“Who’s the extra place setting for?” asked Frank, checking out the dining room. He was a stout man with a bald head, a double chin and a perpetual smile.
“It’s for Ben Solomon,” Catherine said. “He’s a client of mine, a sweet old man who doesn’t have a family, so I invited him to share our Thanksgiving.”
“That’s charitable of you,” Aunt Ethel said.
“It’s not charity. I’ve become very fond of him. He’s a remarkable man, although he does have some idiosyncrasies.”
“What kind of idiot-syncrasies?” Frank snickered. “What, does he drool or something?”
“Frank, I know you don’t mean any harm, but can I ask you not to tease Ben? You’d be doing me a favor,” Catherine said.
Deirdre added through clenched teeth, “Frank, for once, behave yourself.”
“Okay, okay,” he said with a chuckle. “Take it easy. I won’t tease the sweet old man. But tell me, what’s the idiosyncrasies?” he said, pouring himself another cocktail.
“He has very intense memories and sometimes he sort of zones out. His eyes’ll glaze over and… I think he experiences scenes from earlier times in his life. And he’ll talk to his deceased wife.”
“So what you’re telling me is…he’s daffy.”
“Frank, stop!” Deirdre said.
“No,” Catherine said quietly. “I’m telling you to be nice. He lost his whole family in World War II. If he wants to talk to them, it’s his business.”
The doorbell rang. “That’ll be him. Be nice, Frank.”
Catherine opened the door and greeted Ben, who stood on the stoop in a raincoat, folding his umbrella.
“I brought this,” he said, handing her a box of Frango Mints.
“Why thank you, Ben, you didn’t have to do that.”
As she helped him with his coat, he held out a CD, wrapped in striped paper. “And this is specially for you.”
“How thoughtful. Thank you so much. Should I open it now?”
“Sure. With all the time we’ve spent talking about Poland the last few weeks, I thought you should experience some of her more noble aspects. It’s Chopin’s Krakowiak. The pianist is Bella Davidovich.”
“Terrific. I’ll put it on later,” she said. “Come with me and I’ll introduce you to everyone.”
She took Ben’s arm and led him into the living room where she made the introductions. Frank, a multi-colored wool sweater covering his paunch, walked over with a smile and stuck out his large hand. “Frank Gordon. Nice to meet you. Lemme get you cocktail.” Walking to the chiffonier, he said, “Whadya drink?”
“A glass of that red wine would be just fine, thank you.”
Frank turned and winked playfully at Deirdre.
Twilight brought freezing rain which changed to snow by dinner, but the townhome was cozy and the turkey was plump and golden brown. Frank had refilled his cocktail glass several times before the group took their places around the table.
Aunt Ethel, the family matriarch, said grace and mentioned in her prayer how grateful she was for health and family.
“Amen,” Frank said, glancing at Ben who seemed disengaged, staring at the centerpiece, moving his lips.
“It’s been a tradition in our family,” Ethel pronounced, “to go around the table and for each of us to share something that we’re thankful for in the past year. Liam and Ben, you’re certainly welcome to participate if you like, but it’s not a requirement. You’ll still get your turkey.”
One by one, the guests offered a short recitation, often about companionship, good health or business success. When it came to be Catherine’s turn, she said, “I’m thankful that everyone has come to help me celebrate the holiday.”
“Hear, hear,” the group echoed, toasting their hostess.
“I’m also thankful for my new friend, Ben, and for his helping me to realize that practicing law can have a humanitarian component, one of principle and moral significance. And that once again I can be passionate about my work.”
“Whoo,” whistled Frank. “That’s deep stuff.”
“Clam up, Frank,” snapped Deirdre.
“How about you, Ben?” Frank said. “Do you want to tell us what you give thanks for?”
“Frank, if you don’t shut up, I’m taking you home,” Deirdre said.
“It’s okay,” Ben said. “I have a lot to be thankful for. Catherine, for one. She’s a strong, intelligent woman and I could not have found a better attorney or a better listener. In many ways she reminds me of my wife, Hannah.”
