She was supposed to meet the producer at the bar of the Algonquin Hotel. Thaddeus Liebowitz was thirty-three years old, and he had been making documentaries for ten years. His credentials were excellent, and this new documentary had already won an award. Claudia felt out of her league interviewing him, but at least the subject was familiar to her, more than she wanted to admit. She felt a tremor every time she thought of the film.
She tried to look professional, in a black suit, a small hat, and a black Persian lamb coat that was a hand-me-down from her mother and a little too grown-up for her. She looked more like a young Park Avenue matron than a journalist, and she had worn her long blond hair in a neat bun that made her look serious.
She found Liebowitz easily at a table in the bar of the famous Algonquin, where the likes of Ernest Hemingway had hung out, and still did occasionally when he was in town. She asked the maître d’ to point the producer out, and saw him in a back corner, smoking a cigar. He was wearing a tweed jacket and a black turtleneck sweater, and his hair was long. He smiled when she approached the table and identified herself, but he looked surprised to see her.
“I thought they’d send someone older,” he said easily and invited her to sit down across from him. He looked “Bohemian,” as her parents would have said, and intellectual. She could see that the cigar he was smoking was one of the best Cubans, since her father smoked the same brand occasionally, and when she was younger, he had always given her the paper rings to wear. After his opening comment, she just hoped he didn’t guess it was her first interview.
“I’m sorry,” she apologized immediately in answer to what he’d said. “The editor assigned to do the interview got sick.” And then with a look of mischief, she said, “You spared me from covering an incredibly boring bridge tournament, my second one in a week. I’m usually assigned to the society desk.” She looked apologetic as she said it. He laughed, she ordered a cup of tea and he a scotch on the rocks, and they got to work, talking about his movie. She was curious about him and why he’d made the film, so the questions came easily. And he was a cooperative subject, more than willing to share with her what had inspired him to make the film.
“It’s been thirteen years since the camps were liberated,” he said quietly. “People forget. I think they need to be reminded from time to time. And it was so disturbing when the news first came out. Some of the really gruesome footage was never shown. But I think people need to see that too. We know more since the trials in Nuremberg than we did at first. We need to really understand who Hitler was, and why he did it, so it never happens again.”
It was easy to agree with what he said, as she took rapid notes. She hadn’t even touched her tea yet, and it had long since grown cold, as she wrote down everything he said, and tried not to miss a word. She was diligent about it.
“I hope I haven’t shocked you,” he continued. “My film is very graphic, but I think that’s what people need to make them aware. Particularly what they did to the children. Just about every Jewish child was shipped out of France. Many of them were hidden by members of the resistance, but an enormous number of French children were sent to labor camps and killed by the Germans. Not to mention the children in Germany who were more easily accessible, and throughout eastern Europe.” He had excellent knowledge of the subject, and seemed to care about it deeply. “While we were sitting here, in the comfort and relative safety of the U.S., Jews all over Europe were decimated.”
She nodded agreement and concentrated on what she was writing, so he didn’t see how moved she was by it, and then she raised her eyes to meet his.
“They gassed all or most of the younger children as soon as they got to the camps. They only preserved those they thought were strong enough to work,” she added and he looked at her with interest. He hadn’t caught her last name or paid attention to it.
“You’re interested in the subject?” he asked, eyeing her intently.
“Yes, I am,” she admitted, not volunteering anything further about herself, which she thought would be unprofessional. “I know something about it,” she added, and he nodded.
“Most people want to forget, now that the war is over. I think it’s important not to let that happen.”
“So do I,” she agreed.
“It’s the whole purpose of my film. How do you know that about the children, by the way?” He was intrigued by her. She was serious and diligent, despite her age. She didn’t answer for a long moment and didn’t know what to say.
“I just do” was all she said to him. After two hours, they both agreed that they had covered all the pertinent aspects of his documentary and the interview was over. She had never touched her tea, and he had finished his drink. They hadn’t stopped talking for the entire two hours.
“Did you have friends or relatives who went to any of the camps?” he asked her, still curious about her, and why she knew about it.
She nodded gently. “Yes, I did.”
“I had cousins who went to Bergen-Belsen. My father tried to get them out of Germany, but it was too late. And a whole branch of my mother’s family died in the Warsaw ghetto.” As they spoke for a few minutes after the interview, he thought he detected the faintest accent, although she spoke English perfectly. “Where are you from?” he asked.
“Here, now,” she spoke in a soft voice. “And originally Germany. Berlin.”
He didn’t say anything then for a long moment, as he watched her intently. “Your family?” he asked in barely more than a whisper, and she decided to be honest with him. She felt she had no choice.
“Auschwitz,” she said simply, and told the whole story with a single word, as a look of pain crossed his eyes, and compassion for her.
