You know what I like most about Arlene? Her veins. She has great veins up and down her arms, but the most beautiful purple ones flow through her breasts. They remind me of the canals of Mars.
The movies that Arlene and I have really liked lately all have definite endings: Easy Rider, Midnight Cowboy, Medium Cool. It’s almost Rosh Hashanah again, and I can’t think up an ending. It’s like a delicatessen I know in Rockaway with mirrors on each wall. You sit there eating your Hebrew National frank with sauerkraut and mustard and you look over and see your reflection, and then your reflection in your reflection, and so on. There’s a guy I know at school, kind of a jerk. Every time I see him, he tells me that tomorrow’s the end of the world. One of these days he’s going to be right.
With Hitler in New York
Hitler’s girlfriend and I are waiting for him in the International Arrivals Building at Kennedy Airport. Ellen and I stand in front of the West Customs Area. My brother is standing in front of the East Customs Area. He is waiting for my parents. My parents and Hitler have each landed at the same time, at seven o’clock. My parents are flying KLM from Saint Martin. Hitler is flying Laker from London and Manchester. He couldn’t afford any other airline. He had to book his flight forty-five days in advance. But Laker paid for the ferry to England and the train ride to London as well. It is, as Hitler has written me, “a pretty good deal.”
Next to us there is an old Englishwoman. She is clucking her tongue. We are watching the passengers of an Alitalia flight from Rome come out of Customs and hug and kiss and cry and carry on.
“These people are just disgraceful,” the old Englishwoman says. “You’ll see that the people from Laker will be much better behaved.”
Ellen and I look at each other and decide to move away.
Ellen gets worried because Hitler has not yet come out. She is playing with her long blonde strands of hair. When she puts a bit of hair in her mouth, I tell her to stop it. Then she sees Hitler coming out of Customs.
He looks handsomer than I remembered him as being. He is smiling. When he gets to us, he hugs Ellen. He is so much taller than she.
I ask Hitler if I can carry his backpack.
“No, no, it’s all right,” he says in English.
Ellen tells Hitler in German that it’s very hot outside and that he should take off his leather jacket. Hitler replies in English that he prefers to keep the jacket on.
When we go outside Hitler says of the heat, “It’s like a bathroom.”
On the ride back to Brooklyn, Hitler talks only English. It seems to be coming back to him now. Driving up Flatbush Avenue, we pass a bank that advertises its “Tellerphone” service, and Hitler asks what that is. I tell him it’s a checking account where you can pay your bills by phone.
“But don’t you have to say a code so they know it’s you?” says Ellen from the back seat.
“Sure,” I say. “Either a word or a series of numbers or letters.”
Hitler smiles. “A commercial mantra, eh?”
I am surprised Hitler is so quick. Obviously I have been underestimating him all these years.
Hitler has to stay with the Judsons because Ellen’s parents won’t permit him to stay with them. The Judsons are wonderful people. Libby teaches swimming at the YWCA; she is Ellen’s best friend in America, apart from myself. Mrs. Judson is a delightful woman, daughter of Ukrainian immigrants, a happily deserted wife. The Judsons live in a brownstone in Park Slope.
When we get back to the Judsons’ house, Hitler finally takes off his leather jacket. It is about ninety degrees. He takes off his work shirt too. Underneath he has a T-shirt that has shrunk just a little bit. Hitler is very skinny but he is tall. When I ask him what the air smells like up there, he says “Dwarfs,” and we all laugh.
We watch TV for a little while in the Judsons’ living room. It is a pilot for a projected series starring Barbara Feldon. Hitler only likes the commercials. When he sees Senator Sam Ervin doing a commercial for American Express, Hitler really freaks out.
“Imagine Willy Brandt doing a commercial for Beck’s Beer,” he says to Ellen. She explains that German television is very different. All the commercials are on at one time, for only forty minutes a day.
Libby says we should all sit outside and eat ice cream. Ellen has dope that she bought from my brother and we all sit out on the stoop smoking a joint and eating vanilla ice scream. Hitler regales us with stories about his Sunday stopover in London. Ellen tells us that Hitler thinks the English people are so stiff and formal.
“It was tea everywhere,” Hitler says. He has a nice air about him, as though he is so comfortable with his body. I think I would like to be like him. “We went to this pub, and then they took me to see this movie, ‘Black Emanuelle.’ It was so silly, no? There were strange scenes in the bathroom and finally I got up and said to Clive and Zbyczek, ‘You don’t really want to stay, do you?’ They said no, but really they did.”
We go back into the living room, the only air-conditioned room in the Judsons’ house. Mrs. Judson is watching “Eyewitness News.” They are still talking about the blackout and the looting.
