The Light After the War

by Anita Abriel

  Tonight she would ask Ricardo if they could go dancing. Afterward they could stop by the Albees’ for a nightcap.

  She pulled up in front of Lola’s boardinghouse and skipped up the front steps. Edith sat in the living room and there was a small box on the coffee table.

  “You called and said it was important.” Vera hugged her. “I just came from my parents’ house. My mother received a letter from Gina; she insists we come to Naples and eat Louis’s oranges. I’ll have to tell her to come and eat the oranges in Caracas,” she laughed. “I won’t be going anywhere with a baby.”

  “I received something in the mail too.” Edith pushed the box across the table.

  Vera opened it and inside was a diamond-and-ruby engagement ring.

  “You’re engaged! But you haven’t been seeing anyone,” Vera exclaimed. “Don’t tell me it’s from Marcus. You can’t move to New York to keep Marcus’s mother happy.”

  “It’s not from Marcus.” Edith’s eyes were rimmed with black. “It’s from Stefan.”

  “What?” Vera’s eyes widened. Her heart hammered and she was overwhelmed with shock and happiness.

  “It came with a letter.” Edith pointed to a sheet of stationery. On the top was printed:

  From the office of Dr. Henry Abrahamson

  Montreux, Switzerland

  “ ‘Dear Miss Ban,’ ” Edith read out loud.

  “ ‘You don’t know me, but that’s the thing about war. It scatters families around the world and unites complete strangers. Before the war, I practiced medicine in Budapest. In May 1944, I was put on a train to Strasshof. When we arrived, the inmates were divided into two groups. The young and healthy were placed in one barracks and those who were sick or too weak to work were crowded together. Many men were so weak, they died in their beds, and illness spread through the dormitory like wildfire.

  “ ‘I possessed the one thing a doctor craves: opium. I smuggled it into the camp. I’d had a heart defect since I was a child, but I used the opium to bribe the intake doctor to write me a clean bill of health. Soon I realized that wasn’t enough. The physical labor was too demanding and I grew too weak to even swallow a piece of bread.

  “ ‘Every mealtime I sat next to a young man from Budapest named Stefan. We became friends quickly. After the first week, Stefan noticed I couldn’t keep up with the work and started doing it for me. He’d carry his bricks and then come back and transport mine. He even offered me his daily bowl of soup.

  “ ‘In June 1944 we had visitors to the camp. They were passengers on a train bound for Switzerland and had been delayed at Strasshof. I recognized one of my patients, Frederic Goldberg, and he told me the story. A Hungarian Jewish lawyer named Rudolf Kastner had made a deal with Adolf Eichmann to allow a thousand Jews to travel safely to Switzerland in exchange for money and jewels paid to the Gestapo.

  “ ‘Frederic offered to smuggle me on the train and I accepted as long as Stefan could come too. It was the most unusual journey. The passengers were chosen by a committee, and they included scientists and rabbis and artists. Each passenger was allowed to bring two changes of clothing and enough food for ten days.

  “ ‘On the journey there were several illnesses, and I was able to cure three cases of pneumonia. On the second to last day, a woman named Riva came down with scarlet fever. Riva had a small daughter named Rose; they were headed to stay with Riva’s sister in Geneva. I gave Riva what medicine I had, but I couldn’t save her. After Riva died, none of the passengers would go near Rose because they were afraid she was contagious. But Stefan and Rose had become friends and he insisted on delivering Rose to her aunt. I can still see Rose on Stefan’s shoulders, crossing the train station to meet a woman holding a teddy bear.

  “ ‘The aunt gave Stefan a diamond-and-ruby ring as a thank-you, and then Stefan and I traveled to Montreux. If you’ve never been to Switzerland, you are missing the most picturesque landscape: snow-covered mountains and castles perched on the edge of lakes. We found lodging and Stefan started making plans. He was going to join the resistance and go back to Hungary to find you. Then he would bring you to Switzerland.

  “ ‘One night he called me to his bed and I knew before he told me. He had all the symptoms of scarlet fever: the cough and the chills and the dreaded rash on his chest and back. He made me promise that if anything happened to him, I would find you and give you this ring. Stefan died three days later.

