by Sonia Taitz
Peter was down there, stepping into his life as though he, Julian, were a ghost. Taking his lover away from him, as though he were nothing.
Julian came back downstairs and stood by his brother and Lily.
“Give me back my life,” he said, so quietly that only Lily heard him.
She woke up from a bad dream, and saw her lover standing in the room.
“Would you come upstairs with me?”
They went upstairs into her room.
“I don’t know what to say to you,” she said, looking away.
“Lily,” Julian hesitated for a moment, and then the words rushed out like a waterfall. “I know only one thing, and that is that I love you. I was hiding from you, and my punishment was an immense emptiness. I used to think you were born on my doorstep. Now I’m willing to travel to you. If I’m a coward, I’m a brave one now. You can easily, easily, break my heart.
“On the way back from Dublin, the train had an interesting bunch of people on it, including an extremely polite Nigerian gentleman who was talking to a Dutch woman about his family. She in turn was talking about what an excellent standard of living there is in Amsterdam. I don’t care where I live, Lily, as long I’m with you. I’ll speak any language. I’ll pray to your God. Lily, these things don’t matter.
“A lady sat opposite with a big baby on her knee. The baby seemed to be very precariously balanced on the knee so that I thought every corner of the track would bring calamity. But no. While Mummy read The Daily Mirror, the big baby amused himself pulling faces at all the delighted fellow train riders. He stuck to that knee, as though by some supernatural glue force. What a thing this love we speak of is!
“There is slavery in love too. So we must be careful not to overwork the chains. Please don’t harden your heart. You have a part of my soul. Not for a minute have I feared your custody. I have been careful with my own precious charge. You are inside me, and I am tender.
“I’m glad there is a baby growing in you. I’ve been reading Deuteronomy, Lily. ‘Countless as the stars,’ eh? Brilliant as the stars, anyway.
“And now there is one more.”
Julian had never said so much at once, and for once, Lily couldn’t speak.
“Does your tummy really hurt you, darling?” he asked. He had wanted to call her darling, but doing so made him blush. They both started laughing. It would take some practice.
“No, it’s fine.”
He sat down beside her and touched her on her stomach, where it rounded.
“Hello, in there,” he said, bending his head toward their child. Lily closed her eyes and stroked his hair.
Some minutes wafted by, into their past, to be remembered. Time was slow again, and luxurious, because they were together.
“How was Dublin?” she said.
Julian told her about Dublin. It had gone well for him at the Abbey.
“First of all,” he said, enjoying it for the first time, “it turns out that Fanning’s reference means a hell of a lot, because she hasn’t pushed anyone for years and years.”
“I knew you were special,” said Lily, calmly.
“And they loved my audition pieces, too,” he went on, “and one of them said—I told them I was going to do Caliban in Oxford next term, you know, and he said—he wanted to be there ‘to see history made.’ Can you imagine that being said to me?”
“You can do anything. Look what you did to me.”
“Look what you do to me. Look at my face. Do you know what they saw, Lily? Do you know what they saw? They saw a man in love, moonstruck and desperate and off my head!”
“I’m here,” she laughed. For the first time in two months, she was happy. “It feels like you’re going to die when you’re not sure, doesn’t it?”
“Don’t worry about that, because I won’t let you die. I’ll take care of you forever.”
“Well, well, well,” she smiled, leaning back against the bedpost.
“Just wait. You’ll see.”
He noticed a picture of her parents on her night table. So that’s who they were. Lily turned around and saw them through his eyes. Gretta’s face seemed to be cracking slightly, showing the sadness below. She was craning her neck, as though for crucial information; her eyes were alert and her smile, strained. Josef was more genial. He had a face so full of ancient innocence that she wondered, as she would about a sick child, “Must he, too, die?” She couldn’t stand to think about the death of either of them. Surely, after all they’d been through, couldn’t God spare them the final blow of annihilation?
“It’s a nice photo,” said Julian gently. For a moment, she thought suspiciously of Julian’s own photographs of the retarded teenagers on their outing. Was he being condescending? Were her parents, too, sad “specimens?”
“There is something about film, isn’t there?” said Julian, not seeing her mood darken. “Maybe I’ll do a film, in time, as well. You never know. A lot of actors do. We all want to live forever, I guess.”
“Yes. We do all want to live forever. And some people deserve to. After all the effort to smother their small flame, they should never be snuffed out. They—they should be revived, and—”
“Lily—what’s wrong?”
“These old people, these are my parents, and if you love me you have to love them, too.” She had planted their photo there, in the Kendall house, out of loyalty. Still, she heard her voice came out more apologetic than defiant. What did she have to apologize for? The fact that she was born of mortal stock, not stone, not celluloid?
“They are my past, and I am their future.”
“What are you saying?”
“What do you think?” she shouted, facing him as though he personified every obstacle to Jewish survival. “These are my parents! My people! The Jews are not going to die out on my watch!”
“Lily, I love them for giving you to me. What is it? What’s troubling you?”
“I don’t know, I don’t know. I miss them.”
He took the photograph in his hands and searched their faces. “They were very brave to let you travel, after all they’ve been through.”
