Days of Winter

by Cynthia Freeman

  Tonight would be her real test as an actress. Magda Charascu was to star in a play for the first time. After tonight, she’d know for sure. …

  But everything that could go wrong did. When the curtain rose she tripped on her way from the desk to the window where she was supposed to be looking out, awaiting her lover. As she leaned against the window pane it fell over into the snow, with her following it. When she finally climbed back into the room, she was covered with fake snow. She brushed herself off, angrily, but she did it with such a comic flare the audience thought it was intended, and a roar went up. Next the leading man had forgotten—incredibly but true—to button the front of his trousers, and when he bent down to propose marriage … well, the audience was in hysterics. Getting up, a lamp fell over … again laughter. The maid brought in a box of roses sent from another suitor and when Magda read the note she fluffed the lines in such a way the audience was convinced she was the best comedienne to come along since … heaven knew when.

  When the play was over, Magda was in a state of shock. She had, she was certain, made an ass of herself. But the cheers continued as the curtain rose once again. The cast bowed in unison, but when Magda came out alone the bravos were ridiculous.

  Back in her dressing room, exhausted, she said, “I think we played to an audience of idiots.”

  Alexis laughed. “You were brilliant. If you can only remember what you did and said, this is going to be the comedy of the season.”

  Magda looked back at him, then back over what had happened, and back at the performance, and began to laugh. And every time she tried to say something to Alexis, she doubled over; she couldn’t stop. Finally, holding her stomach, she said, gasping for breath, “I couldn’t possibly have done it if I’d tried. …I was so awful, I was funny. And all the time I thought they were laughing at me. Once I was so angry I wanted to walk off the stage or scream back at them … but they were laughing with me.”

  “Of course, because you did everything with such finesse. You were so serious they thought it was part of the act.”

  “Oh, Alexis, what would I do without you?”

  He tried not to think about that, because when Rubin returned …

  That night Magda gave the cast a party at the Savoy. She never allowed Alexis to pay for her parties. For Magda it was a thrill to spend the money. She spent it faster than she received it. There were charities, gifts for Solange and Jeanette … a new jewel … a new fur. She threw money around like confetti on New Year’s Eve. She seemed to live to be extravagant. Tonight she wore a dazzling white full-length Russian ermine. She was, after all, a full-fledged celebrity. She had earned her status, her fame.

  The newspapers reported everything she wore … everything she did. …Invitations to her parties were a sure sign of status. Her companionship with Count Alexis Maximov was always played up, and Alexis thought, if only what the gossip-mongers hinted at were in fact true … what a happy man he would be.

  The Maurice and Phillip Hacks were furious. What an everlasting curse she was, this Magda Charascu who had come into their lives. …There was no choice but to try to ignore her flagrant exhibitionism. …There was nothing else they could do. Each one of her triumphs brought new lines of worry to their faces. How long …?

  By March Rubin still hadn’t returned. His letters seemed stilted and evasive, and Magda was frantic with worry. Everyone else was coming home. Why wasn’t Rubin?

  One day she found out. Anne excitedly handed her a letter from him.

  “Thank you,” she said, ripping it open.

  My dearest Magda,

  Please don’t be upset, but I am in Calais. If I sound inarticulate, it’s because I still can’t believe the war is over. A week has past since I received orders that I could go home. Forgive me for not letting you know sooner, but I think I was afraid at the last moment something might go wrong and my orders would change. The army does that to you.

  There was something else too. …I’m afraid I’ve withheld the truth from you, but now I must tell you what’s happened. On November 10 I was wounded by a piece of shrapnel. I deliberately asked not to be sent home then because I looked so awful. For months my head was in bandages. I’ve lost about twenty percent of the vision in my left eye, and my upper lid is paralyzed and partially closed. There is a scar on my cheek which has faded, but not entirely. It has taken a long time, but now I’ve learned to live with these injuries. I am, after all, one of the fortunate ones. What’s so strange is that I survived the worst battles, but the day before the Armistice I was wounded. But, my dearest, the worst of my illness is now behind me, and I should finally get to London within the next few days. I’ll be sent to the out-processing center near London before being discharged.

