by Steven Uhly
Sarah waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, that’s a long time ago now. I fulfilled my purpose, he doesn’t even think about me now.”
“He will, Sarah. Maybe not tomorrow. He’s got to get a grip on his own life first.”
After a pause, Sarah said, “I ought never to have become your daughter.” She closed her eyes, tears seeped between her lids and rolled down her cheeks, silent tears, her face remained rigid, the jaw muscles tightened beneath her skin.
Anna wanted to comfort Sarah, she wanted to go and put an arm around her. But she could not.
Eventually Sarah stood up, the chair made a muffled sound as she scraped it across the floor with the backs of her legs, wood on stone. Anna heard her front door open and close. She felt the impulse to call Shimon and make him visit Sarah. But she stayed seated and did nothing. All in good time, she thought.
173
Shimon took the train from Frankfurt to Berlin. He could have flown, but decided against it. He sat in a compartment with Germans, it was cold and wet outside, November rain smacked against the window. Shimon felt under scrutiny until he noticed that everyone was eyeing everyone else, as if looking for an opportunity to break the silence. But they failed to find one.
The ticket inspector, a man of around fifty, tall, stocky, handlebar mustache, short gray hair beneath a blue peaked cap, slid open the door and asked to see their tickets. For the second time Shimon was being checked by a German uniform, for the second time he shuddered internally.
When the ticket inspector had left, the little girl sitting opposite Shimon wanted to go out into the corridor. Her mother was not happy about this, a whispered argument struck up between the two. Shimon understood the girl only too well. He stood up abruptly and left the compartment, to discover that other passengers had had the same idea. Arrival at Berlin Zoologischer Garten. People were already in the corridor, suitcases in hand, all keen to get out after the long journey, or perhaps after spending so much time in fear of one another. Shimon felt this fear almost viscerally, it gripped him, it prevented him from moving freely, he thought, If only they wouldn’t keep staring at each other. Sensing he was only too willing to draw connections with the past, he forced himself not to. He wanted to give this country a chance, he had to, if only to make his stay here bearable.
When the train stopped the throng set in motion, dissipating once on the platform. Shimon was one of the last to alight, he had one large case and one small one, the small one contained presents.
In no time at all the platform had emptied, Shimon saw only one or two people, and a few more on other platforms. Slowly he approached the stairs, went down into the ticket hall and to the exit. He was back. In the city of his birth, which was still boxed in, still divided.
He stepped into the night. It had stopped raining, the streets glistened black in the glow of the streetlamps. Lisa had written that he should take a taxi. He got into the back of a black Mercedes and gave the address. Righto, the driver said, and off they went.
As the taxi made its way through the city Shimon looked out of the window. Old houses, new houses, entire streets from different eras, gaps between buildings, occasional ruins, parks, wasteland, constant change, a patchwork rug, a ghost train of the past and present. Shimon could not take his eyes off it, he had never seen a city like this, a city like an open wound, a city like an allegory of demise and resurrection. He felt a profound and totally unexpected affinity with this place.
The taxi came to a stop twenty minutes later. It had begun to rain again. Shimon stood with his suitcases in front of a tall apartment block from the late nineteenth century, with a broad entrance of solid wood. Set in the entrance was a door, beside it bells and nameplates.
He searched his feelings for the urge to flee. But he found nothing save for the fear that she might have stopped loving him, and the fear that his son might be disappointed in him. He went to the door, found “Kramer” and pushed the button.
“Shimon?” Lisa’s voice.
“It’s me,” he said.
The door buzzed, Shimon pushed it open, it was astonishingly heavy. He found himself in a wide hallway, stairs branched off to the left and right, straight ahead he saw another entrance with a double door, the door was open and he could see a courtyard, beyond that another building and more doors. The door behind him banged shut.
He was unsure what to do. Turning back, he heaved open the door to the street and looked for directions beside the bell. Through the intercom, Lisa’s voice said, “Shimon, it’s the left-hand stairs in the building at the front!”
He climbed the stairs. On the third floor a door stood ajar, bright light streamed from the apartment into the dimly lit stairwell.
As Shimon drew closer he heard footsteps, then the door was opened fully and there stood Lisa, holding hands with Tom in pajamas.
Blinking blearily at his father, he said, “Hello, Papa.”
Shimon put down his luggage and knelt beside his son.
“Hello Tom. I’m so glad to meet you at last,” he said, giving his son as big a smile as he could.
Tom was embarrassed, he half turned and said, “Come on, Papa.” He went past his mother to the other end of the hallway. Shimon picked up his cases and was about to follow Tom.
But Lisa stood in his way. They were face to face, eye to eye. Tom watched them.
Shimon saw Lisa’s lips quivering faintly, he saw her nostrils flare imperceptibly, all of a sudden his heart began to beat faster, all the way up to his neck. He had never been so sober, so exposed when face to face with a woman. He could not move, more than anything he wanted to drop the suitcases and hug her, but he could not, one of the presents was fragile. He had to put his luggage down slowly, he had to take his time, he had to manage the transition, he had to stand up again, he had to take a step toward her.
