table at Katya. “My grandfather worked in the garment industry when he immigrated here. He was a tailor. Men’s suits. But his whole life, his life outside of working and providing for his family, was all about the past, about what happened to him and his family, why it happened, who was responsible. He couldn’t let it go.”
The old man drains his glass and holds it up. Katya shakes her head. The old man thrusts the glass at her. She gets up and refills it, but only half an inch.
“He’s sure he saw him once,” Noah says.
“Saw who?” Eric asks.
“Waldmann.”
“The guy who ran the concentration camp? Your grandfather saw him? Where?”
“For the lov
e of Mike!” Gerry slams a fist onto the table, and all the glasses jump in response. “We’re eating dinner. You’re a guest here. Why are we talking about this?”
“I’m sorry, sir.” Noah squeezes Katya’s hand. “Sorry, Katya.”
“It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay.”
Gerry gets up and disappears into the living room. I look around the table. Eric is frowning at me as if I’m the problem. The old man is frowning too, but at his plate, not at anyone in particular. Puffy Jacket is eating. He’s the only person who is. Gerry returns to the table with a glass of something—I’m guessing Scotch or bourbon. Katya shoots him a warning look. He sees it and glowers at her. I wish I was out of here.
The meal goes on in strained silence until, finally, Katya says, “We were thinking—Noah and I were thinking—” She looks across the table and Noah nods, encouraging her. “We’re going to have an extra room, and we thought it would be nice if Eric came and lived with us.”
“What?” This seems to be news to Eric.
“What?” It’s definitely news to Gerry.
“You’d like Boston, Eric,” Katya says. “It’s not like here. It’s nice. You could get your GED and maybe think about college.”
Eric shakes his head. “I’m done with school.”
“You need an education to get anywhere these days,” Gerry says.
“I’m eighteen. I can look after myself.”
“Then why are you mooching off me? Why don’t you have a job?”
“Uncle Gerry, please!” I’m guessing this isn’t the way Katya envisioned dinner. She turns pleading eyes on Eric.
“You could make new friends.”
“I already have friends.”
“You’ll have more opportunities there. You could get a part-time job while you finish—”
“I’m not going back to school!”
“And he’s not going to Boston,” Gerry says. “He’s my responsibility. He goes where I say he goes. And I say he stays right here.”
“Hey!” Eric stiffens in his chair. “Nobody tells me what to do.”
“I’m not telling. I’m asking,” Katya says with a pointed look at her uncle. “At least come for a while, Ricky.” I guess that’s her pet name for him, and it changes the look on his face. His dark eyes go soft. Whatever else Eric is, he’s also a guy who cares about his sister.
“I don’t know, Katty.”
“Think about it? That’s all I’m asking. You can put all that trouble behind you—”
“He’s not in trouble,” Gerry says. “In case you haven’t noticed, the cops have nothing except their suspicions. Their unfounded suspicions.”
It doesn’t surprise me that Eric’s been in trouble with the cops. I wonder what he’s done.
Katya ignores him. “You can start fresh, Ricky. Just think about it. And if you come, it’s not like it’s a lifelong commitment. I’m not going to nail you down. If you don’t like it, you can always leave. Just promise me you’ll think about it.”
Eric nods. “Okay.”
The room falls silent again. People still aren’t eating. Katya looks at Noah. There are tears in her eyes. Noah squeezes her hand.
“I guess this is as good a time as any,” he says.
Everyone stares at him. They’re probably wondering the same thing I am—a good time for what?
“Katya and I are inviting the family to dinner tomorrow night. To celebrate our engagement.”
Gerry downs whatever is in his glass.
Curtis glowers at Noah.
“You all have to come,” Katya says. “The whole reason I came back here is so that you can get to know Noah.”
I know that’s not true. I saw the surprise on her face when Noah showed up. She wasn’t expecting him. He’s not the reason she’s here.
“Sounds to me like you came back here to steal Eric,” Gerry grumbles.
Another squeeze of Noah’s hand seems to stiffen Katya’s resolve. She smiles, even though her lips are trembling.
“You all have to come. No excuses.” She turns her blue eyes on her uncle. “Please, Uncle Gerry? It would mean so much to me to have you there. You raised me. Me and Ricky both.”
Gerry’s tight, angry mouth relaxes. It’s no mystery what his Achilles heel is. I wonder what life was like in this house back when Gerry was still working a good job in an auto factory. There would have been plenty of money to go around then and fewer worries to plague everyone. They would have had neighbors. And streetlights. A normal life. All the things that are next to impossible when no one has a job and everyone has given up on life because it looks like life has given up on them.
“I guess I can make the time,” he says.
Katya gets up and goes to the end of the table. She wraps her arms around Gerry’s neck and kisses him on the cheek.
“Thank you, Uncle Gerry.” She ventures a smile. “And you’ll walk me down the aisle when the time comes, won’t you?”
