by Sharon Potts
Zet zhe, kinderlekh, gedenkl zhe, tayere,
Vo sir lernt do.
Zogt zhe nokh a mol, un take nokh a mol,
Komets alef-o.
“Lillian?”
Her grandmother continued rocking and didn’t turn or otherwise acknowledge Kali. She was wearing a nightgown the color of buttercups, but no robe.
Kali sat down on the edge of her bed, near her grandmother, but not quite close enough to touch.
The rocking chair made a soothing sound as it rolled on the wooden floorboards. Lillian closed her eyes. “She loved that song.”
Kali straightened. “My mother?”
“No. My mother.” Lillian opened her eyes and looked at the framed graduation photo on the wall. “Dorothy didn’t know the song. I never sang it to her.” She rocked back and forth. “So I’m singing it to her now.”
A shiver passed through Kali. She didn’t stand a chance.
“Except for the dark hair, Dorothy looks just like my mother,” Lillian said. “The blue eyes, the sweetness around her lips. Her name was Hannah, but my father called her Hanchah. I once had a locket with both their photos, but that was a long time ago.”
Her great-grandparents, gone with no tangible evidence of their existence. A strange song, a nickname, a likeness. In just a few words, Lillian had told her more about her family than Kali had ever known.
“But this picture of Dorothy. The way she’s smiling. When I first saw it, oh, how my heart ached. It was like seeing my dear mother again.” Lillian reached into the pocket of her nightgown and brought a tissue to her eyes. Kali couldn’t recall her grandmother ever crying. Not when her only child died, not when her husband died.
Lillian blew her nose, put the tissue back in the pocket of her nightgown, then looked back at the photo as she rocked. “You know, we’re all so much alike. Our eyes, the shape of our faces. My mother, me, Dorothy.” Lillian stopped rocking and turned to Kali. Her eyes were red. “Even you, my little Kali.”
A lump formed in Kali’s throat. My little Kali. It had been a long time since anyone had called her that.
“That’s why I kept the painting, you know. As much as I despised the artist and all the memories associated with him, the resemblance was so strong. And it was almost like he knew the truth, but of course he didn’t at the time. He gave me the painting as a gift. It was small, the size of a postcard, and fit in my purse. I chose to keep it, because whenever I looked at what was supposed to be my own face, I could see my mother’s.”
What was Lillian talking about? Despised what artist? She couldn’t be talking about the portrait of Kali’s mother; it was way too big to fit inside even a large purse.
Lillian reached for Kali’s hand and squeezed so tightly that it felt like her bones would break. For many years, Kali had longed for her grandmother’s touch. But now, she wanted desperately to pull away.
“It was all I had of my dear parents and my past,” Lillian said. “The painting and the baby. If I destroyed them, there would be nothing left. You understand, don’t you? I hated them, but at the same time, I loved them.” Her grandmother squeezed harder, her frustration climbing painfully through Kali’s hand and up her arm.
Hated them? Loved them? “I’m sorry, Lillian. I don’t understand.”
Her grandmother looked at Kali, then down at their entwined fingers. She released her grip, then brought her hands into her lap, massaging one with the other.
Kali’s own fingers smarted. “I’d like to understand. Tell me, what was that song you were singing? Would you sing it again?”
“What song?”
“The one you were just—”
Lillian looked around the room, suddenly alert. “Is she still here?”
“Who?”
“That woman from yesterday.”
Kali leaned back against the bed on her elbows, disappointed. “You mean Luisa. No. She left.”
“I heard her going through my things.”
“Is that why you came upstairs?”
“Of course. I told you it isn’t safe to have a stranger in the house.”
“Well, she’s gone now. I’ll be staying here now, if that’s okay with you.”
“Why wouldn’t it be okay? This is your house. Where you belong.”
Kali got up from the bed, brought the walker into the room, and rolled it over to her grandmother. “Well, if I’m staying, there’ll have to be some rules. You have to choose a floor and stay on it. I can bring your meals up, or if you prefer staying downstairs, that’s fine, too. But you have to promise me you won’t use the stairs again without someone helping you.”