  With all my love, Rubin.

  Trembling, Magda started to cry. All she could think about was Rubin coming home. His wounds were forgotten; her mind refused to believe that Rubin could be changed. He still had his vision. And a scar made a man more attractive, more exciting. Still … she cried for his pain … and out of relief. He was finally coming home.

  She jumped out of bed and ran to Jeanette, picking her up, smothering her with kisses. “Your papa’s coming home, ma petite … your papa …” She carried Jeanette into Solange’s room. “Rubin’s coming home. …I can’t believe it.” She handed the letter to Solange, who read it, tears of gratitude in her eyes.

  “Thank God,” she said, “he’s coming back to us at last.”

  That night Alexis looked at the face of Magda with special love. The long years of waiting were written in her eyes, and her face was radiant with anticipation. But for Alexis, it was hardly a night for rejoicing. Rubin was coming home and he was losing the only thing he’d really ever wanted. …But Magda had never belonged to him and perhaps that made the parting even more painful than the end of a physical love affair. In the years since he’d known her, he had pretended each woman he’d slept with was she.

  Taking up his glass of wine he said, “I have an announcement to make. Tomorrow I shall leave on a much deserved holiday.”

  Magda looked at him. She knew how much he felt about her, and now he was sending himself into self-imposed exile. Trying to keep her voice matter-of-fact, she said, “You do indeed, my dear Alexis, certainly after what you’ve put up with from me for so long. …Where will you be going?”

  “To my villa in Cannes for a while and then on to Monte Carlo. …After that, who knows?”

  “There’s no place like Monte Carlo,” Solange said lightly. “I used to love it. …When will you be leaving?”

  “In a few weeks, I expect, or sooner. …”

  Magda nodded, swallowed, and said, “Yes, well, I’m giving my notice to the producer tomorrow. …I want to give all my time to Rubin—”

  “That’s very sensible. …I know he’ll be pleased with your decision. …”

  Solange put in quickly, “I think we should all drink to … to new beginnings.”

  Rubin’s train was due. Magda walked nervously back and forth at Victoria Station. Solange sat, holding Jeanette on her lap.

  “Magda!”

  It was Rubin’s voice. Magda turned. …

  A stranger was coming toward her. He was holding out his arms. It couldn’t be Rubin, could it? Was this the man she had said good-bye to back in 1914? It didn’t seem possible. He had changed completely. Magda couldn’t hide the shock she felt. He was so thin, his uniform hung from his body. Lines of pain and suffering were permanently engraved on his face. The scar was deep; the damaged eye made her feel ill. His hairline had receded. …

  In spite of his letter, Magda was totally unprepared. Still, his joy at seeing her was so affecting she began to weep. He kissed her over and over again, whispering, “Magda, Magda … how I’ve waited for this day. …”

  She clung to this stranger, responding numbly … and thinking, in spite of herself, Dear God, is this the man I married? … the wonderful lover I met in Paris …? the Rubin I hoped and prayed would
come back …?

  Calling on all her acting abilities, she tried to rally to the occasion. “Welcome home, Rubin. …Darling, it’s been so long.” Taking him by the hand, she took a deep breath and said, “Now come and meet your daughter!”

  “Give your papa the flowers, ma petite. …Go to papa,” Solange urged. The child knew and loved only the word “papa.”

  Holding out the bouquet, Jeanette walked toward the stranger … her “papa.” “Welcome home, Papa. These are for you.”

  Bending down, Rubin drew her to him and held her close against him. In all his life there had never been a moment like this, nor would there ever be again. God had surely spared him to know this joy … this gift of love. …

  “We’ve missed you, Papa … we’ve got a surprise for you. …Why are you crying …? Are you sad?”

  Rubin fought the tears as he looked at this tiny Magda … his daughter. …“No, my darling. I’m crying because I’m very, very happy.” Kissing her, he turned to Solange. “Still slim and beautiful as ever, Countess. …”

  “And you, Rubin Hack, are the most beautiful sight in the world.” She could say no more.

  Quickly, then, they walked to the Rolls and drove home.

