by Sharon Potts
The record ended, the needle scratching around and around in the run-out groove.
“That was my idea,” Nana said finally.
Annette let go of his hand. He could feel her tense up beside him. “Your idea?” she asked.
“Yes,” Nana said. “I didn’t want the Soviets to have such a powerful weapon. I hated what the communists had become. I didn’t trust them. I persuaded Saul to modify the documents in a way that would make it impossible for the Soviets to build a working bomb from them.”
“But how do you know Saul did this?” she asked. “He could have lied to you about what he was passing on to them.”
Nana narrowed her eyes at Annette. “I’m telling you the formulas and data were wrong.”
“Did you see the documents Saul gave the Soviets, Nana?”
She rubbed her pointer finger. “Yes.”
He tried to keep his voice matter of fact, though his heart was pounding. “Were you working with the communists?” He waited a beat. “Were you Slugger?”
The needle scratched around and around the run-out groove.
“Yes. I was Slugger.”
Even though he’d been expecting her answer, he felt a jolt. It was one thing to speculate about it, another to hear it confirmed. His grandmother had been a communist spy, the go-between running atomic-bomb secrets from Los Alamos to the Soviets. Maybe her intention had been to protect the U.S. by passing the Soviets bad info, but the magnitude of her revelation was overwhelming. And a bigger issue was gnawing at him. Did this mean his grandmother had been the woman in black? Impossible.
Annette leaned forward on the sofa. “Even if you’d seen the documents, you couldn’t have known Saul had modified the information. How can you be so certain?”
“I told you the formulas and data were wrong,” Nana said. “The Soviet bombs wouldn’t have worked.”
Why was his grandmother being so defensive? And then it hit him. “Saul wasn’t the one who altered the documents, was he?”
The phonograph needle went around and around.
Nana stared at her swollen fingers. It took her a long time before she answered. “No, it wasn’t Saul. I lied about that.”
He felt Annette squirm beside him. Essie had been right. Nana was a liar.
His grandmother met his eye. There was desperation in hers, as though she was begging him to believe her. “Saul insisted that I pass the original documents he’d stolen to the Soviets,” she said. “He believed science should have no barriers and all our allies should share scientific information.” She shook her head. “But I couldn’t let that happen. I knew this bomb of ours was a terrible, terrible weapon. I couldn’t let the Soviets build one, too. I was afraid we would all destroy each other.”
Interrogating his grandmother like this, causing her so much obvious pain was as difficult for him as it had been to let his father wash off the burned skin caused by the firecracker explosion when he’d been a little boy, but just as then, Julian had to do this.
“So if Saul wasn’t willing to change the formulas, who was?” he asked. “You didn’t have the expertise.”
“But Isaac Goldstein did,” Annette said. “He was an engineer with a strong physics background. He could have altered the formulas and measurements credibly. Were you and Isaac Goldstein working together?”
His grandmother didn’t move. She stared at the three sculptures.
“Nana, did you take the documents Saul stole from Los Alamos to Isaac Goldstein, ask him to make the data unusable, and then pass them on to the Soviets?”
His grandmother took in a deep breath. “Yes.”
Heroic, he tried to tell himself. Nana and Isaac Goldstein had been heroes.
“Mon dieu. You could have saved Isaac,” Annette said. “You knew he wasn’t a traitor.”
“Perhaps I could have saved him, but if I had, my own brother would have been sent to the electric chair. It was an impossible choice.” She shuddered. “Impossible.”
“So you chose to let Isaac Goldstein die?” Annette asked.
Julian reached for her hand. “Isaac could have saved himself, Annette.” He turned to his grandmother. “Why didn’t he, Nana? Why did he keep your secret?”
Nana eased herself out of her chair and went to the phonograph. She lifted the tone arm and picked up the old record. Her hands trembled as she held it. The gesture reminded Julian of the moment before the boy had thrown the firecracker at him.
