Tapestry

by Belva Plain

  He crossed the room and put his hands on her shoulders. The ship rocked and they swayed with it. Leah, laughing, steadied herself with her arms about his neck; her hands almost burned the back of his neck.

  Then the laugh died, and she pulled his face toward her own, toward her full ready mouth, and he caught her closer, while everything went whirling: the certainty of what was about to happen and the astonishment that it should be with Leah, here and now. Why should it be Leah? Why should it have been Ilse? he thought in the flash of a second; that, too, had been an unexpected storm.… He had not thought about her in months, even years.

  Now, though, he was answering Leah’s need, matching her need, with all the while this whirl of astonishment in his head as he saw himself, saw themselves hurrying, until they were together on the bed, and the light went out, and the ship rocked and the fire mounted, racing, and would not be put out.

  The crossing was a rough one. The ship pitched and ropes went up in the corridors. Several times, the dining room was almost half empty. But Paul and Leah never missed a meal, not tea and cake at five in the lounge, nor bouillon at eleven in the morning. Side by side, they sat on the promenade deck, wrapped in their rugs, reading or simply gazing out at the gray-green heaving sea.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he watched her as she gazed. Blaming himself as always for being too analytical, for never being able simply to take his pleasures, to accept a gift without looking for motives or pondering where it might lead in the future, he nevertheless proceeded to analyze his feelings. Chiefly, there was gratitude for these few nights that had given him more pleasure than he had had in far too long. He had had no idea … they’d known each other—for how many years? And now this, out of the blue. He chuckled inwardly and felt a surge of tenderness.

  She was a brave, good-natured soul. She’d give you the shirt off her back. He wondered what her expectations might be. She couldn’t possibly be expecting these few nights in her bed to mean anything permanent … still, one couldn’t be sure.

  “What are you thinking?” she asked.

  He started and lied. “Nothing special. Just looking out at where the sky and the water ought to meet, and can’t find the place with all these clouds.”

  “No, you aren’t. You were looking at me.”

  “Well, so I have, some. You’re very nice to look at. Did I tell you I like that plaid suit? I like all your clothes, as a matter of fact.”

  “Do you like me better without clothes?”

  “Need I tell you?”

  She threw the blanket aside and sat up straight on the side of the steamer chair. “I could easily fall in love with you, Paul.”

  He laid his hand over hers, not knowing how to answer.

  She caught his hesitation. “You don’t have to answer. And I’m not asking for anything. Only tell me this much, is it wonderful for you, too, being here like this?”

  “I’m very happy, Leah dear, can’t you tell that I am?”

  She nodded. “Yes, you’ve done more laughing than I remember seeing you do in ages.”

  “That’s true, I have.”

  “Of course, you know I planned this.”

  He grinned. “I suspected as much. But have you—” He didn’t want to say “been in love,” so he said instead, “—had ideas like this for a long time?”

  “It’s hard to say. They’ve been creeping up for a while, I guess. I’ve been with you more these past few years, with you being so close to Hank, and I’ve been seeing other things—” She stopped.

  “Such as?”

  “Well, frankly, that you and Marian aren’t the most blissful pair. I suppose—no, I’m sure, that if I thought you were, nothing like this would have entered my mind.”

  He felt his lips tighten. Some deep inhibition, owing either to pride or loyalty and probably to a combination of both, would not permit him to talk about Marian.

  Leah asked quickly, “Are you offended? I’m sorry. I respect Marian. Everyone does. You’re a respected couple, but I can’t help seeing things, little things. I’ve known you too long not to see.”

  “Let’s put it this way,” he said dryly, “you’re very acute.”

  She searched his face. “Yes, and acute enough to know when to stop. I hope you’re not angry at me now.”

  She looked so appealing that he relented. After all, she had only seen the truth and said it. He got up and pulled her to her feet.

  “Come on, five times around the deck is only a mile. Are you game for two miles?”

