by Anita Abriel
Rabbi Gorem reminded Vera of a clothes hanger. His coat hung on his gaunt frame and his almost-bald head had gray tufts of hair.
“You must be Vera.” He stood up and held out his hand. “Your father said you would be the prettiest woman in the hotel lobby.”
“Thank you.” Vera shook his hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”
He smiled at Vera. “The pleasure is mine. There’s nothing lovelier than a girl on her wedding day.”
“Where would you like to talk?” Vera asked. It was almost noon and the lobby bustled with activity. Bellboys carried steamer trunks, and well-dressed men and women sat in high-backed chairs sipping coffee and reading newspapers.
“Let’s walk in the gardens,” Rabbi Gorem suggested. “I spent the last fifty-five years battling Polish winters; the Venezuelan climate is still a pleasant surprise.”
The Majestic’s gardens had manicured lawns and lush oak trees. Flower beds flanked stone pathways and a fountain trickled.
“My family and I arrived from Poland last July,” he began. “We were lucky; my wife’s cousin settled in Caracas before the war. At first I didn’t want to come. We are from a small town in Poland called Krosno. At the beginning of the war the Germans installed a Judenrat—a small group of Jewish leaders who were in charge of the community. We didn’t have it easy; the Germans destroyed the glass-blowing factory and by the time the fighting ended, the Russians had bombed the rest of the town.
“Our house was near the graveyard where there are gravestones commemorating my parents and our son Josef. Josef died at Bergen-Belsen.” He paused. “After the war, my wife wanted to take our three surviving children somewhere new. I argued that the town needed its rabbi. She looked at me and said it’s easier to care for the souls of the dead than the conscience of those who survived.”
“What do you mean?” Vera asked curiously.
“Human beings are tricky. In Krosno, when we learned of those who died in battle or in the camps, we could mourn knowing there was nothing we could have done to save them.
“But it was different for the survivors of the concentration camps. Their lives were like a spin of the roulette wheel. Why did my friend Avram go to the gas chamber and not me? Why did a young boy like Sandor die from tuberculosis and I survived?”
“My father told you about Sandor?” Vera gasped.
“Lawrence is intelligent, and intelligence can be a burden when you’ve witnessed so much pain. It makes you ask questions that have no answers.” Rabbi Gorem went on. “Your father thinks that as a survivor he must have something to teach others, or why else was he spared? But he tried listening to Mozart and reading Plato and Sartre and came up with nothing. That’s why he wanted to ask you a favor.”
“A favor?” Vera repeated.
“If you have a son, he would like his middle name to be Lawrence.”
Vera looked up sharply. Jews never named their children after living parents. They used their ancestors’ names only to honor the dead.
“Don’t worry. He convinced me he’s not planning on dying anytime soon.” Rabbi Gorem noticed her expression and chuckled. “He doesn’t think he will be able to pass on any wealth or wisdom to his grandchildren, but he would like to give them something.” He looked at Vera. “All he could think of was his name.”
“I see.” Vera’s eyes welled up. “Why a son’s middle name and why didn’t he ask me himself?”
“He didn’t want to break tradition completely by calling your son Lawrence; the middle name will be enough.” He paused. “And he wanted my permission first. I told him God has grown a bit more lenient, like the air stewardess on a transatlantic flight who allows you to use the restroom when the ‘fasten your seat belt’ sign is still on.”
“I’ve never flown in a plane,” Vera laughed.
He rolled his eyes. “It’s a terrifying experience. There’s a reason only God lives in the clouds; the rest of us are more comfortable on earth.”
“Tell my father that Ricardo and I would be honored to give our son his name,” Vera said.
They walked back to the lobby together and Rabbi Gorem rested his hand on Vera’s arm. “Children are the greatest blessing. May you have a happy home filled with boys and girls.”
* * *
Vera sat in the study in the Albees’ villa and tried to stop her heart from racing. A hotel car had transported her from her suite at the Majestic to the villa and now she waited for the ceremony to begin. The wedding guests were already gathered in the Albees’ living room. Ricardo and the judge were sequestered in the library, going over the judge’s speech.
