Legacy of Silence

by Belva Plain

  “Okay? All aboard!” They climbed in, the two women sitting in back with the luggage.

  So they entered the stone alleys of the city, a place unimagined in spite of all the photographs that had gone around the world. The sky-high towers were narrow as needles; it seemed miraculous that they did not fall. The sidewalks were clogged with people, pushing and rushing. They looked poor and sweaty in the heat. Then suddenly came wide avenues with glittering shops and fashionable people going in and out. Then came narrow streets again, this time with shady trees and baby carriages. Caroline and Lore were silent, gathering it all in.

  Jake turned around. “Capital of the world. What do you think of it so far?”

  “I don’t know enough to think anything yet. It’s bewildering,” Caroline replied.

  “Say, you have an English accent, don’t you? How’s that?”

  “I had an English governess for many years.” She felt self-conscious. This man would not be familiar with governesses. He might get the wrong idea about her. And yet she knew that being completely open was the only way.

  He was equally open. “We’re plain people. I only recognize the accent from the movies. I’ll tell you, I never thought I’d live to see another war.”

  “It will be far away from you, I’m sure.”

  “Are you kidding? We’ll be in it soon enough. Not me, I’m forty-five, but the young guys will.”

  Walter, she thought, and was stabbed. He deserves to die, she thought, and was stabbed again.

  There was no help, no escape from her thoughts. From every angle, they pierced. And she leaned toward the window to concentrate on the scene instead, to fill her head.

  The city went on and on. They went over a bridge, there were more bridges that seemed to connect with each other, there were bays and inlets with boats, and still it was New York.

  “Enormous,” Lore murmured, speaking German, “but I wouldn’t want to stay here.”

  “Why? Do you like a smaller place better?” asked Jake. And seeing Lore’s discomfiture, he explained. “I can understand some German. I grew up hearing Yiddish, and it’s a relative, you know.”

  “I didn’t mean—” began Lore.

  “It’s okay. You two have to decide where you want to go. This is a big country, and there are committees that can help you find a place in it. Don’t worry.”

  For the first time, Lew spoke. “You ladies listen to Jake. He’ll steer you right. He knows his way around.”

  Here they were in a car with these two strange men, driving through strange streets. It was like reading Kafka, or seeing a Dali landscape, where time was a warped clock seen in a dream. The streets rolled past; gas stations, groceries, shoe stores, and lines of identical houses repeated themselves without end. And suddenly they stopped.

  “Home,” Jake said. “This is it. And not too much later than I expected, either.”

  There was a row of stores, and above them curtained windows, some with flowerpots on the sills. Jake pointed upward.

  “See the red geraniums there over the Right and Ready Dry Cleaners sign? That’s our flat. Annie’s crazy about flowers. Come on up. She’s all excited about you.”

  They climbed the stairs, which were narrow, dark, and clean. Cooking smells from roasting meat and onions drifted down. No doubt that was Annie waiting at the top; in the dimness, Caroline saw a flowered apron and outspread arms.

  “Oh, my God, you’re here!” First Caroline, then Lore, were taken into a hot embrace. Annie was crying and laughing. “I don’t believe it. Really you. How are you? I thought you would never get here. Where are the rest of you? The Hartzingers?”

  “Not now, that’s a long story. Later, Annie,” Jake said. “Let them get in first and catch their breath.”

  Surely there was no precedent anywhere for a meeting like this one. You could fall on your knees and thank these rescuers. You could burst into tears or you could be stricken dumb. Caroline and Lore were, for the moment, stricken dumb.

  “Go in, go in,” Jake commanded. “You’ll have to excuse Annie. She gets emotional.” For Annie had started to cry. “Annie, don’t burn the roast. I’ll show them their room. Now there’s the bathroom at the end of the hall. This here is for you, twin beds and a nice lamp between. I’ve put in a bright bulb in case you like to read in bed, though maybe you’ll be too tired tonight. You want to change clothes? If you do, Lew and I’ll bring your things right now, but I think Annie’s got the food ready, so maybe—”

  “We’ll wash quickly. We won’t keep her waiting.”

