The Devil's Madonna

by Sharon Potts

  She left the house and walked across the uncut front lawn, remembering how often she’d done this when she was younger. The Rabins’ house looked as though it had been transplanted from New Orleans. Its ornate balcony had always intrigued Kali, making her envision a Romeo and Juliet scenario, especially when she was a teenager.

  She rang the doorbell. Gizmo began barking.

  “One sec,” Neil called.

  It was late morning and the temperature seemed to have risen at least ten degrees since Kali had been out earlier. Her clothes stuck to her perspiring body.

  Neil opened the door, holding a large book under his arm. Gizmo ran out, circled and sniffed her, wagged his tail, then went back into the house.

  “Are you busy?” Kali asked.

  Neil shook his head. A dust ball was lodged in his disheveled black hair. “Just boxing up some of my dad’s books.”

  Kali resisted the urge to remove the dust with her fingers. “I wanted to see those old films, if you have time.”

  “Sure. Come on in.”

  Kali got a whiff of staleness as she stepped into the foyer and experienced a moment’s nausea. How good the house used to smell years ago. Always something baking.

  “Will your grandmother be okay?” Neil asked.

  “I gave her my cell number if she needs me.”

  “Did you hide all the matches?”

  “Not funny.”

  “I wasn’t trying to be.”

  “I think she’ll be fine. I can’t sit and watch her twenty-four/seven.”

  “This is true.” Neil went into the adjacent living room and dropped the book in a carton with others. The wallpaper was peeling away from the walls, and the wood floors, once polished to a high shine, were dull. Gizmo found a small space on the area rug that wasn’t taken up by several partially filled boxes that were wedged between the shabby sofa and two club chairs. The dog watched Kali with his one good eye.

  Kali noticed there were clean spaces in the dust on the shelves and tables where books and knickknacks had been. She felt a wave of empathy for Neil dismantling his childhood home, every book and object probably a source of a memory. She remembered returning to the small house where she and her mom had lived to pack up her room. There had been cartons in the living room that Lillian had filled with books and vases and little glass statuettes. Just the furniture remained, and the house no longer felt like where Kali had lived the first thirteen years of her life.

  “I got most of the upstairs packing done,” Neil said. “It’s taking a long time.”

  “I’m sure it is. So much of your life is here.” Kali stepped around the cartons and dog and went over to the fireplace mantel, still covered with dozens of photos. That was what she’d loved so much about coming here as a kid—the strong sense of family, which she never had at her grandparents’ house.

  She picked up a framed photo. Neil was around ten, a scrawny kid with oversized eyeglasses. His parents were on either side of him; his grandmother, a tiny woman with a sour expression, stood near his mother, but just outside the family grouping.

  “That’s the only photo we have of my grandmother,” Neil said, looking over Kali’s shoulder.

  “Really?”

  “She hated being photographed.”

  She hated a lot of things, Kali thought, but decided not to say. “I remember her very well,” she said instead. “She was always baking.”

  “It was a safe outlet for her.” Neil smiled. “She wasn’t the friendliest person.”

  “I thought it was just me she disliked.”

  “It wasn’t that she didn’t like you.” He pushed his glasses up on his nose. “She was just worried I would like you too much.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She was old school. She didn’t believe Jews should socialize with non-Jews, especially boys and girls. She had a fear of intermarriage.”

  “I guess I understand that. It was important to Seth’s parents that their sons marry Jewish girls so their kids would be Jewish. That’s why I converted. But still. You and I were just teenagers when your grandmother was still alive. It wasn’t like we were going to get married or anything.”

  “Right, but you have to remember. Grandma lived through the Holocaust. Lost her own parents and brothers. So she was hyper-sensitive.”

  Kali leaned against the arm of a club chair and brought her single braid over her shoulder. She recalled how one day she’d gone into the kitchen while Neil’s grandmother was taking a cake from the oven. How Kali had been transfixed by the numbers tattooed on the old woman’s arm. She had caught Kali staring and covered her arm with a towel. Kali had raced out of the kitchen, then back to her own house, feeling as though she’d somehow violated the old woman. She hadn’t returned to the Rabins’ house until a couple of months later, after the grandmother had died.

