“Can Daddy and I go with you?”
It was Magda, not the child, who was showing tears. “No, my love, Mama needs to rest, to go off for a while by herself. …”
“But when will you come back?”
Magda felt herself wavering, and for a moment actually thought of taking Jeanette with her, and then quickly realized how impossible that would be. My God, she didn’t hate Rubin, and only if she wanted to kill him would she take the last remaining possession he had. Besides, once the infamous Rumanian had departed their sacred precincts, the Hacks would take her in completely, wipe out the memory, the existence, of her mother and she would at least be raised as a Hack, with all the advantages that would have. She would be legitimate, not an ersatz made-up lady like the girl from the Parisian gutter. …And, of course, they would never ever let her alone if she should be so foolish as to take their child away. They’d find her, and bring her back, and …She hugged her daughter, kissed her, told her that she’d soon be back home and that she’d send her postcards like Tante Solange, and quickly rang for Miss Williams to come and take her off for a nice long walk in the park, helping her on with her coat, buttoning it with unsteady fingers.
But just before going off with Miss Williams the child hesitated, stopped and came back to Magda. She put her arms around her and said, “I love you, Mama,” almost as though she knew right along the truth behind the playacting of adults.
“I love you too, Petite,” Magda said, fighting back the tears, “and now you must run along, mustn’t keep Miss Williams waiting. …”
When Magda heard the footsteps disappear and the door close, she remained sitting on her daughter’s small chair and looked about the room at the child’s crayon drawings attached to the wall. This was Mama … this was Papa. …And this was Tante Solange. …They were all alike, except that Mama’s hair was amber and brown, Papa’s hair was thin and black, and Tante Solange’s was gray and black. Their eyes were all very round, their lips thin and smiling. Their cheeks were all circles of red, and they all looked very happy. The sun was shining and the sky was blue and the grass was green … and … oh, God. …
The doorbell was ringing. Magda wiped away her tears. Good-bye, Jeanette Sara, she said to the empty room. She picked up the sable coat and left a note for Rubin on the bed. Then she went to the front door, opened it, shut it quickly, and went down the steps to Alexis’ waiting car.
She did not allow herself to look back.
Rubin returned home a little before three. He took off his hat and hung it in the hall closet. The house was very still. Perhaps Magda was in Solange’s room. He knocked softly and waited. When there was no response he gently opened the door and found the room empty. Then he went to his room. Magda was not there either. He rang for Anne.
He looked at the things they had so carefully bought … possessions. Now many of them would have to be sold. But they were only material things, after all. Thank God he still had his wife and child. Soon he’d perhaps have a small business. In time things would adjust themselves; he and Magda would soon be as close as they used to be. It was just a matter of time.
“Yes, sir?” Anne interrupted his thoughts.
“When will my wife be back?”
“I don’t know, sir. She didn’t tell me.”
“And Jeanette? Miss Williams?”
“I don’t know that either, sir. …”
“Thank you, Anne.”
Tomorrow he would have to give the servants notice. Tonight he’d tell Magda about the tobacco shop he planned to buy, with the help of Leon. It was old and established, and the figures looked good. With a little thrift, and a little luck, things would work out all right. …
When Jeanette came in, he was making out a list of the heirlooms he hoped to save.
“Hello, my darling,” he said when she ran into his arms, hugging her tight against him. “Was Mama with you?”
“No,” said Jeanette. “She’s gone away. …”
“What? Where?”
“She’s gone away,” said Jeanette, “for a little while. That’s what she said, Papa.”
“When?” Was it possible? His heart began to pound.
“This morning …”
Rubin didn’t hear the rest of what Jeanette said as he rushed into the bedroom and looked in the closet. Almost all her clothes were gone. He went through the dresser drawers. They, too, were almost empty. Then he saw the letter on the bed. Taking it out of the envelope, he dropped heavily into a chair and began to read.
