The Sins of the Father

by Allan Massie

  “The man who owned the factory was a Jew. They said that whenever a new consignment of bones arrived, he picked over them, choosing those that would do for his own soup.

  “I think that was true.”

  Rudi tapped out a cigarette.

  “Is all this boring you, Franz? I don’t know why it is, but those early years have been running in my mind, disturbing my sleep. It is sometimes as if I can still smell that slut in the bar.

  “One night I thought I was going mad. It was winter, I had been working late, and the tram which I took back to the quarter where I now had my lodgings was empty. It was raining, and the few poor lights in that fringe of the city were mere spots, like a bulb shining through a shroud. Then, though the tram had not stopped, the carriage was full of people, and they all had the same face, they all wore damp overcoats with the collars turned up, and all gazed at me. They did not speak, but they directed their eyes at me. Only they had no eyes. The rest of the face was normal, pale wet skin stretched over bones, but the eye sockets were empty.”

  The older soldier had added water to the tea bags. Now he removed the bags from the mugs and poured in milk. He put one spoonful of sugar in each mug and stirred the tea. He placed their mugs in front of them.

  “I speak German, you know,” said the soldier. “My mother was from Berlin. She was a poor Jew, so she didn’t get out. Maybe she didn’t want to. I’m told she loved the city. I don’t know. It was an aunt who brought me and my sister out. I shouldn’t be saying this, but you can’t expect us to forgive. Or forget. Ever. When you speak of your landlord and your employer as filthy Jews, that’s as may be. But don’t you think they would have been just as filthy whatever their race or religion? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be saying this. I’m not supposed to be taking part in your conversation.”

  “No, you shouldn’t be,” his companion said. “All the same, it’s a good question, isn’t it?”

  Franz sipped his tea.

  “I think you should answer that, Father. I think it would help if you did.”

  “So?” Rudi said. “It’s not difficult. You are quite right, Moshe. But don’t you see, sticking on the label made it easier to hate. If you were swindled by an Arab, my friend, would you say, ‘What a swine’ or ‘Filthy Arab swine’?”

  Rudi said, “I was a young man without purpose. For months I was on the verge of losing the last imperative: to survive. I dreamed of killing myself. Believe me, no one knows better the temptation of suicide. I was twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five, and still nothing. At night I lay awake and listened to the noises of the lodging house and of the city, and I knew that my life was of no importance to anyone. Not even it seemed, in my blackest moments, to myself.

  “And then I was rescued…”

  Becky was uneasy when Franz went to visit his father. She knew he had to; it was why he had come there. But she wished he could leave off. He came back depressed and edgy. “I really despise myself,” he said. “I’ve known nothing. Do you believe it’s true that the man who hasn’t killed is a virgin?”

  “No,” she replied, “I think it’s a stupid saying. I’ve heard it before, and it’s stupid. It’s sort of Argentinian.”

  But that didn’t help him. So when he was away she fretted; she was afraid each time that he would come back and look at her and see a Jewess. She told herself none of that meant anything to Franz; then a voice reminded her of touching pitch and the unavoidable consequence of defilement. Once she even thought: “It’s not fair that I should have to bear this,” and was disgusted. She had never thought of herself as cheap.

  She started to hear the telephone ring. She sat letting it ring. It threatened her, alone in her hotel room. It stopped, recommenced almost at once. This time she answered, and was relieved to find it was Rachel.

  “Was it you a minute ago?”

  “It was. Were you in the bathroom?”

  “No. I couldn’t bring myself to answer. I don’t know why.” She went round to Rachel’s apartment. Luke was out. Rachel told her she felt nervous too.

  “This whole goddam thing makes me jumpy,” she said.

  She made coffee and pushed a plate of doughnuts at Becky. “Go on,” she said, “we need spoiling. Made them myself, American style. Go on.”

  There was maple syrup in them, and Becky licked the syrup that escaped and trickled down her chin.

  It was cold outside and they sat in front of the gas fire. Rachel kicked her shoes off and curled on a cushion on the floor.

  “I couldn’t stand being alone this morning,” she said. “I’m glad you’ve come. Is Franz with his father?”

  Becky nodded. Rachel put her hand out and squeezed Becky’s leg just above the knee.

  “And that worries you, does it?”

  “He comes back, oh I don’t know, different. As if he’s seen something that … Franz is innocent, you know.”

  “Sure I know.”

  “And then he’s edgy. We quarrelled yesterday when he came back. It was horrible.”

  “Sure. He would hate it. It’s meat and drink to Luke but Franz would hate it. And when people hate quarrelling they find it hard to make up. Luke and I are different that way. He makes up easily. This case is hell for him too. It’s damaging him. Do you know why?”

  Becky shook her head. Her hair floated over her eyes, obscuring Rachel’s face. The grip on her leg tightened.

  “He can’t let it go,” Rachel said. “He worries. He’s on the point of speaking out against it, and to hell with the damage that does him. He knows he’s wrong, or that everyone will say he’s wrong, and he can’t use the argument he has that’s driving him on. Do you understand that? It’s Franz, you see.”