  “My grandmother was complicated,” Neil said. “In some ways, she was like Gizmo. Loving toward those she trusted, and vicious or cold toward anyone she didn’t.”

  “Is that why she never talked to Lillian?”

  Neil took the photo from Kali and scratched the bump on his forehead. “She was a good person. A wonderful grandmother, always feeding me and telling me stories. But she’d been so badly scarred that she was suspicious of everyone.”

  “I’m sorry, Neil. I didn’t mean to come across like I was criticizing her.”

  “No. It’s okay. It bothered me and my mom that she was so intolerant. My mom even pointed out the irony to her. That Grandma was behaving toward non-Jews the way she resented some non-Jews behaving toward our people.” Neil put the photo back on the mantel and picked up one of his mother with long hair holding Neil as a toddler, dressed in a snowsuit. “My mom was always trying to make up for Grandma’s rudeness.”

  “I remember that, too. Your mom would tell me not to mind her mother. That I shouldn’t take her coldness personally.”

  “My mom loved you,” Neil said. “She always said how sad it was—” He stopped in mid-sentence and put the photo down on the mantel. “Anyway, let’s go watch the films.”

  “How sad what was?”

  Neil looked at the half-empty bookshelves, the paintings on the wall, the photos on the mantel. “How sad it was that you didn’t have a real family.”

  The den, which had been the Rabins’ informal family gathering place, had a fireplace built into a brick wall, planked wooden floors covered with a braided area rug, and a worn L-shaped leather sofa that faced the TV. The room, like the rest of the house, had a northern feel to it, probably because Neil’s parents had moved to Miami from New York when Neil was a few years old.

  Neil popped a videocassette into the player beneath the TV, then sat down on the sofa near Kali. She noticed he didn’t get too close, which relieved her. There was something disturbing about being alone with him.

  Neil tapped the remote against his chin, as though considering something. “These films,” he said.

  “What?”

  “I hope—” He shook his head, then pressed a button on the remote. “Never mind.”

  The film started up in shaky black-and-white, with the title and credits in German.

  “This one came out in 1937,” Neil said. “It’s the first one Leli Lenz made and she has a pretty small role, but you’ll see for yourself.”

  The film seemed to be a light comedy of manners, but it was in German and Kali couldn’t make out what it was about.

  Neil touched the remote again and the film sped up. “I’ll just advance to Leli’s scenes, so you don’t have to watch the whole thing.”

  He stopped the film, then hit the Play button. “Here she is. Leli Lenz.”

  A pretty young woman with curly blonde hair and a fitted dress that came just below her knees entered the scene where two men were speaking German. Kali couldn’t make out her face clearly, but she had high breasts and a narrow waist and hips.

  Kali felt Neil’s eyes on her, rather than on the film.

  Leli
moved with grace and a childlike lightness in her step. Nothing resembling the way Kali’s grandmother walked.

  Kali felt let down. Her grandmother probably hadn’t been Leli Lenz.

  The men in the scene turned and smiled at Leli. Kali still couldn’t make out her face. She chatted with the men in a soft German that was clearly flirtatious. The men laughed.

  The camera came in for a close-up just as Leli sucked in her lower lip and tossed her head.

  Kali felt a wave of heat, then a chill. “My God,” she said softly. “Leli Lenz is my grandmother.”

  Neil paused the film. “I saw the resemblance in the cigarette card, but it wasn’t obvious. But here—”

  The film was frozen on the frame of the young woman, holding in a half smile, eyes twinkling.

  Kali brought her braid around her shoulder. “She looks so much like me. My grandmother has to be remembering herself every time she sees me.”

  “I know.”

  Kali tugged on the braid. Lillian had been telling Kali about the resemblance this morning, but it was the first time she’d ever mentioned it. “I don’t understand why she never said anything about the films. What was so terrible about being an actress?”