  “ ‘I started looking for you after the war, but I got busy and gave up. My wife, Bella, joined me in Montreux and I became a junior doctor in a medical practice. A few months ago, Bella traveled to Caracas to visit friends and returned with a dress with the label “Edith Ban.” I asked if she met the designer and when she described you, I was certain I found Stefan’s great love.

  “ ‘People think doctors are only concerned with prescribing penicillin and mending broken bones, but medicine is a mystical science. I have always had a strong belief in fate. I recently met the psychiatrist Carl Jung. Jung lives in Zurich and for decades he has been working on a theory called “synchronicity,” which is a series of meaningful coincidences that change your life forever. Receiving this letter from a complete stranger on another continent might seem odd, but Jung would say it was inevitable. I believe I was meant to find you as strongly as Stefan believed that you and Stefan would be together forever.

  “ ‘I have enclosed your ring and I hope you will come to Montreux as our guest. It is because of Stefan that I draw breath every day, and I will never forget him.’ ”

  Edith folded the letter and the air in Lola’s living room was perfectly still.

  “I knew Stefan was dead,” Edith whispered. “I knew as clearly as my own name.”

  Vera took Edith in her arms and let her sob. She tried to think of something to say, but there weren’t words big enough for Edith’s grief.

  She recalled her mother saying that having one great love affair was enough to last your whole life. Perhaps this time God could make an exception. Edith was young and she had suffered so much. She deserved to experience true love again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  February 1948

  Vera opened her drawers and searched for her evening bag. Ricardo would be home soon and she wasn’t quite ready. It had been two weeks since Edith received Stefan’s engagement ring, and Edith had thrown herself into her work. Tonight Kitty was hosting a fashion show, and Vera promised she and Ricardo would be there.

  Her hands touched a smooth object and she took it out. It was a pistol with a silver handle. Since when did Ricardo own a gun?

  Vera placed it on the bedside table and tried to think. Many men in Caracas owned firearms. Alessandra mentioned Pedro kept a revolver in case of intruders, and Julius often said Caracas was dangerous at night; it was safer to carry a gun.

  But what was it doing in her drawer? Perhaps Ricardo took it out to clean it and returned it to her drawer by accident. She put the pistol back and kept searching for her evening bag. She’d ask him about it tomorrow.

  * * *

  Kitty’s driveway was already filled with cars when she and Ricardo arrived. Men and women filtered into the villa and the air smelled of flowers and perfume.

  “I’m glad we came,” Vera said to Ricardo when they entered the living room. French doors opened onto the terrace and waiters passed with trays of champagne. “Edith has been working so hard on her new designs.”

  She noticed a familiar man standing at the bar. She tried to remember where she’d seen him. He nodded at her and crossed the room.

  “Vera Frankel,” he beamed. He was in his early thirties and wore a dark suit. “I was hoping I’d find you here.”

  “I’m sorry, have we met?” she asked.

  “On the RMS Queen Elizabeth,” he said pleasantly, and held out his hand. “Douglas Bauer.”

  “Of course.” Vera turned to Ricardo. “Douglas is a journalist for Time magazine.”

  Ricardo studied Douglas�
��s American good looks and his jaw tightened.

  “It’s Vera Albee now. Vera is my wife.”

  “You did better than me,” Douglas chuckled. “I tried to kiss Vera and got my cheek slapped.” He sipped his drink. “It wasn’t entirely my fault. I told her if she goes to a man’s cabin alone at night, she can expect to be kissed.”

  The veins in Ricardo’s forehead protruded.

  “What are you doing in Caracas, Mr. Bauer?” Ricardo inquired. “It can’t be a coincidence that you appear at the same society event as my wife.”

  “Not at all. In fact, Vera is one of the reasons I’m here. I’m doing a piece for Time on European immigrants who were turned away from Ellis Island. I remembered the two Hungarian girls who were sponsored by Sam Rothschild before he died. I always wondered what happened to them. I found your names on the Queen Elizabeth’s manifest: Vera Frankel and Edith Ban, New York to Caracas, January 1947.”

  “But why talk to us now?” Vera asked.