“How did you manage to escape that fate?” he asked, assuming that she had, and was shocked by her answer.
“I didn’t. I was in Auschwitz from ’42 to ’45, until we were liberated by the Russians. I was the only one of my family who survived. I was ten when they freed us.”
He looked like he was about to cry, and he felt terrible for not knowing it sooner. He wondered if his answers to her questions had been too harsh and unfeeling. This was not a film to her, it was her life.
“I’m so sorry. And I’m sorry if I was hard with my answers. I just feel that everyone should know what happened. But you already do. Did the magazine know when they sent you?”
She shook her head, looking shy and young, despite her grown-up clothes. “I don’t usually talk about it, at least not with strangers. Or even friends. But it’s good for other people to know, and for us to forget what we can.”
He was moved beyond belief by this dignified young woman. And without saying a word then, she pulled up the sleeve of her jacket slightly and turned her arm, and he saw the tattoo that had identified her in the camp. She had been a number for three years, and not a human being.
“I’m truly sorry. I hope the interview wasn’t too difficult for you.” He felt guilty now for dragging her through it, but she looked calm and solid, and not flustered by what she’d heard. And she had to be a strong person to survive what she did. She knew the story, better than he did. He hadn’t told her anything she didn’t know.
“Don’t be sorry. I knew what the interview was about. And I think you know the subject very well.”
“I care a lot about it,” he said with feeling.
“I can tell. I want to write a book about it one day.”
“You should do it soon, before you forget the details.”
“I won’t forget.” She smiled at him. “But I haven’t felt ready. Maybe in a few years.”
“You should push yourself to do it. The world needs those stories. Stories like yours, firsthand. It’s not the same when another person tells it. How did you get here?”
“I was adopted by an American family, through a Jewish relief group. They’ve been wonderful to me
.”
“I wish I had known you when I made the movie. I interviewed a lot of people, but none of them had been in the camps as children.” He didn’t say that it had been hard to find many who had lived through it.
“Very few children survived. You had to work very hard for them to let you stay alive. I was on a rock-breaking crew my first year there. My father and brother were alive then too. They killed my mother and two small sisters immediately. Anyway, you know the stories. You must have heard it all before.”
“Not from anyone who was so young. You must have a remarkable spirit.”
“No more than anyone else. Who knows what keeps us alive? You can never predict who will be strong enough and who won’t be. Many of the strongest people didn’t make it, and some of the weaker ones did. It comes from within. I was seven when we arrived and the youngest one in my dormitory, but tall for my age.” She wasn’t a big woman now, and very slight, but stronger than she appeared. He looked at her then again with amazement and, without thinking, he reached out and gently touched her hand. She had turned her arm so the tattoo had disappeared again. She didn’t like people to see it. It was a private thing now.
“Would you have dinner with me?” he asked, and she hesitated.
“I’m not sure if I’m supposed to.”
“Let’s just say the interview is over. It ended five minutes ago. Now we’re just friends with things to talk about. Will you join me for dinner?” He repeated the invitation and she laughed at how he compartmentalized it. “I’d be honored,” he added, and she was touched.
“All right, I will. That’s very kind of you, Mr. Liebowitz.”
“Thaddeus. And it’s kind of you to dine with me. They actually have quite decent food here. Would this be all right?” It was bitter cold out and had snowed earlier, so the prospect of staying in the warm hotel was appealing to both of them.
He asked the maître d’ in the bar to reserve a table for them in the dining room, and five minutes later, he escorted her into the restaurant, after they had checked her mother’s coat. He was trying not to notice how pretty she was. He liked talking to her and didn’t want to spoil it. This was not just about chasing a beautiful woman, but learning more about one who fascinated him and understood the subject of his movie even better than he did.
Over dinner, he told her about making movies in Hollywood, and how he had gotten into doing documentaries, not wanting to compete with his father, who was a famous Hollywood producer of feature films. He preferred more serious subjects to commercial films, although he had great respect for his father’s work. They talked about a film Thaddeus had made in Italy and one in France, about artwork stolen by the Nazis, much of which had not been found yet. And he had recently made a documentary on Martin Luther King Jr., and had followed him for a month to do it. He said King was an extraordinary person, and Claudia was intrigued by how knowledgeable he was on a variety of subjects. She had a wonderful time listening to him, and was sorry when dinner was over.
“Could I see you again sometime?” he asked, sounding like a schoolboy when he helped her with her coat after dinner. She thought about it for a minute and then nodded. She wondered what her family would think of him. They didn’t approve of people in show business, but he was very intellectual, knowledgeable, and well-read. And they would like the fact that he was Jewish.
“I’d like that,” she answered his question. “I’ll let you know when they’re going to run the interview, and send you a copy of it before it comes out,” she told him, being professional again. He walked her outside and put her in a taxi, and stood on the sidewalk in the cold, watching the cab until it disappeared. He felt like a bomb had hit him. Without even realizing she had, the graceful, gentle young woman had rocked his world.