  “No,” Becky said. “Look, it was maybe a bad idea me coming here today.”

  Rachel took her hand away. “You’re free to go,” she said, “but I hope you won’t. Listen, it’s not like you may think I mean. Luke isn’t queer. It hadn’t even entered his head. But Franz still means something special to him. Maybe he does to all of us. I think it’s because he’s plastic.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We each make of him what we want him to mean. Do you know, maybe I shouldn’t tell you this, but he showed me that letter you wrote him about your … experiences, and if he had wanted me to make love to him then, I would, without question. And I’ve never been unfaithful to Luke.”

  Becky pushed her hair back and looked at her. Rachel’s face was eager, explaining, American. It was the face of a newer and franker culture than any she had known, a face that suggested that the way to deal with a problem was to talk it out. But Becky had been raised the English way, in secrecy and silence and reticence. Eli had never interfered with that way of Nell’s in rearing their daughter. There were things he had been happy to leave in the dark of silence. So now, in conversation, Becky knew she had no words for feelings.

  “I was so touched he showed me that letter. It showed he had confidence in me.”

  Becky liked Rachel. She was sure that Rachel was good, that she wasn’t the sort of girl who liked stirring up trouble. But she was intrusive, Becky felt, and then she looked at her again and saw she was also unhappy.

  “You really want to get Luke out of here, don’t you?”

  Rachel, who had seemed to her in charge of things, aggressive to the point of bullying, began to cry. She sat on the cushion and rocked forward and back, and sobbed. Becky slipped out of her chair and put her arms round her.

  “Don’t,” she said.

  The sobbing intensified. To Becky it seemed as if her sympathy was making it worse. She disengaged, retiring to the window, turning her back on Rachel’s distress. It was too much. Rachel had no right. Tomorrow her mother and father arrived. In a couple of hours Franz would return from listening to his father – he assured her that all he did was listen. In a week the trial would be under way. The frontier was closed until sentence was delivered, judgement executed. She was caught in a vice. She looked out and the st
reet was bare. A dustcart trundled round the corner. It disturbed a pigeon which had been pecking in the gutter. The sobbing subsided. Rachel began to sniff. The pigeon, not seeing her, landed on the windowsill. For a moment they met eye to uncomprehending eye. Then it pecked at the pane. Her dark clothes were serving to turn the glass into a mirror. It hadn’t, whatever she had thought, seen her at all. It was another pigeon it saw challenging itself there. She turned away, to free the bird, which, alarmed by the movement, flew off.

  “I’m sorry about that. I don’t know what got into me.”

  “That’s all right.”

  “Let’s have some more coffee.”

  Becky took a doughnut. “They’re awfully good,” she said. Rachel had told Becky what she already knew. She had known that about Franz from the start.

  She said, “I wish you hadn’t told me that.”

  “I’m sorry. Oh hell, why do I have to keep apologising for my goddam self?”

  They settled again. With a moral effort, Becky got down on the floor, on a level with Rachel.

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said.

  “There’s one thing I’ve wanted to ask you. When you were kidnapped, when these men held you, what did you fear most?”

  “Oh,” Becky said, “no, I can’t talk about that, about that time. I don’t know why. It, it makes me feel dirty.”

  Rachel pushed her a cigarette, held the lighter to it. Becky kept her eyes lowered, not to meet Rachel’s.

  “OK, honey, I understand. I am sorry.”

  “No,” Becky said, “it wasn’t that. Not what you’re thinking. We were afraid of that but that didn’t happen. It’s just that it makes me feel dirty. It made me feel diminished. It showed me anything could happen, that was it. As if we were just … pieces. Like debris you know, washed up by the waves. Does that make any sense?”

  “Sure it does. Let’s get out of here. What do you say to a walk by the sea?”

  The bus dropped them at the end of its run. They had left the popular beaches behind, and the path ran along little cliffs for half a mile or so until it dipped down to the shore. It was shingle now and they walked just above the shingle among sea-grasses and reeds. Inland there was scrub. They looked north and east to a wilderness, stretching, it seemed, to the hills. There was a valley in between which they could not see and that was fertile, but this part of the coast was desolate. There were coils of barbed wire between them and the sea, and though they were only a mile beyond the city, they were all alone. It wasn’t Rachel’s place at all; her short, city legs were not made for walking in this country, and she swore when a thorn pierced her jeans. Seabirds flew around them mewing. They reached a little knoll and Rachel lay down. The scent of lavender mingled with the smell which the breeze carried from the sea.

  “Is it tomorrow your folks come?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Becky chewed a grass stem.

  “Nervous?”

  “A bit.”

  “I would be.”

  “Yes, well, we’ve decided Franz can’t come to the airport.”

  “Does he get on with your parents?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “Sure, he gets on with everyone, we’d agreed on that, hadn’t we.”

  “Mummy adores him. I don’t know about Daddy.”

  Aeroplanes – three fighters, wing almost to wing – howled out of the sky, above the sea, zoomed low over them lying there and turned towards the mountains. The sound died behind them. Becky sucked at her grass stem. Rachel had put her hands over her ears and lowered her head. She did not move until they were well away.

