No reaction came. My head was tucked into his chest, but it seemed that his muscles tensed up. I avoided his eyes. The shame was so great that I wanted to get out of his house without having to meet his gaze. Eventually I disengaged myself from his grasp and walked out of his room without lifting my head. He called my name, but he stayed sitting and didn’t try to stop me.
At home, drowning myself in the darkness, I curled up like a fetus in my bed and stayed like that until the next evening. Perhaps there was a knock on the door, but my consciousness was so foggy that it could have been my imagination. I got up from bed that evening, still dressed in the clothes from the previous day, and washed my face and poured myself a glass of water. I had absolutely no appetite.
What to do with myself? Leaving the house was out of the question. I walked among the rooms before finally getting back into bed, where I spent a sleepless night, tossing and turning, but not finding peace. “Nazi, Nazi, Nazi,” the word spun around in my head. I’m the daughter of a Nazi. The understanding began to seep in and wound me. It seemed that my body was bleeding, rivers of blood flowing out of me, emptying me. I wanted to become nothing, to be transparent, so that nobody could see me—not even myself. It was my fault—my childish naïvety and blindness. How could I have not seen it? I hated myself for loving him blindly, for idolizing him. How did I miss the signs?
The guilt was too much—I escaped into sleep. I didn’t leave the house the next day either—didn’t even call to notify work of my absence. Even the simplest of movements was becoming difficult. I stayed in bed on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, not changing my clothes, not answering the telephone when it rang or the door when people knocked. I suspected Roy was looking for me, but I couldn’t look him in the eye. My blanket hid me from the world, and sleep prevented me from dealing with the facts.
On Thursday morning, I heard Donna’s voice calling me from the other side of the door, “Eva, I know you can hear me. Open the door.”
I didn’t answer.
“Eva, I’m warning you… Open the door right now.”
I covered my face with the blanket and turned my head to the wall.
Several minutes went by and then I heard strong pounding. I jumped from bed in a panic. The door was hanging askew on only one hinge, and glass was strewn all over the floor. Roy stood at the entrance, and Donna stood behind him. She pushed him aside and stood in front of me.
“Oh, my God, look at you,” she said in profound shock.
I turned my back to them and walked back to my bedroom.
“No, no, no. No way,” she grabbed my arm firmly and led me straight into the bathroom. I didn’t see Roy—didn’t want to see him. Donna undressed me and stood me under the shower. My body was so weak that I let her do anything she wanted. When I felt dizzy, she held me upright. Several minutes later I was sitting in the living room, wearing clean clothes that Donna chose from the closet. The fast I had inflicted on myself and my lack of movement during the last few days had taken their toll. My vision was blurred and my head was spinning like a carousel.
“Don’t move,” she ordered me.
Roy came out of the kitchen holding a plate with a piece of bread spread with cheese. I turned my face away in disgust. I couldn’t even think about eating. Donna caught my chin in her hand and said in a voice that could not be misunderstood, “Eat this now!” She cut the bread into tiny pieces and put piece after piece in my mouth. My hands were as heavy as lead, hanging lifeless by my side. I felt Roy’s presence, but I didn’t turn my head to look at him. I leaned back on the sofa, my head tilted back and my mouth receiving the pieces of bread fed to me by Donna. A glass of water appeared out of nowhere, and Donna made me drink.
“Start eating gradually. That’s enough for today,” she said in an authoritative voice.
I felt the sofa sink next to me and I knew Roy was sitting down on the other side of me.
“Eva, look at me,” he said in a gentle voice that was unfamiliar to me.
“I can’t,” I answered, my voice choked with tears.
Roy took my face in his hand, turned it toward him and said, “Open your eyes.”
“I’m so ashamed,” I said.
“I know, but you have nothing to be ashamed of.”
“How come I didn’t know about it?” I cried. “How could I not have seen?”
“You were too young to know.”
“Young, ignorant, and blind.”
“OK,” said Donna’s decisive voice. “I think that’s enough for today. You’re coming home with me until Roy fixes the door he broke.” She looked at Roy, and they exchanged a smile that sent an inexplicable pain to my heart.
Donna packed a few clothes for me and within twenty minutes we arrived at her home. This was the first time I had been to her house. The only thing I wanted was to feel a mattress beneath me. She led me into a bedroom, helped me lie down on the bed, and covered me with a thin blanket. I fell asleep before she even left the room and slept continuously for more than twelve hours. When I woke up, it was already afternoon. The house was cool and quiet and only small streams of light filtered in through the slits in the blinds. I got up and waited for the dizziness to pass, then left the room, passing into a small corridor and from there to the living room. Light was coming from the kitchen, where I found her sitting and reading a magazine.
“So, are you back with us?”
I nodded and smiled at her. I said, “Don’t you have to be at the office?”
“Yeah, so what?”
I took a sip of the hot chocolate she gave me. I felt the liquid flow through my veins and little by little I began to feel my organs working. My body began to fill up and my skin once again became a type of thin protection.