Chapter Eight
Claudia began seeing Thaddeus for dinner from time to time in January. He was very pleased with the interview when it came out, and so was the magazine. They thought the piece had real merit and showed that she had journalistic talent. They started sending her on other interviews after that, with several important people. Claudia handled both the subjects and the writing efficiently and with obvious poise. And at Thaddeus’s urging, she started making notes for the book she wanted to write. It was harder than she had expected, so she worked on it for a while, and then put it aside and came back to it. She was in no hurry to do it. It brought up so many painful memories for her.
She enjoyed the time they spent together immensely. She was fascinated by his films, and he by her life. After they had seen each other for a few months, she invited him home to dinner with her parents and sisters. He had shown up in a proper suit and tie. Predictably, they were ambivalent about him. The show-business side of his life didn’t please them, no matter how famous his father was as a film maker, but he won them over rapidly with his intelligence, good manners, and kindness to their daughter, and there was no denying that he was a very interesting person. They thought that he was too old for Claudia, since she was ten years younger than he, but she insisted they were just friends, which was almost true but not quite. Thaddeus had been telling her that he was falling in love with her, and she had feelings for him, but after her experience with Seth, she was cautious, and told Thaddeus about that too.
Meredith was impressed that Claudia had taken him home to dinner. She had met Thaddeus and liked him a lot. They had spent an evening together, and she really enjoyed their conversations. Meredith thought that they were perfect for each other, but Claudia was still moving slowly. In April he went back to Hollywood to edit a film in his father’s studio, and Claudia was relieved to have time to herself to think about it. He called her every day. He had respected her need not to rush, so far. He had kissed her before he left, but it had gone no further. Claudia wasn’t ready, and he knew it. He could tell.
Later that month Meredith got the letter accepting her into Columbia Law School, and she told her father that night. He sighed when she handed it to him and asked again if she was sure, and she said she was. Alex wanted to go to law school one day too, and her father thought that was fine. He was only thirteen. He still had high school and college to get through, but her father thought the law was a suitable career for a man, and a tough one for a woman, and a huge sacrifice to make. He was convinced that being a lawyer was not compatible with being a wife and mother and that she’d have to choose one over the other.
Meredith and her father had found a new subject to disagree about, the Vietnam War. He thought it was right for the United States to be there and that the war would be good for the economy. Meredith was vehemently against it, all the reasons for it, and everything it stood for.
“Boys are going to start dying over there one of these days,” she told him heatedly, and he insisted she was wrong.
“They’re not there as soldiers, they’re there as advisors.”
“I don’t care what they call them, they’re military, and shots are going to be fired, and there will be young Americans coming back in body bags.”
“You’re always on some crusade, Meredith,” he said, annoyed by the argument, “but you’re wrong about this one. We’re there on a peacekeeping mission.”
“That’s not true, Dad. The minute someone fires a shot, and you know that’s going to happen, we’re going to have a war on our hands. And I can tell you one thing, when we do, I don’t want my brother in it,” she said forcefully to her father.
“That will never happen. All you peaceniks, or doves, or whatever you call yourselves, or bleeding hearts, see danger everywhere. We have the situation in full control,” he said confidently.
“So did the French,” she reminded him, “and they lost their shirts there. Now we’ve got our neck on the line.” It was one of those arguments that neither of them could ever win, but Meredith’s grandfather agreed with her a hundred percent, and was terrified that the situation in Vietnam would escalate like a
forest fire one of these days. Robert refused to believe it.
* * *
—
By the time Thaddeus came back from L.A. in June, Claudia had figured out that she was in love with him, and stopped resisting. She met him at the airport when he returned, and flew into his arms. She spent the night with him whenever she could get away with it, and Meredith covered for her. But she was twenty-four years old and knew what she wanted, and he treated her like a piece of spun glass. They had a wonderful time together. He encouraged her to work on her book whenever possible, and they had Meredith over to his apartment for dinner, and had intense conversations about desegregation and the potential for real war in Vietnam, which terrified them all, except Meredith’s father, who stubbornly insisted that American troops belonged there. Meredith had stopped even talking to him about it. It was pointless.
Her job at the ACLU got a little more interesting before she left, but she was basically too low on the totem pole to get serious assignments. Her immediate supervisor encouraged her to come back once she had her law degree. She had been impressed by her, and they always needed attorneys. She left them at the end of June, was planning to spend July on Martha’s Vineyard with her parents, and at the end of August she was starting law school. The past year had been a quiet one for her. Claudia was much busier with her job at the Herald Tribune and her relationship with Thaddeus, which she was still telling her parents was just a friendship and platonic, and they believed her.
The Good Fight Page 12