  “It’s a reminder,” she said, “whenever they come. Luke’s a reserve pilot, you know.”

  “No, I didn’t. Does that worry you?”

  “No, it doesn’t worry me, it scares the hell out of me. Do you think it would be different if women ran the world?”

  “Not really,” Becky said.

  “I do.”

  Becky threw away the grass stem, which was torn and ragged and had lost its sap.

  “Will they hang him?” she said.

  Rachel looked at her and waited.

  “They hanged Eichmann, didn’t they?”

  “Sure. You know that, honey.”

  “I can’t believe it,” Becky said. “You know, I can’t believe it. I’ve had proof. They wouldn’t have taken Gaby and me, if he hadn’t been Kestner, and so I know he is, and I don’t need a trial to prove that if he’s Kestner, he’s guilty. Nobody needs a trial to prove that. But I can’t believe it. Do you know what I mean?”

  “Go on,” Rachel said. “Why can’t you?”

  “Because … I’ve only met him that once, you know, but he was nice. He was shy and he was anxious to make a good impression, for Franz’s sake, and he showed off a little. Franz has always been a bit afraid of him, but do you know? Do you know what I thought? I thought he was sweet. He wasn’t a person you could get to know well. I could see that. And I never thought we’d be easy together, but … there it is. Do you know what? He seemed to me like someone who’d been badly hurt. And he loves Franz, he really does. It doesn’t make sense.”

  “We all love Franz, we agreed on that.”

  “OK, but. But he’s his father. It makes a difference, knowing your father loves you. It must.”

  “Does it?” Rachel said. “I wouldn’t know, but I guess it does.”

  “They will hang him, won’t they?”

  “I guess they will. Luke says they will, unless…”

  “Unless what?”

  Rachel rolled over on to her front. She kicked her heels up behind her. Her feet did a little dance in the air.

  “Unless what?”

  “I don’t know whether I should say this. I guess I shouldn’t. Still, to hell with it, Luke’s opinion is that he hadn’t a hope according to the law. There’s a chance that politics could help. I told you, Luke doesn’t like this trial, he’s got to like it less and less. And it’s not just Franz and you, not just because of you. It’s that he thinks it’s time for Israel to look ahead, to show magnanimity. He thinks that could do wonders. So he’s agitated, debating with himself, wondering if he shouldn’t be the one to take the lead. That newspaper piece didn’t help. Still, he’s got influence, Luke has. People listen to him. And then he said – and it started as a joke, well not a joke exactly, you know what I mean, that the second barrel could be you and Franz. You could appeal, he said, to the great warm heart of the Jewish people – he put that in quotes, you understand. And then it wasn’t a joke, because it made sense.”

  “I’m sorry,” Becky said, “I’m lost … confused. You’ll have to spell it out.”

  “OK then. He thinks you should get married, here, in Israel, in Jerusalem. Before the trial, or while it’s going on. He thinks that would have an enormous effect.”

  Becky shivered. The sun had gone. Big purple clouds mounted the sky behind the hills. She dusted her hands on her jeans.

  “We couldn’t,” she said.

  “But you love each other. You plan to get married.”

  “Yes, but don’t you see? How can I explain it? That would be, it would be like using our marriage, it would, I don’t know, make it dirty, as if it was some sort of a stunt.”

  “Don’t cry,” Rachel said, “you don’t need to cry. It was only an idea, a silly idea of Luke’s. He gets them, you know.”

  She held out her hand. Becky took it, and Rachel pulled her to her feet. For a moment, they stood, holding hands, looking at each other, with the angry sky behind them and a wind scuffing the sand.

  “But there is something,” Rachel said. “When Franz’s father is hanged, how will Franz feel about marrying you then?”

  “God knows,” Becky said. “Do you think I don’t ask myself that, again and again, in the dark when I can’t sleep and feel him there, sometimes tense and not sleeping either? And the answer is never the right one, never. And we don’t dare talk about it. We don’t dare ask each other the que
stion.”

  Nevertheless … Nell used to tell Becky that life was a matter of nevertheless. “Everything told me I had lost your father,” she said, “nevertheless…” The secret was to accept that things were going one way, whether it was the way you wanted or quite the opposite, and yet to cling to the theory of “nevertheless”.

  Becky sat in the airport lounge, waiting for the flight which had been delayed and was already an hour and a half late, twisting her handkerchief between her hands, lighting cigarettes which she stubbed out before they were half smoked, gazing at the drink she had ordered and could not touch.

  Franz hadn’t come. They had agreed it was impossible: impolitic. Franz had even consulted Saul Birnbaum, who had for a moment brightened at the notion, scenting mischief and the opportunity of confusion; then he had shaken his head. It wouldn’t do. It might prejudice the court against them. He couldn’t say how; logically it shouldn’t; nevertheless (again).

  And Franz not being there at least gave Becky the chance which she had scarcely had since her conversation with Rachel the previous day, to consider Luke’s suggestion. She saw the logic of that too. She saw how it might influence opinion. And yet she continued to rebel against it. It would be making what should be a thing in itself a means to an end. It would be making … A shadow fell on the table.