by Paula Byrne
Sail Away
I’ve seen her sneaking into her mother’s dressing room more and more often. Picking up a tooth glass from the bathroom and making her way to the liquor cabinet. Kater thinks that nobody knows about her embarrassing little habit. That girl is full of secrets. And secrets lead to lies. And secrets can eat you up, and they can kill you. After everything her mother has done for her: the sacrifices she has made, the opportunities she has put her way.
And now Madou is entertaining the soldiers at the Hollywood Canteen. Night after night, she works, cooking for the boys, entertaining them before they leave California for the Pacific, some never to return.
Now that America has finally entered the war, she is proud of her adopted country. Papa Joe was wrong to say that it wasn’t America’s war, and his boys are the first to volunteer, as she suspected would be the case. It is her duty to dance with those brave young men, rubbing her body against theirs, leaving them with the memory of a night to remember. When she comes home at night, she is fatigued, and lines of worry are etched on that lovely face.
Today it is her birthday. She is forty. For the past month, she has eaten no solid food. To keep herself slim. She sips beef tea from her thermos. If only her daughter could learn more discipline. Papi telephones to wish her many happy returns. He has a new job in New York.
‘Mutti, tell me your news.’
‘It’s sad, Papi. These boys are so young, and many of them are already far from home. I want to do more for the war effort. I can sell government bonds. But there’s something else I can do. The male stars are leaving America to fight. I want to go, too.’
‘Mutti, is that wise? What will you do?’
‘I will entertain the troops. Many of the big stars do it.’
‘Mutti, many of the big stars are not German. Think what they will do to you, if they capture you. It’s too dangerous. I forbid it.’
‘I know the dangers, Papi, and I fear for Mother and for Birgitte. Did you hear what they did to Boni’s sister? She is on trial for treason – at the Volksgerichtshof. They say she is guilty of undermining the morale of the people. Boni is out of his mind with worry. These people will stop at nothing.’
‘What will you do about Kater?’
‘I have decided. She will go to school in Switzerland. The cold air will be good for her. She is no longer a child, and she needs to learn independence. She is changing, Papi. She is … different. Sometimes she looks at me with such a strange expression. As if she is looking straight through me. I must go, I send kisses to you, my life.’
Later, Madou sends for Kater. She is obedient to her mother’s wishes, but she is sullen, and there is a faraway look in her lashless, fish eyes.
‘Kater, I am sending you to school, in Switzerland, where you will be safe.’
‘But who will dress you? Am I going alone? Is it safe to travel? Are you coming with me, Mutti?’
‘Kater, you are not a child. And I have been called to the war service by the American government.’
‘But, why …’
‘Stop asking questions. Divide a loaf by a knife: what’s the answer to that?’
‘I don’t know, Mutti.’
‘Look up, speak nicely, and don’t twiddle your fingers all the time.’
‘But why can’t I stay with Sofi and Papi? I can go to New York and l will be good and helpful. I won’t ask questions, if only you’ll let me.’
‘You know what I always say, Queens never make bargains. Now you must help me to dress for tonight. There are boys going out to the war to certain death, they need a night to remember.’
Madou is becoming just a little self-righteous about her war work. I’m beginning to feel sorry for the Child.
Why Cry at Parting?
She handed me a large cheque, wept, and told me that she was off to win the war; as if she alone could win the war single-handedly with her shiny red nail polish, bayonet to bayonet. Her encounters with her boys, their courage, and her newfound zeal for America gave her renewed enthusiasm for the Overseas Organization, though privately, I knew she was following Moncorge. There was always a man behind her noble motives. Nor did it cross her mind that her presence in the army might put the lives of American soldiers at risk.
She told me many years later that leaving Moncorge was the most painful parting of her life. He left her in Norfolk, Virginia and headed off to Algiers. Her contempt for the actors who did not sign up knew no bounds, and she was angry and vocal about their cowardice.