“Who was Yitzy, Nana?” he asked. “Was he Isaac Goldstein?”
Nana looked at him with such tenderness that Julian wasn’t prepared when she answered. “Yes. Yitzy was Isaac.”
Annette’s fingernails dug into his palm.
Yitzy was Isaac, which meant his grandmother had once been in love with Isaac Goldstein. But that didn’t mean their love had continued after they were both married to others.
Nana pressed the record against her chest. “I went to see him in prison the day before he was executed.”
Oh god, he thought. No please. Don’t be the woman in black.
“He told me he was sick over what the publicity and upcoming execution were doing to his wife and daughter,” she said. “My heart went out to Betty and Sally. I knew how much they were suffering. Betty was especially tormented about how this was affecting her little girl.”
He could feel Annette cringe beside him.
“But then, Yitzy told me that he’d decided to report my brother to the FBI.”
Annette let out a tiny gasp, but Nana didn’t seem to hear it.
“I begged him not to turn Saul in. ‘Tell them I’m the spy,’ I said. But Yitzy refused. He didn’t trust the government. He was certain they would make me the scapegoat regardless of the truth.” She wet her lips. “What could I do? I had to take care of my brother. I had promised my parents.” Her cheeks drooped like a melted mask. “So I told Yitzy that if he exposed Saul, I would turn myself in.”
Julian dared not look at Annette. Her grandfather had died and gone down in history as a traitor because of his grandmother. It was no longer possible to deny it. Nana was the woman in black.
“So you saved yourself and your brother.” Annette’s quavering voice was monotone, but Julian could hear the undercurrent of rage. “I get that. What I don’t get is why my grandfather was willing to sacrifice himself and destroy his family.”
Nana put the record down on the credenza and teetered back to her chair. Was she buying time, trying to make up a fresh lie to tell them?
She settled herself in the chair and gazed at the photo of Julian, Rhonda and their parents on the coffee table. “Yitzy wasn’t sacrificing his entire family,” Nana said, staring at the photo. “Maybe I did the wrong thing, but I was determined to protect her at all costs. And so was Yitzy.”
“Protect her?” he asked, bewildered. “Protect who?”
Tears ran down Nana’s wrinkled cheeks. “Our daughter. Mine and Yitzy’s.” She looked directly into Julian’s eyes. “Your mother.”
“My mother?”
He felt Annette’s hand pull away. A chill invaded the room.
“What are you saying, Nana? That Isaac Goldstein is my grandfather? But that’s impossible. Isaac Goldstein is Annette’s grandfather.”
CHAPTER 47
Julian was Isaac Goldstein’s grandson.
The man she had just fallen in love with, had just made love to, was her half-cousin. How could she have not seen it? This beautiful man, with whom she’d felt a connection deeper than anything she’d ever experienced before, shared her blood.
Annette could hardly breathe. She was frozen. Unable to speak, or scream or even move.
Julian drew her close, his heart pounding. And although she could feel her own heart respond, her mind couldn’t. It was frozen.
“It’s okay,” he whispered.
It isn’t okay. It can never be okay.
She pulled away. She hated her grandfather, who had not only had an affair with Julian’s grandmother, but had
had a child with her. Hated him because he’d chosen to protect his mistress and their child rather than his own wife and legitimate daughter. Hated him because she loved his grandson.
Across from her, Mariasha sat in the huge turquoise chair, looking tiny and dark like a trapped animal. Annette hated her, too, for causing so much pain to her grandmother, her mother, herself, and now Julian.
She heard her own voice, small, sharp and unfamiliar. “Do you realize what you did?”
Mariasha slowly raised her head and met her eye. “Of course,” she said softly. “I let him die.”
This woman deserved to suffer as Annette’s family had. As she and Julian now were.
“Not Isaac Goldstein,” Annette said. “My grandmother and mother. Do you understand what you did to them?”
Mariasha tilted her head. She looked confused.