“Is that who you were talking to a few minutes ago?” Frank said with a grin.
“That’s it!” Deirdre said. “Get your coat, you buffoon.”
“Honey, I didn’t do anything.”
Deirdre stood and put her napkin on her plate, but Ben said, “Please Deirdre, sit down. I’ll answer his question. Frank, did you ever hear a song on the radio and it brought back vivid memories of something, maybe high school or a summer romance?”
“Of course. Everybody has.”
“And you could feel something in your senses, couldn’t you, Frank? It was more than just pinging a memory, wasn’t it? It was like you could once again experience a piece of the past – feel a summer breeze, smell a fragrance in the air, a drive with your friends, maybe feel an emotion like joy, sadness or affection. Didn’t it feel like part of you was going back in time a little bit to when the song was popular?”
Frank nodded. “Yep.”
“A few days ago, Liam stood in this room and said he could taste the Thanksgiving turkey already. Did you ever have that sensation – where you could taste something just by thinking about it?”
“Yep.”
“Senses are funny that way, aren’t they Frank? It’s not entirely cognitive, it’s more than that. Something we can’t really explain. And how about dreams? Did you ever have a dream about someone, maybe even someone close to you who had passed on, and it was intensely real for you, as though you had actually been with them? Even after you woke up, did you still have that feeling?”
Frank’s expression turned serious. “Yes.”
“I’m sorry, I just struck a chord didn’t I?” Ben said.
Frank nodded.
“Frank’s mother,” Deirdre said. “She died last year.”
“I’m very sorry for your loss,” Ben said. “I don’t know the extent of your religious beliefs, Frank. Are you a religious man?”
“Well, I go to church.”
“Right,” said Deirdre, “maybe twice a year.”
Frank shrugged.
Ben continued. “Do you accept the church’s concept of the human soul? For example, do you believe that the soul is a portion of the living God, that it has a spark of divinity?”
Frank swallowed. “Um, yeah...I guess I do.” He looked around the table, but no one was bailing him out.
“Can I ask you then, what is your concept of the relationship between the body and the soul? And I’ll tell you in a minute why I’m asking that question.”
He shrugged and looked at Deirdre. “Answer him, Frank,” she said.
“Well, I don’t know. I guess I think that the soul is eternal and it’s in your body and when you die, I don’t know, I guess that maybe it returns to God.”
“That’s what I believe, too,” Ben said. “The Book of Genesis tells us that God blew the breath of life into Adam and many scholars believe that to be a metaphor for Adam’s eternal soul. It’s spiritual, isn’t it Frank? It’s not tangible, not physical, maybe not even logical, but you believe it’s there, don’t you?”
Frank nodded and took a sip of his drink.
“Some feelings, some visions come to me. There is no rational explanation. When you saw me moving my lips, I was talking to my Hannah. She was there for me. I believe her soul is eternal and as vibrant today as it was sixty years ago. In fact, I am certain of it. Do you think that makes me crazy? Maybe just a little strange?” Ben smiled.
“No, I don�
��t,” he said softly, looking around the table. Everyone was quite still and a few moments passed with only the sweet strains of the Krakowiak on the stereo. Finally, Frank said timidly, “Can I ask you a question, Ben? These visions that you have, do you think they come from the afterlife? Is there a life after we die?”
Ben raised his eyebrows. “That’s the jackpot question, isn’t it? I guess we won’t know for sure until we’re dead. I have my beliefs and to some extent they’re based upon my studies – the Bible, the Talmud. The Bible tells us that Abraham went to rest with his father. Each time one of the Patriarchs dies – Isaac, Jacob, Aaron and Moses – the Bible recites, ‘he was gathered to his people.’ Those passages say to me that the essence of our loved ones still exist and when we die we’ll be gathered to them. The Mishnah says the world is like a lobby before the Olam Ha-ba – the world to come – and one prepares himself during life in the lobby so that he may enter the banquet hall.”
“Is that just in your religion? Your people?”