Before leaving, she sold most of her possessions, apart from her jewels, which she stored in safe deposit boxes ‘for the duration’. Moncorge, certain that he would meet his death, gave her his most valuable and loved possessions, three paintings by Renoir, Sisley, and de Vlaminck. Where are they now? They have also disappeared over the years. I know for a fact that she didn’t return them to Moncorge.
It was the first time in our lives that we were to live properly apart. To my shame, I did not even think about the fact that my mother might be in danger. I cared more about the fate of Jack. It wasn’t until later that I learned what she had achieved during those years. How brave she had been, and how she earned the love and respect of all the people she encountered. How she had been close to death, several times. No, I didn’t care. All I cared about was that I was finally going to school.
For once, I did not give a damn that I was living away from America. I had tools to help me with my misery. I helped Mother to pack before leaving for Switzerland. I wrapped her compact in tissue paper and placed it on the top of her bag. She would need her mirror for what lay ahead. Mother left Hollywood without a backward glance after thirteen years, to await orders in New York. And I, first warming my veins with another slug of bourbon, headed to the land of snowy folds and cuckoo clocks.
Why Must the Show Go On?
Madou snaps open her solid gold powder compact, fixes me with her steely gaze and applies a smear of red lipstick. Red makes her feel invincible.
Say what you like about Joan Madou, no woman could be a better soldier. Her uniform is tailor-made. She is given the military rank of captain. No special Hollywood treatment now that she is one of the boys, and she loves it: ‘What a pleasant feeling it is to wait for orders,’ she whispers to me.
She is permitted to take only fifty-six pounds of luggage. In her suitcase, she stashes a handful of sequinned evening dresses (they don’t crush and don’t need to be ironed) and her musical saw. She packs a few gold bangles, and silk stockings, and a garter belt. She packs dozens of false nails from Woolworths.
Captain Madou is ready for her flight. She flies to Algiers by way of Greenland, the Azores, and Casablanca. This is her third act. Perhaps her very best. She has rehearsed her show to perfection in America, a superbly slick mix of jokes, songs, and stories, but now it’s for real. If the boys are homesick in their own country, then try to imagine how they feel fighting a war in another land.
Her first night is terrifying. There are 20,000 GIs in the audience and they are going wild for the famous star. An announcement is made.
‘Miss Madou is delayed, and will not be coming this evening.’
The crowd boos and hisses. But they know it’s a gag. There’s so much tension and anticipation in the air.
‘She is … unwell, but is being (coughs) attended to, by the general.’
Laughter fills the room.
Then suddenly, at the back of the hall, there is a cry.
‘Wait for me, I’m here. I’m coming right up.’
Madou, in her army uniform, dashes up to the stage. The jeers turn to cheers, as they go along with the joke.
In a sudden, practised move, she darts behind a screen, and reappears in a scarlet sequinned dress. There she stands, resplendent, triumphant. She is radiant. She has tears in her eyes for ‘her boys’ so far from home. She knows how it feels to be far from hom
e herself. She tells them that her father was a war hero, who was awarded the Iron Cross.
She cracks raunchy jokes, and flirts with her band. She tosses autographed garters into the crowd. She almost brings the house down when she performs her famous trick. She tells the room that she has special powers of mind-reading. She flashes a leg, tosses her hair, and licks her lips, suggestively. She asks the audience to concentrate on whatever came into their minds. Then she walks over to a soldier and says, in an earnest tone, ‘Oh, think of something else, I can‘t possibly talk about that!’
Then she begins to sing, and there is silence.
Outside the barracks by the corner light
I’ll always stand and wait for you at night
We will create a world for two
I’ll wait for you the whole night through
As Papa Hem says, if she had only that voice, she would break your heart with it.
She performs her act, night after night, sometimes with only a box for a stage, but she gives it everything she’s got. And then she seeks out her lover. She hears a rumour that a Free French army is near; she finds him, handsome in his blue uniform, climbs up into his tank and kisses him passionately on the mouth as all the French soldiers cheer. She worries about death in a tank, as it’s the worst of all deaths. You are burned alive.
