The White House
Page 2
‘Opa, Opa, Opa!’ screamed Aisha.
Saul swept her up into his arms and gave her a tight squeeze. He moved in for a kiss, but she was already struggling free of his grasp. With the blind faith that only children have, Aisha leapt through the air fully expecting to be caught by her Grandmother, which of course, she was.
‘Oma, Oma!’
Hannah managed to plant several kisses on the girl before she flexed her body, making it impossible for her to be carried and dropped to the ground.
‘No kisses’, Aisha said wiping her face. ’EEEEE’.
The customers ate up the scene forgetting their shopping needs. Aisha was a frequent and welcome visitor to the store and often ‘helped’ Hannah by counting out change and taking orders.
‘What do you mean, no kisses?’ said Hannah. ‘You’re never too old for a kiss from your Oma’.
Aisha was on the move again. The greetings over she made a beeline to the cake counter, trainers squeaking on the wooden floor.
‘Opa, look, cake!’
Saul wandered over to her.
‘I know, I made them.’
Hannah glanced at the customers who still wanted serving.
‘Anja, I need some help here,’ Hannah shouted into the back. She continued where Saul had left off with the cheesecake until Anja entered the shop front.
‘Can you take over for a while?’ Hannah said and then without waiting for an answer added ’Four slices for Petra. No charge’.
The stressed mother was not far behind her daughter. Sara used one of the two suitcases she was carrying to push open the door to the bakery, the blue rucksack on her back scraping the doorframe as she entered. She had her long brown hair tied up in a ponytail and wore black jeans and a stained white T-shirt that hugged her breasts. She dropped the cases.
‘Aisha, when I say stop you stop. Don’t run away from me like that. Hi, Mama.’
Aisha deaf to the reprimand was concentrating on the cakes, dipping them out as her lips moved to a rhyme only she could hear.
Hannah hugged her daughter, picked a fallen strand of hair from her T-shirt, letting it fall to the floor and picked up the cases carrying them to the back.
‘Can I have that one, Opa?’ said Aisha, having come to the end of the rhyme, perfectly content with the random selection: it wasn’t always that way and often she would have to sing the rhyme again and again until she got the right one.
‘You can if you say sorry to your Mama,’ Saul replied.
‘Sorry, Mama. I want that one!’
Saul slid open the glass cabinet and gave Aisha her slice of Frankfurter Kranz, which she started to devour immediately rather than wait for the plate and fork which Saul was fetching her. Saul placed the redundant items next to her just in case and made his way to Sara.
‘Thanks for doing this, Papa,’ she said offering her forehead for him to kiss.
‘Our pleasure. Where’s Ben?’
‘In the car-’
‘What? He can’t come in to say goodbye?’ Hannah interjected. She had reappeared carrying an old battered suitcase and a large paper bag.
‘We’re late, Mama.’
Hannah looked like she was about to protest when Saul cut her off, successful this time in his role as peacekeeper.
‘It’s fine. Say hello from us.’
‘Thanks, Papa,’ said Sara, relieved that there would be no pointless fighting. She turned to her mother, eyeing the new suitcase with suspicion.
‘What’s that?’
‘Some things for your sister, some things for my sister and some food,’ said Hannah handing over the paper bag and placing the suitcase at Sara’s feet.
In the distance the telephone began to ring and Anja left the shop front to answer it.
‘Mama…’ Sara started to say, her hazel eyes pleading for Saul to step in.
‘What? You never take your baggage allowance and-
‘We still have to carry it.’ She turned to Saul for support, ‘Papa?’
‘Telephone for you, Saul.’ shouted Anja.
‘Saved by the bell,’ Saul smiled and kissed Sara once more. ‘Have a good holiday’.
Saul stepped away from the discussion already knowing the outcome. Not many people stood a chance against Hannah.
‘What carry? You check it in,’ he heard Hannah say.
‘Food? We’re going to New York. They have Jews there, Mama’.
‘Home cooking is home cooking—’
Is the last thing Saul heard before the door leading to the back rooms of the store closed behind him.
He was still smiling moments later when he entered the tiny office that was Hannah’s domain. It was nothing fancy but Hannah managed the space well. A small desk that stood on a rug, a phone, in and out trays and her Filofax. Against the wall bookshelves filled with files that contained invoices, accounts, supplier contact details and a few well worn but dusty books on how to run a successful home business.
There was also a calendar that told the world it was still November 1986. Hannah liked the photograph of Albert Bridge lit up at night. It had taken a while for them to realise that with no children in the house they were free. The only problem was what to do with the business. After much debate they had decided to trust Timo and Anja with the store; after all what was the point of having money if they did not enjoy it? It was to be their first holiday alone in more than twenty-five years. They had decided on London as it was not too far if anything should happen and not too close to be boring. On the first day she had bought the calendar; laughing at how much the tourist she was but insisting that the photographs were art and so it was actually a good buy. They had used it as their sightseeing guide: Big Ben, St Paul’s Cathedral, Westminster Abbey, Hyde Park, Harrods (although why this was a site Saul never knew), Buckingham Palace, Trafalgar Square, Monument, Notting Hill market and Camden Town (never again). They had crossed Albert Bridge following their walk through Battersea Park on their way back to their Chelsea hotel. She had stopped in the middle of the bridge and told him she loved him. He had reciprocated. He meant it too. He could not remember the last time prior to that night they had said those words to each other. The twelfth site was The Tower of London.