“I’ll stay up here.” Lillian took hold of the walker grips and pulled herself up. She pushed the walker around the bed, stopping before she reached the door. Then she looked back at the photo of Kali’s mother and began to hum that same strange, wistful tune.
The rocking chair went back and forth over the wood floor-boards. Back and forth, back and forth. As though someone were still sitting there and keeping time with the melody.
32
Lillian pushed the teacart away from the bed, feeling sated and a bit sleepy. She’d finished the cheese sandwich and tea that Kali brought up to her room a short while ago.
A sweet girl. Who would have guessed this generation would have inherited none of the evil of the earlier ones? Lillian had always feared the opposite. In fact, when Dorothy hadn’t gotten pregnant after years of trying, Lillian had been relieved that the nightmare would end with her. But then, at the age of thirty-eight, Dorothy had conceived. Lillian had tried to persuade her not to have the baby, pointing out the likelihood of birth defects or danger to Dorothy’s own health. That had only resulted in a bitter disagreement. Dorothy hadn’t spoken to Lillian until months after Kali was born, punishing her mother by withholding the child and giving her that terrible name. Kali—the four-armed goddess of death. It seemed that everything Dorothy did was contrived to hurt Lillian.
But time passed and Harry had finally persuaded Dorothy to forgive her mother and bring little Kali around. And such a dear baby she was! Many times Lillian even thought it had been a good thing that Dorothy had given birth. And maybe it was.
She lay down on top of the blanket, her head against a tower of three pillows, and folded her hands across her chest. Sunshine poured in through the lace curtains. How good it felt to be back in her own bed. No disturbing hospital sounds and smells. No strangers prowling about.
Lillian closed her eyes. It was quiet in the house. Quiet was good. She wondered what Kali was doing. Had she gone to lie down in her room? How tired she must be after rushing over here in the middle of the night to take care of her grandmother. Yes. It was a good thing that Dorothy had given birth. That Lillian’s parents’ bloodline should continue.
When she had nothing else of them.
She began humming softly, her mother’s favorite tune.
Oyfn pripetshik brent a fayerl,
Un inshtub iz heys . . .
The gold locket was shaped like a heart and hung from a delicate gold chain. Leli opened the heart, studying the tiny photos—her father on one side, her mother on the other. The photos were blurred, almost faded, but she could hear her mother’s voice.
Zet zhe, kinderlekh, gedenkl zhe, tayere,
Vo sir lernt do.
Leli sat down on the cushioned chair in the corner of her furnished apartment and held the locket tightly in her hands. Sunlight poured in through the lace curtains, but her heart felt heavy.
How desperately she missed her parents and her brother. It had been two years since she’d been back to Vienna, but she didn’t dare return for a visit. She was safe here in her false identity, making a successful career for herself. Why take a chance and ruin it? her mother had written in her last letter. We’re well and happy at your achievements.
But were they well? The letters from her parents, sent to a postal box in Berlin, seemed to have less and less information in them and Leli sensed th
ere were things her parents weren’t telling her.
She had thought about telling Wulfie the truth. He would understand, just as he understood so much else about her. They had made love only the one time. He seemed to sense her discomfort and never pressed her for more. And despite the difference in their ages, she loved him, just as she knew he loved her.
Her parents and brother had warned her to tell no one, trust no one. But Wulfie—she was certain she could trust him.
A loud knock on the door startled her. Leli jumped up, the locket in her hand. She slipped it into her pocket and went to the door.
“Who’s there?”
“Graeber. Open up. This is heavy.”
Graeber? Leli never allowed men into her apartment. How did he even get into the house, past her landlady?
“Miss Lenz, please. Altwulf sent me and this damn thing weighs a ton.”
He wouldn’t dare pull anything inappropriate, Leli reasoned. He’s too afraid of Wulfie. She unlocked and opened the door.
