East of Berlin

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East of Berlin Page 4

by Hannah Moscovitch


  RUDI

  Yes. In 1942, in the spring. A bullet wound, to the shoulder. Then he went back…

  SARAH

  East?

  RUDI

  Yes.

  RUDI turns away, smokes.

  SARAH

  Do you have any photographs of him?

  RUDI

  No.

  SARAH

  No? None?

  RUDI

  We didn’t… like each other very much, we didn’t—I didn’t keep many of his things. The jacket, yes, I kept the jacket, but—it’s probably difficult for you to—if you don’t have family who you dislike—

  SARAH

  (shrugging) I didn’t like my mother all that much.

  RUDI

  No?

  SARAH

  No. Not much.

  RUDI

  Why?

  SARAH

  Why didn’t you like your father?

  RUDI

  Well, because he’s—because he was a… National Socialist—

  SARAH

  But as a child, would that…?

  Beat.

  Why did you keep this, then? Is it… a—?

  RUDI

  No—

  SARAH

  —a sentimental—

  RUDI

  No, just a… no.

  Beat.

  SARAH

  Does it fit you?

  RUDI

  What, the jacket?

  SARAH

  Yes.

  RUDI

  When I was young, I tried it on. Now, I don’t know.

  SARAH holds the jacket out to him. RUDI looks at SARAH, hesitates.

  (referring to his cigarette) Hold that.

  SARAH takes his cigarette. She turns away while RUDI puts on the jacket. SARAH turns back around and looks at RUDI in the jacket. It fits him very well.

  I don’t think I can wear it out, though.

  Beat. RUDI takes the jacket off.

  SARAH

  Thank you for showing me the jacket.

  RUDI

  Please.

  Beat.

  Would you like it?

  SARAH

  Would I like to… have it?!

  RUDI

  Yes.

  SARAH

  I don’t think I can take your father’s jacket.

  RUDI

  Why not? If you don’t take it, a museum will have it. It seems right that you have it if you want it.

  Beat.

  Why don’t I trade you for it?

  SARAH

  Trade me for it?

  RUDI

  Yes.

  SARAH

  For what?

  RUDI

  For—will you—I have tickets to the theatre? A play, I have two tickets to see a play. At the theatre.

  SARAH

  You want to take me to the theatre in exchange for your father’s Nazi jacket.

  RUDI

  Yes. On Saturday. I wanted to… ask you to come—to… come with me.

  SARAH

  You’re asking me on a date?

  RUDI

  Yes.

  SARAH laughs. She stops, looks at RUDI.

  SARAH

  What would your father say?

  Beat.

  RUDI

  What would yours?

  Beat.

  You can just take the jacket.

  SARAH

  No, I—I’ll come. It’s a little perverse, but all right. I mean, the exchange is perverse, not the…

  RUDI nods and laughs. So does SARAH.

  All right.

  RUDI holds out the jacket. SARAH laughs. She takes the jacket.

  Thank you for the jacket.

  SARAH exits. Transition.

  RUDI

  All through that week, verses of Goethe’s love poetry that I’d had to learn in school ran through my brain. That, the German romantic poetry, and some of Hitler’s speeches, all joined together and sloshing around in my brain. I was also feeling guilt, in with the love poetry and Hitler’s speeches, because—I suppose you’ve noticed—I was lying to Sarah about my father.

  Beat.

  I lied to her, when I met her at the archive, so that she would… let me talk to her, and also out of habit, I suppose. But it didn’t seem right to lie to her anymore if she was going to let me take her on a date. On Saturday, we went to the theatre, and then I invited her back to my apartment, to tell her. I meant to tell her. But then, well—

  Transition. SARAH and RUDI are in RUDI’s Berlin apartment. They kiss, and pull their clothes off. They are having sex on the floor, with their clothes on for the most part, as though sex overtook them before they undressed, and also it’s perhaps the only kind of sex these two could have right now, less intimate, semi-clothed sex. They have sex for a beat.

  SARAH

  Oh God.

  RUDI

  (stopping and looking at SARAH, nervous) Are you… all right?

  SARAH

  Yes?

  RUDI closes his eyes tightly, and continues with determination. But now SARAH is thinking. She thinks, eyes open, for a moment.

  I feel… I feel—

  RUDI

  (stopping, nervous) What?!

  SARAH

  It’s all right, isn’t it?

  RUDI

  It’s all right. It’s, yes! It’s—

  SARAH

  No. No, I mean—not the—but we’re—it’s—and somehow this feels all right.

  RUDI

  Yes!

  SARAH

  No, I mean—I’m being… No, I mean that we’re—that it’s you and I, and so few years later. Of course you’re—I find you very—but because of the—I thought it would feel wrong. But it doesn’t, it feels right.

  Beat.

  As though it’s this simple for us to talk and this act of… love is possible between us.

  Beat. SARAH remembers that RUDI is, at this moment, having sex with her.

  I’m sorry. You can keep going. Please. Keep going. It was nice. So was the play. I don’t know why I’m talking so much.

  RUDI

  No, no, please, it’s… I know what you’re talking about.

  SARAH

  Do you?

