“And did you know where they were taking you?” said Herb.
“We did. Yes.”
“You knew it would get worse?”
Goldah moved the fish with his fork. “I imagine so.” He was now concentrating on the potatoes. “Or maybe not. I don’t know. It’s hard to remember when exactly you knew and didn’t know.”
The two couples shared a glance and Goldah kept his eyes on his plate.
Herb said, “And inside the camp?”
“It was cold. Very cold. And wet.”
“And all of it was forced labor?”
“Yes,” said Goldah. “We made rubber.”
Fannie asked, “And what if you became ill?”
Goldah noticed how the cream of the potatoes seemed to keep the barbecue sauce at bay.
“Became ill?” he said. “No — you didn’t become ill.”
“But surely in all that time —”
“If you became ill you were chosen, so you weren’t ill.”
Again the four shared a glance. Goldah knew they were desperate to stop asking if only they could. It was why he kept his eyes fixed on his plate.
Joe said, “And did they tell you that from the start?”
Goldah could feel it coming now. “Tell us not to get ill?”
“No,” said Joe with no small amount of confusion. “I mean — did they tell you about —”
“The selections?” said Goldah. “No. They didn’t tell us about that.”
“But you must have been thinking, How can they do this?”
And there it was: the question that always came. How this? How could they be so inhuman? But that wasn’t the question they were really asking. What they really wanted to know was: How could you have let this happen to yourself? Surely you could have seen something early on, understood. We would have seen it, wouldn’t we?
“It wasn’t the guards who were inhuman,” Goldah said distantly. “It was us.” He watched as the sauce seeped through. “If we’d been allowed to keep anything of what made us human, it would have been far worse. And we all knew it.” He finally looked up. There were never any questions after that. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m not sure that answers your question.”
Joe continued to stare across the table. He nodded pensively. “No … it does. Of course.”
Selma said quietly, “It’s all so very brave.”
Goldah felt a tightening in his head. He thought he would have been able to manage more of this. He took another bite of the potatoes.
A black boy stepped over with a pitcher of water. Herb slid his glass to the table’s edge for a refill. “I don’t know how you make it through that,” said Herb.
Goldah waited for the boy to finish and thanked him. The boy moved off and Goldah said, “I suppose you just do.”
Pearl said, “Oh my God.”
They all looked at her. She had her head flat against the booth and was staring out at the dining room.
“Don’t look, Selma — I said don’t look — but guess who’s just walked in?”
It was an unnecessary caution as no one in the place was showing the least bit of interest in any of them. Even so, Selma brought her head back.
“Sit back, Joe,” she said, “I can’t see.” Selma looked out and her eyes widened. “Well that’s just perfect, isn’t it?”
Goldah recognized no one. Herb was also staring out.
“Who are you talking about?” Herb said.
“Nothing,” Pearl said. “Never mind.” She raised her eyebrows to Selma.
“Well what is it?” said Joe. “I’m looking out at the Karps, the Ringelmans — I think that’s the fella who just moved down from Atlanta with his wife — and there’s Art Weiss and his wife —”
“Well imagine that,” said Pearl, still looking at Selma.
Joe looked at her. “Why am I looking at Art Weiss?”
Goldah now understood what he was meant to be looking for, even if he had no idea which of the men was Weiss.
“The tall one,” Herb said, helping him along. “With the pretty wife, in the blue.”
“She’s not that pretty,” said Fannie.
“Yes, she is. She’s always been pretty. That’s why the girl is such a knockout.”
“I’m glad to see you’ve taken such an interest.”
“I can tell you a woman’s good-looking, Fan, and still save all my undying love for you.”
“You better.”
The conversation continued — a seamless string of muted words — as Goldah watched the Weisses follow a young man with menus across the other side of the room. Weiss was slim and tall with a shock of white hair, premature on a face that was at most in its early fifties. The wife was tall as well, elegant in the way she sashayed between the chairs and the tables, her husband’s hand gently nestled in the small of her back. Goldah saw the resemblance to Eva at once.
