Melting the Snow on Hester Street

by Daisy Waugh

  But he didn’t understand. Didn’t even begin to understand. How could he? She said, ‘But do you have anything else? Anything new? Anything—’

  ‘Of course.’ He stretched across the desk once again, the button of his waistcoat catching uncomfortably on the ledge. ‘Perhaps, if you would be kind enough to pass me the file …’

  She continued to flip through the pages. There were other photographs, several she’d not seen before; photographs of the streets she had left behind all those years ago. She hated to look at them. ‘This one,’ she said suddenly. ‘When was this photograph taken?’

  ‘Ahh,’ he said. ‘Yes. That is a photograph of Allen Street, which you have in you hand.’

  ‘It is. I know it. But the building—’

  ‘As you are aware, the building in which Isha was last seen was razed to the ground in 1916.’

  ‘Yes, I know.’

  ‘What you see there is the building which replaced it. Isha’s building was an old law tenement block – worse than most, from what I understand.’

  ‘No. Not really …’

  He didn’t seem to hear her. ‘And I’m pleased to say that it no longer exists. It was designated illegal, quite rightly. Unfit for human habitation—’

  ‘Ha!’ It was a bitter laugh that escaped her suddenly. ‘But we lived in it, Mr Gregory. It was fit for us!’

  He blinked. Had she? This beautiful woman: had she lived there too? He wasn’t aware of it. It said nothing in the notes. ‘Shortly after the outbreak of tuberculosis,’ he continued, as if she hadn’t spoken, ‘which devastated the building in the winter of 1914 to 1915 and in which Batia Kappelman died …’

  ‘There was always tuberculosis, Mr Gregory.’

  ‘Yes indeed.’

  Another silence. Eleanor’s heart was pounding, and her breath came quick and angry as she flipped through the few remaining sheets. There were more photographs of the fire. And a copy of her mother’s death certificate. Tuberculosis. New York City, 12 December 1914.

  ‘This is all?’ she asked him at last. ‘This is all you have? Nothing new?’

  Mr Gregory said: ‘Miss Kappelman. I wish I could tell you otherwise. But – it’s not so easy. Under the circumstances. We haven’t got so very much to go on. You have really told us so little. And then, with every year that passes, the thing becomes harder.’

  She laid down the papers and looked at him. ‘Of course,’ she said steadily. ‘I apologize. You are quite right. I have not told you everything, have I? But I shall. I think it is time. I will be honest with you, Mr Gregory.’

  ‘… Well then.’ He nodded politely, hoping he hid his confusion. She offered nothing but contradictions, it seemed to him. And yet here she sat, with her disconcerting gaze, her intoxicating smell, and so many intriguing questions unanswered. ‘Good then,’ he muttered. ‘Well, I think that would be an excellent beginning. And I think we need to start from the beginning, don’t you?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘For example, Miss Kappelman. Mrs Beecham. You will forgive me for saying so, but you have kept your personal details pretty tight until this point. I was not even aware that you had lived in the apartment on Allen Street. I was not aware of that.’

  ‘No?’ Eleanor affected surprise. She was a good actress, and she relied upon her acting skills unthinkingly: obfuscation, pretence, lies – all came to her automatically. But they hadn’t helped. There came a point – and she realized suddenly that she had long since arrived at it – when you have waited fourteen years and travelled to Reno to unearth the truth, when the pretending simply had to stop. She swallowed. Smiled. Added, ‘Of course you weren’t aware of it. How could you have been? Because I never told you before.’

  ‘Ah,’ he said. And left it there. In half an hour he had discovered more than his father had uncovered in seven years. ‘Thank you.’

  Gregory’s secretary rattled in with coffee and the unwanted cookies. They waited for her to leave.

