A Shadowed Livery

by Charlie Garratt

  Just inside the door he turned to me and put his finger to his lips, urging me to stay still and keep quiet. He then went through to the kitchen and told Mama she had a visitor. Her shrieks when she saw me would have awakened the dead. She hugged me so tight, with cries of ‘Jacob, Jacob’, I could scarcely catch my breath and I was grateful when Eli and Sarah came through to divert her.

  ‘See children, your brother is home. Go hug him, go on.’

  Sarah didn’t need Mama’s prompting and soon she had her arms around me almost as tightly as her mother had minutes before. She could barely reach round my waist until she pressed her dark curls hard into my stomach.

  ‘Jacob, where have you been? Are you staying for Shabbat? Are you?’

  I couldn’t help but look across at Mama. Her head was nodding so violently I feared she’d do herself an injury.

  ‘All right, all right, my little zhaba, I’ll stay if Mama will have me.’

  At this my sister squealed then quickly tried to put on her sternest face.

  ‘Don’t call me that, it makes me sound so ugly.’

  I laughed and tickled her.

  ‘Zhaba, zhaba, zhaba, Sarah’s a little zhaba.’

  When she was born and my father and I saw her for the first time, she was flat on her stomach with arms and legs spread on both sides. He turned to me, smiling, and said she looked like a toad, “zhaba” in his native Russian, and the name had stuck with baby Sarah from then onwards.

  Eli was more reticent than his younger sister, staying back, framed by the passageway through to the bedrooms. I saw a flash of annoyance in his eyes. Here was I, the prodigal returned, and lavished with every bit of affection Mama and our sister could muster. It was too late in the day for the fatted calf to be slaughtered but Eli must have thought Father would have done it if he’d had the opportunity. I reached out my hand.

  ‘Here Eli — gut Shabbos — won’t you come closer and let me see how much you’ve grown since I was last here?’

  He maintained his distance, and his frostiness.

  ‘Don’t be so foolish Jacob, how could I have grown much in so little a time? It’s hardly six months since you came over last.’

  I turned to Father.

  ‘Tell him, he has grown, hasn’t he? I’m sure when I came for Passover he was only at Mama’s shoulder and now he’s definitely as high as her ears.’

  Father smiled, responding to my wink.

  ‘You know, I think you’re right. I wouldn’t notice it myself, of course, seeing him every day, but now you’ve pointed it out I’m sure it’s true. What do you say, Mama?’

  She turned and made to put her arm around Eli to pull him to her. The boy dodged away with a grimace but then drew himself to his full height and walked awkwardly forward to take my hand. He even laid his forehead briefly on my chest and slapped me on the back with his free hand.

  ‘It’s good to see you, Jacob.’

  I was glad he had come round and now seemed genuinely pleased to see me. I think it must always be difficult when brothers are so far apart in age, and in our case this was made more so by my living so far away.

  The next hour was spent on their weekly ritual. Washing and dressing, assisting Mama with decorating the table, preparing the lamps to illuminate our lives for the next fifteen or sixteen hours, and several dozen other small jobs which are carried out week in and week out in Jewish homes throughout the world. This was a pleasant time in the family, like making ready the house for the arrival of an important visitor, for in many ways that is how Sabbath is viewed. Each person knows their place and the tasks they are to undertake, each moving quietly, trying to finish everything in the allotted time.

  Eventually the work was complete and, as darkness descended outside, Mama covered her eyes whilst reciting the berakhot and lighting the menorah. This blessing and ritual, with the stillness surrounding it, always signals the formal commencement of the weekly event, before the family leaves for the synagogue.