Saul sank into the swivel chair glad to rest his knees. He put the phone to his ear.
‘Hello?’
‘Professor?’ said the voice. Saul’s smile vanished instantly, his stomach churning and his hand gripping the smooth black plastic of the handle tight enough to squeeze the colour out of his knuckles.
‘What?’ Saul replied.
‘It’s Isaac Blum.’
‘Hello, Isaac.’ Cautious.
‘I thought I’d see you at the funeral.’
‘I’m a Cohen.’
‘I need to see you, Saul.’
Saul was unable to speak.
‘Saul? Mark was murdered, I need to-‘
At the turn of the door handle Saul slammed the phone down. Hannah and Aisha entered.
‘Who was that?’
‘Nothing. Did she take the extra baggage?’
‘Of course. I’m taking Aisha home. She wants to see HER room.’
‘That’s right,’ said Saul recovering his smile. ‘It used to be your Mama’s room and now it’s yours.’
‘I know and I get to sleep in a big, big bed!’ said Aisha excitedly.
It was not until a few minutes after they had left that Saul tried to stand and realised he couldn’t. He was shaking. He couldn’t stop. On the wall, Albert Bridge lit up at night. Saul stared at the photograph trying to recapture the magic of that night; seeing himself and Hannah on the bridge and replaying the words they had spoken to each other, but the big picture was no good to him. Only when he had recreated the entire environment: the sounds of the river; the breeze on his face; the traffic; the bird song and the smell of Battersea park mingled with the fuggy Thames, was he able to relax.
CHAPTER 3
‘What is it?’ said Saul, starting under his neck. There was a satisfying scrape as the double edged safety razor did its work clearing a path of pink surrounded by shaving cream.
‘Come look at this.’
‘What?’
‘You have to see it. Quick’
Saul rinsed off his face, dried it, grabbed his vest and followed Hannah down the hall, the floorboards making their familiar music as they walked. He carried the vest as he did not have time to dry thoroughly and his grey chest hair was still damp; he would have to let that air- dry now. Hannah had talked Saul out of moving to a smaller place after the children had left. He argued that one hundred and eighty square metres on the third floor would be too much for them soon. Hannah’s answer had been to get help. He never liked the idea of having a stranger in the house cleaning after them but like many things, he now wondered how they had managed all those years without. Typical of many Berlin Altbau flats, the apartment had high ceilings, wooden floors and a large balcony that overlooked the quiet Giesebrechtstrasse, which branched off the famous Kurfürstendamm. The interior of the apartment was a reflection on just how good business had been for Saul and Hannah: expensive but ‘low key’ was the phrase used in the magazines that Hannah bought.
This was home and Saul could not imagine living anywhere else. It wasn’t just the memories of bringing up three children here but it was more that this place had become his nest. He knew every nook and cranny, what lay behind the wallpaper and cupboards and paint. Each layer of decoration like the ring of a tree. Time and fashion and past and present, like a residue he could wipe with his fingers and examine anytime he wanted. It was true that his parents and siblings had never lived here but sometimes he could feel them too. Maybe ghosts were like that. They followed the person and kept him company and when they felt at home, they stayed. Sometimes he would find himself in Aaron’s room and believe it was his parent’s bedroom. For a moment he could smell his mother’s violet tones and her voice like tapping on mahogany echoing from the past. Long enough to be detected, short enough to be forgotten the second the room was Aaron’s again.
Hannah stopped outside Sara’s old room and put a finger to her lips. With the other hand she turned the brass door handle and the two of them crept into the darkness.
Light from the hall illuminated the double bed on which Aisha lay fast asleep. They had placed armchairs at strategic intervals around the bed in an attempt to fashion a make shift barrier that would prevent Aisha falling out. The blankets had been kicked off and the little girl slept like a baby: arms and legs spread out like she was making a snow angel and her long hair floating on the pillow. Saul and Hannah absorbing every detail, exchanging looks of blind love and happiness only grandparents can give. After a while Saul gently squeezed Hannah’s shoulder and she bent down and covered the child up.
The master bedroom had the balcony and large double doors that led to it. In the afternoons when he came home from work Saul would take coffee there; even during the Berlin winters where temperatures could drop to minus twenty Celsius, Saul could be seen wrapped up and drinking his coffee standing.
Saul, now wearing his T-shirt, sat on the edge of the king-sized bed with Hannah sitting on the floor between his legs. He brushed her hair as he did every night. She had begun to cut her hair progressively shorter with age. Long hair is for young women she had said and so what started out many years ago as a ritual that could have lasted twenty minutes, now took about five. She still dyed her hair though. Apparently, grey hair did not belong to older women, at least not this one.
Saul in contrast left his hair to nature. He was surprised to still have some as his father had been bald and his brothers-
No. That’s enough of that.
