The Locket

by Evans, Mike

  “I had no place else to go.” I stood and dusted off my dress.

  His eyes widened. “Your accent,” he pointed a finger at me. “It is from…central Europe. Right?”

  “Yes,” I nodded.

  “And that language…you are from Germany.” “Austria.”

  “Why do you have no place to go?”

  “I only arrived two days ago. From Spain.”

  He arched an eyebrow in a suspicious gaze. “I thought you said you were from Austria.”

  “I am from Austria. I escaped.”

  “Escaped? From the Nazis?”

  Before I could answer, a woman appeared behind him and elbowed her way past. “Yohai Cohen,” she fussed. “What are you doing? You can’t leave her out here like this.” She took me by the arm. “Come inside. Come inside.”

  The woman’s name, I later learned, was Chana. She was Yohai’s wife. Together they operated Café Vienna, a popular coffee shop located on Zion Square in the center of the city.

  Chana ushered me through the doorway and into a hall that divided the back portion of the shop into two sections. To the left was a sink with counters on either side, stacked with dirty dishes. Along the wall were racks filled with clean ones. To the right of the hall was the food-preparation area, with ovens and stoves. A man about my age stood there, his back to us. Chana hit him on the shoulder as she pushed me toward a table in the corner. “Fix her something to eat,” she ordered. The man glanced at me over his shoulder. At first he had a look of contempt at being inconvenienced by the interruption, but when his eyes met mine I saw the same look I’d seen many times from Stephan. Seeing it made my heart skip a beat.

  I sat at the table with Chana and she took hold of my hands. “Look at this,” she shook her head. “So dirty and rough. You should have the hands of a princess to match your beautiful face.” Then she let go of me and pointed over her shoulder. “Go wash your hands. You can’t eat with hands like that. Go wash them in the sink.” As I stood and started in that direction, she called over her shoulder, “Eli, show her the sinks.”

  “I’m cooking,” he protested.

  Chana’s tone was even more forceful. “Don’t argue with your mama. Show her the sinks.”

  Eli smiled at me as he reached over my shoulder and turned on the water. “She means well,” he muttered. Then he handed me the soap and laid a towel across my shoulder.

  When I returned to the table, Chana looked at my hands again. “That is much better, but they need lotion. We will take care of that.” She reached up to my forehead and brushed back the hair from my face. “You were out there all night?”

  “Yes,” I nodded.

  “You should have banged on the door.” “I didn’t know.”

  “Well, it’s okay now. I will look after you.” Eli appeared with a plate of food and set it on the table before me. He turned to leave but Chana took him by the arm. “This is Eli. My son.” She nodded to me. “Tell him your name.”

  “Sarah Batsheva,” I answered politely.

  “Sarah Batsheva,” Chana repeated. “That’s a good name.” She swatted Eli on the bottom. “Now get back to work and let us talk in peace.” Eli’s eyes met mine and we both began to giggle. “What?” Chana exclaimed. “Did I say something funny?”

  “It was nothing, Mama,” Eli replied.

  Eli drifted away from the table, but not very far. As I ate, Chana probed me with questions about my past. In between bites, I told her some of what had happened. Eli lingered close enough to hear and in a few minutes Yohai joined him. I told them about our life in Linz and how treatment of the Jews became increasingly hostile, the movement of Jews from the countryside into the city and how we were forced to give them space in our home, and I told about being uprooted and moved to the ghetto in Vienna. I talked slowly, making sure to finish the meal before I told them everything. They seemed to hang on every word.

  When I finished eating, Eli took my plate and refilled my glass with water. While he did that, Chana rose from the table and walked with Yohai into the café dining room. I watched through the doorway as the two of them talked. They were such a study in contrasts. Chana, loud and animated. Yohai, stern but compassionate. She poked him in the chest to emphasize her point, then pressed her palm flat against him in a tender gesture. He shook his head in an expression of solemn resolution, then placed his hands on her shoulders as if to hug her. Such frankness, such honesty, such love I had not seen since…our family was together in Linz.