  It was so good to be with a healthy woman. No dampness bothered her sinuses, no wind—and the wind was enough to blast you off an open deck—took her breath or disturbed her hairdo; she wasn’t seasick and didn’t tire. They played shuffleboard on the top deck and went swimming in the turquoise pool. They combed through every shop on board. At the movies, they still marveled at pictures that talked.

  And always Paul was aware that attention was being paid to them. People looked when Leah made the grand entrance at the top of those spectacular stairs. He liked to catch their dual reflection on the mirrored walls: himself tall in his tailcoat, and she striking in cream-colored satin or in her black velvet with ermine bands. She still wore a broad diamond wedding ring, as well as the eight-carat solitaire on the other hand. Surely, then, it was assumed that they were married. Because they stayed conspicuously to themselves, it was probably also assumed that they were on their honeymoon. And with good fortune, there was no one on the voyage who recognized either one of them.

  To think that he had looked forward to a restful, solitary six days at sea! This was the liveliest time he had ever had, as she transferred to him her own delight in everything. He couldn’t remember when he had had such pleasure in dancing, sliding with the roll of the ship, with the sweetness of Leah’s Shalimar under his nose.

  Only sometimes … sometimes when they were dancing, a sudden pang like a stitch in the side or a shooting dart through the temple, would come as he thought of Anna. Leah, were she in Anna’s place, would not let conscience restrain her; she would come to me, if only for a day or a night; she would find a way. She would let me know our child. Fear would never hold Leah back.

  Then he would scold himself, repeating his own sensible admonition: What’s past is past. Go forward.

  The time went too quickly. When the paper hats and the noisemakers appeared at the Captain’s Dinner on the next to last night, the mood changed. One prepared to rearrange one’s luggage and to be early in line at the purser’s window in the morning to change money. Paul was to debark at Southampton, while Leah would continue across the Channel to Le Havre.

  She sighed. “I wish we could go on for another week, don’t you?”

  “I do. But if I were to keep on feeling younger every day, I’d probably be back in grade school after another week.”

  “You’ve made me very happy, Paul.”

  Hearing the little quiver in her throat, he kept his own tone light. “We’ve made each other happy and that’s a big part of what life’s about.” This is no time to sort out one’s feelings; indeed, must they always be sorted out? “It’s been an unexpected gift from the gods. So let’s simply say thank you to the gods and take what comes one day at a time. Does that make sense to you?”

  She said at once, “Perfect sense. Absolutely perfect.”

  “When you get to the Crillon, change my room reservation to the same floor as yours. I’ll be there on the first. And have a time for yourself till I get there.”

  “I will. Who can help having a time for himself in Paris? But Paul, do be careful in Germany. You’re very much needed. Hank needs you.”

  Clever girl. Not “I need you,” but “Hank needs you.” Clever girl.

  “I’ll be careful,” he said.

  Eleven

  Down from the fairy-tale world of the ship, Paul descended into reality. In handsome Belgravia drawing rooms and once in a grand half-timbered country house, he sat among grim-faced gentlemen, the lead
ers of the Jewish community in England. They were a varied group, the same as at home, except that in this country a few bore titles. Others were the sons of immigrants. All were fearful as they gave reports of bad news.

  Almost a quarter of the Jews in Germany, deprived of their means of livelihood, were now reduced to eating in charity kitchens, the charity being largely given by America’s Joint Distribution Committee and by the Central Jewish Fund in England. Even as Paul handed over the large check which he had been empowered to bring, he was aware that in the face of fresh disaster, it was not large enough. How much would ever be enough? he wondered.

  The British government, Balfour Report or no, was tightly limiting the numbers of Jews allowed to go to Palestine. Powerful industrial interests, fearful of offending the Arabs, were holding firm control. The attitude of the British upper classes toward the persecutions in Germany ranged from indifference to—and this, to Paul who had so loved England, was most shockingly painful—approval. Lloyd George himself, upon returning from Germany, had actually praised Hitler as a bold achiever who had taken hold of a foundering economy, set it afloat, and brought order out of chaos.