  It was almost a half hour’s walk through the dark streets of the city, but this was no lonely quest, with the family’s friends and neighbours alongside us. There were no children running around, nor pointless banter amongst the adults, for this is a serious undertaking. Not sad, nor solemn, but a communal opportunity to take stock and prepare oneself to be with God. Such conversation as there was took place in quiet tones and on matters of importance: the news from Europe; family illnesses and deaths; the state of business. Several friends of my father talked heatedly about the attacks on Jewish businesses in the city and berated me for the lack of progress by the police in finding out who was behind it. I tried to explain we were doing our best but it wasn’t easy. Even though we’d managed to catch Bishop and Stack this still wasn’t enough as far as they were concerned. For the first time I was left in no doubt how much anxiety there was in the Jewish community and once again I was wishing Dyer hadn’t handed the case over to Terry Gleeson.

  Dotted throughout this procession were groups of men, their dark-hatted heads bowed together, discussing the interpretation of one particular religious text or another. Occasionally one would throw his hands in the air and raise his eyes skyward in clear frustration with his fellow devotees but, generally, this kind of animation was left for around and inside the synagogue itself.

  The front and steps of the building were packed by groups of men displaying the liveliness of debate that reared its head on the walk down. Scattered amongst them, sharing stories of home and family, were many women who my mother knew and we separated soon after arriving, she and Sarah joining them, whilst Eli, my father and I congregated with the men. I found myself the subject of much back-slapping and hand-shaking, with a little admonition for staying away too long thrown in.

  After the service and the long walk back home, which if anything was even more sombre than the one down, we enjoyed a delightful, leisurely meal prepared by Mama earlier in the day.

  ‘Are you still here, Jacob?’

  We’d left the rest of the family to clear up after dinner and come through to the parlour.

  ‘Wha— Oh, sorry Father, I was miles away, considering your question.’

  ‘Well? Is there a reason you’ve come to visit?

  ‘No, not really.’ I gathered my courage. ‘Frankly, I had to come into Birmingham to meet someone but there is something I want to ask you while I’m here.’

  He leaned back and looked across at me with some apprehension.

  ‘You have a problem, Jacob?’

  ‘No, not so much a problem. It’s just I’ve recently met a woman again who I knew a while ago. We became very close but then something happened and she left. I still like her and I know she still likes me. I’m thinking it might possibly become even more serious this time and wanted to know how you might feel.’

  ‘What I might feel? What is it to do with me? I’m sure at your age this isn’t the first time you’ve taken a girl out, is it, and I don’t remember you asking me before?’

  I laughed because he was right, of course. I’d run away to sea at sixteen and hadn’t spoken to him for years afterwards. I’d written to my mother from time to time, just to let her know I was alive, but the girls I’d met on my travels weren’t often the sort you’d tell your parents about. I didn’t start visiting again until the day my father’s world fell apart.

  The call came on a Saturday afternoon in November 1936 and I knew something must be seriously wrong for him to break Shabbat. I’d read in the newspaper that Franco’s forces had inflicted heavy casualties in the battle to control Madrid. My father’s tears told me the rest. Ariel, his first born, my brother, had been killed by a grenade, fighting for his beliefs. I’d given up on establishing a Socialist Utopia at the first hurdle, perhaps my heart wasn’t in it, or perhaps I just didn’t have his raw courage but Ariel had been a trade unionist, a Communist and a freedom fighter, and he’d put me to shame. It was inevitable in many ways that he would answer the call from his comrades in Spain. It was also p
redictable he’d be one of the ones to die there.

  So I’d gone home to comfort my parents and we made our peace. I knew I’d never replace my elder brother but at least I could support my father when he needed it. It was the year after Elizabeth left me.

  ‘No, Father, it’s not the first time, even with Elizabeth, but there’s something you need to know. She’s a Gentile.’

  I spoke the final words so quietly I wasn’t sure he’d heard them. His silence seemed to confirm this, so I repeated myself, this time more loudly.

  ‘I heard you the first time, Jacob, just give me a moment to gather my thoughts.’ He lifted his head and spoke. ‘This is not so great a surprise, son, you’ve been growing apart from us again for a while now.’

  I leaned over and touched his forearm.