All brides were nervous; it didn’t mean anything. And Ricardo had been so kind: sending more roses to her suite with a box tied with a gold ribbon. Inside was a pair of long white gloves with the note:
For my bride. You will be the most beautiful woman at the ball.
A knock sounded at the door. She answered it.
“Is it all right to come in?” Alessandra stood in the hall. She wore a mauve dress and her dark hair was coiled on the top of her head.
“Please do,” Vera said. “Ricardo insisted I wait in here. It’s bad luck for the guests to see the bride.”
“I’ve never seen Ricardo so excited.” She smiled at Vera. “I didn’t come to offer advice or tell you how nervous I was on my wedding day. Brides get too much advice these days. I only came to tell you how happy we are that you’re joining the family.”
“Thank you.” Vera nodded. “I’m very lucky.”
“We’re all lucky.” She gave Vera a quick hug. “I’ll have a daughter-in-law and hopefully soon more grandchildren. Venezuela is like Europe: family is everything.”
Alessandra left and there was another knock on the door. Edith appeared in a stunning aquamarine dress with a matching hat.
“Can I come in?” Edith asked.
“Come quickly.” Vera peered into the hallway.
Edith entered the room and studied the ivory dress and pearl necklace.
“A bride really does have a special glow.” Edith nodded her approval. “You’re more beautiful than at the fitting.”
“I’m so nervous, I can’t breathe. I keep worrying about how Ricardo likes his coffee and if I’ll be able to read in bed after he goes to sleep. Will I have to ask Ricardo for money or will he give me a household allowance?” She paused. “But those things will work out. What scares me most is being without my best friend.” She looked at Edith. “I don’t know how I’m going to survive without you every day.”
Edith hugged her and stifled a laugh. “Who said I’m going anywhere? I’m a terrible cook. I’ll be over for dinner twice a week.”
“I hope so, how else will I improve my recipes? Alessandra offered to lend me her cook, but I want to learn my way around the kitchen myself,” Vera joked, and her tone softened. “I love you more than a sister. You’re my other half.”
Edith returned to the living room and Vera touched up her hair. She heard footsteps outside, and her father stood in the hall. His suit jacket hung on him and his head looked too big for his body.
“Gyönyörű Vera, my beautiful Vera,” he said in Hungarian. “We must go; they’re waiting.”
“I’m ready.” She replied, grabbing the bouquet of violets. It was only after a few steps that she realized her father wasn’t next to her. She found him hovering at the door to the study.
“I was fixing my tie,” he said, but there were tears in his eyes.
“Your tie is perfect.” She examined it.
He took her arm and smiled weakly. “Then I suppose I have no more excuses.”
* * *
Vera stood in the ballroom of the Majestic and sipped a glass of champagne. Her back ached from dancing and her head throbbed from the music, but she didn’t want her wedding day to end.
Ricardo had looked so handsome standing at the altar. Her doubts had dissolved when she saw the love in his eyes. And seeing her parents sitting in the Albees’ living room when just a few months
ago she thought they were dead, made her heart swell.
The smile Edith gave her when their eyes met was almost too much to bear. They had been through so much together—how could Vera abandon her? But during cocktails, Ricardo introduced Edith to his cousin, Jorge, who had just returned from a screen test in Hollywood. Edith whispered to Ricardo that she wasn’t looking for a man, but Ricardo seated them at the same table anyway.
When the doors of the ballroom opened, Vera couldn’t believe her eyes. Every inch of carpet was covered with elegantly set tables, and there were more orchids than in the botanical gardens in Budapest. The orchestra played a medley of Frank Sinatra songs. She had to crane her neck to see the top of the six-tier wedding cake.
The best part was having the people she loved in the same place. Her father was too weak to dance, but her mother danced with Ricardo and his father. Julius looked elegant in a new jacket, and Lola stayed briefly with her beau. Pedro gave a moving speech, and Ricardo spun Vera across the dance floor to the sounds of Louis Armstrong and Glenn Miller.