  “Great.” Jake rubbed his hands. “Smells good. Annie’s a great cook.”

  He left them standing in the middle of the room. Between the two beds and the large dresser, there was scarcely space to do more than stand. The summer evening beyond the window sent a weak shaft of light across the brown and tan interior, the tan walls and rug, the varnished brown furniture. Caroline walked to the window and saw the rear of a building similar to this one; a boy stared silently at her across a fire escape. Behind him hung a torn curtain. When she turned back to Lore, there was a weight of sadness in her chest.

  “I could cry,” she said.

  “Does it seem as awful as all that to you?”

  “No. Because of their goodness, I meant.”

  They went in to dinner. Four places had been set on a small table covered with a smooth white cloth. At the center were some red geraniums in a jelly jar.

  “Jake and I, being alone now, usually eat in the kitchen,” Annie explained. “This table that folds we keep for company. First I had it set for six, but I took the plates off just now when I saw—”

  “Annie, please, I asked you—” began Jake.

  Caroline stopped him. “It’s all right. We have to face the truth. My parents haven’t been able to get out. I don’t know where they are.”

  “I’m sorry,” Annie said. “Sorry about it and sorry that I brought up the subject. We know all about it. So many people in this neighborhood have relatives or friends over there. The world has gone crazy. And you are sisters? You don’t look alike at all.”

  “Annie!” Jake protested with such desperation that Caroline had to smile.

  “It’s all right,” Caroline said for the second time, and after giving them a brief family history, went on to tell them that Lore was a beginner in English, but that if they would speak Yiddish, she might understand some of it. “Speak slowly,” she added.

  The result was some fairly successful conversation over a hearty dinner. By the end of it, Lore and Caroline knew a good deal about the Sandlers. He was a house painter. She worked downtown in a basement housewares department. They had two sons, who had gone to California colleges on part scholarship and had decided afterward to stay there.

  “Annie has five more years to get her twenty-five-year bonus, and then maybe we’ll join them. Me, I can be a painter anyplace,” Jake said. “Now let’s talk about you folks. Seems to me the first thing you need to do is cable your friends in Switzerland and tell them you arrived safely. But that’s in the morning. Right now you must be knocked out. Lew and I will bring your stuff upstairs here, you can unpack what you need and get to bed. Tomorrow we’ll talk more.”

  So ended the first day.

  LORE had made a list. “Number one,” she announced, “we need a doctor for you. Number two, sell the rings. Then go to one of the aid committees Jake told about and get some advice about where to go. A small town will be cheaper.”

  “I won’t get much tutoring work in a small town.”

  “In a couple of months, you won’t get much work of any kind anywhere, Caroline.”

  “Then what are we going to do?”

  “I’ll get work. I can get a job without having a nursing license. I can take care of some old sick person at home. And we ought to get good money out of the rings. We’ll sell only one of the four to start. Save the rest in case we hear from …” Lore did not finish.

  In case Mama got her visa, she meant. Ins
tead, she said, “Here, read this. It’s the doctor’s address. Annie said we’ll need a taxi.”

  “You told her about me?”

  “I told her nothing except that you haven’t been feeling right. She called the doctor before she went to work this morning.”

  Caroline looked around the little parlor, to which the Sandlers referred as the “front room.” The table had been folded up, and for the last two days, ever since their first dinner, they had all been eating in the kitchen as “part of the family,” Jake said. The meagerness of the parlor, with its maroon three-piece set of sofa and matching chairs, its tired-looking rug and ugly, bulky radio, saddened her now and she said so.

  She touched her heart. “I feel so sad for them.”

  “Sad? Why should you?”

  “Because they’re so wonderful and kind, and it’s not fair for them to be poor.”

  “Poor!” cried Lore. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. You haven’t the slightest idea what poverty is.”

