Faye Kellerman - Decker 13 - The Forgotten

by The Forgotten

  'Okay. Then maybe I will... go to the bathroom.' Her eyes met Decker's. 'They're probably together - Ruby and Darrell -but not the way you think.'

  A sly smile spread across her face. Decker wanted to smack

  her. Instead he said, 'Erin, this isn't a game. You are in trouble. If I find out you're holding back, I will not only nail you legally, but you can forget about a hospital—'

  Doreen blurted out, 'That's enough!'

  But Erin spoke anyway. 'I told you I don't know where he is.' A hesitation. 'I'm fucking scared, you know!'

  'You should be!' Decker answered. 'You remember the things that happened at your stay in rehab. Do you think jail without medical care is going to be better?'

  'You're threatening her!' Doreen yelled.

  'Telling her the facts.' Decker's eyes bored into Erin's. 'Help me and I'll help you. Makes your life easy.'

  'I don't know where they are,' Erin repeated. 'I'd have no problem telling you, but I don't know!'

  'You're repeating yourself. Tell me something new.'

  'Okay, okay... uh, hey, how about this. Darrell considers Ruby's mouth a problem.'

  Decker took this in. 'That's good. How big a problem?'

  'A real, real big problem.' Out came the grin. 'She was part of DarrelFs operation. Now Darrell has to move on. So she's a problem.' She snapped her fingers several times. 'What's the word he used? A libility?'

  'Liability,' Decker corrected. 'How much of a liability?'

  Erin looked the other way. 'Something that has to be taken care of. Darrell doesn't like things hanging over his head. He likes... permanent solutions.'

  'Meaning?'

  She extended her first two fingers to form the barrel of a gun, then pantomimed the shot using a thumb for a trigger. Her grin turned into a savage smile aimed right at her aunt. 'What the hell! I hated the bitch!'

  33

  He was one of those old men who had that incongruous young man's hair - thick and luxurious except it was as white as Crisco. Way back when, he must have been a genuine blond. With his pale blue eyes and his pallid complexion, he could have easily passed for one of Hitler's Ubermenschen. Perhaps that was why he lasted so long before he was crammed into a railroad car and headed toward certain death. His existence was a testament to miracles.

  Having lived a long life, Oscar Adler wore the battle decorations of age, face and hands riddled with liver spots. His forehead held several shiny pink depressions - scar tissue left over from the removal of growths. Rina's father had had several basal-cell carcinomas removed from his face because he was also very fair. Both of her parents were light-complexioned and light-eyed, but her mother had always made a point of wearing a hat when she was in the sun. It had paid off. Mama had beautiful skin.

  Oscar was older than both Mama and Papa. His cheeks clung to the skeletal structure underneath as tightly as a rubber mask. His eyes were sunken and framed by jaundiced folds of skin, the irises almost pinpoints under thick glasses. Remarkably, he still had his own teeth even if some of them were chipped, and all of them were as yellow as egg yolks. Rina knew about his teeth because Oscar was smiling as he slurped soup.

  The man had a hearty appetite. He had managed to get down

  an entire rib of flanken. On the downside, he coughed back a third of it.

  'You're eating too fast,' she scolded.

  'Nyaaah,' he answered back.

  'You're taking too big bites—'

  'A bissel fleisch.'

  'Not a bissel. Asach. Too much.'

  He waved her off and tried to wolf down another piece of meat. Again Oscar started hacking. Rina gently patted his back. 'Are you okay?'

  'Yeah, yeah—'

  She picked up the spoon. 'Esse de kraut.'

  'No protein in the cabbage.'

  His voice was high. He had to strain to get the words out of his larynx.

  'But lots of good vitamins,' Rina told him. 'And it tastes good, right?'

  Oscar didn't answer.

  'Right?'

  'Right, right. You don't have to talk Yiddish to me. I know English.'

  'You were talking Yiddish to me.'

  'A bissel fleisch isn't Yiddish.'

  'Oh. Then what language is it?'

  'It's... an expression.'

  'An expression in Yiddish.'

  'It's... English. Bissel is English.'

  'Only if you're selling carpet shampooers.'

  They were sitting in the rest home's common dining room. Eighty Jewish people over eighty years of age, the vast majority of them women. Some of them could have been beauties in their youth - the features were even and placed geometrically on the face - but the passage of time had dumped them into the category of 'elderly'. Which carried with it a certain amount of relief. Certainly for women the pressure was off. They didn't have to worry about that extra piece of cake. If they ate and kept

  their weight up, that was a sign of good health. Not surprising, there was a wide variation in personal appearance. Some women were dolled up with makeup and jewelry, but others, and not necessarily the older ones, were content in housecoats and mules.

  This is me in fifty years, Rina thought, if I'm lucky. No matter how important the present appeared, it soon turned to the past, and that was the eternal cycle. The perpetuity of life made her smile. Rina had witnessed too much untimely death to be depressed about aging.

