“All right,” said David, settling back with his shoulders against a log.
He wanted to think about Erica, and with a shock he realized that in the end, it had taken David to get him to listen to her. Only a few days before, when she had been trying all over again to tell him what mattered most to her, she had said, “I wish you’d believe me,” and when he had protested that he did believe her, she had answered hopelessly, “No, not quite.” Like her father, he had always assumed that Erica did not know what she would be letting herself in for, and again like Charles Drake, he had considered himself to be in some mysterious way better qualified to decide what would be best for her in the long run than Erica was herself.
In refusing to believe her, he had placed himself beyond her influence and relegated her to a position where all she could do was to stand back and watch him being influenced by other people and in effect, being influenced against her. He had shut her out, although now he remembered exactly the way she had said, “Give me a chance to understand, and if I let you down, well then you can shut me out. I guess I’ll have deserved it. It’s not my fault that I’m not Jewish and I can’t do anything about it, but surely, surely the fact that I love you so much makes up for it!”
The day he had met her he had asked her what she wanted most and she had said, “Just what every other woman wants; I’m afraid I’m not very original,” and the last day, three months later, he had asked her again, for somewhat different reasons, and she had said, “I want you to believe — to believe in us. I don’t care how long I have to wait, that isn’t what matters. I don’t think I matter much either. What does matter is you, and what I can’t bear is the idea of your going overseas with nothing to come back to at the end of it but a world in which there is no place for you and me.”
“What’s wrong?” asked David, watching him.
“Nothing,” said Marc. “I was just thinking.”
They were silent again and finally David asked, “Mind if I ask you a few questions?”
“Go ahead,” said Marc without interest.
“Is there anyone in this collection of people who are so dead against your marrying Erica, or her marrying you, who happens to know both of you?”
“No.”
“Is there anyone who knows both of you who’s in favour of it? I don’t mean people who just know you casually.”
Marc thought for a moment and then answered, “Yes, there’s one. Erica’s sister Miriam.”
“Good,” said David. “That makes two of us.”
Marc almost missed it at first, and then he demanded, “What do you mean, two of you?”
“Miriam and me.”
“You don’t know Eric ...”
“Well,” said David, “not intimately, but I did spend last Saturday night with her from six o’clock till my train left at eleven.”
“You did what?”
“I told you I was in Montreal for a three-day clinic.”
“Yes, but ...”
“You told me about her that night we ran into each other at the Rosenbergs’ in Toronto, and then when you wrote to say that you were on draft and going to Petawawa, you sounded even more depressed about the whole thing, so I figured that since I didn’t have anything to do from five until my train left at eleven, I might just as well have a look at her and see what it was all about.”
“How did you find her?”
“I just picked the Drake with the fanciest address. Got the right one first shot,” he added with a certain amount of pride. “Anyhow, I rang up, and when I got her, I said I was your brother from the backwoods, and would she care to have dinner with me. She sort of gasped and then she said, ‘You’re David,’ as though I’d suddenly dropped down from Mars. I don’t know whether she was crying or not, it sounded like it anyhow. There was a longish silence, because I couldn’t think of anything to say, until finally I asked her if she’d mind if I called for her at six so that we could have a couple of drinks ...”
“You called for her?” repeated Marc.
“Naturally,” said David. “I don’t make it as easy for people to dictate terms to me as you do.”
“Go on,” said Marc, staring at him.
“Well, she said she’d be ready at six, and I got a taxi so much sooner than I expected that I arrived there promptly at a quarter to.”
“Did you meet any of the family?”
“Yes,” said David. “I met Drake.” He picked up a flat stone and sent it skimming out over the surface of the water upstream. “I was standing with my back to the door looking at that picture over the fireplace when someone said behind me, ‘Mr. Reiser, I’m Erica’s father.’ As soon as I turned round and he saw my face, it was obvious from his expression that something was wrong somewhere ...”
“I’ll bet it was,” said Marc grimly.
“No, not the way you mean,” his brother answered him immediately. “He was just puzzled. I said that I was afraid he’d got me mixed up with you, and that I was Dr. David Reiser, so we shook hands and he gave me a cigarette and then asked if I’d like a drink. I said, ‘Yes, thanks very much,’ so he got one for each of us and one for Erica when she came down. He said he’d just heard the maid say the name Reiser, when she’d gone up to tell Erica I was there, so naturally he thought it was you.”
He paused and then added deliberately, “The next thing Drake said after that was, ‘I’m sorry to say that I’ve never met your brother.’ And there was no doubt he meant it.”
“He said that?” asked Marc incredulously. “But why? Why after all this time, for God’s sake? I don’t get it.”
“I gathered from Erica, that her father’s opposition had collapsed, the day after he heard that his son was missing. I don’t suppose he felt much like going on with it after that. He looked pretty well shot when I saw him. Anyhow, he asked me what I was doing in Montreal, and I told him that I’d come down for a clinic. He wanted to know where I practiced, and I told him that too, and he seemed genuinely interested and kept on asking me questions, so I kept on talking. It may seem funny to you but I liked him. And by the way, the last thing he said to me was to tell you that he hoped he’d have a chance of meeting you when you’re in Montreal on Wednesday.”