Leli had never seen Graeber other than immaculately dressed, but now his shirt was untucked from his pants and he wasn’t wearing a jacket. He was bracing a very large wooden box between the hallway wall and his thighs. He hefted it and carried it into the apartment, looking around as though for somewhere to put it. He went directly to the small oak table where Leli ate her meals, and set it down. There were sweat stains under his arms and on the back of his shirt.
Leli got closer, taking in the burled wooden cabinet, the dials on the front. “You brought me a radio?”
Graeber pulled a handkerchief from his pants pocket and dabbed at the perspiration on his face. His blond hair was damp and separated into straight comb lines, reminding Leli of soldiers in formation.
“Dr. Altwulf was upset that you don’t have one,” Graeber said.
“Ah.” A few days ago, Leli had mentioned to Wulfie that the radio in her apartment didn’t work and she missed listening to music. “How thoughtful of him.”
“Not so thoughtful that he’d carry it himself.”
Leli sucked in a smile. Graeber often behaved like a sulky child. “I doubt he’d have been able to carry it up two stories,” she said, trying to be nice. “Thank you for your trouble.”
Graeber made a gruntlike noise. “It’s a Blaupunkt. Their best model. I chose it myself.”
“It’s very beautiful.”
“It sounds even better. Nothing like those piece of crap Volksempfaengers everyone has.” He scanned the room, his pale-green eyes stopping briefly on the old radio, a Volksempfaenger, which sat on the low chest near her bed, and then continuing more slowly—taking in the publicity photos on the chiffonier, the lace doilies on the arms of the chair and sofa, and her pretty hat with the bow and ribbons that lay on the bed next to an embroidered pillow—as though memorizing every detail.
“Well, thank you, Graeber. I can manage from here.”
“My instructions were to install it properly for you.” He went to the chest and unplugged the old radio, leaning closer to her bed than was necessary, as though he was trying to pick up her scent.
Leli felt oddly violated, but didn’t know how to send him away without appearing rude.
Graeber lifted the Volksempfaenger. “Would you mind getting the door for me?”
Leli opened the door and pressed against it, trying to make herself as small as possible as Graeber went past her with the old radio into the hallway. His elbow grazed her bosom and she sucked in her chest.
He caught her eye and stared at her, but Leli looked away, disturbed by his distorted iris.
Graeber put the old radio down too hard and the sound resonated through the hallway.
“Thanks again.” She tried to block the entrance to her apartment. “And please thank Dr. Altwulf.”
“I’m not finished here.” He shouldered her aside and went back into the apartment.
Leli wasn’t sure what to do. Graeber was supposed to be a friend of sorts. And of course, Wulfie trusted him completely. The problem was when Graeber was near her, Leli felt like there were creepy-crawly things all over her.
She left the door slightly ajar as he carried the Blaupunkt over to the bedside chest, plugged it in, then fiddled with the dials. “Perhaps I can find some nice Beethoven for you,” Graeber said.
But a cool, flippant male voice came on, delivering a speech about the importance of loyalty and community.
“Ah well, not Beethoven,” Graeber said. “But I’m sure you like listening to your boss.”
“Goebbels isn’t my boss.”
“Of course he is. Without him, your movies would never be made.”
“Yes, they would. People enjoy going to the pictures for entertainment. It’s their choice, not his.”
“You’re very naïve, Miss Lenz. Goebbels allows the films to lure people into the theaters so that they’ll have to watch the newsreels and propaganda. They’re too stupid to watch what’s good for them without a little honey lubricating the process.”
Leli went to change the station. Goebbels’s speech was on every one.
“Ha,” Graeber said. “So much for choice.”
“I still have a choice.” Leli flipped the dial, turning off the radio.
“Is that so?” One side of Graeber’s mouth twisted downward as he grinned. “What exactly did Goebbels let you choose when you did your screen test for him on the casting couch?”
“How dare you. Get out this instant.”
He lowered his eyes like a rebuked child and stared at his polished shoes. “I’m sorry. I’ve offended you. I didn’t mean to.”