  Rina smoothed her red cotton skirt and hiked up the sleeves of her white blouse to her elbows. There was some air blowing, but it felt tepid. Too much of a cold breeze wouldn't do well in the crowd with weak bones and swollen joints. So Rina tolerated the heat with understanding, happy that she was one of those lucky people who didn't sweat much. Twenty tables were scattered about the room awash in fluorescent light. A couple of window shades were open, allowing Rina to catch a glimpse of the moon and stars. The checkered linoleum floor was discolored but clean; the walls had been recently papered with a rose-on-a-vine pattern. White-uniformed Hispanic women wheeled carts in between tables and doled out the soup of the day: chicken noodle.

  This created a problem.

  At first, the kitchen refused to allow Rina to serve her soup to Oscar, not due to health reasons - she had purposely made it without salt - but because the dietitian was afraid that Rina's potage - thick and meaty - would start a rebellion among the residents. So Rina offered to serve it to Oscar in his room. But that wasn't acceptable, either. What if Oscar choked? (Apparently Oscar gagged a lot.) So then Rina offered to sit with Oscar out on the facility's patio. Again she was refused.

  After twenty minutes of begging and cajoling, the dietitian finally relented. Oscar could consume the soup in full view of the other diners.

  This wasn't sitting well with them. They eyed the food

  enviously. And it didn't help that Oscar kept smacking his lips -accidentally on purpose.

  'It's good,' he announced.

  'Of course. It's homemade.'

  'Not all homemade cabbage soup is good. Sometimes it's greasy.'

  'Not mine.'

  'No, yours is not greasy.'

  'Thank you.'

  Oscar nodded, his head looking like a cotton ball waving on the stem of his scrawny neck. He wore a short-sleeved blue-and-red-striped shirt and tan slacks. His bony elbows were sharp enough to be lethal weapons. He ate noisily until the bowl was empty. He pushed it in front of Rina.

  'You have more soup?' Oscar demanded.

  'For tomorrow.'

  'Why tomorrow?'

  'The dietitian set a limit on just two bowls.'

  'Why?'

  Rina shrugged.

  'I'm hungry now. Give me more soup.'

  'I can't do that. She told me two bowls. If I don't listen to her, she'll throw the rest of the pot away.'

  'Why two bowls?'

  Rina leaned over. 'I think the others are jealous—'

  'Nyaaah.'

  'I think you can have some of the regular dinner if you want—'

  'Nyaaah.'


  'Do you want to go up to your room, Oscar?'

  He thought a moment, then shook his head.

  'Should we take a walk?'

  Again the headshake.

  'So we'll sit here for a while?'

  This time he nodded. One of the servers was a young Hispanic named Yolanda. She offered Rina something to eat.

  'Just a cup of tea when you get a chance,' Rina answered. 'You want tea, Oscar?'

  'Tea is good.'

  'Two teas.'

  'Oscar likes his with honey,' Yolanda said. 'How about you?'

  'I'll take honey,' Rina answered.

  'Give me a minute.'

  'Take your time,' Rina told her.

  Oscar picked up the bowl and ran a finger around the inside rim, collecting a bit of the puree on the bony tip. He licked it eagerly. Rina sighed, snatched up the bowl, and stood up. 'This is ridiculous.'

  Oscar looked upset. 'Where are you going?'

  Like a kid who had done something wrong. 'I'm getting you more soup.'

  She marched into the kitchen. After ten minutes of finagling, she returned with half a bowl. 'They are tyrants in there.'

  Oscar nodded. 'See what we have to put up with?'

  It came out 'See vat ve haf to put up vit?'

  Rina said, 'Of course, they can't go around letting everyone eat whatever they'd like.'

  'Why not?'

  'There are a lot of restricted diets here.'

  'That's not my problem.'

  'It's somebody's problem,' Rina insisted.

  'Somebody's, yes... not mine.' Oscar finished the half-bowl. 'Now I'm finished. Thank you.'

  'You're welcome.'

  'You are a friend of Georgia's?'

  'I know Georgia, yes.'

  'Are you nosy like her?'

  'I take exception to that. Neither Georgia nor I are nosy... just curious.'

  'Nyaaah. You come to pester me. Why you think you can bribe an old man with soup?'

  'I have confidence in my cooking. My mother is an excellent cook.'

  'So your mother is alive?'

  'Both my parents. My mother is seventy-seven, my father is eighty-two.'

  'Youngsters.'

  'I'll quote you on that.'

  'Where were they born?'

  'My mother was born in Germany, my father is Hungarian.' Rina paused. 'Actually, my mother is way more Hungarian than German. She moved to Budapest when she was eleven. Her mother died before the war in some kind of tragic accident. She doesn't like to talk about it.'

  'I don't blame her.'

  'Neither do I,' Rina said. 'Still, it's a shame. She has unique knowledge of family history that she's not going to pass on. It'll be lost forever.'

  'Some things are better lost,' Oscar commented.

  'I suppose.' But Rina's facial expression belied her words.