Dear Rubin:
You must believe this has not been an easy decision for me to make, but there was no way to go on pretending. We could not go on living together. I hate London. It never was, never could be, home to me … any more than Paris could be home to you. Maybe the war was responsible. I don’t know who or what is to blame, or how it happened, but we simply are wrong for each other. Both of us went through too many changes, or maybe not enough. …I hope you find some happiness and peace in your life, Rubin, but it’s better to part while we’re still young enough to make a new start. I truly am sorry for anything I did in your absence that has caused you pain. I hope you can forgive me. I leave you our daughter. Please try not to hate me.
Magda.
He cried out like a wounded animal. Jeanette was terrified. He tore what was left of Magda’s clothes into shreds. With one sweep of his hand, he knocked everything off the dressing table. The crystal perfume bottles went crashing to the floor … the mirror tilted over and broke into fragments, distorting his image as he looked at himself. He ran through the foyer, and Jeanette cried out, “What’s wrong, Papa?” He neither saw nor heard. Miss Williams picked up the sobbing child and held her. …
“Magda … Magda … why have you done this to me?” Over and over, he asked the same question. He ran out of the apartment, down the stairs and into the street, screaming her name.
When they finally caught up with him, it took three bobbies to subdue Rubin. He continued to scream out Magda’s name. He began to have delusions. He tried to free himself from the enemies holding him. …He had killed before and he could again. …
A crowd had gathered to watch this crazy, insane man struggling to free himself as a fourth bobbie came running up. Finally, the ambulance came and, with the aid of the attendants, they were able to get Rubin into it and strap him down inside. By the time the ambulance reached the hospital, Rubin had already been sedated. …
When he woke up, he was looking into the eyes of strangers.
“Rubin, Rubin, it’s Leon. …”
They were trying to fool him. …He knew Leon was in a prison camp, and now so was he. …Ssh, play dead. Don’t let them know you’re alive. …
“Rubin, they told us you were here. They found your identification. That was how they knew to call. …”
They were lying …Get out of here you damned Krauts …The doctor gave Rubin another injection to calm him, and finally he was asleep again.
Leon was ashen white as he and Phillip left the room.
“As though Rubin hadn’t been through enough already, now this. …” Phillip held up his hands in a gesture of despair. He knew what he’d done to hurt Rubin … he despised himself. But then he’d had Matilda to contend with. She’d even tried to stop him from seeing Rubin.
“I must go and look after Jeanette,” Leon said. “Do you want to come with me?”
“I’d go if I thought it would do any good, but perhaps it’s better if you go alone. There’ll be less confusion that way. But if there’s anything I can do, please call.”
“Thanks, at least for coming, Phillip.”
“I am Rubin’s brother, after all.”
Leon shook his head. “A shame you didn’t remember that when Father was dying.” And then he was walking down the dimly lit hall, casting a long shadow on the wall.
Miss Williams had seen Magda leave in Alexis’ car. She had been watching from a window. She gave Leon all the details, including Rubin’s beha
vior. It was, after all, her duty.
Leon thanked her, shaking his head in disbelief. What kind of human being could have done such a thing … could have literally abandoned her child, her husband …? He and Deborah would have given anything to know the blessing of a child, and Magda had given Jeanette up for a man. My God, he thought, like Medea, except she did a complete job … she killed her children. …
He saw the carnage in the bedroom. He saw the open letter from Magda, which he picked up and read. When he finished reading he felt ill. Rubin had been willing to give up his life, and for this?
Jeanette was sleeping. Leon instructed Miss Williams to get both the child’s things and her own ready to move to the Leon Hacks’. “She, and you, will live with us until we decide what to do. …”
He picked up Jeanette and carried her down. In her sleep she called out, “Papa.” Leon, getting into the car, said, “Yes, my baby … yes.”
“Are you up to talking about what happened?” Deborah was saying to Leon in their bedroom.
“Yes, but I don’t know where to begin, the story is so incredible. The fact is, Magda has gone off, she’s left Rubin.”