“I never thought about it that way. They showed me more love than I ever believed possible. But how did I repay them? By leaving them.”
“You haven’t left them, and you won’t. They were very generous, to trust you to the world. I will repay that trust.”
“How, exactly?” Lily couldn’t help smiling at the simple way Julian saw things.
“I will love you like family, Lily. And I will always honor them, for giving you to me.”
“That’s nice. But how?”
Julian stood up. He took the photo in his hands and spoke to it:
“We will raise the baby Jewish. I’d be proud to.”
Lily was moved, but (being Jewish) a part of her mind remained skeptical. It had to ask questions and get answers before it could settle into solace.
“What do you know about being Jewish?”
“I know you—complicated, curious, insatiable you. And I want to know them. I’ll stand among you. It’s a start.”
41
An Island in the Center of the World, 1977
CALIBAN WAS HIDDEN IN THE LEAVES of a great, old tree, but when the cue came, he dove into the water, then rose onto the land, shaking off droplets into the first three rows of the audience. His skin was covered with green, and brown; Lily was thrilled to hardly recognize him. And his voice was different, loud and coarse, and defiant with innocence. When Julian bellowed, “I cried to dream again!” he pounded his own face with frustration, and Lily cried for him. His face, when he cried, seemed to be crying out and away a lifetime of frustration.
During intermission, under the wooden bleachers, he smothered her with kisses, and she became, like him, covered with water, and green and brown. His eyes, up close, looked paler for being ringed with black, and, with one hand on Lily’s shoulder, he nervously searched the milling audience. He fixed on a man with a highly animated exp
ression on his face.
“That’s the one from the Abbey, with Shelagh. See?” He hoisted her up.
“Yeah. Shelagh’s winking at you. She must love the performance.”
“Oh, yeah, she saw the dress rehearsal, so I’m not that nervous about my—Oh, God, that’s my father,” he said suddenly. “He’s really come.”
“Peter will be so glad!” said Lily. But she knew that he had come for Julian, and for her.
“Can you believe he actually came all the way to England?”
“It’s not that far.”
“It’s worlds away. He hasn’t been here for years!”
“What should we do? Go over?”
“No. Look. Peter sees him, too.” Peter was edging through the crowd toward his father, waving gawkily. Dressed as Prospero, he looked stiff and uncomfortable. The father, dressed in an old tweedy jacket, gave him a hearty slap on the back and they shook hands with a single muscular jerk, like men.
“We’ll see him later,” said Julian. “When Caliban fades back into the night.”
“I’m scared,” she said softly. “He looks so much like you.”
“Who? Caliban?”
“No. Your father. I see why your mother never got over it.”
42
THE LIGHTS FADED, and the audience slowly drifted away. Even their murmurs were gone, and the warm June night was thick with silence. Trailing behind, the last to leave, Lily and Julian walked to the River Isis. Each boarded a small punt. The oarsmen drew them on, down the river, and did not turn to see a young woman, dressed in white (a costume donation from the OUDS clan), with flowers wound in her hair, and the young man, also in white. The river wound, round and round, through the shadowy medieval town.
In a third little boat, just ahead of them, sat Lily’s parents. Their boat traveled the waters, which whispered in the dark of sorrows, forgiveness, and hope, reaching an area illumined only by a circle of candles. And there, around the circle, were Julian’s father, and Peter, and Shelagh Eveline Fanning, and even Mrs. Dancer, glowing in the warmth of the flame.
Josef and Gretta Taub disembarked first and were warmly embraced. As their daughter’s boat arrived, they reached out their hands to help her step onto the shore. Lily embraced her parents, kissing each one on their soft, old cheeks. Slowly, she released them into the circle of candlelight. Julian came last, walked over to her at the center, where they joined hands.
When the woman and the man stepped into this center, flowers rained from every tree, and small bells tinkled. There were actors up in the boughs, to send them on their way. Then, an old, silk prayer shawl, trailing long white threads from every corner, was spread out and held over their heads. It was a marriage canopy as Prospero would have made it, King of Magic that he was. Held by human hands, the shawl vibrated with the frailty, and bravery, of love.
Julian took Lily’s hand in his and gripping it tightly, said,
Be not afeard: the isle is full of noises
Sounds and sweet airs, that give delight,
And hurt not.
Sometimes, a thousand twangling instruments
Will hum about mine ears;
And sometimes voices,
That, if I then had wak’d after long sleep
Will make me sleep again: and then, in dreaming
The clouds me thought would open and show riches
Ready to drop upon me; that when I wak’d
I cried to dream again.
And looking all around her, and above her, Lily, responding, cried:
“Oh, brave new world, that has such people in it!”
To which sentiment, Peter pealed, “Amen to that!” causing everyone to laugh, including the young female Rabbi from Headington.
Minutes later, after reciting the requisite vows, Lily and Julian were declared “husband and wife.” Julian then stomped on a glass, shattering it into shards. He had learned that every joy brings sorrow, and every sorrow, joy, that temples are devastated and mourned, but also rebuilt.
So, after the stomp, there was a happy commotion. The isle was full of noises, sounds, sweet airs, and “Mazel Tovs,” that give delight, and fade, after long revels, into stillness.