“That’s day after tomorrow.” He was still trying to believe it, when he heard David asking abruptly why he had allowed Drake to get away with it.
“Get away with it?” said Marc.
“Yes. Why didn’t you go and see him at the very beginning, before this whole mess had a chance to develop?”
“I couldn’t do that.”
“Why not?” asked his brother. “I know what happened, or at least I’ve got a pretty good idea, because Erica told me the whole story. The point is that it takes two to play the game Drake was playing, and he couldn’t have got away with it at all if you’d behaved like an ordinary, intelligent human being, instead of like a Jew with an inferiority complex. I know,” he said in a different tone, “it’s easy to talk, particularly at this distance.”
In the intervals of silence they could hear the wind stirring in the trees overhead, the sound of running water, and sometimes the rustling of an animal in the underbrush.
Staring unseeing at the tangle of trees, bushes, and vines across the little stream, Marc said at last, “I almost did see Drake once. I got as far as his outer office.”
“And what happened?”
“I guess I just lost my nerve.”
A moment later he burst out violently, “O.K., go ahead and tell me I’ve made a hell of a mess of it!”
“Give me time, laddie,” said David imperturbably. “Don’t you want to know how Erica is?”
“I already know how she is,” he said under his breath.
“I wrote her a prescription for some stuff to make her sleep — my idea, not hers. I hope she got it filled. She didn’t seem to be very interested in herself, all she could talk about was you. She did say that she was going to enlist this week, but she hasn’t a hope of passing h
er medical till she’s put on ten pounds and had a good rest.”
David changed his position, sitting higher, with his back instead of his shoulders against the log, and said dispassionately, “As I’ve already remarked once, you’re old enough to know better. This whole mess, as you call it, is your fault from start to finish, only having started it, you haven’t got the guts to finish it; all you do is listen to a lot of people yapping about a situation they don’t know the first thing about, and refusing to listen to the one person who does. And then you let those other people finish it for you.”
He said, “If you think God is going to hand you another Erica Drake on a platter, only tailored to measure according to a lot of cockeyed theories about ‘Jews’ and ‘Gentiles’ you’re going to find that you’re wrong. There isn’t going to be another one.”
“I know that.” He had already made up his mind, but he had more faith in his brother’s judgment than in the judgment of anyone else he knew, and he said, “Go on.”
“You’re a queer mixture of a weak character and a strong one. I’ve always thought you’d be up against something like this sooner or later, so that you’d be forced to make a choice, and if you made the right one, then you’d be somebody, and if you didn’t, then afterwards you’d just let yourself go, and say what’s the use, and subside into complete mediocrity. If you allow a lot of other people to talk you out of doing something that you know is right for you, and talk you into letting yourself and someone else down as badly as this, then you’ll never amount to even half the human being you ought to be. Maybe it’s a question of sticking by your own principles, I don’t know, but you don’t think like they do. If you did, you might be able to get away with it, but you don’t, and neither does Erica. The difference between you is that she seems to realize it and you don’t ...”
“I do realize it.”
He glanced swiftly at Marc, and after scrutinizing him for a moment he said, “Yes, I guess you do, but I’m going to finish my speech anyhow.” He paused and then went on, “People have been trying to type us ever since we were born, Marc. I know it hasn’t been easy, it’s been tough as the devil a lot of the time, but we’ve stuck it out this far, and neither of us can afford to give up now.” He paused again and said finally, “You can’t quit.”
They both got up and started down the road toward the town. The sun was setting over the bush and the Algoma Hills were slowly changing from burnished gold to deep purple, but Marc did not look back. He did not look back until they had passed the last farmhouse and were nearing the row of rundown cottages on the outskirts, and he heard the first whippoorwill calling from the bush. He turned and his eyes swept over the line of hills as they caught the last rays of light from the west, and then he began to walk faster, looking ahead of him again.
The Reisers were at dinner, his father at one end of the table and his mother at the other, and David sitting across from him, when the telephone rang in the hall, and Marc, who was nearest the door, got up to answer it.
It was the girl who worked in the telegraph office down on Main Street and because she had known Marc all her life, instead of going through the usual formalities, she said, “Marc, is that you?”
“Yes. Oh, hello ...” he began, and then realized that he had forgotten her name. “Hello,” he said again, more firmly.
“Where have you been all afternoon, for goodness’ sake?”
“Well, I ...”
“There’s a wire for you from Ottawa. You’ve got an extra week’s leave.”
“What!” Gasped Marc. “What did you say?”
“Here, I’ll read it to you. ‘Captain M. L. Reiser, 32 Elm St., Manchester ...”
“All right, you can skip that part of it. Read me the rest.”
She read him the rest and asked him if he would like a copy delivered. “We’re pretty short handed now, but Tommy comes in after school, and he should be back from dinner in a minute.”
“All right,” said Marc dazedly. “Send Tommy along with it.”
He put down the phone and stared at the panelled wall above the telephone where he had once carved his initials, m.l.r., Marc Leopold Reiser.