“Here’s the bride.” Robert approached her. “I haven’t been able to get close enough to the bride and groom to say congratulations.”
“There’s quite a crowd,” Vera laughed, waving at the tables. “Ricardo keeps introducing me to people, but I can’t remember so many names.”
“It’s a beautiful night,” Robert said. “I’m happy for you.”
“Thank you. It’s been wonderful.” She searched the dance floor. “Where’s Edith?”
“Trying to ignore the advances of Ricardo’s cousin,” Robert said with a grin. “He keeps telling her he can set her up with a screen test and she keeps saying she’s a dress designer.”
“You’ve been so kind to help Edith with her career,” Vera said. In the last few months, Vera had finally acknowledged that Robert’s interest in Edith was purely business.
“Don’t you remember when we met at Kitty’s fashion show, I told you Edith had real talent?” Robert sipped his champagne. “I keep telling her she should come to New York. You and Ricardo should come too. You can stay at the wonderful Wight Hotel on Fifth Avenue. My wife, Daisy, is a proud New Yorker; she loves to show off her city.”
Vera remembered all the things Anton was going to show her in New York: his parents’ club and Tavern on the Green. They were going to take carriage rides in Central Park and go ice-skating in Rockefeller Center.
“Excuse me,” she said, her heart beating faster. “I need to use the powder room.”
She walked halfway across the ballroom when she felt a hand on her arm. She turned and Ricardo stood in front of her.
“Are you all right?” Ricardo asked. “You’re white as a ghost.”
“I must have drunk too much champagne; I have a terrible headache.”
“Are you sure it doesn’t have anything to do with Edith’s friend Robert?” Ricardo asked.
“What are you talking about?” Vera wondered.
“I saw you talking to him and then you hurried away,” Ricardo said.
Vera ran her hands over the glorious white chiffon gown. Today was the most wonderful day of her life. She couldn’t let her thoughts of Anton or Ricardo’s small jealousies ruin their happiness.
“I’m only hurrying to find you.” She kissed him. “I don’t want to be apart from my new husband.”
* * *
The dinner dance finally ended and Vera and Ricardo went up to their suite. Vera entered the dressing room and closed the door. She peeled off her gloves and studied her reflection in the mirror.
Ricardo rustled around in the bedroom and she tried not to panic. Would he be naked when she appeared? There was nothing to be afraid of. Making love couldn’t be so different, even if it was with a new man.
She changed into the silk negligee that Edith made for her and dabbed her wrists with perfume. When she opened the door, Ricardo was sitting against the pillows. There was a bottle of brandy on the bedside table and he wore a white undershirt.
“My darling Vera,” he said. “Come here.”
Vera crossed the room, hoping he didn’t notice the trepidation in her eyes. Her hair fell loosely to her shoulders and her feet were bare.
“We’ve had enough champagne, perhaps some cognac instead?” He pointed to the brandy snifters.
“Nothing for me.” She was afraid he’d notice that her hands were shaking if she picked up the glass.
“You’re cold and you’re shaking.” He took her hand and she sat on the bed.
“It was a long day; I’m just tired.”
Ricardo leaned forward and kissed her. His mouth was warm from the brandy and he smelled of aftershave. “Not too tired, I hope?”
Vera took a deep breath. She had found the courage to board a ship and start a new life in Caracas. Surely she could go to bed with a man she had feelings for.
“Not too tired,” she whispered, and kissed him back.
Ricardo untied the string on her nightgown. He peeled back the bedspread and waited while Vera lay down. Then he took off his shirt and covered her body with kisses.
Vera closed her eyes and let herself be carried away. Ricardo was slow and thoughtful, whispering between caresses that he adored her. Then suddenly he was on top of her and she felt the same piercing pain she remembered with Anton.
“Vera, tu eres mia, you are all mine,” he whispered, and then moaned and collapsed against her breasts.