43
IN TIME, Lily would give birth to a little girl, breathing companionably upon her mother’s breast. A funny little thing: blue eyes streaming under pale lids, wet black thatch sticking out in all directions.
Brilliant as a star.
This would happen in Ireland, where Julian began his career. In time, they would travel throughout, and beyond, the dwindling British Kingdom. They would travel to London (where Peter lectured), and Edinburgh, to Tel Aviv and New York City and all the way to beneficent Miami, where Lily’s parents would spend their happiest years. Lily, observing, remembering, would write about it all: how a man leaves his family and cleaves to his wife. How a world is made, destroyed, and restored when the lion and the lamb reconcile. She would write about how grandparents hold babies and sense the divine, a taste, at last, of what we all call eternal.
But for now, Lily had no thoughts beyond the wedding circles on her hand and on her husband’s. They were as golden as the light that traveled across water and land, rising to greet them as they woke up in each other’s arms.
Acknowledgements
This book was written roughly twenty-five years ago, and would not have seen the light of the 21st century day were it not for the loving ministrations of my editor and publisher, Ellie McGrath, founder of McWitty Press. I think it is no small coincidence that the imprint’s title contains not only the word “witty,” but also a near-rhyme to McVitie, manufacturer of England’s finest “digestive” biscuits: Ellie is that wise and that nurturing. I would also like to thank Stephanie Sosnow, Debra Berman, Lynn Schwartz and Susan Weinstein, all of them wonderful people and loyal friends. Abby Kagan and Jenny Carrow lent me their visionary skills, and I am grateful to them for giving such a beautiful face to my ideas. My husband Paul was a wonderful support during all this midwifery, as were my children, Emma, Gabriel and Phoebe. Lastly, I am grateful to my late parents, Simon and Gita Taitz, for their enduring love and support for my every venture, romantic or practical.
About the Author
Sonia Taitz is an essayist, playwright, and graduate of Yale Law School and Oxford University, where she received an M.Phil in Literature and was awarded the Lord Bullock Prize for Fiction. Author of Mothering Heights (William Morrow and Berkley), her work has appeared in The New York Times, O: the Oprah Magazine, People, The New York Observer, and many other publications. Her plays have been performed in Oxford, New York, and Washington, D.C.
In The King’s Arms is her first novel.
Reader’s Guide
1. What do you think is meant by the title of In the King’s Arms? What sort of kings are there in the book, and what types of power do they have? Is their power real in all cases?
2. How do you explain Lily’s desire to leave her parents and her homogeneous, Jewish world? Is it heroic bravery, or an act of betrayal? Why does she feel a need to move away? Is her move to Europe more shocking than if she had, say, gone to Canada or California?
3. This book is set in the 1970s, with flashbacks to the war-torn 1940s. To what extent is Lily living in her parent’s time? Are her fixations and fears relevant today? Do we still live in a world in which so much depends on where one comes from and what God one worships?
4. Why do Lily and Julian choose each other? Will she be happy with him? Will she feel safe, in the way that Archibald does, in the world they will create together? Will Julian?
5. The book contains flashbacks into the horrors of the Holocaust. Does this background explain the insularity of Lily’s parents? Is this insularity vital to the preservation of their Jewish culture? In other words, do cultures need to be protected from both prejudice and assimilation?
6. Do you think Lily’s parents will ultimately be able to embrace Julian as their son-in-law? Will Lily’s journey open their hea
rts and/or help heal their wounds? How will Lily’s daughter see the world?
7. Are Julian’s mother and step-father as insular as Lily’s? What motivates their strong feelings? What has happened to their vision of Great Britain in more modern times? What has happened to the idea of nationalism?
8. Do you think love will conquer all, as the final chapter suggests? Does this book resolve the problems faced by Romeo and Juliet? What would have to happen in the world so that people like Lily and Julian can truly build a life together?
9. In the King’s Arms is not just a story about love but about reconciliation. In what ways does Lily show her desire to reconcile Gentiles and Jews? What drives this desire?
10. Do we still face the old cultural vendettas with which previous generations struggled? What forms do they currently take? Do you wish, as Lily sometimes does, for a common “communion”?
An Interview with Sonia Taitz
Q: What made you decide to write this book?
I was compelled to write this book by an insistent idealism. I truly believe that, as Anne Frank so famously said, “people are basically good.” The beauty of love, its openness and trust, convinced me that I could write a story in which walls of distance, hatred and prejudice could fall down between loving people.
Q: To what extent does this novel reflect your own upbringing?
My parents were refugees, Lithuanian-Jewish survivors of the Holocaust in Europe. As their daughter, I was taught from a very young age that Jews were permanent targets of a vast, undying hatred, and that I must be vigilant. Slowly, I developed a different sense of the world, my own sense of possibilities. Of course, expansiveness was easy for me—I grew up in America in a prosperous and idealistic time. Women, people of color, worshippers of different religions—all these so-called minorities were absorbed and accepted as equals in our culture. I wanted to step out and show my parents (and myself) that this new world was “basically good,” and that Jews were no longer the sacrificial lamb of the world, as they saw it.