  In a moment, Chana returned with a reluctant Yohai in tow. They came to the table where I sat, and Chana gave him a nudge. He cleared his throat and began. “Chana says you need a job.”

  “Yes,” I nodded, “I do. A job, not a gift.”

  “We need you,” Chana interjected, pointing to the sink across the hall and over her shoulder to the dining room. “Look at all those dishes. Look at all those customers. We need you.”

  Yohai clasped his hands together and held them at his waist. “You work for me and I will give you a room upstairs and three meals each day.”

  Eli moved behind him and held up two fingers, mouthing something I could not understand. At the same time, Chana held up three fingers. I was bewildered by what they meant but glad to have the offer of a job. “I’ll take—”

  “She’ll take it,” Chana blurted out. “Plus one pound Palestinian per week,” she added triumphantly. “In cash.”

  “A pound?” Yohai growled. “Are you out of your mind?”

  “You cannot work her all week and leave her with nothing,” Chana argued. “She must have a little money in her pocket.”

  “Okay,” Yohai sighed. “One pound Palestinian per week.” He turned to walk away. “Eli will show you what to do.”

  “Thank you,” I beamed. “I accept. When can I begin?”

  “You can begin right now,” Yohai called over his shoulder. “Eli, get those orders ready.”

  “She will begin tomorrow,” Chana said, talking over him. “Today she will take a bath, and I will find her some clean clothes.” She took me by the arm and tugged on it for me to follow. “Come,” she insisted. “Come with me.” I glanced at Eli for advice, but he only shrugged in response, so I rose from the table and followed Chana upstairs.

  * * *

  Late that afternoon, I came to the kitchen. Eli was standing at the stove, right where he was that morning. I came up behind him and touched him on the elbow. He jumped with surprise, but the startled look turned to a smile when he saw me. “You startled me,” he chuckled. “Sorry. Your mother said I should ask you what to do and you would show me.”

  He turned from the stove and glanced at me, then his eyes darted away. “You…ah—”

  “You like the dress?” I interrupted in an effort to break the tension. “Yes,” he nodded with a nervous smile. “It looks great on you.” He set aside the pan he was working with and wiped his hands. “I thought you weren’t supposed to start until tomorrow.”

  “Chana told me I better start now. So your father won’t be angry.” “Ah,” he nodded. “Feeling a little guilty about the way she talked to him earlier?”

  “Maybe.” I didn’t want to talk about her. “So, show me the kitchen.” “Well,” he began, gesturing to the room around us. “This is it. Cooking on this side. Cleanup over there. You will wait on tables eventually. When you do, you write the order on a ticket and clip it right there so I can see it.” To the left of the stove was a pass-through window. A string ran from one side of it to the other with small clips to hold the order tickets. “When the order’s ready, I’ll shout. You pick it up and take it to the table. When they’re finished, you bring the dishes over there,”

  he pointed, “to the counter by the sink.”

  I looked in that direction to see the counter was stacked with dirty dishes, just as it had been earlier that morning. “Who washes them?” I asked.

  “We all take turns.” “When?”

  “Well,” he smiled, “your turn begins
now.” He led me across the hall to the sink.

  “I thought you said I would wait tables.”

  “Eventually,” he replied. “But first you must begin here at the sink.” He reached up to a hook on the wall and took down an apron. With his help, I wrapped it around my waist and tied it in place. Then he patted me on the back and said, “Get busy. You’re already half a day behind.”

  “But I thought you said we all would wash dishes.” “I’ll help you when I’m finished over here.”

  That evening, after the dinner rush, Eli and I stood together by the sink, washing and drying dishes. He was easy to talk to and before long I was telling him many of my secrets. Not the darkest ones, but more than I told anyone else since we were taken from our home in Linz.