  “I can’t believe Time magazine paid for you to come all the way to Caracas to interview two Hungarian refugees,” Ricardo said with a look of disdain.

  “I combined it with a story on Jewish immigration to Venezuela after the war,” Doug replied easily. “Venezuela is one of the least anti-Semitic countries in the world. Last November, Venezuela supported the United Nations edict to establish a Jewish state in Israel. And it’s given shelter to hundreds of Jews who had nowhere else to go.”

  “But how did you find us?” Vera wondered.

  “I am a reporter. Caracas isn’t a big place, and when you throw around a little of Time’s money, it’s not hard to discover what you’re looking for.” He grinned. “I already spotted Edith tonight. She’s as stunning as I remember.” His eyes took in Vera’s velvet evening gown. “I must say, Caracas society suits you. You’ve grown into a confident young woman.”

  “I’m afraid you wasted a trip.” Ricardo’s eyes were black. “Vera doesn’t have time to speak to you. She’s very busy.”

  “Not too busy to attend social functions,” Douglas noted, and addressed Vera. “Perhaps we can squeeze in an interview on the terrace after the fashion show? Snap some photos of you and Edith together.”

  “I don’t think so.” Ricardo took Vera’s arm and nodded. “Good-bye, Mr. Bauer. I hope you enjoy your stay in Venezuela.”

  Douglas reached into his pocket and handed Vera his card. “We are old friends and I came all the way here. I’m staying at the Majestic if you change your mind.”

  Ricardo pulled Vera away and the card fluttered to the floor. Ricardo’s hand pressed harder against Vera’s arm. He led her across the ballroom and she followed him, trying to ignore the anxious feeling rising in her throat.

  * * *

  Vera sat at her dressing table and removed her earrings. Ricardo had insisted they leave right after the fashion show, and he hadn’t said a word on the drive home.

  “Is it true?” Ricardo appeared behind her. His eyes were bright and he clutched a shot glass. “Did you kiss the journalist who was at the party?”

  “It was nothing.” Vera placed the earring in her jewelry box. Her hands shook slightly and she noticed her palms were sweaty. “I met Douglas on the Queen Elizabeth and he offered to read my writing. I went to his cabin and he tried to kiss me, but I slapped him and pushed him away. I never saw or heard from him again.”

  “He obviously harbored feelings for you. Why else would he come all the way to Venezuela?” Ricardo continued in a clipped tone.

  “He’s a journalist. When we met, he’d been traveling around Europe working on war stories for months,” Vera replied nervously. “And we hardly exchanged two words tonight. You were with me the whole time.”

  “You don’t understand Venezuelan society,” Ricardo fumed. “A man doesn’t speak directly to another man’s wife. And do you really expect me to believe you didn’t know he was here?” he said. “Perhaps he telephoned, or you exchanged letters.”

  “I’ve never written him a letter! Douglas was interested in our story. It got quite a bit of attention; it was in LIFE magazine,” Vera’s voice rose. She wanted to say that Ricardo had been rude, but she was afraid to upset him even more.

  “And what kind of a woman goes to a man’s cabin?” Ricardo persisted. “You wanted him to kiss you.”

  “I was young and inexperienced.” Vera flushed. “Please, let’s forget it. My head hurts and I’d like to go to bed.”

  The muscles in Ricardo’s shoulders tightened and there was a trickle of sweat on his forehead. He opened his mouth to say something and then changed his mind.

  “I’m going out. I need cigarettes.”

  “Ricardo, wait.” Vera stopped him.

  “I’ll be home soon.” He put his hand on her arm and gripped it tightly. “If Mr. Bauer calls, tell him if he comes near you he’ll be sorry.”

  Vera heard the front door slam and sunk lower onto the stool. She hadn’t seen Ricardo so angry since the night of her dinner with Edith and Marcus. Her mind went to the pistol in the bottom drawer and she shivered. But she was being silly. He would go for a drive and come home and apologize.

  What if he was still angry when he returned? She couldn’t go to Alessandra’s again, and she didn’t want to appear at her parents’ bungalow in the middle of the night.

  She climbed into bed and remembered the nights she and Edith slept in the Dunkels’ barn and they were terrified a German soldier might appear outside. At least she felt safe inside the barn.