  'Why is the past so important?' Oscar said grumpily. 'We say we learn from the past? We never learn from the past.'

  'I don't know if that's totally true.'

  'On good days, when my eyes can see, I read the paper. Then I wonder why I do it. The killing still goes on.'

  'True.'

  'The past... Hmmmph!' He waved twiggy fingers. 'Nothing! Empty space.'

  'That's how my mother feels. But sometimes I think it eats away at her. Maybe if she faced it—'

  'Nyaaah. She faces it. I know. It comes back in nightmares. Terrible, terrible dreams. Dreams you don't talk away, dreams you don't psychoanalyze away, dreams that aren't helped by sleeping medicines. They are dreams that haunt forever. It's terrible enough that it happens in sleep. Why do I have to think about it when I'm awake?'

  Rina conceded that he was making valid points. Then she said, 'I don't know about you, Oscar, but maybe if my mother talked about them during the day, she wouldn't have the nightmares.'

  'No. You are wrong. Then she thinks about it in the day and

  has the bad dreams at night.' Oscar was breathing hard. 'What camps were they in?'

  Said so matter-of-factly as if asking what state they were from. 'Auschwitz. My father was at the Jewish side, but my Jewish mother was at the goyish side - Monowitz.'

  Oscar looked blank.

  'The labor part of the camp.' Rina bit her lip. 'My mother has dark hair but light skin and blue eyes—'

  'Your mother passed for one of them?'

  'I think the Kommandant wanted her to pass. She was stunningly beautiful. He... liked her.'

  'Oy.'

  'Her looks probably saved her life. All her girlfriends went to the Jewish side - to Birkenau - and all of them were murdered. Also, because she spoke German, she had the definite advantage over the Hungarian girls. He put her to work in the kitchen. It was a horrible existence, but she didn't starve. That's how she met my father... she sneaked food to the other side. My father was the "food runner" for the men's side.'

  'She would have been shot if she was found out.'

  'Yes, she has some stories. She was very scared. She always told me the hardest part was taking the first step. After that, it was almost habit.'

  'She's a hero.'

  'I think she was just in love. Papa was very handsome - even at one hundred and ten pounds.' Rina smiled. 'She considered herself one of the lucky ones. She had bread and soup and an occasional bone to gnaw on. She had clean water and though they cut her hair off, her scalp was lice free except in the heat of the summer. She has often said that she felt like a queen compared to the Jewish inmates. I don't know how they survived.'

  'You do what you must.'

  Rina shrugged.

  Oscar's eyes darkened. 'You can see why it is hard to talk about it.'

  'Yes, of course. It's strange. My mother can talk about the Holocaust. It's just her mother—'

  'But some people can't talk about it. And you must respect that.'

  'Absolutely.'

  'So... I say thank you for the soup... and good-bye.'

  Rina couldn't hide her disappointment. But she wasn't about to stir up a hornet's nest without the man's permission. 'Maybe I'll come next week, Oscar, and visit you again.'

  'You'll get the same answer.'

  Rina smiled. 'You enjoyed the soup so much. Next time, we'll sneak it up to your room.'

  'You think you get me alone, I'll talk?'

  'No. I'm thinking maybe we'll avoid the hostile looks.' She gave his hand a gentle squeeze. 'Bye.'

  But Oscar didn't let go. Tears formed in his eyes.

  'It's okay,' Rina said. 'Oscar, I'm not upset. Please.'

  The eyes remained wet, but the drops refused to fall. 'Why you do this?'

  Rina just shrugged.

  Oscar snarled. 'Give me the name.'

  'Yitzchak Golding.'

  He thought a long time, then shook his head. 'No.'

  'Well, then, that's that. I'll still come and visit you—'

  'You have to remember... they killed people every day. At most, you work a week and then you are shot or gassed. Turnover... always new Jews coming in to kill. Even the regulars... no one lasted more than a few months. Almost a million Jews in one graveyard. Bodies on bodies. All of them... lost... forgotten.'

  'Not forgotten,' Rina said. 'They'll never be forgotten. Jewish law won't allow it. You know halacha... finding the unknown body that has been murdered within the city limits. The chok about the red heifer.'

  Oscar looked blank.

  'It's right from the Chumash. If you find a dead body within

  the city, and no one claims responsibility for it, the entire community is responsible. And it is up to the community to give that body a proper burial. That's all I'm trying to do, Oscar. Give this man a proper burial.'

  'I do not know the name. Who is he to you?'

  'I'm doing someone a favor. Not because he's a friend, but because he's a parent. His son was murdered, Oscar.'

  'Ach! That's terrible!'

  Slowly, Rina told him the story. Midway through, Oscar closed his watery eyes. But Rina could tell that he
was still listening and listening intently. By the time she was finished, most of the room had been cleared of its diners. Her voice seemed louder, so she dropped it a notch. 'I have a picture of them... all of them. It was given to me by the man's son. Carter Golding—'