  That began a routine with us. We worked all day in the café and at night we sat on the steps out back at the door to the alley and talked. I gave him more details of the events I’d already described, and he told me about his life in Jerusalem, the city where he was born and had lived all his life. Gradually, our friendship deepened and over the next few months I told him more and more of my story—the ghetto and the women and babies who were shot by the Germans for sport, the food we ate and the food we didn’t, Eichmann, the work in his office, the death of my family, and my escape from execution at the mass grave. More than an emotional journey for me, revealing those stories was a journey of trust, hoping upon hope that he would listen without judging or condemning me as I wrestled with the guilt of having survived the fate that befell everyone I knew.

  One cool autumn evening, we went for a walk up the street. As we strolled along I told him again about the time the German soldiers came for us, to move us from the house in Linz. Much of it was a repeat of things I’d told him before, but rather than reminding me of that he kept quiet and listened while I talked. Eventually, I came to the story of Ehud Averbuch and how he was shot with his wife on the street in front of our house. Tears filled my eyes, and my voice broke. Eli reached down to take my hand. “You saw this?” he asked quietly.

  “Yes,” I nodded. We’d been through this before. He knew about Ehud being shot with his wife. The fact that he still was willing to listen touched me even deeper. “But there was more,” I said, wiping my eyes with my free hand.

  “What happened?”

  “They shot them,” I blurted, and began to cry. “Ehud and his wife?”

  “No,” I said, shaking my head. “The children.” I was sobbing. “They shot the children. For no reason at all the soldiers plopped them down right next to the bodies of their mother and father, and they shot them.” My body shook as tears streamed down my face. We’d stopped walking by then, and I draped my arms over Eli’s shoulders. He slid his arm gently around my waist. “It must have been horrible to see,” he whispered.

  “Why would someone do such a thing? Why would they do that?” Eli didn’t answer, he just held me.

  After a moment I looked up at his face and I was sure he was going to kiss me. I wanted him to kiss me, to feel his lips against mine and know that after all I’d been through I still was desirable to him. His head moved forward, then he hesitated and I drew back, feeling confused about what just happened.

  * * *

  Not long after that, a handsome young man came to the café. His name, I soon learned, was Tobin Halutz and he sat at a table with two friends. All through their meal he flirted with me, making comments about my eyes and hair. I smiled politely but did my best to ignore him. Each time I returned to the kitchen, I noticed Eli was standing in the hallway, watching.

  When they finished eating, the friends got up to leave but Tobin lingered behind, and when I came out to collect the dishes he asked if I would join him for dinner the following evening. They had arrived at the café in a car that Tobin drove. It was parked out front and several customers stopped to admire it. Most people still walked or rode one of the few buses, and sometimes they used a donkey or burrow. No one his age had a car. He was handsome, with broad shoulders, a nice smile, and curly hair. Anyone looking for a date could have easily done worse, but he looked at me the same way Victor did, as one who wanted to rescue me, and smother me, not someone who wanted to set me free to be myself. I turned him down without remorse.

  After he was gone, one of the regular customers shook his head. “You should have said yes.”

  “Why?”

  “His family is one of the leading families of the entire Palestinian region. They’ve been here for many generations.”

  Yohai was standing nearby and overheard our conversation, but kept quiet. Someone at another table spoke up. “I hear he’s getting married but he doesn’t really want to. The family arranged it.”

  “Might still be time for you.”

  I shook my head. “I would be just another of his ornaments.”

  When I turned from the table, I saw Eli in the hallway. He’d been listening too, and I could tell from the look on his face that he did not like what he heard.

  Later that evening, Tobin returned and called me out to the street. When I went out, he asked me once more to join him the following evening. “Men like you are only interested in the things they can’t have. Once they get them, they move on to something else.”

  “I am not one of those men.”

  “Oh? I hear you are already engaged.” “Where did you hear that?”

  “What kind of man asks a woman out when he is engaged to someone else?”