Hitler says he is sorry he missed the blackout. “It would have been, sort of, an adventure,” he tells us, and then we say how awful it was.
“This heat wave is bad enough,” Libby tells Hitler, but he has started to doze off on the couch.
“Poor thing,” Mrs. Judson says. We bring down the foldaway bed and wake Hitler up so he can get in it.
“What do you think of Hitler?” Ellen asks me as I take her to her parents’ house. We are driving along the Belt Parkway at midnight with our car windows wide open, but there is not a hint of a breeze.
“I kind of like him,” I say. “I never realized he was so witty.”
Ellen kisses me on the cheek at her parents’ house. I watch to see that she gets in safely.
The next day it reaches 100 degrees, a record-breaker. Hitler is uncomfortable. He hasn’t slept much and he has jet lag. In addition, he seems to be getting a cold.
He and Ellen have gotten breakfast at McDonald's. Hitler likes fast food and there are no fast food places in Germany. When I get over to the Judsons’, Ellen and Hitler are watching a movie on Channel 9. Hitler is lying under the covers.
“I think I’m going to go to the Apex Technical School,” Hitler says. He has obviously seen the commercials for it. “To repair air conditioners in this climate must be profitable.” I chuckle.
The news comes on and all the talk is about the heat wave. A woman reporter asks an official if we will have a “water blackout.” Hitler gets out of bed, puts on his jeans, and we go pick up Libby at the YWCA.
Libby, Ellen, Hitler, and I have dinner at Shakespeare’s in the Village. It is air-conditioned. Hitler has a salad because he is not in the mood for meat. Libby has onion soup and bread because she is a vegetarian. Ellen and I have hamburgers.
When the lights flicker for a moment, Hitler gets excited. He so hopes for another blackout.
After dinner, around nine, we walk to Washington Square. It is almost cool. We sit at the edge of the fountain, facing outwards. Hitler and Ellen are holding hands; so are Libby and I.
A black man with no shirt on comes over to us and says we look stoned. We smile and he asks us if we need more dope to get stoned on.
“We are stoned on the evening,” Hitler tells the black man. He goes away shaking his head.
When I get home, I see my father in his bedroom. He looks very small. I come in to apologize to him for not seeing him since he got back from vacation. I have been spending most of my time with Hitler.
“Grandpa’s very sick,” my father tells me. “He had another heart attack. He’s in a coma.”
“Oh, no,” I say. I think about the phone call I got from my grandfather on Sunday, and how he begged me to visit him in Florida.
I pick up Hitler and Ellen at the Kings Highway station and take them back to my house, to my swimming pool. I am still worried
about my grandfather.
Hitler and Ellen enjoy the water. He is so much bigger than she is that he throws her under constantly. She cries for help, and I know she doesn’t like it, but I pretend she is just joking. I do not want to spoil Hitler’s fun.
“You’re a sadist, you know that?” Ellen says to Hitler after they get out of the pool. Hitler shrugs. Then Ellen turns to me. “He did the same thing to me in Greece last year,” she says.
Hitler and I are going to Ellen’s parents’ house for dinner. I let Hitler take a shower and use my razor and shaving cream so he can impress Ellen’s mother, who has never liked him. My own mother seems to like Hitler. She is pleased that he doesn’t mess up the bathroom.
The three of us arrive at Ellen’s parents’, and Hitler and I have to wait outside because Ellen’s grandfather, visiting from Florida, has to put on a pair of pants.
Dinner is dairy: bagels, tuna salad, corn on the cob, lettuce and tomatoes and iced tea. It is too hot to eat a heavy meal. Ellen’s mother doesn’t talk to Hitler except to say, “Pass me that salt bagel.” Ellen’s father tries to joke around. Her grandfather tells us about his meeting with an old black woman customer of his from years ago, when he sold appliances on credit.
The old black woman’s name was Mother Brown. Ellen’s grandfather walked up four flights to see her, and when he opened the door, Mother Brown got so excited that she ran over and hugged him. Then she started crying. “Mr. Glass, I’m so old!” she said. And Ellen’s grandfather said, “Why, you’re only eighty, and I’m three years older than you.”
Across the table Hitler winks at me.
After dinner we go to visit Mike. Mike has just had corrective surgery for a separated shoulder. He comes down wearing no shirt, and the scar looks ugly. They only took the bandage off the day before.
Hitler and I have to shake Mike’s left hand.
Mike’s mother comes out and kisses Ellen. Later Ellen will say that Mike’s mother always wanted him to marry Ellen because they were both Jewish.
Mike’s mother practically ignores Hitler, so we decide to take a walk to the beach.
Above the Belt Parkway we smoke a joint. I cough, as usual.
“Look at all the cars,” Hitler says. “Each one of them has someone going somewhere.”
“I’m really stoned,” Mike says.