He did it all very slowly, his temples throbbed, in his head there was a heat, as if he had blushed. He felt like a little boy standing before a tall woman.
When he was upright again Lisa suddenly embraced him, she was not slow or careful, Shimon forgot his fear, he pulled her toward him, all he could feel was her lips on his, all he could smell was her skin, all he could see was her beauty.
Then out of the corner of his eye he saw Tom, still watching them.
Tom had never seen his mother like this. So many feelings assailed him at once that no single thought could settle in his head. He could not know that this first image of his parents would stay with him his whole life.
Shimon freed himself from Lisa, took hold of the small case, squatted down and said, “Look what I’ve brought you, Tom.”
Lisa closed the front door behind him. Tom came closer, cautiously and full of curiosity.
Frau Kramer lay on her bed in the dark room, listening to every sound coming from the hallway. She had feigned tiredness to avoid disturbing the young ones with her presence, and she had intended to go to sleep when Shimon arrived. But without success.
175
Berlin, 16th July, 1975
He’s still here because of me. But I can sense that he doesn’t feel comfortable. He makes no bones about the fact that he’s a Jew. It’s his form of ethnology. He says it to people casually and then watches them try not to react. He lives in a state of permanent provocation. The only breaks he has are when he’s working in the consulate and when he’s at home. He’s even tried to provoke Grandma. He told her about Abba Kovner and said how he wishes he’d succeeded in poisoning Hamburg. Grandma looked at him and said, Then the Legend of the Well Poisoner would finally have come true. He didn’t know what to say to that. I think he respects her now. But he can’t find peace. He doesn’t take any drugs, he’s not smoking or drinking, and he’s trying his best to be a good father. I can’t expect any more from him for the time being. If only he’d stop believing he’d already achieved his goal. I love him so much, I just wish desperately that he could manage to be himself.
He says he hates the Germans’ do-goodiness, all
of them spend their whole time trying to show that they’re doing the right thing, he calls it please-and-thank-you. The Germans have a please-and-thank-you morality, a please-and-thank-you culture, a please-and-thank-you consciousness. Please-and-thank-you sex. He’s so radical! I understand what he means, but I wish he could stop generalizing all the time. Doesn’t he see that this is exactly what the Nazis thrived on? In spite of this he’s been meeting up with a few musicians, three goyim and a Jew. They want to start a band. This might be a way forward.
Tom has changed quite a bit in the last few months. He’s become truculent, he tries to defy me whenever he can. He listens to every word his father says. For his seventh birthday Shimon gave him a remote-control seaplane. Those things are expensive; I wish he’d used the money more sensibly. They’re like little boys, the two of them. They went to Wannsee with Tom’s friends and spent the whole day playing with the plane. When they got home Tom was happier than I’d ever seen him. I just hope Shimon realizes how much responsibility he has.
What about me? How am I? Am I happier now? Yes and no. Yes, I’m happier with him, he’s the man I want to spend my life with. I’ve managed to swap my office job for a part-time post at the university. It doesn’t make a huge difference financially and it’s getting me closer to studying.
But still my mind is churning with thoughts of Karl Bergmann and Codajás. I went to the Portuguese studies department at the university. I was lucky as they specialize in Brazil. One of the professors was just holding his office hour, so I paid him a visit. He said it sounded like a place name. He advised me to consult an atlas. I found Codajás on the Solimões River, in the middle of the Amazon. And I’m still asking myself if I really want to do this. I’d have to leave Tom with Grandma and Shimon, and fly to São Paulo, from there to Manaus, and then go 300 km. by boat upstream to Codajás. Shimon knows nothing about Karl Bergmann, I ought to tell him soon so he can get used to the idea. I should start saving for the trip, but what have I got to save? I’d have to work even longer hours and study less. If I managed to get myself there I’d have to reckon with the possibility of contracting malaria, dengue or some other tropical disease. I’d have to survive the hot climate for weeks. And all this to find a man who might know something that could ease my inner turmoil.
Poor Tom. What a pair of parents! One searching, one fleeing. It’s a miracle we’ve been able to live together for eight months. Thank God he’s still got his great-grandmother. She’s a support for us all, even for Shimon, though he might not admit it. Since Maria’s death she’s seemed more and more like a seer. At times I wonder whether she’s even interested in the difference between life and death. She’d like to be around for us as long as she can. I worry about a time when she won’t be here anymore.
175
The call came on June 14, 1977, one month before Tom’s ninth birthday. They were at home. Lisa, Shimon, Frau Kramer, Tom, having supper. Tom ran to the telephone because he thought it might be one of his friends. He said a few words then called for his mother. Esther Schwimmer was on the line. Lisa spoke to her for a while, then came back into the living room and sat on her chair.
“What’s up? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost!” Shimon said.
Lisa stared at him. “Josef Ranzner’s living in Munich.”
176
“Absolutely no way!”
“Why not? I don’t understand, please explain.”
“She’s over it. She doesn’t have to see that asshole again.”
“But you’re doing to her exactly what she did to you back then.”
“That’s different.”
“No, Shimon, it’s exactly the same.”
Shimon knew that she was right, but he was unable to admit it.