  “What if she was hiding it from your grandfather? Maybe she worried that he wouldn’t be interested in marrying an actress. Or that his family might disapprove.”

  Kali nodded slowly. “That could be it. And then, years later when it no longer mattered, it was too late to tell Grandpa the truth.”

  Kali looked at the frozen frame of Leli Lenz. Her grandmother as a vivacious young woman. How changed Lillian was from her youth. Or was she? Could the woman on the screen simply have been acting her part? This film still didn’t tell Kali who her grandmother had really been.

  Kali thought about Neil’s grandmother, who had become bitter after living through the Holocaust. Kali’s own grandmother had been on the other side of that experience, laughing and flirting here in the film as though she didn’t have a care in the world.

  Was it guilt that had shaped Lillian to become the aloof woman Kali had only known? Perhaps her grandmother had lit the dozens of Yahrzeit candles in the hope of assuaging her inability to save those who had suffered and perished. Or had the actress Leli Lenz had a greater role during the years of the Holocaust that Lillian was now unable to live with?

  “So, what now?” Neil asked.

  Kali looked again at the static face of Leli Lenz, so much like her own. The twinkling eyes, the half smile on her lips.

  A skillful, deceptive actress or a happy, unscarred young woman? Only her grandmother could tell her the truth, but it seemed the more Kali dug to understand her past, the more she risked uncovering something that she wouldn’t want to know.

  Neil scratched behind Gizmo’s ear. “Are you going to show your grandmother the films?”

  Leli Lenz smiled at her enigmatically from the screen.

  “I think I have to.”

  34

  Kali crossed the lawn back to her grandmother’s house, carrying the three videocassettes under her arm.

  She was ambivalent about this new discovery. On the one hand, she had a history. A past she could actually see. Neil had noted the counter readings of the Leli Lenz scenes from his previous viewing, so he was able to fast-forward through each of the films, stopping whenever Leli Lenz appeared. Kali got to watch her grandmother laughing, singing, dancing a waltz, even eating an apple. Many of the gestures and mannerisms were familiar, and Neil had commented how much like Kali she seemed.

  One moment, Kali had no sense of what her grandmother had been like, then in the next she not only knew her grandmother, but she knew a great deal more about herself. Or did she? Kali still wasn’t convinced that her grandmother had hidden her acting career just because she feared disapproval from her husband’s family. It seemed to Kali that there had to be something more. And if there was, how would her grandmother react to seeing the films?

  The sun was beating down. Kali lifted her braid and wiped her neck. When she reached the portico, she noticed a black sedan pull up and park in the street in front of her grandmother’s house. Kali paused to see who it was.

  A completely bald, middle-aged man in a linen suit and dark sunglasses got out of the car. He signaled to Kali for her to wait a moment, took his briefcase out of the car, and walked briskly toward her. He had broad shoulders and his skull was shaped like a deformed eggplant.

  “Thanks so much for waiting,” he said, stopping in front of her. He had a baritone voice with a slight Spanish accent. “Are you Miss Campbell?”

  Kali shook her head, not willing to share any information. She’d been raised not to talk to strangers and to be suspicious of virtually everyone, though this man, with his briefcase, nice car, and well-cut suit didn’t appear to be a threat of any kind.

  “I see,” he said, apparently deciding not to press her. “Well, in any event, my name is Dr. Guzman and I’m here to follow up on a Mrs. Lillian Campbell.”

  “Follow up?” Kali said. “What do you mean?”

  He handed Kali a business card. Dr. Javier Guzman, with a number of professional designations after his name that Kali didn’t recognize, was the president of Golden Years Enhancement, PC, “Specializing in the Social, Physical and Mental Well-Being of the Senior Community.”

  “You still haven’t told me what you want,” she said.