  ‘I want to help you, Miss Kappelman,’ he said as the door closed behind her. ‘But you have to help me. When I was studying my father’s papers, it seemed crazy to me that in all these years you had given us almost nothing to work with and that we … well …’ he shrugged. ‘I’ll be frank with you: we hadn’t come back to you with so very much ourselves. But maybe … if we work together. If we come at it fresh. You and me. It’s what I want to do for you. It’s the very least I can do for you, Miss Kappelman. If you’ll allow me. The Gregory Investigative Specializations Bureau. Absolutely one hundred per cent at your service …’

  He waited. Watched his most valuable client looking down at her gloved hands, considering her options …

  Tickety-tack, tickety-tack … These dips always corrected themselves. It was time to sell. He should sell. He should hold on. He would call his broker the minute the meeting was over.

  ‘Miss Kappelman,’ he pressed. ‘Mrs Beecham. Why don’t you tell me – from the beginning? Describe to me in the closest detail the last time you saw and spoke to your beloved niece, Isha.’

  Tickety-tack, tickety-tack …

  ‘But Isha is not my niece, Mr Gregory. Of course not. You must have worked it out already? Eleana Batia Kappelman was my maiden name. I am Eleana. And Isha Kappelman is my daughter.’

  23

  ‘Listen to me,’ she said, not pausing for his reaction. ‘And I will tell you about the last time I saw her. Because you may find something there. Something I have overlooked. And I have turned it over in my head – you can imagine. I have turned it over so many times that it becomes confused. Did they see us? I ask myself. Did they follow us? Did they return to the apartment after we fled? These are the questions that haunt me. Except of course they didn’t see us! You understand? I know this, because, after that, when Isha understood I was still alive, I received letters from Mama, and little pictures from Isha. And then –’ Eleanor laughed – ‘a little note from Isha: Ich han dich lib, Mama. I love you, Mama … But she was supposed to be writing English, Mr Gregory. Can you imagine? How happy I was to receive it. Her bubbeh must have told her to write it … She knew how I longed for home. And then – nothing. Nothing. Nothing …’

  ‘You need to start from the beginning.’

  Eleanor took a deep breath. She had not quite planned for this. Of course she couldn’t start from the beginning. That was impossible. She would start – from the middle. Where it was safe.

  ‘We came back to New York the first moment we could. It was the longest eighteen months of my life. And not a day passed, not an hour passed, when I didn’t long for my little Isha. But you know, times were different then. Or they were different for us. We left her with my mother, and I knew my darling mother would take good care of her, and we promised to be back the first moment we could …

  ‘But it was eighteen months. We were moving around, you see, looking for work. Always, looking for work. And Matz played the piano, but his hands were still weak – and of course I sang. But we had to find a place that was safe. We couldn’t simply take her away with us, when we had no roof above our heads. And then the day came. Matz found work – it was a job, a real job, you understand? Eleanor stopped, looked at the man before her, munching gently on his secretary’s cookies. Of course he could not understand. Nobody could understand how hard it was back then.

  ‘Keep talking!’ he said, reading her thoughts, wiping a crumb from his chin. ‘Just keep talking. I’m going to try to understand. All right? It’s the best I can do. I am not … one of your people. I did not … I mean to say, I’ve never been hungry. I’m sorry. I’ve never even been to New York. But it doesn’t matter. You have to try to forget that. Because here I am. Matthew Gregory. At your service. Confidentiality guaranteed.

  ‘How can I be sure?’

  ‘How can you be sure? Why, because if I started yelling around town all about my clients’ secrets – pretty soon I’d be out of business!’ He believed it. What use was an Investigative Specializations Bureau, after all,
which didn’t put client confidentiality first? ‘So, how about this,’ he continued. ‘How about – you talk, and I listen? I’m going to take a few notes. OK? But no matter! Just keep talking! And afterwards, when you’re done talking, I’ll ask the questions. OK? How’s that? Only whatever you do,’ he waved an arm expansively, spraying cookie crumbs as he went, ‘just keep talking. OK?’

  Eleanor smiled. ‘I’ll keep talking,’ she replied. ‘But bear in mind, won’t you, it’s been a long while. And though I sometimes think every detail is burned on my mind – memories play tricks …’

  ‘They sure do,’ he said soothingly, pen at the ready.