The Weisses sat and Goldah turned to Fannie. “Do you mind?” He pointed beyond the booth.
The table became quiet, and Pearl said, “Where are you going, Ike?”
“I thought I’d introduce myself.”
He felt Pearl’s hand on his arm under the table.
“And why would you want to do that?”
Goldah conjured the smile from this afternoon on the porch. “He wrote a very kind article about me. It seems only right to thank him for it.”
Selma said to Joe, “Ike had lunch with Mrs. Eva De la Parra this afternoon.”
“It wasn’t lunch, Selma,” Pearl said sharply. “She brought him some newspaper articles. That’s all.”
“I thought you said —”
“Ike was a newspaperman back in Europe.” Pearl’s eyes widened as if to say, Leave it alone. “It was the thoughtful thing to do.” Pearl let go of his arm. “You go right ahead, Ike. You be courteous.”
Fannie slid out and Goldah moved into the dining room. He imagined he had Pearl’s eyes boring through him the entire way.
The Weisses were in a booth, glancing through their menus, when Goldah drew up. He stood for several seconds waiting until Weiss pulled his reading glasses from his eyes and looked across the table to his wife.
“That was easy,” Weiss said. “Ribs for me tonight.” He slid the glasses into his breast pocket and noticed Goldah. “Hello there.” Weiss spoke in a friendly way. “Can I help you with something?” Before Goldah could answer, Weiss said, “Oh, of course. It’s Mr. Goldah.” Weiss slid out and stood. He extended his hand and they shook. “What a pleasure to meet you. Are you here with friends tonight?”
“Family,” said Goldah. “You’re very kind to recognize me.”
“I like to look at a man’s picture before I write about him. I have to say yours was a tough one.”
“I’m afraid I’m not the most photogenic.”
Weiss said, “Allow me to introduce my wife. Marion, this is Mr. Goldah. I believe I might have mentioned him to you once or twice.”
Her smile was far more reserved. “Yes, of course. Hello.”
Weiss said, “And are you enjoying Savannah, Mr. Goldah?”
“I am. Yes.”
“Good. That’s good. You know I managed to track down some of the pieces you wrote before the war. The Herald Tribune. Some wonderful stuff. You were their native correspondent in Prague, is that right?”
“I was. Yes.”
“I did a stint with the New York Herald a hundred years ago. During my woolly years after college. I came back down to Savannah just as quick as I could. Not quick enough for some, but …” Another icy smile from Mrs. Weiss before Weiss said, “You know you’ve got a wonderful command of the language.”
“Thank you,” said Goldah. “As do you. I’ve had the pleasure of reading several of your editorials.”
“Yes, but despite what people might think, English is my first language. I was duly impressed, I truly was, especially for a man your age.”
“You’re very kind.”
“Kindness has nothing to do with
it. Believe me. Would you care to sit for a drink or do you need to get back?”
Had it been Weiss alone Goldah wouldn’t have thought twice about abandoning Pearl and the rest. But it was clear Mrs. Weiss had other plans.
“That’s very thoughtful,” Goldah said, “but I wouldn’t want to interrupt your evening. Perhaps another time.”
“I’d like that.” Weiss pulled a silver case from his jacket pocket and handed Goldah his card.
Goldah said, “I’m afraid I haven’t had any printed up just yet.”
“Not to worry. That’s the office and that’s the home. Feel free to call either.”
Goldah said his goodbyes and the two men shook again. There was a last bob of the head from Mrs. Weiss, and Goldah started back. He felt a wonderful surge of purpose moving past the chairs and the waiters. There was something here that resembled a life he had once known. He felt invigorated by it.
The sight of Pearl and the others brought him quickly back to earth. Before any of them could catch his eye, Goldah decided on a quick trip to the bathroom.