  ‘I’m not growing apart from you, Father. Don’t I come over whenever I can? And I think of you all every day.’

  ‘No, not the family. Whatever else I might think, you are a good son. It’s what we are that you’re losing. The congregation. Your faith. Your heritage. When was the last time you were at the synagogue before today? When did you last celebrate Shabbat — I imagine it was last time you were here?’

  ‘It’s difficult.’

  ‘I know it’s difficult, Jacob, that’s the whole point. If God had wanted our lives to be easy he’d have left us in the Garden of Eden. We’re still being punished for Adam’s indiscretion and each day we’re required to make atonement. We need to show we’re grateful for the gifts he’s bestowed on us.’

  So, we’d come to the rock and the hard place, he with his beliefs and me with mine. I’d half expected him to shout and rage when he heard my news but this was more his style. Reasonable and conciliatory. He continued quietly.

  ‘I think it’s easier for me, here. I have the family, our neighbours, our friends. All the people who work with me are Jews, and most of those I trade with are as well. It’s our universe. I could no more miss going to the synagogue than miss kissing your sister goodnight or miss opening the workshop in the morning. I’m sure it’s much harder out there in the big wide world. One hears such awful stories.’

  He didn’t know the half of it. Certainly, my father would see the news and his own experiences in Russia would acquaint him with the hatred of Jews but he’d know little of how it reared its head in polite English society. He’d even seemed bewildered earlier in the evening when we’d discussed the beatings, almost as if he’d been blocking them out of his consciousness. I’d never told him how much I felt it necessary to hide my Jewish upbringing from people in my normal life but it was obvious he had an inkling of the truth. It wasn’t difficult to see how he’d have known because I’d never made any secret of my changed name, but there were more subtle alterations I’d made. The way I dressed, the way I had my hair cut, the way I’d transformed my accent away from Birmingham boy with Russian parents to something vague, born out of practice and contact with a dozen languages in a hundred different ports. I’d wandered incessantly where the ships and fancy took me, to places like Scandinavia, Germany, the Mediterranean, America, and even to the west coast of Africa. In those days I’d whiled away my long off-watch hours drinking and playing cards, gambling away the wages I was earning and my only prayers were for a better hand.

  The sad thing was I hadn’t hidden my faith because of some realisation I no longer believed but simply out of fear. I wasn’t strong enough to be taken at face value in the real world. It was perhaps the reason I’d pursued Bishop so aggressively, my personal atonement for abandoning my people when they were constantly under threat.

  ‘You’re right, Father, it isn’t easy outside this place. And I’ve seen things which would break the faith of any man. But don’t think I’ve forsaken it just yet. I’m a little bewildered, that’s all. This is why I’m asking you about Elizabeth now; I need you to say you understand. That you won’t cut me off if she and I take this further.’

  He smiled and leaned back in his armchair.

  ‘Jacob, you’re my son. The eldest, now Ariel has gone from us. Why would I cut you off? I love my God dearly, but I love my family too. There are many worse things you could do in this world than get yourself mixed up with a Gentile. It’s not what I’d have wanted but neither is it my destiny to walk the path you’ve to walk. If you think you and she can be happy then you have my blessing — but let’s keep it from Mama for a while, or else she’ll have the wedding planned before you know it!’

  We chatted about lighter things for a few minutes but I could see he was bothered by something else.

  ‘You seem anxious, Father, what is it? Is mother all right?’

  ‘She’s fine, Jacob.’

  ‘Then you, is it you? Sarah? Eli?’

  ‘No, no, we’re fine.’

  ‘So what is it, if there’s nothing wrong?’

  ‘I didn’t say there was nothing wrong, Jacob. I’ve had a letter from your Uncle Gideon. I’m really worried for him.’

  Gideon was my mother’s brother and lived in Germany. When my parents came to England from Russia, Gideon and his family decided not to travel quite so far, hoping, I suppose, things would settle down at home and they’d be able to move back.

  ‘Why, what’s he said?’