Gerry shifts awkwardly in his chair. “If you want me to.”
“I do.”
“And this dinner thing,” Gerry says, “We’ll all be there, right, Dad? Eric?”
“I have plans,” Eric says.
“Change them. This is important to your sister.”
Eric shoots his uncle a look of irritation. Then his eyes meet Katya’s, and he melts just like his uncle.
“Okay. Fine.”
Everyone, it seems, will do just about anything for Katya.
Eric crumples his napkin and throws it down. “Me and Duane gotta roll.” Puffy Jacket, aka Duane, wipes his mouth on a paper napkin. Before Gerry or Katya can protest, Eric nods at me. “Him too.”
I point to myself. Me?
“I got a line on a new fridge,” Eric says.
“Are you crazy?” Gerry says. “We can’t afford a new fridge.”
Eric grins. “It’s not gonna cost a thing except a little heavy lifting. A guy I know owes me. All we have to do is pick up the fridge and bring it here. Duane already volunteered to help. If Grandpa’s friend will pitch in, it’s ours.”
“What about you?” Curtis says. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to drive the truck. I’d help to carry it, but ever since that little accident—”
“What accident?” I ask.
“The less said about that, the better,” Gerry says. “It’s free? No strings?”
“None.”
“Okay. Go.”
Eric and Duane stand up. Eric looks at me. “Well? My sister made you a nice dinner. That’s not worth an hour of your time?”
I glance at Curtis. “We can talk when I get back, right?”
The old man nods.
Fine, I’ll help move the fridge. It should be easy. Get it, bring it back, and then find out what, if anything, Curtis knows. What could go wrong?
The truck Eric borrows is a mostly rusted-out used-to-be-red pickup with a malfunctioning heater. We squeeze in, Eric behind the wheel, me in the middle, and Duane on the outside. Duane doesn’t say a word. Eric doesn’t talk much either. We drive for about twenty minutes through a maze of streets, most of them without working streetlights. I don’t know the city, so I don’t know what direction we’re traveling in. I just know that by the time we get where we’re going, my feet are freezing inside my boots, and I wish I had a thicker jacket. I also wish I had gloves. I should have bought some at the airport. I’m glad I have my head tucked up that stupid hat, even if it makes me look like a refugee from Santa’s workshop.
Eric pulls to the curb in what was once a commercial area but where the storefronts are now mostly boarded over. The two that aren’t—a 7-Eleven and a liquor store—have metal grates over the windows, and I don’t think it’s a stretch to imagine that the clerks have ready access to firearms. Eric jumps down from behind the wheel. Duane slides out the passenger side. We both wait for Eric’s instructions.
“The fridge should be around the back,” he says, pointing at what l
ooks like a dark alley. “My buddy, he left it behind this store.”
This store is an appliance store—new and used—that looks like it’s closed down, although from the way Eric is talking, maybe it’s just closed for the night or maybe for the holidays.
“You got a flashlight?” Duane asks.
“Check the glove compartment.”
Duane does and comes up empty.
“It’s a white fridge,” Eric says impatiently. “It’s not like it’s invisible. Go and get it. I’ll back the truck up.”
Duane looks annoyed. He doesn’t seem to want to be here any more than I do. I wonder what his relationship is to Eric. I also wonder where Skull is. Why didn’t Eric ask him to help out?
“You coming?” Duane asks me.
I trot off after him. The trot turns into a slow, cautious walk as soon as we enter the alley. It’s darker than dark in there. I can make out shapes, but I can’t tell what they are.
“Maybe we should get him to shine the headlights down here,” I say.
Duane doesn’t seem interested in the idea.
“Let’s just get this over with,” he says. “I’m freezing.”
Yeah, and he’s wearing a puffy jacket. What does he think I am?
I stay close. We get to the end of the alley and look around. Sure enough, there’s something big and white behind the appliance store, just like Eric said. And when I say big, I mean big. I hope Eric measured it. I hope it’s going to fit through his front door.
We start toward the fridge. Duane stands in front of it and is running his hands over it, maybe to get the size of it, when suddenly we’re hit by a beam of light. My first thought is that Eric has done something helpful: he’s turned the truck around and aimed the headlights down the alley so we can see what we’re doing. But I realize right away that I’ve got it wrong, because the light is coming from the wrong direction.
Duane must realize something’s off too, because he spins around. We both do. The light’s in our faces. Duane raises one hand to shield his eyes. I hear a bang like a gunshot—except, I think of course it isn’t. I squint to try to see past the light and think I see a couple of guys. One of them steps forward. He’s wearing a long coat that reaches almost to his ankles and a black watch cap that hides his hair. But that’s almost beside the point, because it’s his face that draws me. I can’t take my eyes off it. He’s a white guy, I’m pretty sure of that, but he’s got this giant tattoo that covers most of his face. It’s a spider. A massive spider.