  ‘Well, I remember Matz on the day he got the job. They gave him a job at Keystone – the picture studios. You know? To play piano on set. Imagine that! Twenty-five dollars a week, to play piano while the camera turned. Nobody got to hear it except the actors, of course. But it helped the actors. He set the mood for them. And Matz,’ she smiled. ‘Matz … he could set a mood with that piano like no one else … in twenty notes or less. He was a genius on that piano, Mr Gregory. I loved him … when he played piano. So …’

  She glanced at Gregory, who was staring at her, goggle-eyed. ‘I thought you were taking notes?’ she said.

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘I thought you were—’

  ‘So where’s Matz now? Excuse for asking. But I’m guessing – is he deceased?’

  ‘Is he deceased?’ she repeated. Stupidly. ‘Is he deceased? Why, yes. Matz is dead. Of course. But I thought you were keeping your questions to the end, Mr Gregory? I can’t do this if you insist on interrupting.’

  ‘Forgive me,’ he said. ‘Carry on. Only wait one moment – before we go on. The fire …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘The fire was in March 1911.’

  ‘Yes it was. That’s correct.’

  ‘But he came with you, after the fire – and he got himself a job at Keystone Studios, playing piano?’

  ‘Oh. I’m sorry,’ Eleanor shook her head, and laughed. ‘I didn’t make myself clear. Matz died as a result of the fire. You understand? He died from “injuries sustained”. That’s what the doctor said. Except he didn’t see a doctor. But he didn’t die immediately. That’s all. He died several years later … May I continue?’

  Gregory nodded. Jotted something on his paper. It was going to be a long morning.

  Tickety-tack … And he needed to speak to his broker before markets closed in New York.

  24

  ‘Matz came home to the boarding house. I was sleeping … I was sick. After the fire it took a while for me to feel healthy again. I couldn’t find any work. I was trying to find work as a singer. But nobody wanted me. Matz said I looked like I carried the weight of the world on my shoulders, and it’s true … I couldn’t seem to shake it off, not in the way Matz could. Every time I closed my eyes, there it was again – and all the questions … how did I get to live when so many others didn’t? … He said people took one look at my face, and they wanted to sob – so. Of course, they didn’t want me to sing! Matz came back to the boarding house that night. And I never saw a man so happy! He lifted me up into the air, and it was – just for a moment – it seemed as if we could start again. Does it make any sense?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘He said: “We’re going home and we’re going to bring back the baby!” But he didn’t mean “we”. Because of course he had to work. And in any case, Matz could never go back to New York. But I could go back. He had a job and we had money at last. We could get a place of our own. And I could go home and fetch the baby, and bring her with me back to Los Angeles. And we would be a family again

  ‘Well. After the first week, we had enough to buy a train ticket, and after three weeks, or maybe four, we had enough to put something down for a couple of rooms. Two rooms, all to ourselves. It was such a luxury!

  ‘Matz and I had never been apart. Not since the day of the fire. Not for a single night. We lived together. We did everything together. So he bought me the train ticket and he took me to the train station, and in spite of all the excitement, I wept when I left him. I didn’t let him see it of course. What’s to be gained from that? It was hard enough. But I feared I might never see him again. That fate might play its hand … After the fire, it was hard to see anything quite as it was. That is to say, quite as other people see it. There was an impermanence in everything, as if – you know – as soon as you turn away, it will be gone. But I had to turn away. I was going to fetch the baby. So I climbed onto the train. I said, “Next time you see me, Matz, there shall be two of us! There will be Isha. And there will be me.”’ Eleanor smiled. ‘I wish you could have seen his face. I see it now, Mr Gregory. Matz has a wonderful face. So expressive. Everything he felt was right there in those warm brown eyes. The warmest eyes …’ She fell silent. This time, Mr Gregory stayed quiet. He waited.

  ‘… Shall I go on?’ she asked.

  ‘Please.’

  ‘I sat on the train. Third class back then …’ She laughed. ‘I was lucky to get a seat. But I did get a seat. And of course, the thought of returning to New York after all that had happened – I dreaded it. The smell of burning. Do you know, even today, the sound of the words alone: New York City. They smell of the burning. And the … I mean to say, the smell of burning flesh, Mr Gregory.’