  She spoke so sharply that Caroline was taken aback. But then, she reminded herself, Lore is apt to do that sometimes, though only to me, never of course to Father and Mama.

  “Being poor, Caroline, is having no job, no roof over your head, and nothing to eat.”

  Rebuked, she said nothing. Clearly, she still had a great deal more to learn about the world. And, heavy with all her anxieties, she rode in the taxi beside Lore, whose silence must have been as anxious as her own.

  Suddenly, Lore spoke. “You look terrified. But it may all be a false alarm. That often happens. By the way, the doctor’s a woman. That should make it easier for you.”

  Yes, it would. But she was certain that the alarm was real. Her morning nausea, though it was lessening, had not left her. It was with her now as the cab lurched through traffic and bucked to a final stop before a building as unhappy-looking as a courthouse or an unemployment office.

  The doctor was gray-haired, plain, and shrewd. She saw at once that Caroline was trembling, and Caroline knew she had seen it.

  “Sit down,” she said easily. “I’m told you don’t have any trouble with English. That’s a big help for me. I don’t know any languages, although my grandparents did come from Europe. You’ve just come from there, too, I understand.”

  Annie Sandler had reported everything. You couldn’t blame people for having, along with charity, some curiosity, some sense of the great drama that was playing in Europe. They had no way of knowing what anguish it brought to keep describing it, again and again. And she hoped that this doctor would not ask a hundred questions.

  The doctor said, “I read the papers and all the reports every day, so I have a fair idea of what you’re going through. And I’m not going to bring up the subject, especially since there’s nothing you can do about it right now, anyway. Tell me instead why you are here. Something about your nausea, is it?”

  Caroline nodded. She saw the woman glance at her left hand. There was no sense in playing games. Come out with the truth. Get it over with.

  “I think I might be pregnant,” she said, and blurted then, “Oh God, I hope not.”

  “Well, we’ll simply have to have a look, won’t we.”

  An inner door was partly open, revealing a cold whiteness: chrome, shining objects behind glass doors, sheets on a high, narrow table. The doctor, still observing Caroline, caught the glance; she caught everything.

  “Have you ever had an examination?” she asked. “No? Well, don’t be afraid of it. There’s no pain. It’s only a little bit uncomfortable. So we’ll start with that.”

  And here it was. “Next spring, around the middle of March, you’ll be a mother, Caroline.”

  A mother. On the way to the shops, you passed the maternity hospital. “It was a lovely summer morning,” Mama said. “You came at eight o’clock, in time for breakfast. We took you home in a yellow dress and cap. Not pink. I wanted to be different. So many friends came to see you. The house was full of people and presents wrapped in tissue paper.”

  A mother has a home and friends and time to care about the color of the baby clothes. A mother has a ring. She has the man who put it on her finger.

  “Are you all right?” asked the doctor.

  “I’ll have to be.” She wiped her eyes angrily, roughly, with the back of her hand. “I’m so ashamed. What a clumsy thing to do with one’s life. I’m so ashamed.”

  The doctor, handing her a tissue, spoke mildly. “I know. In your milieu it’s not supposed to happen. But it happens.”

  Your milieu. She sees my dress, Caroline thought, the proper, dark summer dress that one wears in the city. No doubt things are the same here as at home. People recognize each other’s differences the way Jake recognized my accent.

  “Your parents, if things go well for them, and I pray that they will, will not cast you away, my dear. It will be hard for you all, but it will work out. In the meantime, take very good care of yourself. If you move away from here, find a doctor and do what you’re told. You’re a beautiful young woman, and beauty always helps.”

  “So?” asked Lore when they were out on the sidewalk.

  “So, you were right.”

  “I thought so.”

  Caroline lowered her head. In a few months’ time, she would most likely not even be able to see her feet.

  “I’ve made a mess of things,” she said.

  “Well, it happened, and there’s no sense mourning over it.”

  On the return ride they were quiet again. A hot wind, bearing grit and smelling of chemicals, blew in at the windows. The streets were doleful. This was not the other New York of the photographs, the leafy avenues and grand vistas through which they had passed a few days ago.