  RUDI

  Yes. Of course. Just what you said.

  SARAH

  How does it feel to you?

  RUDI

  It feels, well, nice.

  SARAH laughs. Transition. SARAH is gone.

  Yes, it felt nice, it felt very nice with Sarah, and here’s why. I was in love with her. I was, fully, in love with her, even then, the first night in my apartment.

  Beat.

  You must see how appealing it…

  Transition. RUDI and SARAH in RUDI’s Berlin apartment. They drink glasses of whisky. RUDI has asked her to sing the Sh’ma. He’s holding a prayer book.

  SARAH

  (singing) Sh’ma Israel, Adonai Elochainu, Adonai Echad. Baruch shaim k’vod malchutainu le’olam va’ed. (referring to the prayer book) Where did you find this?

  RUDI

  Sing the—what was the first part that you sang?

  SARAH

  Where did you find this?

  RUDI

  At the flea market. I bought the book and a… prayer shawl, for two Deutschmarks, off this man, he told me he found them in his attic.

  Beat.

  What was the first part of the prayer?

  SARAH
/>
  (speaking) Sh’ma Israel, Adonai Elochainu—

  RUDI

  No. Sing it.

  Beat.

  Sing it.

  SARAH

  (singing quickly and unenthusiastically) Sh’ma Israel, Adonai Elochainu, Adonai Echad. Read the Mourner’s Kaddish. There’s no mention of death in it, only God, it doesn’t make any sense.

  RUDI

  Where is it?

  SARAH

  It’s… here.

  SARAH flips through the prayer book and shows him where it is. RUDI looks at it for a moment while SARAH pours herself more whisky.

  RUDI

  Sing it.

  SARAH

  No.

  RUDI

  Sing it!

  SARAH

  I’m not singing it!

  RUDI

  Why not? Sing it, I want to hear it.

  SARAH

  You don’t sing it. You say it. Yit’gadal v’yit’kadash sh’mei raba. Amein. Congregation answers, “Amein.”

  RUDI

  Amein.

  SARAH

  B’al’ma di v’ra khir’utei… something, mal’khutei b’chayeikhon uv’yomeikhon uv’chayei d’khol beit yis’ra’eil… ba’agala uviz’man kareev…

  SARAH kisses him.

  RUDI

  No, you’re stopping, why? Keep going. No!

  SARAH

  (kissing RUDI) I forget it.

  RUDI

  No… no! You don’t! And, oh look, it’s here, in the prayer book, all written out phonetically.

  RUDI holds the prayer book out. SARAH looks at it. She starts to quickly recite the prayer, to pacify RUDI. At first SARAH recites it mechanically and impatiently, but as she recites it, it starts to have an affect on her.

  SARAH

  Yit’gadal v’yit’kadash sh’mei raba. B’al’ma di v’ra khir’utei, v’yam’likh mal’khutei, b’chayeikhon uv’yomeikhon uv’chayei d’khol beit yis’ra’eil ba’agala uviz’man kariv v’im’ru: amein. Y’hei sh’mei raba m’varakh, l’alam ul’al’mei al’maya, yit’barakh v’yish’tabach v’yit’pa’ar v’yit’romam v’yit’nasei v’yit’hadar v’yit’aleh v’yit’halal sh’mei d’kud’sha, b’rikh hu. L’eila min kol bir’khata v’shirara toosh’b’chatah v’nechematah, da’ameeran b’al’mah, v’eemru: amein. Y’hei sh’lama raba min sh’maya v’chayim aleinu v’al kol yis’ra’eil v’im’ru: amein. Oseh shalom bim’romav hu ya’aseh shalom aleinu v’al kol Yis’ra’eil v’im’ru, amein.

  SARAH is trying not to cry.

  Amein.

  Transition. SARAH is gone.

  RUDI

  With Sarah, I felt that I—it was a religious—a superstitious feeling, I suppose, but I felt that there was a possibility for undoing some of what my father—not undoing, that’s stupid, but that if my father stood on the ramp, then somehow with Sarah, loving Sarah, I was, yes, undoing his… I loved her and that was somehow… an act of… redemption or… I don’t know, something was… closing, or…

  Beat.

  With Sarah, I felt… less guilty. Like my father could be dead for all I…!

  Beat.

  Later, we drove out to the camp together. We rented a car and crossed the checkpoint, in the American sector. The American soldiers joked with Sarah, wanted to know why she was wasting her time with a German. The Soviet soldiers weren’t as good-humoured as the Americans, but we made it through all right, and then we drove through the GDR, the East Block, into Poland.

  Transition. RUDI and SARAH are in the parking lot at Auschwitz. SARAH is throwing up. She’s crouched down and RUDI is hovering a foot or so away from her, holding her purse.

  Are you all right, Sarah, do want some water or… beer?

  Beat.

  (to check if she is all right) Sarah?

  SARAH

  I’m… yes, I’m just…!

  Beat.

  You just have to get on the highway. You just go east on the highway and… you’re at Auschwitz. I don’t know why I’m surprised, I looked at the map, but I am surprised, and now I’m throwing up.

  Beat.

  It’s human, I suppose, the human element—

  RUDI

  Yes.