Five minutes later he stepped from the men’s room and saw Mrs. Weiss standing in front of the ladies’. The lights were dim but he recognized her at once, an awkward moment between them as they stood in the little corridor: odder still as Goldah felt as if she had been waiting for him.
“Hello again, Mr. Goldah.” Her voice was no less distant.
“Hello.”
“You’ll forgive me, but this seemed somewhat more private.”
Evidently he had been right.
“Yes,” he said, not knowing why.
“My husband doesn’t know you’ve met with my daughter or that the two of you have spent time together. If he did I’m certain your conversation would have gone a very different way. You understand that, of course.”
Goldah didn’t but nodded all the same.
“I think I’ll say my piece and then be done with it. Is that all right?”
The unspoken threat was voiced with such gentility that Goldah had no choice but to nod again.
“I’m sorry for all that you’ve gone through,” she said. “I truly am. And I’m so pleased that you’ve been able to find a home here with your people. But my daughter is still very fragile, even now, and there are things you can’t possibly know or understand about what she is going through. I believe the word they like to use these days is ‘susceptible,’ and you, Mr. Goldah, are the perfect vessel for a woman in that state. A man who needs help. A man broken by this war. You can understand that, too.”
Goldah realized he wasn’t meant to answer, just nod.
“You may have her pity, Mr. Goldah, but please know that pity is all it can ever really be, despite what even she herself might come to think. I have no doubt your own experiences tell you such. Am I right?”
This time Goldah simply stared and Mrs. Weiss said, “Yes, I imagine you do. I do hope you enjoy the holidays and I wish you and your family a very sweet and happy new year.”
4
THE SEVEN A.M. Nancy Hanks got them into Atlanta just before two p.m. They had spent half the trip in the grill car, Jesler praising the Georgia Central for its steaks — the best of any of the lines, he said, even the ones up to New York. Goldah agreed and let Jesler finish the slab of meat that remained on his own plate. It was little more than a thick spine of fat and veins when the boy in the white coat came to clear the table.
Out in the cab the streets beyond the station grew wider while the buildings — littered with signs and awnings — moved past at full assault. Goldah had let himself forget the pace of a real city. He settled back and listened to Jesler drone on as the streets moved by in a blur.
Their hotel, the Georgian Terrace, was a grand affair, with white columns and a series of red-striped canopies out front. It lived up to its name, with a side terrace where early drinks or late lunches dotted the tables among the legion of tuxedoed servers.
Goldah felt the heat at once as he and Jesler stepped from the cab. It was a different heat here — different from Savannah — drier, and Goldah wondered if it was possible to miss a thing he had only just come to know.
The sixth-floor room was plush, with sitting chairs and a small ottoman. Goldah pressed his hand onto the mattress and it gave with his palm; he imagined the pillows would do the same. Jesler had tossed his jacket and tie onto his bed and was now in the bathroom running the water.
“You can see the Tech campus from the window,” Jesler said between splashes.
Goldah was already staring out. In the distance he saw a few green patches — trees, red brick — congregating in a small oval. Elsewhere pockets of height broke through the endless stretches of thick, packed-down stone, all of it gray and drab. Goldah had seen the city burn at the cinema years ago, magnificent on the screen. This, he now saw, was what had come after.
Jesler was patting a towel on his neck as he stepped into the room.
“So,” he said, “we’ll meet back here at around seven? I’d take you with me but it’s going to be one store after another. You could walk to the campus from here. Take a look around. It’s very pleasant. Or you could catch a movie just across the street. I didn’t see what was playing. Then we’ll have some dinner and be up and ready for tomorrow. Sound like a plan?”
“It does.”
“Good. And look — I don’t want you to be worried about any of this government stuff. They like to keep it all very close to the chest but I’m sure it’s nothing. They’ll ask you a few questions. Probably just about how you’re getting on. So we’ll head down to the offices early, get it over with, and get back on the train.”
“I’m not worried.”