“I want you to leave.”
“It was a joke. I know you’re above such things. You’re pure. An angel.”
He was standing between Leli and the door.
He took a step toward her.
She backed up. Her butt touched the side of her bed. Trapped. She was trapped.
“I think you’re wonderful, you know.” He was looking at her like a lovesick schoolboy, but he wasn’t a schoolboy. He was a powerful, grown man. “I’ve seen all of your movies over and over. And it’s not for Goebbels’s propaganda that I go.” He walked toward her, a couple of feet away now. His face was perspiring again. “It’s to see you, Leli.”
She held her breath, afraid to move.
His eyes dropped to her groin and he cocked his head. “What’s this?” His arm reached out toward her.
“No!” She swatted his hand away, hurting her own, but he didn’t seem to notice. He touched the pocket of her dress, then pulled something away. The gold chain from her locket had been hanging from her pocket. He brought the locket close to his face.
“Give that to me.” Leli tried to control her rapid breathing.
Graeber opened the heart and studied the photos. “So this must be Mama and Papa.”
Leli saw her chance. She slipped around him, no longer cornered. “I said give that to me.”
He dangled the locket by its delicate chain, taunting her. “Mama and Papa. They must be very dear to you.”
She pulled the locket out of his hand and the chain broke. She was frightened, but knew she mustn’t show it. “Look what you’ve done with your silly games.”
“You didn’t have to grab it. I was giving it back to you.”
Leli took the locket and broken chain and put it in the top drawer of the writing desk.
“I’d like you to leave now,” she said.
He ran his fingers through his hair. “You won’t tell, will you?”
“Get out.”
“Just promise me you won’t tell Altwulf.”
“Fine. Please leave. I won’t tell Dr. Altwulf what you said.”
Graeber shook his head. “No, I mean all of it. Don’t tell Altwulf that I came here. That I brought you the radio.”
“I don’t understand,” she said. “Doesn’t he know?”
Graeber took a step toward her and wrapped his finger around one of her curls. “Not if you don’t tell h
im.”
“What is it?” asked a girlish voice in the distance. “What’s wrong?”
Leli shook her head to clear it. Her heart was beating too fast. What happened to Graeber? Where was she? The dream faded. She was in her bed in her house on Miami Beach. No longer a girl, but an old lady.
Lillian looked at the woman who was watching her so anxiously. “Kali,” she said.
“You were shouting something.”
“I’m fine. It was just a dream. A bad dream.”
“I’m going out for a little while, is that okay?”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t it be okay?”
“I’ll be next door—at the Rabins’ house. I’ve written my cell phone number on this piece of paper if you need me.”
“Why would I need you?”
“Just in case.” Her granddaughter handed her the paper. “Would you like anything? Some music? I can turn the radio on for you.”
“No.”
Her granddaughter’s eyes widened, probably at the sharpness in Lillian’s tone.
“No radio, please,” Lillian said, softening her voice. “I prefer the quiet.”
“I’ll see you in a bit.” Kali picked up the tray with the breakfast dishes and left the room.
Lillian sank back against the pillows. Quiet. Quiet was good. The horrible dream was gone. Graeber was gone. There was nothing to worry about.
33
Kali brought her grandmother’s tray down to the kitchen and rinsed out the cup and plate. The walls, covered with layer over layer of glossy grayish-white paint, rose from the checkered floor and seemed to close in around her.
Not her kitchen. Not where Kali belonged. Yet here she was. Committed to taking care of a woman who, although providing food and shelter for Kali, had never given her any emotional support. Any love.
Seth had a point. Why did Kali care so much?
She glanced at her phone. No missed calls from Seth. She understood his frustration with the situation. Kali was frustrated, too. She still didn’t know whether her grandmother was suffering from paranoia or her fears were real. Maybe it was some combination of both. Perhaps the old films Neil had received contained some clue, something that would help her unravel her grandmother’s past from the present.