Deborah was speechless. It was indeed incredible. Finally, she found her voice. “Leon, I don’t understand—”
“Neither do I, but the shock of her leaving must have been too great for him. He’s gone … well, a little mad.” He would not describe the terrifying scene at the hospital.
“You mean he’s had a … a nervous breakdown?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, dear God … how serious is it?”
“We don’t really know, but he seems to be quite ill.” And then he did tell her about the letter Magda had left and about Alexis.
“Oh, yes,” said Deborah. “I met him once with Magda, he helped her go on the stage. …Well, you did the right thing bringing the child here. We’ll care for her like our own till Rubin’s better. …”
“Yes … tomorrow Phillip and I are going to have Rubin taken to a private sanatorium. I’ll look after the apartment while he’s away. This is the time Rubin needs all the love and understanding we can give him. …”
Poor Rubin. Who can really console him …? I used to like Magda, I really did … I defended her to the family, and I refused to speak against her. After all, she was Rubin’s wife. But I must say this changes my feelings. …I’m not blaming her for taking a tremendous dislike to Maurice and the rest of the family, she was treated so shabbily. But on the other hand … a husband, and a child …
In the three months Rubin had been at the sanatorium, his behavior had changed. He no longer lived in a world of delirium. He recognized Leon, but sometimes Leon almost wished that Rubin had never left his world of fantasy, because his depressions seemed even worse than his delusions. He sat for hours in a chair, without moving or speaking. Leon tried to cheer him up. …He told Rubin about Jeanette, about how much she missed him, and how she constantly spoke of “Papa.” But Rubin just stared into space as though nothing mattered. …
Leon shielded Rubin from the fact that he and Deborah had encountered much pressure and criticism from the family for taking Jeanette in. Magda’s scandalous behavior only reinforced their distaste for the child … Magda’s child. Sylvia and Matilda pointed out to Deborah that fact of life.
Phillip, to his credit, argued with Matilda that Jeanette was hardly responsible for her mother, but Matilda would have none of it. “I don’t understand you, Phillip. This child is as great an embarrassment to us as her dreadful mother was. She’s a constant reminder. And if Deborah sends her to Ramsgate, our children will not attend.”
“You’re being very unkind. Jeanette has neither a father nor a mother, and if it weren’t for Deborah and Leon, God only knows what would have become of her.”
“I find all this very touching,” said Matilda, “but may I remind you of a few things? To start with, if Rubin hadn’t married that slut, none of this would have happened. But he did, and it’s for him to take the full responsibility for the girl, and not force her down our throats. Our children should not have to grow up with such a stigma. And while we’re on the subject, would you explain to me this sudden about-face in your attitude toward your brother?”
“What he did no longer matters … I remember Father saying that we wouldn’t like to suffer his dreams. Rubin’s already been through enough hell, and I’m not going on with this vendetta.”
“Well, you lost an arm. What did Rubin go through that a million others didn’t? And you weren’t too opposed to Maurice’s plan at the time. You certainly went along with him.”
“I did, and I’ve despised myself for it ever since. I did a terrible thing to Rubin, but I won’t hurt him any more—”
“That’s very noble, Phillip. But let me tell you something. If you want me to be your wife … I mean, in the true sense of the word, then I would caution you. I won’t accept this child in my house any more than I would have accepted her deplorable mother. I hope we understand each other.” Matilda walked out and slammed the door.
Phillip buried his face in his hands. It seemed to him that Matilda’s righteous indignation was just as callous and calculating as any behavior of Magda’s. How could Matilda—or anyone—reject this child so totally on grounds that had nothing to do with the child? Where was his wife’s compassion, her maternal instinct? Still, she was his wife, and in spite of it all she would have to come first.
He remembered going to see Rubin with Leon when he’d been in the sanatorium only a month. The only time Rubin had spoken was when he saw Phillip come in. Rubin had gotten up from his chair and had actually lunged at Phillip, screaming, “Get out! I don’t want to see you again … you made me lose my wife. …” It took an injection to calm him down, to provide Phillip with his escape.