  She looked at him, her green eyes vacant, expressionless, and he wondered, briefly, if she weren’t a little cracked. Quite simply, off her head. Actresses often were, so he’d read.

  ‘It must have been terrible,’ he mumbled. ‘Perhaps it’s why you employed a detective in Reno. Of all places? As opposed to New York?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I am so sorry …’

  ‘But there were things I missed,’ she continued, not really listening. ‘My mother’s cooking, of course. Who doesn’t miss that? And even, somehow, the smell of the food carts on Hester Street. Not because they smelled good. God, no. Because they smelled of home … And I was going home …’

  … Across the hall, through the glass double doors, a couple of lawyers from the offices opposite were standing at the ticker machine, slowly, carefully, examining the tape. From the way they stood, and the still, set expressions on their faces, they could only have been discussing the market. Were they selling up? Or were they going to sit tight? Suddenly he couldn’t concentrate.

  ‘You have to excuse me, Mrs Beecham,’ he said abruptly. ‘I have to make an important telephone call. I apologize. But I want to give you my fullest attention. And I really must make the call. Can you forgive me?’

  ‘A telephone call?’ She looked terrified. ‘Why? Who are you calling?’ Already, she was half on her feet.

  ‘No one for you to worry about Mrs Beecham, I assure you.’ He smiled at her. ‘Please, sit back down. I shall only be a minute. Only I hear the ticker machine, and as you may be aware—’

  ‘Oh!’ she laughed. ‘You too, huh?’ She wondered vaguely whether Max was on top of it all. ‘Well then. If you must, you must. Will it take long?’

  ‘Just a couple of minutes.’

  But it took him almost half an hour. He returned to her looking and feeling like a new man. His broker had advised him to hold his nerve after all. Utility stocks were dropping so fast it was crazy not to snap them up, the broker said, and Gregory had taken his advice. As he settled back into his seat, the sound of that ticker machine took on a different ring: it sounded confident, upbeat, hopeful – efficient. So the stock might drop a little further yet, but the doom mongers would soon see. This was America, after all! Everything was going to be just fine.

  Eleanor, oblivious to all this, deaf to the ticker machine, was impatient to start talking again. She’d stayed silent for so many years and now the dam had broken. She could hardly wait long enough for him to sit down.

  ‘Mr Gregory,’ she said, leaning across the desk, distracting him with another waft of her expensive beauty. ‘Matz did the most wonderful thing! Twenty minutes after we p
ulled out of the station, the carriage door opened, and who should walk in – who should be standing there? Can you guess? It was Matz! You see? It was a surprise for me! Because he knew how painful it would be to have to return to the city alone. He’d only just started work at Keystone but there – that’s his charm. People always melted for Matz. Because he was so talented, you see? And so handsome. And so funny. And so very, very warm …

  ‘… But you see,’ after a long silence, she continued, ‘if Matz hadn’t come with me that day, if he had stayed in Los Angeles as we planned, I believe Isha would be with me today and there would be no need for me to be here. I could have waited until she was stronger, you see, and we could have travelled together. Matz would have had the little cot waiting for her, and I would have brought her safely home … It was her birthday on Thursday, Mr Gregory. Twenty-two years old. It’s a beautiful age, isn’t it? Twenty-two. Do you have children yet? I bet you do. A couple of beautiful kids …’

  ‘I do,’ he said, not quite able to hide his pride. ‘I have one beautiful kid: Florence. She’s five. And we have another one on the way.’

  ‘Oh! One on the way!’

  ‘I’m a lucky man.’

  ‘Well,’ Eleanor said. ‘I should love to meet your family. Young Florence. Five years old? It’s a beautiful age. Another beautiful age. They are all beautiful ages! Is she already at school?’

  25

  ‘Matz and I made our way there, from the train station to Allen Street, with our eyes down and our heads covered. It was important – it was terribly important, Mr Gregory – that nobody saw us. Mama didn’t even know we were coming. Matz didn’t want to put the news out. Just in case …’