  He was given a list of people to see when he went to Germany: heads of a Kultusgemeinde, rabbis, and business leaders. He prepared to set forth. The few personal business appointments he had to keep in the City were suddenly of diminished importance, as the fact of Germany loomed closer. As he boarded the boat train, and looked out at the wintry sunlight glistening on suburban rooftops, he felt that, disappointing as England had been, he was leaving a flowering meadow to enter into the moldy cellar that was Germany.

  On the train to Berlin, he would have liked to plug his ears and shut out the sound of American and British voices. They were the animated voices of tourists who were coming here for pleasure. He recognized the feeling that one has on the way to the funeral of somebody one has known all one’s life. There was the same dragging at the stomach, the same tightness in the throat. So he sat buried in his thoughts.

  At the great central railroad station, he took a taxi and gave Joachim’s address. It was late afternoon. The streets were jammed with shoppers and homebound traffic. The taxi’s crawl gave Paul a chance to observe and read signs. In spite of all he had heard, the reality seemed not quite plausible. Signs in windows and on hoardings: DON’T BUY FROM JEWS. And everywhere the Brownshirts, singly and in groups, all swaggering and inordinately tall. Then he thought, that’s absurd, they’re no taller than I am. It’s just my fear.

  And he felt for the American passport in his breast pocket, where it lay along with the checks and lists. He felt as though he were carrying a gun to protect himself. And yet there had been tales of foreigners who, in spite of orders that foreigners were not to be harmed, had mysteriously been run over or fallen out of windows.

  The taxi turned into a residential quarter. Wide streets, old trees, and the even facades of the apartment buildings declared that it was an expensive quarter. So it was true that Joachim was doing well. The courtyard into which they drove was much like the one he had had in Munich, with tall wrought-iron gates and flourishing evergreens in stone pots. Paul paid the taxi and was directed to the floor above.

  The door was opened at once when he rang, and Joachim’s arms went around him.

  “Thirteen years!” he cried. “Thirteen years!” His eyes were wet. “Elisabeth, where are you? Our American is back.”

  She came running from an inner room. “Oh, how bad you are! You promised to come with Marian and spend a summer vacation with us. You waited all this time and now you come again without her. Well, never mind, we mustn’t scold you. Come in. So much has happened, we have so much to talk about.”

  She was still voluble, still blond and pretty, except that, like most German women, she had grown too plump.

  “And here’s our Gina. You remember Regina?”

  She was an athletic wiry girl, about fifteen years old, with long curly hair and a strong-featured face. Around her neck, over a plain gray sweater, hung a small Star of David on a gold chain.

  “You were two years old when I met you,” he told her.

  “And this is Klaus, Klaus Wilhelm. You never met.”

  “How are you, Klaus? You weren’t born yet when I was here … you look like your father.”

  The boy smiled. Good, Paul thought. At his age, I would have resented a dumb remark like that, but no one ever made it because I didn’t look like my father. He winked at Klaus, who returned the wink.

  “We’ve got dinner all ready,” Elisabeth said. “You must be starved. I hope you are.”

  “I’m sorry I’m later than I said I would be. The train was late and the traffic coming from the station was unbelievable.”

  “Yes, there’s plenty of traffic. Everyone’s busy working and buying.” Joachim’s voice boomed with enthusiasm. “Here, let me take your bags. Wash up and join us when you’re ready.”

  On the way to the guest room, Paul took in a quick impression of the home, recognizing the Biedermeier desk, the Empire chairs, the Bechstein piano, the gloomy library, the ferns and the marble mantels. All was the same as before, except perhaps larger, more lofty and ornate.