18
I went home in the afternoon, thanking Donna and politely refusing her offer to stay another day. The door had been fixed. I went inside, and a pleasant coolness enveloped me. It was warm outside, but the shutters had been closed, and there was a chill to the house. I went into the kitchen and made myself a cup of coffee; when I sat down in my regular chair, I saw the note with Roy’s name and number on it—numbers that were etched into my memory.
I returned to work the next day, trying with all my heart to get back into my routine. Donna greeted me with a smile. She suggested that I work only half a day, but I insisted on returning to my regular hours.
“We’re going out tonight,” she said. I asked if we could postpone till next week.
“You’re not planning on doing your vanishing act again, are you?” she asked with a smile, which I returned.
“No,” I promised.
Roy showed up that evening. It was as if the embarrassing episode with Mickey never happened, and the conversation flowed easily between us.
Autumn was at its peak. Leaves of red and yellow adorned the trees and dangled like earrings on the branches; from time to time they dropped, adding to the vibrant carpet on the ground. People on the streets were wrapped in warm jackets and became more and more scarce. Autumn quickly turned into winter; strong winds began to blow and angrily broke tree branches and twigs. Stores closed early, affected by the early darkness of nightfall.
Mickey and I spoke occasionally on the telephone. He told me he was very busy, although he never explained with what. One day he invited me to spend the weekend with them, but I dodged the offer, saying that it had been a very strenuous week at work. Two weeks later, he invited me to their home again, and I found yet another reason not to accept the invitation. I couldn’t face Mickey and his parents knowing who my father was. I would not be able to keep it to myself when we saw each other. When he asked me for the third time to come visit, he would not accept my excuses.
“Eva, is there something you want to tell me?” he asked.
“What do you mean?” I answered.
“Eva, this is the third time I’ve invited you to our home and you’ve refused to come. Is there something I need to know?”
“No, it’s just that
…”
“Eva, please be direct with me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Did something happen?”
“Yes… No… It’s just that I discovered something that’s very hard for me to talk about.”
“I see. Would you like me to come to you?”
“‘Yes… But not yet.”
“OK. Then I’ll call you soon and we’ll decide, all right?”
“OK, thanks. I’m sorry.”
I didn’t know if there would ever be an appropriate time to tell him, but I delayed any thought on the subject for the time being.
Donna promised to come over and make dinner with me over the weekend. We invited Roy, but he said that he couldn’t make it. She arrived at five o’clock on Saturday afternoon, carrying a large basket of groceries. It was freezing outside. Most people preferred to stay in their homes. Snow began to pile up on the sidewalks, covering them in a white shroud. Donna quickly took control of the kitchen, and I stood next to her obeying her every order.
“Wash the vegetables. Put them in the refrigerator for now. Mix this until it becomes a smooth batter; keep mixing until I tell you to stop. Bring over that baking dish, pour the batter into it, and put it in the oven. Slice five tomatoes and two onions…”
We continued like this for two hours. Donna was extremely efficient and focused. I watched her meticulous movements. It was the same way she worked at the office. She would be leaving in a few weeks. I would have to get used to the idea that I wouldn’t see her every time I raised my eyes.
Suddenly she saw me watching her.
“What?” she asked.
“Nothing… You’re so efficient and know what to do that I’m jealous.”
“Don’t be jealous of me,” she answered. “I wasn’t always like this. Life forced me to learn to take care of myself. I had to trust someone, and the only person I could believe in was myself.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You have no reason to be sorry. It’s all behind me. In some ways, I’m even grateful to them,” she said, deep in thought. “They made me who I am.”
“And love—did you have it?” I asked without thinking.
Donna didn’t answer right away. Her hands stopped moving for a moment and she stared at them in contemplation. She stood that way for a few seconds, and then said, “I did.”
“Can I ask you about it?”
“Well, it’s a very short story. There were two loves. One decided he wasn’t going to leave his home for me, and the second one insisted on children. So, we broke up, and that’s it.”
“Don’t you want children?” I asked cautiously.
“No!” she answered quickly and said no more. I understood that she didn’t want to talk about it, so I let it go. My mind was spinning with questions, but I felt it wasn’t the right time to continue the discussion. Maybe one day she’ll tell me more, and maybe not.
Donna continued to cut vegetables and went to the refrigerator to remove something. Then she went over to the stove, turned down the heat, and licked her finger, and just like that, her tragic story was swallowed up by the routine of her actions.
“And what about the guy?” I whispered.
“Oh, he was killed in a car accident two years later,” she answered.
I was speechless. I spread the white tablecloth on the table and put two plates down. Donna took a bottle of wine out of her grocery basket and put it in the center of the table. “Glasses,” she commanded. She took out a pair of candles from somewhere, lit them, and placed them in the center of the table. The kitchen was fragrant with enticing aromas, and the table was set and inviting. We sat down and she poured wine into our glasses. She lifted her glass, and I followed suit.
“To true friendship and changes for the better,” she toasted.
I replied with, “To a good friend.” We touched glasses and Donna ladled the soup into our bowls. Steam swirled upward from the hot soup and its smell was appealing. Before I could swallow my first spoonful of soup, a loud knock sounded on my door. Donna looked at me, and in response to her silent question, I made it clear that I wasn’t expecting anyone. The insistent knocking came again, this time even louder. It was eight o’clock and extremely dark outside. I got up from my place at the table and went to the door. There was heavy breathing on the other side. I attached the safety chain and slowly opened the door.