Jesler tossed the towel onto his bed. “No, I don’t imagine you are. Wish I could say the same.”
“It’ll be fine, I’m sure.”
Jesler pulled his collar up and reached for the tie. “You never seem to flap, do you? Always calm with things. Have you always been that way?”
Goldah knew he hadn’t. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
“I guess you just have to be.” Jesler brought the tie to a knot, and Goldah watched as the skin around Jesler’s neck strained against the collar. Funny how some people took silence for calm. Jesler said, “Just take things as they come, I guess.” He nodded then put on the jacket and checked himself in the mirror. “You have money?”
“I do.”
Jesler pulled out his wallet and placed a five-dollar bill on the bureau. He turned back to himself in the mirror.
“Just in case,” he said. He straightened his hair. “And if you bring a girl back, leave a signal for me on the door. You know, shoes outside or a tie.” Goldah started to answer and Jesler smiled. “I know, Ike. Just don’t spend it all in one place.”
The door clicked shut and Goldah turned again to the window. He waited a few minutes until he saw Jesler step out onto the street. Jesler got into a cab, and Goldah watched as it pulled away.
The room was remarkably still. Goldah thought perhaps he had never known such quiet. Within minutes he was asleep.
“Hats, girdles, handbags … it’s all the same in the end, Abe, lucky for us. You see what I’m saying?”
Meyer Hirsch was small and very thin, and when he spoke, his words tumbled into each other, tied together by a nasal bridge, as if he was constantly humming. It made it difficult to get a word in. His desk was at the back of a vacuum repair shop, although Jesler guessed that Hirsch wouldn’t have known the difference between an Electrolux and a Hoover: The machines all stood on the shelves like undusted trophies.
Hirsch said, “So Mel Green tells me you’ve never done this sort of thing.”
Jesler was eager to move past Green. He said, “I can’t say I know exactly what you mean by ‘this sort of thing.’ ”
“Sure you do, Abe. Otherwise why would you be sitting in my shop talking about New York unions? You’re moving up, making an advantage for yourself. Nothing wrong with that. Just that maybe certain things
are best done not out in the open. Fewer hands reaching out. You see what I’m saying?”
Jesler was wondering how many hands they would be talking about.
“There’s nothing illegal,” Hirsch went on. “At least not on my end. You say the Irish are handling the tax and import men, yes? Always important to have someone good handling the import people. Making sure they’re comfortable. Very comfortable. That way no tax notation. No tax notation, no import log. No import log — you see what I’m saying. Then it stays very private, very local, which is what you want. And why you’ve come to me. You haven’t signed anything, have you?”
“No,” said Jesler.
“Good. That’s good. You let them take care of all that. Still, there’s a danger. Naturally there’s a danger. The unknowns, who gets wind of what’s doing, so forth and so on.”
“And how often have you done this sort of thing?”
The nasal hum became a momentary laugh. “He wants to know how often. That’s good. Very good. It’s a good question. You’re sure you want the answer? No, I’m just joking. Enough. I do it enough to know how to make sure that what happens here doesn’t catch anyone’s eye up in New York … or Newark, maybe even as far north as New Haven. Some union boy all the way up there hears what’s doing down here …” He bobbled his head, smiled. “We don’t want this to happen. Simple as that.”
“Forgive my ignorance, Meyer, but I’m not exactly clear why any of them should care about what happens in Savannah.”
“Abe. Please. Longshoremen, Teamsters … these are serious people. They need to know that they’re … how should I put it … that they’re involved. That nothing comes or goes without they get something for themselves. You see what I’m saying. They’ll want their piece. But, really, do they need to involve themselves with something like this? Of course not. So we make sure they …” — the words trailed off into a long breath out — “that we don’t bother them with this. That they don’t feel bothered. Simple as that.”
“And when I begin to ship the shoes —”
“Merchandise, Abe, merchandise. Much better that way.”
Among the Living Page 8