  Joachim took his place at the end of the same long refectory table. “Come sit next to me, Paul. Elisabeth has a feast prepared. It’s not like the last time. Remember the inflation, when we had to measure the sugar and the butter? We were so afraid we wouldn’t have enough for you. No, it’s not like that anymore,” He unfolded his napkin and waited for his wife and daughter to bring dishes in from the kitchen. “We have no maids, you see. Our two helpers had to leave us after fifteen years. Irma we had longer than we’ve had Gina. Imagine! But Aryan women may not work for us. The government is afraid I will seduce them. Imagine me and Irma, that beefy, good-hearted creature! Do you know, she cried, she didn’t want to leave us? Poor soul.”

  An enormous roast was placed in front of Joachim. He sharpened the carving knife and began to make expert slices. “Ah, that smells delicious. Just the right flavoring. Let me have your plate, Paul. Gina, give Cousin Paul the gravy boat. Yes, they do all right, my two girls. The apartment is really too large for them to handle without help, it’s too bad. Still I feel it’s beautiful here and it’s home, so we manage. There’s no point in trying to find someplace else.”

  “Especially,” Gina said clearly, “when we’re going to leave Germany anyway.”

  “Well, of course, unless there should be a military coup first and Hitler thrown out,” her father replied. “And that will happen sooner rather than later, I’ll wager. The old Prussian army people are all against him. They despise him, you know.” He tucked his napkin in. “Potato pancakes, Paul? You see, as long as one can eat well, things can’t be all that bad.”

  Paul said quietly, “We hear there’s great need. The local Jewish communities don’t have the income they used to have and can’t meet the need. That’s true, isn’t it?”

  “It’s true that many Jews have been bankrupted. But those were the smaller, weaker firms in the first place. The people who do a big import-export trade, you see, those people bring foreign exchange into Germany and that’s what the country needs, so nobody molests them. There are thousands, maybe fifty thousand Jewish firms still operating, like ours. We’re doing splendidly, all this will pass like a bad dream. It will pass and be forgotten. I know my family thinks I’m stupid. Stupid but lovable, eh, Liebchen?” He touched his wife’s hand. “But believe me, I know what I’m doing.”

  No one disputed him, and Joachim continued. “Of course, I’m aware that there’s never enough money to help everyone who needs it. When was there ever enough? We do what we can. I know I do. Elisabeth will bear me out. She knows what I give.”

  “No one ever said you were not generous, Joachim,” Elisabeth said. “But that’s not what I think Paul means.”

  “I’ve brought a considerable sum,” Paul said, “raised in the New York area. And there will be more coming from other parts
of the United States and from England also. I can speak freely here, I feel. This is cash for clandestine use, for anyone who may need to get out in a hurry. To speak frankly, for bribes, to get to Palestine or anywhere.”

  A silence fell over the table. The candle flames jumped, making eerie hollows in the still faces, and by contrast, darkening the farther ends of the room, so that it became a cave, and one had a sensation of something hovering behind one’s back.

  Elisabeth was the first to speak again. “How long will you be here, Paul?”

  “Only a few days. I’ve come on Jewish affairs only, nothing private. After that, I go to Paris on private banking business.” He turned to Joachim, saying seriously, “I have lists, names of people I should see. Forgive me for interrupting the dinner, but I feel such urgency. Will you take a look at this, please, Joachim? Are any of these men people you know?”

  Joachim scanned the paper. “This one is my rabbi. I can take you to see him anytime. He lives right near here.”

  “I shouldn’t want to disturb him in his home.”

  “He’s used to that these days. We hold big meetings, community affairs, in private homes instead of public halls. You never know who’ll be there when you announce a public meeting.”

  “Yes, you know very well,” Elisabeth said. “The Gestapo will be there. They’re at temple services, everywhere. That’s how we live, in fear and trembling. The whole world ought to know how we live.”

  Joachim interrupted her. “The whole world knows too much, that’s the trouble. And talks too much. Please, Paul, take no offense, but I have to tell you if your people in America and all the rest of Europe would stop your publicity and your agitation, we here would be better off. You’re only fanning the flames. Left alone, they would no doubt gradually die down and we would survive in peace.”

  Elisabeth gave a long, audible sigh. Klaus rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. Only the young girl answered back.