  Rubin could not believe it. Home. He was home. Slowly he went from room to room, holding Jeanette’s tiny hand in his. It was as though he were seeing it for the first time. There was so much he couldn’t remember … so much of what he had left. The paintings seemed more brilliant, the flowers more beautiful. He had forgotten what comfort was. A bath seemed a luxury he’d never known.

  His old suits hung on his body like sacks. And when he looked at himself in the mirror, the face of a frightened stranger stared back. He was freshly shocked at his image. The scar looked even deeper and more discolored. He wanted to bury his reflection.

  Then came the surprise—Deborah and Leon. The two brothers embraced like children who’d been apart for a very long time.

  “Well, Leon, we survived.”

  “Yes, Rubin … we were the lucky ones.”

  Leon had been home only a week, after four long years of internment.

  To Rubin the whole evening seemed unreal. The homecoming seemed more than he was prepared for. He couldn’t adjust; even ordinary things seemed foreign. To sit at the head of his table, near his child, and look across at his wife … to taste the flavor of good food … to be with Leon and Deborah. …Everything good seemed to be a mirage, which would vanish in the night … disappear like a vision of heaven … or hell. …

  Later, when Leon and Deborah had left, Rubin’s feelings of alienation increased. The gentleness of the night seemed intimidating. As he lay in bed, he felt that he would never take anything for granted again.

  Soon Magda was beside him … a moment he had dreamed of … yet somehow dreaded. …He was embarrassed by his body. …He felt that it was no longer an instrument for love-making. …The reflection of his face stared back at him … mocking him, taunting him. Now, at last, he was afraid to touch Magda for fear he would fail. He turned, took her in his arms … but it was no good. …Quickly he got out of bed and went into the bathroom, where he sat wiping away the perspiration. Face it. He was impotent.

  Magda lay alone in the dark. She realized that the man she had waited for had been left somewhere on the fields of Flanders. Rubin Hack was as lost to her as if he were dead. She had seen the change today … tonight only confirmed it. …Even with Leon, Rubin had seemed vague and withdrawn, as though his mind was in another place.

  When he got back into bed, he said, “I’m sorry, darling … coming home today was more than I was prepared for—”

  “I understand, Rubin … believe me, I understand.”

  He was grateful that she couldn’t see his face.

  Eventually, they managed to fall asleep, each body a stranger to the other.

  The next morning Magda went in to see Solange. She sat down on a blue satin chair.

  Arranging herself against the pillows, Solange took a long look at Magda. “You’ve come to tell me something, yes?”

  “Wise Solange …”

  “And what is it?”

  “I’ve waited five years for a man that I invented.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “There is no Rubin Hack.”

  “Did you actually expect him to come back unchanged?”

  “No … but I didn’t expect this … this shell, this stranger. …No, I didn’t expect that …”

  “Is it his looks that upset you?”

  “Solange, Rubin is impotent …”

  “I take it you mean he was less than amorous last night”

  “He couldn’t even touch me.”

  “That sometimes happens to men who’ve been in battle.”

  “And what am I supposed to do until he recovers … if he recovers?”

  “You sound angry, as if Rubin were to blame.”

  “I am angry, I admit it … we waited five years to say hello to a ghost.”

  “Do you love Rubin enough to help him through this … perhaps the worst time of all?”

  Magda got up and paced the floor. “I’m human too, Solange. I’ve waited so long for a husband to come home and love me—”

  “Rubin certainly loves you. Are you confusing sex with love?”

  “But sex is part of loving—”

  “Of course it is, but Rubin needs your help. …Are you willing to give it?”

  Magda felt like screaming. “What do you want from me, Solange?”

  “I want you to be a woman. I told you that once before. Maybe you no longer love Rubin because he’s not quite so handsome. Maybe his scars repulse you.”

  “I’m so confused … maybe it’s because we weren’t together enough before Rubin enlisted. …”

  “I think it would do you a great deal of good to think of your memories of Paris before Rubin found you.”

  Magda did not want to be reminded of those days, which, of course, was what Solange meant. “I resent your bringing that up, Solange. It isn’t fair … I’ve been faithful to Rubin.” She blocked out of her mind the one time with Camail. “I’ve been a good mother … I have.”