“No,” Ben said with a smile. “Maimonides taught that the righteous of all nations have a share in the Olam Ha-ba. And the Zohar tells us all that our ancestors are watching over us.”
“And my mother and father? Are they…?”
“I believe they’re waiting for you Frank. In the Olam Ha-ba, watching over you right now.”
“How do I…?”
“Open your heart.”
Frank sat still for a moment, then looked at Catherine, flipped his thumb in Ben’s direction and said, “He’s a pretty smart guy.”
She laughed. “Liam, it’s time to carve the turkey.”
* * *
After dinner, while the guests were enjoying coffee in the living room, Ben called Liam over to the window.
“I don’t want to disturb anyone,” he said softly, “but do you see that gray Camry across the street.”
“Yes,” Liam said. “The motor’s running and there are two people in the front seat.”
“It was there when I arrived. Same two guys sitting in the car. And I think I’ve seen that car on the block before, maybe Monday.”
Liam nodded. “Stefan Dubrovnik said he was driven in a gray Camry.” He motioned for Catherine to join him in the kitchen.
“Do you have a camera I can borrow?” he said. “I think we have some visitors outside.”
With Catherine’s digital camera in his hand, Liam walked boldly out of the front door, down the steps, directly to the Camry and tapped on the window. The driver, a stocky man with a buzz cut and a barbed wire tattoo on his neck lowered his window.
“What do you want?”
Liam leaned on the driver’s door. “Are you guys waiting for an invitation to dinner? Because if you are, I regret to inform you that the turkey’s all gone.”
“Very funny, asshole. Get lost.”
“What are you doing out here?”
“Listening to the radio. Is there a law against sitting in my car.”
Liam snapped a picture of the driver and the passenger. “Smile,” he said. Then he stepped back and took a picture of the side of the Camry, the back and the license plate before returning to the driver.
“Tell Rosenzweig that you and this piece-of-shit car have been made. If anyone has an accident, or is bothered in any way, these pictures go straight to the State’s Attorney.”
“You don’t scare me, tough guy.”
“Feeling’s mutual,” Liam said. “Tell your boss to let you use his limo next time. It’s the least he could do for a couple of fine gentlemen like yourselves.” He turned and walked back in to the house as the car pulled away.
“What were they doing?” Catherine said.
Liam shook his head. “I don’t know. Ben said he’s seen them before. The building super, Stefan Dubrovnik, gave me a description of a man with a tattoo – matches the driver. I think it’s time to revisit Mr. Dubrovnik.”
“Why are they watching my house?” Catherine said.
“I don’t know. Ben’s here, you’re here. Keep your eyes open. If you see the car again, call me. We’ve blown their cover, so they may not be back.”
“I’m scared, Liam. For myself and for Ben. Maybe you’re wrong. Maybe Rosenzweig would arrange for an accident. Maybe it’s not Rosenzweig at all, and the real Piatek would try something.”
“Do you want me stay here tonight?”
Catherine nodded. “The guest room’s all made up, if you wouldn’t mind.”
Liam started to return to the living room but suddenly stopped, held Catherine by the arm and said, “They didn’t deny it.”
“What?”
“They didn’t deny Rosenzweig had sent them. When I said, ‘Tell Rosenzweig that you’ve been made,’ they didn’t say, ‘Who’s Rosenzweig?’ or anything like that. They didn’t deny they were watching your house. All they said was, ‘You don’t scare me.’ If we can tie the driver to Rosenzweig, Dubrovnik can put him in Ben’s apartment.”
“It’s him, isn’t it Liam? Piatek. He’s out there. And it’s really Rosenzweig.”
Chapter Thirty-five
“I’m still stuffed from Thursday’s dinner,” Ben said, sitting in Catherine’s winged chair and waving off a breakfast pastry. “You’re a wonderful cook.”
“Thank you. I don’t cook often but I enjoy it.” Catherine picked up her yellow pad and reviewed the previous session’s notes. “I think you had just signed on as a caretaker and courier for the good Father Janofski,” she said. “Tell me about your time in the church.”