“I’m thirsty,” Ellen says.
“Let’s go have eggcreams,” I say.
And we do.
After our eggcreams, we go on the boardwalk. Ellen tells Hitler that there are many old people and Soviet Jews in Brighton Beach and cautions him not to talk German. Hitler nods.
We join a circle surrounding a fiftyish woman in shorts. She is very animatedly singing a Yiddish folk song. All of the old people are enjoying it. It seems like it’s supposed to be funny, or maybe dirty. Hitler is listening intently.
“Farshteit?” I ask Hitler.
“Ja, ja,” he says. “She is telling about how not to have children.”
An old lady next to us smiles. She seems glad that Hitler understands the song. We walk away before she can recognize him.
Libby and Mike are sitting on a boardwalk bench, talking about old times.
Hitler and I are leaning against the rail, watching the dark ocean, the dark sand, talking about this and that.
“Giscard d’Estaing is so funny,” Hitler says. “The things he does to make himself popular.”
I nod.
I tell Hitler I can name all ten states of West Germany. He counts on his fingers as I name them. I can only name nine. I know the other one has a hyphenated name, but it is difficult.
“It’s where Stuttgart is,” Hitler gives me a hint.
Now I remember. “Baden-Württemberg,” I tell him, and Hitler smiles.
I wonder if I am beginning to fall in love with him.
On Friday night Hitler gives me a present, a book of Rilke’s poems. He tells me not to worry about my grandfather, who is still in a coma.
We eat dinner at a Szechuan restaurant in Brooklyn Heights, Hitler, Ellen, Libby and me. We order four dishes and take from each other’s plates. We eat with chopsticks. Hitler likes Cantonese spareribs, but we will have to get them another time. The oranges and fortune cookies make a fine dessert. We are very full.
When the check comes, we just divide it by four. No one seems to object. Libby, Ellen, and I give Hitler our share and he pays for the meal with a fifty-dollar traveler’s check. He forgets to leave a tip and they call him back for that.
The four of us walk off our dinner by the Brooklyn Heights Promenade. We look at that night view of the lower Manhattan skyline.
“The most gorgeous cliché in America,” I say.
It is actually chilly. The heat wave has broken.
Hitler is hugging Ellen and Libby. They come over to me and they hug me too. We are standing by the rail, all touching each other. It is a very fine moment.
We have walked off our dinner by looking at the brownstones on Hicks Street. We are ready for dessert. The four of us drive to Atlantic Avenue, to the Seeds of the Future Café, a health-food place run by young black women.
Hitler orders Asantiwa’s Carrot Cake and peppermint tea. They do not have Beck’s Beer, which is what he really wanted.
Someone at another table, a Filipino, recognizes Hitler. But everything is too mellow for him to make a scene.
My grandfather dies.
My father goes down to Florida to bring back the body for the funeral. My grandmother is coming back too.
It is Saturday night, the big party Libby is giving for Hitler. I cannot miss it.
I don’t tell anyone that my grandfather has died.
I get stoned with Hitler and Ellen.
The guests arrive.
Everyone seems to be getting along.
Hitler is making a big hit with everyone.
If I were capable of being jealous of him, I would be. But by now I love him too much.
Hitler drinks bottle after bottle of Beck’s Beer. He once worked at the brewery in Bremen. “Just think,” he says. “Maybe I once saw this bottle pass me by on the assembly line in Germany.”
I try my best to smile.
A fortyish ad agency executive, someone’s lover, comes by and says, “Look how that Nazi can drink so much beer and still stay thin.” He pinches the flab on my stomach. “Fatties like us,” he says, speaking of me and him, “just look at beer and gain weight.”
When he goes away, I tell Hitler that he has hurt my feelings.
“He did not do it voluntarily, I am sure,” Hitler says.
Ellen comes over and takes photographs of me and Hitler, our arms around each other.
Hitler gives Ellen many kisses.
We get drunk and I tell Hitler that we should plan to win the Nobel Prize the same year, he for Peace, I for Literature.
“We would have to wear ties,” he says.
“No, tuxedos,” I tell him. “And top hats and canes.”
“And we could get up on the platform and sing, ‘There’s No Business like Show Business’… The Swedish Academy would be talking about us for a long while, eh?” Hitler’s nose is very red.
Libby gets sick and the party begins to end.
I drive Ellen back to her parents’, and Hitler comes along for the ride. I look away as they say goodnight. They are going back to Germany in two days.
Driving Hitler back to the Judsons’ house, I remember my grandfather’s death.
On Ocean Parkway I begin to cry.
“Do not have tears,” Hitler says. He asks what is wrong.
We pull over to a side street and I tell him.
He says he is sorry.
I Hate All of You on This L Train Page 2