Vera lay perfectly still until Ricardo’s eyes closed and his breathing was even. She wriggled from underneath him and pulled on her negligee.
For some reason, her mind went to the final scene in Gone with the Wind. She remembered Rhett Butler running down the staircase and flinging open the door, and Scarlett O’Hara wondering if he would ever return.
Vera felt like Scarlett. It was because of Vera that Anton went away. If only she had shown him she loved him enough not to need children, they would be together.
Vera poured a shot of brandy and curled up in an armchair. She couldn’t lie to herself; she still loved Anton. Tomorrow Ricardo would load their suitcases into the royal-blue Lagonda and they would set out on their honeymoon.
But tonight she would nurse the tear in her heart from missing Anton. After all, she knew from Edith that a tear could easily be repaired. All it took was a piece of thread and a few stitches.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
December 1947
The sun streamed through the window of Vera’s new dining room and she admired the linen chairs and the sideboard with its silver punch bowl and brass candlesticks.
She and Ricardo returned from their honeymoon a week before, and Edith was coming for lunch. Vera spent all morning making the house perfect. She took out the china they received as a wedding present and bought lilies because they were Edith’s favorite flowers. She even asked Alessandra’s cook, Valeria, for her recipe for coconut cookies.
It was silly to go to so much trouble. At the Dunkels’ farm, she and Edith ate bread and cheese with their hands and drank milk moments after it came from the cow because they were too hungry to wait. But she wanted to show Edith that she was good at her new role as Ricardo’s wife.
Vera and Ricardo spent their honeymoon at a hotel on Choroni Beach. For three hours they drove through the mountains on winding roads so perilous, Vera was tempted to close her eyes. But Ricardo laughed that she would miss the best parts and he was right. She couldn’t believe the scenery flying past their car: waterfalls and rushing rivers; tropical birds and a huge, short-haired animal that Ricardo called a tapir.
The hours of gripping the dashboard were worth it when they arrived in Choroni. The town featured colonial buildings and a bay where fishing boats bobbed at the dock. There was a cove for swimming in water the shade of aquamarine.
During the day they took walks on the white sand and at night they danced under the moonlight. Vera enjoyed their lovemaking. Ricardo was skillful, and when she closed her eyes, her body responded to his touch.
There was the time when Ricardo picked up her hand to admire her engagement ring and she was terrified he knew it was fake. But he only kissed her fingers and said her beauty outshone any diamond. There was the evening they played bridge with another young couple. The husband sat close to Vera and afterward Ricardo was in a terrible mood. Vera made sure the next night they played cards with an older couple celebrating their twentieth anniversary.
There was a knock at the door and Vera hurried to open it.
“You’re here.” Vera hugged Edith. “I’ve been so nervous I already polished the silver twice.”
“Why are you nervous?” Edith walked into the living room. The portrait Julius painted of Vera hung above the fireplace and there was a wool rug and matching sofas.
“You’re used to Kitty and her friends in their fancy villas; I wanted to show you I could keep house.”
“It’s beautiful.” Edith pulled off her gloves. She sat on the sofa and took a pack of cigarettes from her purse. “Do you mind?” she asked.
“You don’t smoke.” Vera frowned. She didn’t even comment on the portrait, which she had never seen. Something was off.
Edith had the same misery and fear in her eyes as when they jumped off the train to Auschwitz.
“What’s wrong?” Vera sat beside her.
“It’s Robert…” Edith lit the cigarette shakily.
Vera’s breath caught. “If he touched you, I’ll have Ricardo go see him.”
“It’s worse.” She inhaled the smoke. “He’s disappeared and I’m broke. I’m completely finished.”
“But I thought Robert wasn’t invested in your business? He was only giving you advice.”
“He explained it all to me in a letter,” Edith answered. “He had some business troubles before we met and couldn’t get any credit to buy fabric. Every time a supplier sold me fabric on credit, Robert asked for more fabric without telling me and kept it for himself. He did the same thing when I borrowed money from the bank. He borrowed fifty thousand American dollars, but I only received twenty-five thousand.”