Krasnik, Poland 1942
“Father Janofski had a radio in the cellar. A wire, used as an antenna, stretched from the top of the church steeple, down the back of the church and through a hole in the transept wall. It was powerful enough to pick up the Allied stations and with that radio, we kept up with the progress of the war. I didn’t know it at the time, but the radio was also a source for coded messages. At certain times Father Janofski would exclude my father and me from the basement to receive these messages. We were never privy to the code or the information.
“In the fall of 1942, the tide began to turn against Hitler’s Germany. Up to that time, the German army had seemed unstoppable. Rommel’s Afrika Corps was in command of North Africa and the German Sixth Army, using Romanian, Hungarian and Italian divisions for support, was about to take Stalingrad. But Hitler’s objectives were too ambitious and he had outstretched himself.
“We listened in early November as the British under General Montgomery broke through Rommel’s lines west of Cairo at El Alamein, forcing the Germans back seven hundred miles and we listened as American and British troops under Eisenhower and Patton landed in Morocco and Algeria to begin their sweep across North Africa.
“More important for us, however, was the Russian counteroffensive at Stalingrad, which began on November 19th. Father Janofski spoke Russian and we followed the broadcasts closely. More than a million German troops were lost in Russia. The Soviet victory in Stalingrad in January 1943 turned the tide on the eastern front. The Russian army started marching west toward Poland while the British and Americans were storming across North Africa, and then to Sicily. From that point on, Hitler was doomed to fight a defensive war, but his grip on Poland and central Europe would not loosen for a long time.
“Meanwhile, our work at St. Mary’s continued. Hannah, Mother and Lucyna tirelessly sewed garments and helped out in the convent. My father meticulously processed travel documents. I maintained liaisons with the underground resistance groups, shuttling papers and bundles of clothing between St. Mary’s and the safe houses.”
Catherine interrupted. “What about you and Hannah? Tell me about the two of you.”
Ben blushed. “Well, you know, we couldn’t room together and I was limited to the briefest of encounters once or twice a day, but…there were a few times when the locked convent doors were conveniently left unlocked. The nuns, especially a couple of the younger women, were partial to Hannah and sympathetic to our situation. T
hey’d giggle at our dilemma and find ways to promote our romance. Despite the strict rules laid down by the Mother Superior, there were nights when they would forget to bolt the courtyard door. On those prearranged occasions, Hannah and I would meet on the lawn and dance beneath the stars, then curl up in a blanket. Sometimes we’d find a bottle of wine and two glasses by the fountain.”
“And Mother Superior never caught you?”
“Well, I wouldn’t say that. She never confronted me, but she gave me a look every now and then that kind of told me she knew more than she was supposed to.”
Catherine smiled and retrieved a pot of tea from the stove. She poured two cups and set them on a table before the hearth with the pastries. Ben continued.
“Spring turned to summer and summer to fall with our lives in relative balance. The women never left the grounds. My father spent most of his time in the cellar and I split my time between church maintenance during the day and my courier duties at night.
“My rendezvous point with the Polish underground was a small brick house on the eastern part of Krasnik, about a mile and a half from the church. My contacts would let me in the back door. I would deliver the forged travel documents and articles of clothing I’d carried in a backpack. They’d hand me a sealed envelope for Father Janofski.
“I learned to find my way in the dark of night. There were no street lights. There was only the moon. I came to know which streets were patrolled and which were not. Which backyard garden gates were locked and which were open. And which homes had barking watchdogs that could alert the neighborhood. It was a zig-zag journey from the church to my contact and it took more than three hours round trip.
“As for Father Janofski, I grew to respect and admire him deeply. He was an extraordinary man who lived his ideals. He risked his life for Catholics and non-Catholics alike, people outside his pastorate, acting in defiance of the most intolerant penal code ever decreed, at a time when most non-Jewish clergy shut their eyes. The nuns adored him and held him in esteem. They followed him willingly, putting their own lives on the line, too.
Once We Were Brothers Page 25