  He dabbed his shiny, perspiring head with a handkerchief. Kali couldn’t see his eyes behind the dark sunglasses, but noticed his nose leaned to one side as though it had been broken. “I see you’re a busy young woman. I’ll get to the point.” He reached into his briefcase and took out some kind of report, which he began to scan. “I understand Mrs. Campbell was recently discharged from Mount Sinai after being diagnosed with a stroke. I would like to speak with her and her caregiver about outreach activities, which may be helpful to ward off depression.” He smiled. His mouth curved down a little as though he’d had a stroke himself. “Of course, if she’s unavailable just now, I could give you an overview and perhaps come back at a more convenient time.”

  “I don’t think she would be interested.”

  He glanced at the videos Kali held under her arm. “I’m not a solicitor, miss, if that’s what you’re concerned about. I’m here on behalf of Mount Sinai Hospital.”

  “Why don’t you give me your brochures, and she’ll call you if she’d like to learn more?”

  He moistened his lips. “I don’t have brochures. We’re not some general purpose company. I’m a certified geriatric specialist and psychotherapist and I work with people on a case-by-case basis, based on their individual needs. Many stroke victims are confused and sleep a great deal initially. Then they may become depressed, paranoid, occasionally even violent.” He seemed to be gauging Kali’s reaction. “I don’t know if Mrs. Campbell has experienced any of these things, but if she has, I hope I can be of service to you. I’ve helped many seniors by means of positive mental, physical, and social therapy. I’m not a believer in overmedicating. I think that’s a solution of convenience, rather than what’s in the best interest of the patient.”

  Kali felt herself relaxing. What he was saying made sense. And the behavior he mentioned was just what her grandmother had been displaying.

  “Good communication, healthy interaction with other seniors, an active lifestyle—these are the linchpins of our program.” He dabbed at his glistening scalp again with his handkerchief.

  “It sounds good, but—”

  “Ah.” He held up his hand, the handkerchief still in it. “I know you’re busy, so I’ll get out of your way now. I just wanted you to know that I’m a resource, if Mrs. Campbell needs me.” He smiled. “Or if you do.”

  Kali held the tapes in front of her chest, suddenly self-conscious even though she couldn’t see his eyes behind the dark glasses.

  “Many times the families or friends of stroke victims are also under a great deal of strain.” His voice softened. “Ma
y I ask—are you Mrs. Campbell’s primary caregiver?”

  Kali nodded.

  “You’re probably carrying a great deal on your shoulders. A little relief for your grandmother might be helpful for you, as well.”

  “I’m managing okay.”

  A bird flew squawking out of the poinciana tree.

  Guzman glanced up, then turned back to Kali. “Well, I’m glad to hear that. But now you have my number.”

  “Thank you. I’ll certainly hold on to your card.”

  “No, thank you, miss.” He gave a little smile and turned—almost reluctantly, it seemed—toward his car.

  Kali let herself into the house and put the business card on the foyer table next to the three tapes. Her conversation with Dr. Guzman reminded her of just how fragile her grandmother was. Best not to show her the films, at least for now.

  She glanced again at the business card and a peculiar thought crossed her mind. How did Javier Guzman know that Mrs. Campbell was Kali’s grandmother?

  35

  Lillian sat up in bed and held her hand over her heart. Deep breath in, slowly out. Deep breath in, slowly out. The attack was passing.

  “Are you all right?” Her granddaughter was standing in the doorway to the bedroom. “You’re awfully pale.”

  How to explain this feeling, this fear? Lillian licked her mouth. Dry.

  “I’ll get you some water.” Kali left the room. Lillian could hear her rapid footfalls going down the stairs.

  Don’t run, Lillian wanted to call after her. You’ll hurt the baby.

  Lillian touched her own abdomen. The panic from her dream was still with her. Why was she remembering these things? Was it just that she was afraid to die with so much guilt on her head? Or had her past finally caught up with her?

  When she had opened her eyes a few minutes ago, she had felt his presence. It was like the drop in barometric pressure before a hurricane. She was certain he was nearby. But how could that be? He was surely dead by now.