  ‘It seems they’ve been told to leave.’

  ‘Who? Uncle Gideon and his family?’

  ‘No, not just them. All of the Jews in Germany are being told they have to go back to where they came from. But Gideon’s been there in Bremen for over thirty years now, it’s his home. How can they be trying to send him back to Russia?’

  ‘From what I hear he might be better off getting out while he can. The newspapers are full of stories of beatings — and worse — of Jews over there.’

  I’d visited my uncle and his family once when I was between ships, just before I changed my name. He’d let me stay for a while until I sorted myself out but it wasn’t a good place for Jews even back then. Hitler had just been released from prison and was stirring up trouble everywhere he went. There was even a march by his supporters through Bremen itself to celebrate the man’s birthday when I was there. I was glad to leave the place.

  ‘Is there anything you can do to help Jacob? Anything at all?’

  I could hear the desperation in his voice and knew my mother must have been asking him the same question.

  ‘Like what, Father? I have no influence in Germany, I’m not sure anyone here in England has any at present.’

  ‘Not in Germany, son, but here — here in England. You must know someone who could help Gideon come over to join us. You’re a policeman, an Inspector even, surely you have contacts.’

  Although it was a serious situation, it somehow pleased me my father thought I was important enough to be able to help, especially after our conversation earlier.

  ‘I don’t have those kinds of contacts, Father, but I’ll ask around. I met a man recently who works in the Foreign Office. I’m seeing him tomorrow so I can ask if he has any suggestions.’

  He seemed satisfied with this but I found myself uneasy. I hadn’t a clue how I, or Haleson, might help. I knew Uncle Gideon’s must be just one of thousands of Jewish families trying to leave Germany for England or America. Anything to avoid going back east to the places they’d fled from many years before. It wasn’t appropriate for me to be attempting to gain influence through someone I’d met in the course of an ongoing investigation. I was sure to get into trouble if anyone found out but I half-convinced myself Alan Haleson seemed a decent enough chap, and probably not a suspect in the case, so decided I’d chance speaking to him about it the next day.

  I found myself thinking of a photograph hanging above my desk at home. It shows a row of wooden houses on the side of a muddy dirt road. One of them has a double door opened to reveal a workshop inside. It’s my grandfather’s house. Outside, posed with fixed expressions stand two men, my grandfather and my father. An elderly woman is seated by their side and, behind her, linking arms with t
he younger man, stands my mother. I always imagine, rather than see, the slight bulge which is the beginning of Ariel, my elder brother. In the middle of the street is another family group. It is my Uncle Gideon, his wife and two children, cousins Anna and Lev. Everyone in the photograph has bare feet, the cold mud oozing up through their toes. I know this scene is no longer there, the homes burnt down by Christian neighbours. Is this the Russia my relatives are being forced to return to?

  Eight

  Alan Haleson sat across the table from me: a handsome young man, his precise age hidden under the guise of the British civil servant. His formal dark suit, complete with gold chain securing the fob watch in his waistcoat pocket, with an equally dark overcoat smothering the back of his chair, provided him with a gravitas that had been absent when we had met in the Victory. The only flash of colour was his tie, a turquoise and yellow affair probably from some minor public school. Haleson’s sombre dress was in stark contrast to the magnificently ornate station buffet in which we found ourselves. Its high ceiling was decorated with plaster vines, cherubs and elaborate bosses picked out in gold leaf, green, red and robin’s egg blue. Unfortunately, this splendour was clouded by the pall of smoke hanging in the air, which arose from gusts blowing in from the platform whenever a customer opened the door and from the vapours pouring from cigars and cigarettes all around. Even Haleson himself puffed away on a pipe, smoke wreathing his face each time he exhaled.

  ‘Thank you for meeting me here, Inspector, it’s good of you and saves me a little time.’

  ‘It’s no problem, sir, I was in Birmingham anyway visiting my family and will be taking the train myself back to Kenilworth later.’