She flies to Italy. In Bari, she contracts pneumonia. Penicillin saves her life. When she’s not entertaining, she visits every ward, working seventeen-hour shifts, existing on coffee, martinis, and cigarettes. The doctors ask her to wear a lot of perfume before heading to the front-line hospital, because the smell of a woman can make the difference between life and death. When she sees the harsh bright lights blinding the eyes of the soldiers, she orders lampshades at her own expense.
The wards are full of rows of beds and poles with jars of blood – the only sound is the bubbling of blood. The only colour is blood. Life is running into the boys from the bottles. She is asked to speak to the German soldiers. They ask: ‘Are you the real Madou?’ She speaks to them in German. The wounded men ask her to kiss their bandages.
The soldiers scrounge roses and decorate her tent. She takes the flowers when she leaves, so she can decorate her next tent. She sings softly to herself, ‘Where have all the flowers gone? … Where have all the soldiers gone?’
She makes radio broadcasts, intended to reach the German soldiers. ‘Boys, don’t do it. Don’t sacrifice yourselves for that lunatic.’ She knows what they will do if they capture her. They will shave her hair, stone her, and have horses drag her through the streets. But she will evade them. She is given a small pistol to shoot herself in the event that she is discovered.
She takes lovers; so many lovers. She cannot let them go to their deaths without a last act of love. It’s her supreme self-sacrifice.
The Imaginary Baron
My schooling didn’t last for long. My little secret was discovered, and I was sent home to my father. I had a new plan, to study drama. Papi approved of my plan to become a stage actor. I was too ugly to be a movie star, but looks didn’t matter so much for the stage. I hadn’t forgotten Lacy and my love for Shakespeare. I missed Mother when I saw a picture of her in Vogue. She looked wonderful in her Eisenhower jacket and army boots.
Mother and Father insisted that I study at the Max Reinhardt School of Theater on Sunset Boulevard. Gloriosky! I was back in my beloved Hollywood, and without my mother.
One day I was rehearsing when a student ran in: ‘Kater, there’s someone outside for you. You’d better hurry.’
I had no idea why she looked so excited and spoke in such a breathless way. Then I saw him. He was leaning against a red sports car, dressed in navy whites and wearing that huge grin.
‘Jack. What are you doing here?’
‘I’m taking you out for cheeseburgers.’
‘I’ll grab my cardigan.’
Back in the drama studio, the girls stopped whispering and looked at me with surprise.
‘Who’s the mystery man, Kater?’
‘Oh, just a friend.’
I fled before they could ask any more questions, but I was conscious of a new respect in their eyes.
As usual, Jack never commented on food or my weight or asked about my mother. He ordered cheeseburgers, fries and Coca-Cola, and we talked for hours about his family. He joked about them all, and was only silent when I asked about my special friend, Rosemary. Kick was in England working for the Red Cross, and Joe was a fighter pilot. He was shy when I asked him about how it felt to be a war hero.
‘I didn’t have a choice, Kater. It wasn’t bravery. Of course, big brother Joe was furious with me for letting the Japs bomb my boat in the first place.’ He grinned at the thought.
Over cheesecake, we talked about Antibes, and the End-of-the-World Party, and how we swam out to the island together. I could feel the eyes of the other women in the diner resting on him as he talked and laughed. I never wanted the afternoon to end.
When we had finished tea, he did something that I have never forgotten. It will be with me until my dying breath. He told me that he was going to show me something, and that it would be very important and I should be very brave.
We drove to the Santa Monica pier. When we got out of the car, he took my hand and guided me to a building painted with garish colours. He paid for two tickets, and gently pushed me into the first room. He told me that it was a maze, and that the only way of getting out was winding through each of the rooms. At the end of the first long, narrow corridor was a huge mirror, but it was not like any other mirror I had ever seen. It was huge, like Mother’s, but with wavy lines across the middle of the pane.