  The minute Vera woke the next morning, she sensed something was wrong. Ricardo’s side of the bed was undisturbed and when she ran to the window, his car wasn’t there.

  She walked downstairs, but the house was quiet. Her evening bag was where she left it and Ricardo’s coat hung in the closet. He hadn’t returned from wherever he’d gone last night.

  Her heart pounded and she wondered what to do. Perhaps he slept at his office or took a drive to the beach? What if he went to the Majestic and talked to Douglas Bauer? Douglas might have said something to make Ricardo even more upset.

  The windows were closed and the air felt hot and stale. Suddenly she couldn’t sit there any longer. She would stay with her parents until Ricardo cooled off. She hurried upstairs to grab a suitcase, and prayed his car wouldn’t appear before she was gone.

  * * *

  Vera set the table in her parents’ kitchen. Her father would be home from the university soon and they were going to eat stuffed cabbage for lunch.

  Ricardo hadn’t called, and she was beginning to relax. She would tell him her mother was ill and she was going to spend the night. Tomorrow she would go home and Ricardo would apologize for his behavior and all would be forgiven.

  The front door opened and she thought it was her father. Instead Ricardo stood in the doorway. His shirt was creased and his cheeks were dark with stubble.

  “What are you doing here?” he demanded.

  “I’m helping my mother make lunch,” she greeted him. “She wasn’t feeling well; I’ve been here all morning.”

  “I called your office and the secretary said you were home sick,” Ricardo responded.

  “It was easier to say that.” Vera flushed at being caught in a lie. “I wanted to tell you, but you didn’t come home.”

  “You’re hiding something from me,” Ricardo accused. His hands were shaking.

  “You can ask my mother; she went to the neighbor’s to borrow sugar,” Vera said and tried to smile. “I’m glad you’re here. I’ll set another plate and we’ll eat together.”

  “Don’t take me for a fool!” Ricardo’s eyes flashed. “You were waiting for me to go to work and then you were going to visit Douglas’s hotel room. When I didn’t come home, you decided to meet him here. Where is he? Is he in the bedroom or has he already left?”

  “I wouldn’t dream of going to a man’s hotel room, and he hasn’t been here,” Vera responded. “I told you, I didn’t know Douglas Bauer was in Caracas. I h
ave no interest in talking to him.”

  Ricardo ignored her. “I went to the Majestic but he wasn’t there. I even asked the concierge, but Bauer didn’t leave word where he went. Where else would he be if he wasn’t with you or Edith?”

  “He could be anywhere; he’s writing a piece,” Vera reminded him.

  “I know men like him; he wasn’t about to give up,” Ricardo insisted. “Maybe he’s arranged a rendezvous in a few days’ time when I have to deliver a car to a client in Maracaibo.”

  He was paranoid.

  “You can ask your mother to stay at the house while you’re gone,” Vera implored. “You’re tired and overwrought. Let me make you a cup of coffee and we’ll go home.”

  “You weren’t coming home.” Ricardo glowered at her. “That’s why you packed a suitcase.”

  Vera froze and her chest tightened. “How do you know I took a suitcase?”

  “I searched your closet,” Ricardo said and laughed. “My wife is missing when I come home. Do you really think I wouldn’t try to find her?”

  Vera took a deep breath. She couldn’t show Ricardo that she was frightened.

  “I told you my mother wasn’t feeling well. I thought I’d spend the night if she needed help.” She smiled at Ricardo. “I agree it was strange that Douglas appeared at Kitty’s,” she said, trying to appease him, “but I swear I had no idea that he was in Caracas. He’s rude and I want nothing to do with him.” She reached up and kissed him. “Please, Ricardo, you must believe me. I love you and I would never look at another man. Let’s have lunch and then we’ll go home.”

  Ricardo’s lips were cold, and Vera recoiled. But the important thing was for Ricardo to calm down. She stepped forward and kissed him again.

  “You say that now, but when it’s time to leave, you’ll stay here.” Ricardo sank into the sofa and his voice faltered. “I love you more than I thought it was possible. When I found out you were pregnant, I was the happiest man in the world. But love can be an illness. It courses through my blood and takes over my brain.”