I was not prepared for what happened next. The door was forced open and hit the back wall. The chain was torn off like it was just a thin string. An intense stench of alcohol filled my nostrils and I became dizzy. George’s full and solid body stood before me with a drunken smile on his face. His eyes were shiny and saliva dripped from his mouth when he opened it in his malicious grin.
He copied the words of his leader. “My dear child, I came to take you with me.” I was paralyzed with panic. His hand shot out and caressed my face. The touch of his fat fingers felt like sandpaper. I took a step backward, and he came toward me. I feared my body would collapse at his feet, but it kept moving backward until it hit the wall. That was a mistake. He came toward me, and his hands took hold of me on either side. His breath smelled putrid, and his teeth, yellow from nicotine, looked like demented fangs. His face drew close to mine, his body touching mine. My hands pushed against his chest, making him snigger like a saw on metal. His body was on mine and his breath was in my face.
Suddenly it was all over. I heard him scream like an injured animal. His body fell all at once onto the floor, and his hands covered his face. He was screaming and swearing. His body was writhing left and right on the floor in an effort to relieve his pain. He tried for a moment to get up but fell down once again. A hand pulled me toward the living room. I began to feel nauseous and vomit spewed out of me uncontrollably. Donna came and went periodically. A lifetime seemed to pass before I heard her speaking with someone. Everything was foggy. Unidentifiable shadows were moving around me. Finally, the house grew silent. I sat in my own vomit until a hand lifted me up and led me to stand under the shower, dressed me, and seated me like a doll. Several minutes passed, maybe an hour, before I found myself sitting on the couch with Donna next to me.
“What happened?” I asked.
“The police took him.”
“How… How…” I couldn’t finish the sentence.
“I poured the boiling soup on him,” she said. Her mouth twisted into a sliver of a smile.
“No more soup,” I mumbled. She exploded with laughter that echoed around the room and sparked my own irrepressible laughter.
We sat there next to each other, our arms intertwined. We laughed and cried and laughed again.
19
The police called on Monday. They asked me to come in and file a complaint. Immediately afterward, the phone rang again. A familiar voice that I couldn’t place said, “Hello, am I speaking with Eva Brown?”
“Yes,” I answered hesitantly.
“This is Gerard speaking. I understand there was an unpleasant incident on Saturday.” I didn’t react, just waited for him to continue. “You know, George’s actions were very severe. We must punish him. We already thought of an appropriate punishment.”
I said, “Yes…?”
“I believe the punishment he will get from us will be more severe than whatever the courts may decide,” the voice said. It was silent again.
“Sir, what do you want from me?” I asked with dread.
“My dear child—” As soon as he said “dear child,” I knew who he was. “—I am asking that you let us handle the matter.”
His voice was firm, and it was clear that he wasn’t used to being refused.
Thoughts were running around in my head. My first impulse was to agree to his request. He scared me. His voice rekindled the image of him standing on the stage: tough, scary and dangerous. The words “dear child” contained a threat, both then and now, and I was afraid with every bit of my being. I wanted to say OK and hang up, but I didn’t. Something about this conversation was co
nnected to the load I had been carrying on my back for many years—a load related to the life I had and my relationship with my father.
I said, “Sir, I suggest you address the police on the matter, and I ask that you not call me ever again!” I put the receiver in its place. My entire body was shaking. The words may have sounded brave, but my body recognized my fear. I sat down and couldn’t stop shaking. This story wasn’t over.
Roy came over later. Genuine worry was written on his face. “Did he do anything to you? Did he hurt you?” he asked concerned.
“No,” I answered.
“I’m adding more locks to your door,” he said.
I didn’t argue with him. His concern warmed my heart.
“Where were you?”
“I had to work out of town. I was there all weekend. When I got back, Donna told me what happened.”
I felt a small pinch in my chest knowing that he and Donna were speaking to each other without me.
“Come into the kitchen. I’ll make us something to drink.”
I told him about the conversation I had with “dear child.” I saw his body tense up, but he was silent.
“What do you think?” I asked.
“That you need to be careful.”
“Do you think I shouldn’t file charges?”
“I don’t think so. These people are very dangerous.”
“I’m surprised at you, Roy. A policeman willing to back down from punishing a rapist? You want me to ignore his actions?”
He was quiet for a moment, and then said, “I’m worried about you. You’re in this house alone. These people are capable of anything.”
The more he spoke, the more I felt a decision forming in my heart. I owe it to myself, I said to myself. Yes, I owe myself.
“I’m going to file charges for attempted rape tomorrow!” I declared out loud.
Roy must have read the determination on my face, because he didn’t say a word, just nodded.
When I got to the police station, there were other people there, including “dear child” and two other men with him. I tried to ignore his stare, but he made sure I didn’t miss him. Going up to the desk where the duty officer sat, I informed him that I had come to file charges for attempted rape. He looked at me for a moment and sent me to the room to his right with a nod of his head, yelling out, “Don, filing a complaint.”
Life in a Box Page 14