  “You’ve also been a pretty selfish and self-centered person who’s very good when you get what you want. But when things aren’t to your liking, I’m afraid you’re capable of being just a bit ruthless. Rubin has changed physically, but he’s still the fine human being he always was.”

  Magda seemed to be rooted to the floor. “How dare you say such things to me?”

  “Because, my dear Magda, I think you lack gratitude, compassion. No one knows you as I do. …At this moment there are wives all over the world who will have to live with men who have lost their limbs … their eyesight. …Do you think that God has singled you out? You live too much in a world of make-believe, Magda. You wanted Rubin to come back to you exactly as he left. …”

  “You’ve said quite enough, Solange. We can no longer be friends, not ever … not after this. …” And she rushed out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

  Solange rang for Anne to get her suitcases. The time to leave the Hack household had come. She had wanted to go back to Paris the day the war was over, but she’d promised Rubin she wouldn’t leave Magda until he returned. Well, he was back now, and she could go home, a place she longed to see again, no matter what she found there. It would be better than staying.

  Rubin didn’t seriously try to change her mind. She was, after all, French. She had been away a long time. But he hated to see her go. She had been a wonderful friend to him … and to Magda. He could never replace Solange.

  Her parting from Jeanette was especially difficult. …“Tante Solange, please you can’t go, I won’t let you.” It had been Tante Solange, after all, who had been there the night she was so sick and mama was at the theater … Tante Solange, and Uncle Alexis, who had brought her balloons, taken her to the Punch and Judy Show, the carousel. …She asked if she couldn’t go with her aunt … Af
ter all, she knew her better than she did her father, who could keep her mother company … and Solange had to tell her, try to tell her, how much her father needed her too, how very special fathers were for daughters … more than aunts … and daughters were for fathers. She told her that they would write one another and remember each other on their birthdays and on Christmas. …“There, now, isn’t that a fine plan?” and Jeanette said, not very enthusiastically, that she guessed it was. …

  And then there was Magda who in her fashion had surely loved Solange. And now she would have the full responsibility of her daughter, which she had feared even before her birth, which had made her resist having a child at all and might well have continued to if it had not been for the war and Rubin’s imminent departure. “I’m truly sorry for the things I said, for the way I behaved,” she said to Solange as they walked arm-in-arm toward the foyer just before Solange’s departure. “I will miss you terribly, you must know that,” and Solange thought, yes, for a time, but life goes on, and she thought too that she did love this strange, difficult, marvelous girl-woman, and wished devoutly that she had a little more wisdom, but corrected herself quickly, reminding herself that perfection had nothing to do with life. …

  Magda stood now looking at her for what she was certain would be the last time. Her eyes were full of tears. “I love you, Solange. …I always will.”

  “Thank you, Magda, and I you, but there are others who also need your love. Give it with all your heart.”

  And then she was walking out to meet Rubin, who would see her to Victoria Station where she would leave for home … and, to his regret, out of his and Magda’s immediate life. …

  In the days that followed, Rubin’s strength began to return. As life once again took on a semblance of sanity, his spirits began to lift.

  He gloried in Jeanette. She gave him a sense of purpose he had thought was lost. He no longer felt so useless. They took long walks together, and the familiar London streets and parks did much to raise his spirits.

  Magda noticed the changes. Thank God, she thought, at least he no longer sat for hours gazing into space. Their nights, however, were still the same. Loveless. Rubin’s slight rally from his earlier depression seemed to have an inverse effect on Magda … perhaps because she could afford at last to allow herself some of her own true feelings without the awful guilt Solange had made her feel when she first voiced them. The facts were she was still rejected by the family except for Leon and Deborah, and even Leon seemed cooler of late. Rubin was an object of sympathy, but sympathy was not love or even strong affection. It was nobody’s fault … damn it … but it was the way it was. And then there was Jeanette, constantly with Rubin now, almost as though Magda didn’t exist. All right … she was his daughter and it was natural he should want to make up for lost time … but she had lost time to be made up for too. …God, to resent one’s own child … and yet in a way she did—admit it. From the first, wasn’t she more Rubin’s than hers … his desire, not hers …?