So he had worked it out. I turned back, shocked, but he just grinned. Go on, Kater, you can do it. It’s just a bit of fun. A hall of mirrors. I took a deep breath and stared straight ahead. Why, it was the funniest thing I had ever seen in my life. My head and torso were stretched out long and flat, like a cartoon character who had been stretched like elastic before springing back into shape. My eyes and teeth were distorted and elongated, my hair looked like it was floating away from my head. I laughed out loud and my teeth jutted out like the mouth of a carthorse. I lifted my arms, and then wriggled my fingers, each digit ballooning hilariously as I waved them back and forth.
The next room had four mirrors, each reflecting a different image, bouncing lights back and forth to produce a queasy, strange effect. Four Katers. As if I’d finally met my quadruplet sisters. Pleased to meet you, I said. I’ve always longed for sisters of my own.
Another of the mirrors was a door, and I pushed through, Jack close behind me. This mirror was curved and bulged, a convex mirror, which made me appear tall and thin. It was me, but it was not me. A thin giantess, with enormous feet.
And then, in a darkened room, I came to the final mirror on the wall, in a beautiful iron frame, spotted and flecked with tiny black marks. A single light shone down from above. I looked into the mirror, and saw the shadow of my mother’s face, for just a glimpse, and I looked almost beautiful. A single tear coursed down my face, which I brushed away, and then I felt a surge of anger. My mother was a liar. A cheat. She told me that mirrors never lie, but they do. And here was the proof. All of my childhood I had never known what was real and what was just an image. The make-believe of Hollywood. The distortions, the artifice, the false doors of the outdoor stage set that could make a short actor look tall and a tall actress look short. It was all lies and cheating.
And it was Jack who understood. Who had brought me here to show me all these illusions. And who had done it without saying a single word.
He dropped me back at school. I took one last look as he smiled and waved before climbing into his sports car. I did not know then that I would never see him again. It’s just as well. I could bear my own misery, but not his. The first gorgeous young man who had been kind to me.
‘Take care,
Kater.’
‘Take care, Jack.’
We both did a pretty good job of not taking care of ourselves.
Dearest Love
Papa Hem stands peering into me, the bathroom mirror, the razor carefully scraping the soap from his throat. Madou perches on the bathtub, watching him, her beautiful legs crossed.
‘Kraut, why are you doing this? It’s dangerous. You know what they would do to you if they capture you.’
‘It’s the decent thing to do.’
‘You know what they did to Boni’s sister; she was beheaded.’
‘I know the risks.’
‘But now you suffer. And the damn itching. War’s no place for a lady.’
‘It’s fine, Papa Hem. I can live with crab lice. Those boys went to their deaths knowing they had slept with Madou. It was a price worth paying.’
‘You look like a combat soldier. The knitted helmet becomes you. You walk like a combat soldier. You even smell like one. So, what happens next? Don’t you think you’ve done enough?’
‘When my leave is over, I’ll go back for another tour. If I die, I die.’
‘You’re brave. Nothing ever happens to the brave.’
‘Maybe.’
‘You’re immortal, my dear Kraut.’
‘Have some champagne. The food is lousy, but the champagne is good.’
‘And what about Kater?’
‘She’s safe in Hollywood, which is more than can be said for my mother. I collect war bonds to pay for the bombs that fall on my beloved Berlin.’
‘But you can’t return to Germany. They will never let you do that. You’re putting lives in danger.’
‘We’ll see. First it’s Iceland, and then Labrador.’
‘So be it, Kraut. But you’d better pack your thermals.’
‘Well, Papa Hem was certainly right about the cold,’ Madou mutters as she cracks the ice in her helmet so that she can wash her face and rinse her stockings. She is making do with a compact instead of a vanity. Large or small, I’m always by her side.