How sly thoughts were. A lifetime of disciplined subterfuge and yet still they persisted in their mutiny. He could find himself thinking something and not even know it until it was all over. This was the problem with the brain. Most people thought it served them, but in reality the brain served itself; had its own agenda. He knew that because he had been fighting a war with his brain for all his adult life. After all these years the robot had to be ever alert. He knew he would never be able to let his guard down.
The light from his bedside lamp caught the side of Hannah’s hair betraying a few stragglers. He switched the brush to his left hand revealing a dark shadow of a tattoo on his forearm:
149222
He barely noticed it these days. He often felt that it had become part of his soul rather than his body. Defining him so that removal would serve no purpose. When it was fresh he thought he could feel the ridges it carved into his body but now he reckoned he had imagined that and that he could never feel it as one could feel a foreign object on ones body.
Hannah spoke first:
‘Six years old and she still sleeps like a baby.’
‘We are always in control, even when we sleep. Ready?’
‘That’s true freedom. A bit more please.’
He kept brushing and she continued.
‘When did you start smoking?’
‘I thought I had got away with it,’ he said smiling. ‘I figured at my age, what can it hurt?’
‘It’s expensive.’
‘We have-’ but the word was gone.
What was that word?
‘M-‘
‘Money?’ She completed his sentence. ‘Expensive is being closed down, Saul.’
‘Yes, well I quit today. So you have to find something else to worry about. You know I think Timo and Anja are scared of you.’ He kissed the top of her head. ‘Done,’ and handed her the brush.
They got under the thin summer sheets. She ignored his attempt at distraction.
‘You are my worry.’
‘Me? I’m the happiest man you know.’
‘You are the only man I know.’
He smiled reassuringly and kissed her.
‘Sleep well.’
Saul hit the light switch. Darkness. And sleep for Hannah. Saul never really slept or at least he did not think he slept, at any rate it wasn’t like the sleep he had had before. He managed to get by with a waking comatose kind of sleep; the kind of sleep you experience on a plane. Tonight even that evaded him. Recent events had caused a rupture in the seabed of his mind and he found himself unable to stop the past from escaping and making a dash for air. As he listened to Hannah’s steady breathing he tried to steer the thoughts to ones he liked.
They had met in a bakery.
Only when Europe was at peace did Saul discover that he was not; that wars ended only for the unconcerned and the dead. He considered himself lucky he was still single. No woman would stick around when she discovered her man screamed in his sleep or woke up drenched in sweat and urine.
He tried to talk about it. He tried to tell. But no one wanted to hear and no one wanted to believe that such things were possible. They were not the criminals: it was over and it was time to get on. So he shut his mouth and tried to get on.
At first he came back to Berlin, but there was nothing there and after so many years away even his memories were not enough to reconstruct the paths to his old haunts. A shell of what once was. He learned that a city was like any other living being. It had organs and veins and skin all of which needed to be nourished. A dead city rotted like any organic being. The pictures of a devastated Berlin only told half the story and even his experience in the camps did not prepare him for what was to greet his olfactory system.
There was no home waiting for him and rather than dwell on the past he took a job in reconstruction. Continuing his education was not an option even if he wanted to do it.
Reconstruction was a nice word for what he did: rubble remover would have been a more accurate description. Still, he felt lifting bricks was bet
ter than lifting-
Stop it.
The downsides were two-fold. There was no organising, so no: olives, cheese, cigarettes, tinned meat, alcohol or even jewels that could be traded for food. They never kept any jewels they found; that was the fastest way to die. They were useless anyway and were traded to them for food and booze. The second was that nobody wanted him there: so he had left for the new state of Israel. A country where they would be safe at last.
Saul took the fist job that was offered, never thinking it would become his trade and saviour. The unsocial hours he worked were the key to his recovery. He found that by staying awake for as long as he could at night and then waking up in the early hours to make bread; he could get by on two or three hours sleep a day. In the first weeks he was so exhausted that he hardly dreamt at all. After a few months his body adjusted to this pattern and the dreams returned, so launched a counter offensive: He slept in a chair.
About a year later he met Hannah. She was on holiday with her parents and had come into the store for bagels. They were sold out. Saul promised her that if she came back the next day he would keep some back for her. She did. And she kept coming back.
Hannah’s family had been one of the lucky ones. Her father had seen the writing on the wall and managed to get them all to England in 1936. The rest of her family, her uncles and aunts, were not so lucky. Saul often wondered if he had met them.
He decided there and then never to tell. How could he? What would she say? How could she understand? How could anyone? The downside was immense, Saul could not countenance the slightest change in the way she smiled at him or held his hand when they walked. There would be the slightest of refrains and that would be enough to destroy him. The world believed they had all been killed, who was he to convince them otherwise? This was his chance to live and he swallowed it like a hungry man inhales soup.
He deposited that experience in an unbreakable vault and put to sea. When the ship arrived over the deepest part of the ocean he threw the vault overboard and watched it sink to the bottom of the seabed; it was so heavy it actually sunk into the sand and remained buried from sight. He decided to live just as some of the victims had requested: there was no point in surviving if you did not live and love.