  “We need to think about money,” Lore said. “That’s number two on the list.”

  “I should think we have to see the refugee committee about where to go.”

  They couldn’t possibly stay here. The poorest little town, a log cabin—did they still have log cabins in America?—with trees and grass and sky, would make it easier to bear whatever would have to be borne.

  “First we need money. No matter what they say about it, we owe the Sandlers a little something. Then, no matter where we go, we’ll need to pay rent. I wonder whether Jake has any idea how we can best sell the rings. I wouldn’t be surprised if he has. He’s a practical man.”

  “Practical like you, Lore. What would I do here without you? I’m a useless dependent, a fool, a burden even to myself.” And there in the taxicab, Caroline broke into soundless weeping.

  ON a pillow, gathering all the room’s meager light, lay the four rings. There was a sapphire, two diamonds—one of them glorious even to an amateur’s eyes, the other less so—and a ruby. Lore caressed them one by one.

  “Your mama said she had always loved rubies. She called them lovers’ gems. Heart’s blood, she said. I think it hurt your father that he couldn’t let her keep this.”

  When Lore put it on her own finger, it went only as far as the knuckle. “My hands are too big. You try it. Hold your hand up, so I can see.”

  It meant nothing to Caroline. A sparkle, that was all. It was hard to believe that this small object could be worth more than a decent house.

  “Which do you like better, Caroline, this or the round diamond? It’s almost flawless, worth a fortune.”

  “To tell you the truth, I can easily do without either. I can name a few things I need much more. Things like a peaceful mind.”

  Lore put the rings away and sighed. “Well, some lucky women are going to be wearing them. I asked Jake for advice about selling them. He’s got a friend who’ll come over this week and price them for us. He works for one of the best jewelry stores in the city. Then we’ll know enough not to be cheated.”

  “I’ll leave it to you, Lore. It’s not that I’m lazy. I just can’t seem to think. My brain’s sick.” She flung herself down on the bed. “Oh, Lore, I don’t want this baby. I don’t want any baby now, but especially no
t this one. What shall I do with it? Will I hate it? I’m afraid I will, because I hate it now. I hate the way it was—was made.”

  The little grove. Crickets and stars and sweet grass. Made for lovers, he said, lying to me, using me.

  “With each minute that goes by, my hatred grows. Do you understand? I shall never, never trust a man again as long as I live.”

  “No, no, you don’t mean that. Think about your father. And Dr. Schmidt. And Jake Sandler. You can tell by looking at Annie what a good man Jake is.”

  Caroline gave a bitter laugh. “What are you trying to do, persuade me to find a husband?”

  “You’re laughing. Actually, that’s what Annie said you need.”

  “What? You’ve told Annie?” She sprang up off the bed, screaming at Lore. “You had no right! This trouble is my business, not Annie’s or anybody’s. You had no right to shame me so—” Anger cut off her words.

  “Now look here,” Lore said calmly. “It’s also my business. Don’t forget that. Can you imagine yourself here alone? Your parents wanted me to be a protection for you, and they didn’t even know the half of it, did they? We’re going to need a lot of help before we’re through, Caroline. Let’s not be so independent. This is a big country, and we’re lost in it the minute we step out of this front door.”

  Chastened, Caroline said only, “It’s that—what can she think of me?”

  “That you’re in trouble. That’s all she thinks. You’ve seen for yourself what kind of people these are.”

  “I don’t believe there’s anything more they can do for us than they are already doing.”

  “We don’t know that yet. Now go fix your eyes, if you can, so they won’t see you’ve been crying. Act natural. Nobody’s going to say a word. I’m going in to make the dinner. After a woman works all day, it’s nice not to have to make dinner. That’s the least I can do.”

  “That’s what you said in Switzerland.”

  “Well, it’s the truth. Also, I’m going to ask Jake how soon his jeweler friend can come over.”