  SARAH

  No, not about throwing up, about vanity. I still feel it, even here. I’d still rather not throw up in front of you.

  RUDI

  I… like it.

  SARAH

  Yes, well, you say that, but you’re never going to marry me now you’ve seen me throw up.

  RUDI

  Will you…

  SARAH

  What?

  RUDI

  Marry me?

  SARAH

  In the parking lot at Auschwitz.

  RUDI

  I mean, no, I mean, not here.

  SARAH

  Where?

  RUDI

  In a synagogue.

  SARAH

  No.

  RUDI

  Will you marry me?

  SARAH

  No.

  RUDI

  Why not?

  SARAH

  Because… you’re a German.

  RUDI

  Is that why?

  SARAH

  Yes. Maybe, I don’t know, could you find another time to ask me? I’m throwing up, at Auschwitz, and you’re a fucking German, and also I think I’m pregnant.

  RUDI

  What?

  SARAH

  It’s nothing, it’s probably just because you drove so badly.

  RUDI

  Sarah!

  SARAH

  Come. Let’s go back in there, and… finish the tour.

  SARAH exits. Transition.

  RUDI

  We walked through the rest of the camp together. Well, not together, Sarah walked ten feet ahead of me for most of it. And, walking around, at the camp, I had a… vision… of my… family. Not my father, but of Sarah and I, and a child, and that seemed like… the most…

  Beat.

  My father would have a Jewish grandchild. (RUDI laughs.)

  Beat.

  Later, Sarah and I stood on the ramp together.

  Transition. RUDI and SARAH are on the ramp at Auschwitz. A long beat of silence as they look out together at the train tracks. RUDI looks at SARAH, then SARAH looks at him. Transition.

  The next day, we drove to Krakow and found a doctor who spoke some German. He tested Sarah’s urine, and then we sat in the waiting room for three and half hours until he finally came back out and said, “Congratulations.”

  SARAH exits. Beat.

  I spent most of the three-day drive back to West Germany trying to talk Sarah into marrying me. I wasn’t particularly convincing. All I said was, “Please marry me,” “Please marry me,” over and over again.

  Beat.

  Back in West Berlin, in my apartment, we were still fighting about it, and the whole time we were fighting, there was a letter from Hermann lying on my desk. He’d found me somehow, through ODESSA, I suppose. I remember the letter because it was there, on my desk, while Sarah and I fought, and I kept thinking, “I should get rid of that,” while Sarah told me again why she wouldn’t marry me, why she didn’t want the baby.

  Transition. RUDI and SARAH are in RUDI’s apartment in West Berlin.

  SARAH

  We can’t just have a baby.

  RUDI

  Why not? That’s how it happens. You just have them.

  SARAH

  We can’t just get married and have a baby—

  RUDI

  Why no
t? We’re already pretending to be married at hotels, it’s the same, Sarah, only we’re not pretending—

  SARAH

  I won’t even fit into a wedding dress—

  RUDI

  —all you have to do is sign the papers—

  SARAH

  —I’ll have to wear a big… curtain, or blanket or—

  RUDI

  You want a wedding dress?

  SARAH

  Yes!

  RUDI

  That’s fine, I’ll find you one.

  SARAH

  How?

  RUDI

  I’ll go into the shops and tell them I knocked my girlfriend up and now I have to marry her, can they please put her in a dress?

  Beat.

  If we get married in the next… few weeks, or months, then you’ll be able to wear any wedding dress you like.

  SARAH

  Married… in a few weeks? I came here for the summer, I am enrolled in courses, in New York, in September, I am…! (to herself) Why did I come here? I didn’t have to come here—

  RUDI

  (under SARAH’s line) —Sarah—

  SARAH

  (to herself) —I could have stayed in New York.

  RUDI

  But you didn’t, you came here, you wanted to come here, you met me—

  SARAH

  It’s the stupidest possible reason to get married—

  RUDI

  I want the baby—

  SARAH

  No, not the baby, this!

  RUDI

  What?

  SARAH

  This!

  RUDI

  What?! I don’t..?! What?

  SARAH

  This! This apartment. You have all this… Jewish…! That’s not how to choose a wife—

  RUDI

  That’s not why I love you—

  SARAH

  Yes it is—

  RUDI

  It’s not…! It wasn’t any Jewish girl, if all I wanted was a Jewish girl, then—

  SARAH

  How do you know?! You’ve never—

  RUDI

  Sarah—

  SARAH

  You haven’t! You’ve never even met another…! Come to New York, then you could see if you love me, or if it’s just—

  RUDI

  What about you? And your German…? You have a German collection, all those Nazi… that awful brooch, and those—

  SARAH

  That’s my point, it’s both of us, we’re both…!

  Beat.

  It’s not love, it’s something else, curiosity, it’s like love, but—

  RUDI

  Sarah! I love you, and that’s not—you’re a beautiful woman, by anyone’s… It’s not just—it’s—(sarcastic, off SARAH’s look)—yes, yes, you’re right, if you’d been some old—like that Austrian woman, at the archive, with lipstick all over her face, I would have loved you just because you were…! That’s right.

 

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