“It’s not about your mother, is it?” Lisa said. “It’s about you.”
Shimon sensed that she had spoken the truth. He said nothing. The two of them were sitting alone in the kitchen, Tom and Frau Kramer were already asleep, it was late, the sky was still dimly lit by the sun, which had dragged its ancient day across the surface of the earth and was now making a morning, a noon and an evening elsewhere. The longest day of the year was a mayfly like all the others, and now it was coming to an end. The air was balmy, the kitchen window wide open, people were barbecuing in the allotments opposite, they could smell it, they could hear a guitar and someone singing softly, people were out in the streets, their voices drifted upward. Lisa drank red wine, Shimon water.
In spite of their tiredness they had stayed up to make time for each other, and to come to a decision at last.
“I have to go to Munich,” Lisa said. “I must try to find something out, Shimon, I must.”
Simon looked at her and nodded slowly. She had to. Everything in her face, her demeanor showed him that this was the case.
“Alright. I’ll stay here with Tom,” he said.
“You don’t have to do that; you could come too. Tom’s in good hands with his great grandma.”
“I know. But I need time, I’m not as quick as you.”
She looked at him, she thought, I need you, but she did not say it, she would have to get through this without him.
177
This time it was Esther rather than David Schwimmer at the station. She was manifestly older, but this had only enhanced her beauty. They hugged, then Esther took Lisa to her parents. There was a summer warmth in the city, In Berlin the lime trees are still in blossom, Lisa said. They spoke little, Esther drove the car, a pale-green Renault 4, carefully through the streets, I haven’t had my license for long, she said.
They arrived in Lehel. Esther drove past her parents’ house. She stopped two doors further down and pointed to a house, a row of windows, and said, That’s where he lived. His son was in Ben’s class. Lisa nodded, Aha. Esther turned the car round, parked, switched off the engine, she looked at Lisa. Lisa took a deep breath.
“What’s Gudrun like?” she said.
Esther shrugged. “Perfectly nice. Ben’s head over heels in love.”
“What about the thing with her father?”
Esther rocked her head from side to side. “Well, I don’t think it’s easy. But she’s a tough one. She’s been through quite a lot.”
“What?”
“I only know this from Ben. Apparently she got into drugs when she was young. Lived on the streets for a while, things like that.” She looked at Lisa. “But you know all that.”
Lisa nodded, she did know, but in spite of this, and perhaps because of it, she was amazed.
They took her suitcase from the back seat and crossed the road, Esther opened the door, she said, “Even if the occasion’s not a particularly nice one, I’m delighted to see you.”
They went up to where David and Judith were waiting. David was virtually unchanged, Judith had some strands of gray. Ben and Gudrun were sitting in the dining room, they stood up when Lisa came in, instinctively Lisa looked for similarities between Shimon and Gudrun. But Gudrun was quite different, an open book, you could read her every emotion, now she was nervous and anxious and gutsy and she offered Lisa her hand.
“Hello, I’m Gudrun.”
Lisa took her hand. Shimon’s half-sister. Perhaps. Lisa greeted Ben, who had been watching her closely and now looked satisfied. For dinner there was cholent again, as it was almost exactly ten years to the day since Lisa had spent the night with them for the first time, You’ve got the same room, Judith said. Ben celebrated the coincidence, Esther denied it, the siblings argued half in jest, half out of habit. Gudrun said little, Lisa watched her secretly, but Gudrun sensed it and cast her timid looks, to Lisa she came across as a person without a skin, each touch seemed to terrify her, but she was strong too, and there was something symbiotic between Ben and her, they seemed to understand each other blindly, So different from Shimon and me, Lisa thought, unable to pin a clear feeling to this thought.
David Schwimmer was unusually quiet. Later, when everyone had gone to bed and Esther was sittin
g in Lisa’s room, looking at photos of Shimon, Tom and Frau Kramer, she explained why.
“He’s troubled because Gudrun can’t give birth to Jews.”
Lisa was surprised, she had not imagined Esther’s father to be like this, but Esther just shrugged and said, “He’s a Zionist, even though he prefers living in Germany. And that means the children of every Jewish man who takes a non-Jewish wife are lost.”
“Lost?”
“Well, lost to the Jewish people, lost to Israel. The two of us are off the hook.” She grinned. “But Ben should have found himself a Jewish girl.”
“Did he talk to Ben about it?”
“Of course, but you know my brother. He said, I know all that, Dad, I mean I’m a Jew, aren’t I? And that was that.”
Lisa could not suppress a laugh. “And the fact that Gudrun’s the daughter of a mass murderer, who got Israel”—she searched for words—“into this population shortage in the first place, don’t you think that’s got something to do with it?”
Assuming an expression of naivety, Esther said, “Who knows?”
On Saturday morning the atmosphere was different. David and Judith had got up early, David had left the house, Judith was busy cleaning and doing the washing, making only the occasional appearance in the dining room, where her children were having breakfast with their guests.
They spent a while chatting about nothing in particular, and then Gudrun abruptly said, “I was at my brother’s place a couple of days ago. He lives very close to our father, in Neuperlach.” She paused, as if concentrating on an inner voice.