Annette forced the words from her icy throat. “My grandmother was Betty Goldstein. My mother is Sally Goldstein.”
She watched Mariasha’s face blanch.
The freeze broke and her voice came out loud and clear. “I am Isaac Goldstein’s grandchild. Just like Julian.”
CHAPTER 48
Isaac Goldstein’s grandchild.
Mariasha pressed her hand against her pounding heart as she looked across at the two young people, agony twisting their beautiful faces.
She wished she’d died an hour ago listening to Yitzy’s sweet voice on the old scratchy record. Wished she’d died before her grandson had come here. Before she had told him the truth.
And the girl.
She should have recognized the clear blue eyes the first time she’d met Annette. Yitzy’s eyes. Like the cat’s-eye marble she’d had as a child. But Mariasha had been distracted by Julian’s attraction to this warm, lovely girl. So happy he’d finally met someone he deserved.
A moan escaped her lips. Hadn’t she destroyed enough? Yitzy. Saul. And now Julian and even this unsuspecting girl.
With each destruction, she had felt her own death. And yet, God had kept her alive to suffer with her pain and guilt. Dear God. Why didn’t you take me an hour ago?
She tried to get up from her chair to comfort these poor children, but she had no strength. All she could do was watch them sitting a few inches apart, no longer able to comfort each other.
Her grandson stood up first, his face ghostlike. He gently pulled Annette up from the sofa by her arm, then he took a step toward Mariasha. “We’re leaving,” he said, his voice raw. “I don’t know what to say to you.”
Mariasha ran her tongue over her lips and nodded.
Julian leaned toward her. Hesitated. Then he swooped over and grabbed her head in both his hands. She could feel the pressure of his palms against her ears, for a moment sealing her inside a snow globe. Then he pressed his lips hard against her forehead.
He pulled away abruptly and started toward the door. “Let’s go, Annette.”
He wasn’t a traitor, she tried to call after them, but no words came out. Yitzy was a kind, generous man, who had been caught in the web of my love. Who was unable to protect his family. All of you.
The door slammed after them.
“Don’t hate him,” she whispered. “Hate me. I am the traitor.”
January 1945
Snowflakes came down hard around them, coating the park bench, settling in his cap and on his eyelashes. He reached beneath the plaid blanket for her hands. Their eyes met. The world seemed to freeze. And for a moment, Mari felt as though they were sealed inside a snow globe. Safe, untouchable.
“Anything,” Yitzy said. “You know I’ll do anything you ask.”
“My brother is about to make a terrible mistake. I need your help.”
A foghorn sounded off the river, penetrating the stillness and shattering her illusion of safety.
He dropped her hands and looked out toward the thick snow falling over the river. His features had gone from boyish happiness to a cold hardness. She didn’t understand the change that had come over him, but she continued.
“Saul has agreed to steal secrets for the Soviets, even though I begged him not to. He believes scientific knowledge belongs to everyone.”
“You and I have taught him well,” Yitzy said.
“Saul’s being naïve,” she said. “Like you and I talked about the other night, what my father believed, what you and I once believed, doesn’t work. Social democracy is a myth.”
“That’s right,” Yitzy said. “You told me you’re no longer a good communist.”
“And I don’t believe you are either, despite the act you put on. I think you’re someone, like me, who believes in peace, not the violent destruction of the world so that a particular political agenda can prevail.”
He turned to her and rapidly blinked the snow off his eyelashes. “But you’re also thinking about your brother, aren’t you? What could happen to him if he’s caught.”
Mari looked away. There were small black holes in the blanket of snow that covered the ground. Weeds that had pushed their way through. She had promised Mama and Papa to always watch over Saul.
“What is it you want me to do?” Yitzy said.
She took a deep, cold breath that stung her lungs. “If I give you the documents that Saul steals from Los Alamos, would you be able to modify them in such a way that the weapons won’t work if the Soviets build them?”
The world around them was silent, all sound muted by the snowfall.