  “Suit yourself,” he sighed.

  When he was gone, I walked into the café. Yohai met me near the door. “Tobin seems upset.”

  “He’ll get over it.”

  “This isn’t good.” He had a look of concern. “Why not?”

  “We get our coffee from their company.”

  “And you think if I don’t go out with him they will refuse to sell it to you?”

  “The thought crossed my mind.”

  “Yohai, this is the most popular café in Jerusalem. I don’t think they would risk offending all of our customers over the refusal of a waitress.” Late that evening, after our work was finished, Eli did not come immediately to the steps out back, as had been our custom. I found him still in the kitchen, needlessly rubbing the stove top with a cloth. He seemed tense and when I tried to talk to him he avoided making eye contact with me. I kept trying and finally coaxed him into taking me for a walk. When we were away from the restaurant I looked over at him.

  “What is the matter?” “Nothing,” he sighed.

  I hooked my arm in his. “We’ve spent too many nights talking about too many things to keep secrets now. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

  “I saw you with Tobin Halutz tonight.” “Yes,” I nodded.

  “Twice.”

  “Your father spoke to you?”

  “Not really, but I know how he thinks,” Eli sighed. “He’s always worried about offending someone.”

  “I thought he would be someone who didn’t care what others thought.”

  “He doesn’t care if he’s addressing someone he perceives to be beneath his station in life. But Tobin isn’t one of those people.”

  “He’s someone who can affect your father’s life.” “All our lives.”

  “You think I should have gone out with him?”

  “No.” Eli shook his head. “But I suppose it must have been difficult to refuse him.”

  “Not really,” I smiled.

  “Did he invite you to one of his family’s vacation retreats?” “He invited me to dinner.”

  “And apparently you refused.”

  “I am here, aren’t I?” I tugged on his arm. “Let’s talk about something else.”

  “Good.” He stopped and turned to face me. “I wasn’t really thinking about him anyway.”

  “Then what were you thinking about?”

  “You. And me. And us.” Then he leaned forward and pressed his lips against mine, and I kissed him back.

  After a moment we paused, and he looked me in the
eye. “I am not as handsome as Tobin Halutz and certainly not as wealthy.”

  “If I wanted Tobin Halutz, I would be walking with him this evening.” I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him, then moved my lips to his earlobe and whispered, “Do my kisses make you feel handsome now?”

  “No,” he replied with a giggle. “Your kisses make me feel like I’ve never felt before.”

  “Good,” I smiled. “Let’s keep it that way.” And we kissed once more.

  A few months later, we married and moved into an apartment several blocks from the café. We worked together, trying to expand the business without destroying its appeal. While war raged across Europe and Asia, Palestine, by comparison, went largely untouched. There was fighting in the region but none that affected us. On the surface, everything looked great, but inside my life took on a dual nature.

  In many ways it was more rewarding than it had ever been—I had a husband who loved me without condition and a family that accepted and respected me. But still I was troubled by memories of the past, the loss of my parents, as well as David and Stephan, and with the guilt that I had lived and they had not. During the day I did well, most of the time, but at night while I slept the horror came to life in my dreams and I often awakened terrified by what I saw.

  On the best days, I was filled with a sense of optimism and confidence, but on the worst, darkness hung over me like a gloomy fog, and I struggled with doubt and depression. Eli paid attention to me and learned to recognize those days as they approached. He became very adept at diverting my attention to something else and many times helped me avoid the temptation to recede into myself. Yohai noticed the mood

  swings, too, and sent Chana to talk to me. We talked several times but I particularly remember when we sat together one afternoon at a table in their apartment upstairs from the café.

  “Some things in life cannot be explained.”

  “Their actions were intentional,” I argued. “They may have had their excuses, but these were conscious acts.”

  “But the why of it,” she countered. “That is what I’m talking about. The ‘why.’ Sometimes we cannot know the why, and those things we cannot understand we must simply accept.”