“What is it?” asked David from the doorway.
“I’ve got an extra week’s leave.” He said suddenly, “I’m going to phone Eric and ask her to marry me.”
He could hear his mother and father talking in the dining room and looking up at his brother he said, “Go and explain to them, Dave, please.”
“O.K.,” said David.
“Tell them ...”
“O.K.,” said David again. “I’ll do my best.”
He disappeared, and into the phone Marc said to the long distance operator, “Montreal, please ...”
There was a wait while she was getting the number and he went on looking at the initials M.L.R., until finally a woman’s voice said, “Hello.”
“Manchester calling, just a moment please.”
“Hello,” said Marc. “Hello, may I speak to Miss Drake, please — Miss Erica Drake.”
“Yes, I’ll get her. Can you hold on a minute?”
“Is that you, Mrs. Drake?”
“Yes ...”
“This is Marc Reiser speaking.”
“Oh,” she said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t recognize your voice.”
“Is Eric all right?”
“No, not exactly. She — she’s badly overtired ...” The voice dropped into silence and then he heard her say, “I’m glad you telephoned, Mr. Reiser. I hope — I hope there’s nothing wrong?”
“No, I’ve just been given some extra leave ...”
“I’m so glad! Just a minute, I’ll get Erica.”
He heard Miriam’s voice somewhere near the phone asking, “Mother, is that Marc?”
“Yes, thank goodness.”
“Marc!” said Miriam into the phone.
“Hello, Mimi.” He was beginning to be thoroughly frightened and he asked, “What’s the matter with Eric?”
“She seems to have cracked up. She came home on Saturday night, after your brother left, and just sort of went to pieces. Mother’s kept her in bed ever since. You are coming tomorrow, aren’t you?” she asked anxiously.
“No, I think I’ll probably leave tonight. Mimi,” he said quickly, “is there any news of Tony?”
“No,” said Miriam.
“But there’s still a chance, isn’t there?”
“I don’t think so,” she answered after a pause.
“Where was it?”
“The Mediterranean. He’d been transferred to Malta.” She said, “I’m glad about your leave, Marc.”
“Thanks, Mimi.”
“Here’s Eric ...”
And then he heard Erica’s voice saying, “Marc — Marc, is that you?”
“Hello, darling. Eric,” he whispered, swallowing. “Eric, darling ...”
“Is it true about your leave?”
“I’ve got another week.”
“Marc!”
He said in agony, “Don’t cry, darling — you mustn’t cry any more.”
“It’s getting to be a habit, isn’t it? I’m sorry.” There was a brief silence and then she said, “There, that’s better. When are you coming?”
“I’m going to try to make the train tonight. It’s the Vancouver train and it’s due in at Windsor Station at 11:15 tomorrow morning. Do you think you can meet me?”
“Yes, of course ...”
“Are you sure you’re well enough?” he asked anxiously.
“There’s nothing the matter with me, really, I just ...” She stopped and then said, “I’m just a fake.”
“Eric ...”
“Yes?”
“Eric,” he said. He suddenly got to his feet, kicking away the telephone stool, and gripping the phone with one hand and the frame of the door leading into the back hall with the other, he said, “Eric, will you marry me?”
Her voice was suddenly very faint as she asked, “Do you mean now or afterward
s?”
“I mean now — tomorrow, or the next day, as soon as we can get a license.” He drew in his breath and said with a great effort, “Of course, if you like you can — well, you can think about it and tell me when I ...”
“I don’t have to think about it, except that I guess — I guess I can’t quite believe it!”
“Neither can I,” he said rather unsteadily.
After a pause he heard her asking, “Marc, are you ...”
“Am I what?”
“Are you sure, darling?”
“Yes,” said Marc. “I’m quite sure now.”
There was a long silence and finally he said still more unsteadily, “I’m going to hang up now because I ...”
“It must be catching. Goodbye darling.”
“Goodbye, Eric.”
“And give my love to David!”
He put down the phone and after a while he turned and found his mother and father standing in the door leading to the dining room. Whatever it was they had intended to say to him, when they saw his face, they did not say it.
He looked from one to the other and finally the words came out, wrung from his heart, “Please ... give us a break!”
His father was the first to answer. He said, “Don’t worry, Marc. We’ll give you a break.”
Later, as he was standing on the steps of the train looking down at the three of them, his mother and father and brother, his father said, “Tell Erica to come and see us sometime, Marc.”
“I’ll tell her,” said Marc. “If it doesn’t take us too long to get a license, we might come and see you together, after we’re married.”
“No,” said his mother, shaking her head. “We don’t want you spending most of your last week on trains.”
The train began to move and David said, smiling up at him, “Good luck, laddie.”
His father raised one hand in a little gesture of farewell, and then his mother cried out suddenly, “Marc, come back!”
“I’ll come back, Mother.”
And the last he saw of his family, they were still standing together under a lamp and a sign which they had first seen thirty-five years before, when the three of them, a mother and father and a little boy of five, had come from Austria.
Earth and High Heaven Page 31