Tonight, Phillip could find no place to hide.
Life for the Hacks had indeed changed. When the holidays came, the family was divided. At the Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur services, Deborah, Leon and Jeanette sat in a separate pew. The other Hacks sat in their customary places. Deborah and Leon were excluded from all family dinners and functions. They had taken over, in a way, the old roles of Rubin and Magda as family pariahs. However painful Deborah found this situation, she accepted it. Except for Leon, Jeanette had become the most important person in the world to her. As the months passed, Deborah came to love Jeanette as though she was her own. Jeanette, however, did not go to Ramsgate. Not because of the threats, but because Deborah refused to send her to a school where Magda’s reputation would be an indirect factor. What pleased Deborah most, though, was the way Jeanette seemed to have adjusted to her new environment.
What Deborah did not know was how Jeanette secretly cried herself to sleep at night. She could not forget Magda. She dreamed about her mother. In her mind, she could still see her getting dressed to go out, remember the smell of her perfume. Life had become very confusing. She loved her mother, and yet she could not understand why Mama had never kept her promise to send her the postcards. And why was Mama gone for so long? Whenever she asked Uncle Leon or Aunt Deborah they gave her some vague, funny answer and changed the subject. She also missed Papa, desperately. And she couldn’t understand why her other relatives passed her by on their way to and from temple. When she attended Sunday School, her cousins wouldn’t speak to her, although she longed to know them.
One night at dinner Jeanette asked, “Uncle Leon, when am I going to see Papa?”
“Soon, darling.”
“But you’ve been saying that for such a long time.”
“But this time, it’s sooner than you think. This time, it’s next week.”
Jeanette counted the days. When the right day finally came, she stood at the window until she saw the car. Then she ran to the front door and opened it. Leon got out first, followed by Rubin, who was very weak and unsure of himself. He had recovered to the point that the doctors wanted him to live in a more natural atmosphere, but he was far from well. Leon had been w
arned that Rubin would have lapses into depression from time to time. The best therapy would be being occupied, and during the last few months Rubin had taken up painting again.
“Papa … Papa!” Jeanette ran outdoors and into Rubin’s arms. At first he couldn’t respond. She looked exactly like Magda. Then, suddenly he lifted her high off the ground and held her tight against him. After that, Jeanette wouldn’t leave her father’s side for a moment. She loved Aunt Deborah and Uncle Leon, but not like Papa. With him she felt so safe that it didn’t even matter if her cousins or her aunts and uncles didn’t like her. Papa wouldn’t let them be mean to her. …
As the weeks went by, Rubin began to think about the future and decided to have a talk with Leon. He waited until the two of them were alone. “Leon, I’ve been thinking … the time’s coming when I must find a place for myself and Jeanette.”
Leon was shocked. Rubin wasn’t ready to take care of Jeanette. He was scarcely able to take care of his own needs. “I’m happy you feel strong enough, Rubin, but I would suggest that you stay with us a little longer—”
“No, Leon. I’ve thought this out carefully. I must get on with making a home for Jeanette.”
“How would you earn a living?”
“Well, I have always loved to paint and I believe I could make a fair living at that. Some of my recent canvasses are good enough to sell, and I believe someone would be willing to handle my work. …”
Leon got up and walked to the window. Who would handle Rubin, much less buy his work, he thought, but he answered quietly, “In the meantime, though, how could you support yourself and the child? I’m more than willing to help out, but you’ve rejected my offer to help—”
“I’ve got the money left from the sale of the furnishings.”
“But that’s not enough to last you for any length of time. And, painful as this might be for you, Jeanette needs the comfort of a mother. Deborah’s been able to provide that. Jeanette is only five now, but soon she’ll be growing up. Why not stay here a little while? When you’re feeling yourself again and not so tired we’ll look for another small business—”
Days of Winter Page 19