“Do you realize what you’re asking?”
“Yes.”
Yitzy stood up from the bench and shrugged the snow off his lap and shoulders. “Bring me whatever you need me to change.” He started to walk away, dragging his bad leg through the thick snow.
Mari felt miserable. She believed she was doing the right thing, and not just to protect Saul. If this terrible weapon got into the wrong hands, the potential was devastating. But she was putting Yitzy at grave risk.
“Yitzy,” she called, as she ran after him.
He stopped and turned. There was something like hope in his face.
“I’m sorry.” She held the wool blanket over her head as the snow cascaded around her. “I had no right to ask you to do this.”
“I told you, Mariasha. I would do anything for you.”
“I know, and that’s what isn’t fair. Forget what I asked you to do. I don’t blame you for being angry with me.”
He drew his head back. “You think that’s why I’m upset?”
“Isn’t it?”
“Oh, Mariasha.” His voice broke. “You can’t imagine how I felt when you asked me to meet you. It was all I could think about all week. I was hardly able to eat or sleep.”
Mari let out a little gasp. Yitzy had misinterpreted the reason for their rendezvous today.
“I’d hoped you and I...” He looked at her with a terrifying intensity, his blue eyes just like the cat’s-eye marble she’d had as a child.
Her heart thumped hard inside her chest. Had she been hoping for that, too? Had that been the real reason she’d asked him to meet her today?
“I love you,” he said. “I’ve loved you since the first moment I saw you.”
Stop, she tried to say. You have a wife who adores you. I adore my Aaron. But images of the handsome boy who had sung so sweetly at Camp Kindervelt, the passionate college student who had held her at Coney Island, the young man who had once been her life, blocked her words.
“Say you haven’t stopped loving me.” Yitzy grabbed her hands. “Say it.”
The smell of damp wool was suffocating. “Oh, Yitzy. This is wrong.” She tried to pull her hands out of his, but he held fast.
“I can’t help myself,” he said. “Believe me, I’ve tried, but you’re the one I think about when I’m falling asleep, when I wake up in the morning. Please, Mariasha. Tell me you feel the same.”
“You left me,” she whispered. “When Mama died and Saul was sick. You left me when I needed you most.”
“Oh my darling, I was a stupid f
ool. I’ve regretted that more than anything I’ve ever done. You are the love of my life.”
She willed her heart to stop pounding, her breathing to slow down, but her body wouldn’t listen. Reason had left her. Nothing seemed to matter as much as Yitzy. The feelings from all those years of yearning for him rose up. And when he leaned forward to kiss her, she couldn’t pull away. She felt his warm lips against hers, gentle at first. And then he pushed against her with ferocity and crushed her against him.
“Mariasha,” he whispered. “You are my life.”
She was dazed and breathless as Yitzy led her from the park in the deepening snow. They walked north, farther and farther away from the familiar tenements and shops, away from thoughts of Aaron, to a place where everything was shrouded in white, as though reality had been erased. And although she told herself to stop, to turn back, her legs and heart propelled her forward.
Yitzy unlocked the door to a store and bundled her inside. Around her pipes and copper spheres, the smell of oil. Yitzy mumbled something about an army buddy, store closed early for the Sabbath, as he led her to the back room.
Then, as though there were no other possible choice, they fell into each other’s arms.
And after they made love, Mari lay on the narrow daybed in Yitzy’s arms and listened to the beating of his heart. Snow completely covered the small window, shutting out the world. Safe and untouchable.
Yitzy began to sing softly.
One promise I will make to you
Wherever I am, whatever you choose.
I will love you till my last breath’s drawn
I will love you long after my time is gone.
All around the dim room were pipes and rods and copper spheres shaped like heads. Faces. Watching her.
She sat up abruptly.
“What’s wrong?” Yitzy asked. “What is it?”
Mari pressed her hand over her pounding heart. She felt sick inside, knowing that as much as they loved each other, they had just done something unforgivable.
