Tremolo

by Aaron Paul Lazar

  The twins lay on the scratchy woolen rug, playing a never-ending game of “Battle” with the greasy, curled cards we’d inherited from the poker players of past summers.

  Mr. and Mrs. Marggrander had stayed back in their cabin, as usual.

  Elsbeth wore a new pair of yellow pedal pushers and a dark blue cardigan sweater. Her hair was pulled into a ponytail with a yellow flowered kerchief. She lay on her stomach, feet kicking happily in the air, and hit my leg with one sneakered foot. With a smile, she shot me a smile of apology, and then went right back to flailing her feet.

  The card deck was larger than two decks combined, and featured a huge assortment.

  Siegfried was obsessed with his calculations of chance, using a home-grown formula that was supposed to predict the outcome of the game. His brow creased slightly as the game progressed. And when his sister’s pile of cards grew taller and his dwindled to a skimpy pack, he shook his head in frustration.

  My parents sat on the faded brown couch beneath the porch windows, listening to the radio. Dad’s thick black hair was slicked back following his usual after dinner dip in the lake. He’d changed into gray slacks and a black and white short-sleeved knit shirt. My mother wore the sundress she had on earlier, but added a white ribbed sweater over her shoulders. She folded her hands neatly in her lap as she leaned her head onto my father’s shoulder.

  Perry Como’s silky voice filled the air, crooning a romantic tune.

  She flashed a smile at me.

  I smiled back.

  Outside on the porch, William and the waitresses played Ping-Pong and drank bottles of Coca Cola. They’d turned their transistor radio to a respectful volume, but I could still hear snatches of “Yesterday’s Gone” by Chad and Jeremy. The music drifted in and out of the open windows.

  Earlier in the evening, Oscar had popped his head into the room to invite everyone to a special slide show he planned to give Wednesday evening. The group agreed it would be a nice change and arranged to convene after dinner the day after next.

  Grandpa spluttered, running his hands through his hair and muttering under his breath. He tipped back in his chair and from his expression, it seemed like the world had come to an end. I guessed he’d lost another round.

  My grandmother watched him closely. The maximum amount allowed for betting was two dollars. By the way she watched him, I knew Grandpa had been in trouble before. I heard my parents whisper about the time he lost fifty whole dollars in a game. From that point on, my grandmother sat in her chair, watching him.

  She never said a word.

  She didn’t have to.

  At the stroke of eight, the news program began. My father leaned over and turned up the volume. He followed world events religiously, always ready for new tidbits of information about the country and its state of affairs.

  “Nelson Mandela, advocator of non-violent resistance to apartheid, has been sentenced to life in prison in South Africa.”

  My father and mother bolted straight up and listened intently as the newscaster nonchalantly discussed the sentence and played several sound bytes from outraged world citizens.

  “Communist China has detonated its first atomic bomb.”

  The poker game stopped. All five men at the table turned around in their seats to listen to the cursory description of the frightening subject. After several minutes of discussion, the Boston newscaster finally turned to local news.

  “WBZ just learned that St. Stephen’s church in the North End has been ransacked and robbed. A number of valuable religious artifacts were stolen, along with the bell from the church tower that was cast by none other than Paul Revere. The stolen goods are valued at over two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. This is the second assault on church property in the last month. St. Patrick’s cathedral in New York City continues to mourn the loss of its gold artifacts and the most revered statue of the Virgin Mary.”

  A few quotes from shocked neighbors were broadcast, followed by the weather report for New England.

  My parents shook their heads in dismay, sighed in unison, and rose from the couch, motioning for me to follow. The twins jumped up, because they were due home as soon as my parents left the living room. After saying our goodbyes and hugging my grandparents, we headed into the soft night. The twins raced ahead of us over the pathway, leaping over each memorized root like antelopes. They soon dissolved into the night and I heard the screen door of their cabin slam seconds later.

  The light was still on inside Number Fifteen. When we passed it, I noticed the shape of the Cheshire cat in the window. Someone was rocking on the porch. In a cone of light from one of the overhead path lights, I turned to her and waved. The woman lifted her hand and waved back.

  I walked along behind my parents, trying to digest the events of the day. The atomic bomb scared me. I remembered the drills at school where we all squatted beneath our desks to prepare for such an event. Where is the safest place to hide in Wee Castle? Gazing up at the starry night sky, I imagined the horror of a missile flying overhead, heading for Boston or New York.

  My thoughts of destruction were interrupted when we reached the cabin. Instead of going inside, my parents sat down on the porch steps.

  My mother slid sideways and patted the space between them. “Honey? Sit down right here. We have something to tell you.”

  My mind reeled in a thousand directions. I couldn’t see their expressions in the dark, and wondered what in the world they were about to say.

  Fear of the dreaded word “divorce” raced along my spine, but I quickly suppressed it, knowing the thought was ridiculous.

  “We’d planned to make the announcement in the living room, but after that newscast it just didn’t seem appropriate,” my father began.

  Why is he being so mysterious? My eyes darted back and forth between them, trying to understand.

  “Announce what?” A sick feeling of dread washed over me.

  My mother took my hands in hers, locking eyes with me. Finally, with a soft giggle, she said, “You’re going to be a big brother. We’re going to have a baby.”

  I slumped on the step in stunned silence.

  “Son? Aren’t you happy for us?” my father asked after several uncomfortable moments.

  Good Grief. A baby. I shook myself from the shock of it all and forced myself to answer. “Um, yeah. That’s great! Congratulations. Will it be a boy or a girl?”

  My father let out a relieved smile. “Well, we won’t know until he or she is born, son. But it’ll be kind of a Christmas present. The baby’s due December 20th.”

  They both leaned over and hugged me, and I hugged them back, trying to act normal in spite of the enormously disturbing fact that stared me in the face.

  My parents had done that together. It was too disgusting to contemplate, so I pushed the thought away and jumped up to let Shadow out the screen door. He trotted toward the woods and lifted his leg against a fern, and then galloped back and followed us indoors.

  Chapter 29

  The police investigator showed up at camp early the next morning. I’d eaten breakfast and had just finished refilling the water bucket for the bathroom when Officer Lawson arrived, asking to speak with the twins and me. Dad ushered him to the Marggranders’ cabin.

  Elsbeth was painting in a coloring book on the porch. It was one of the newer types that called for a paintbrush and plain water. When moistened, the paper miraculously turned to a pre-selected color. I glanced down to see she was halfway through a picture of a woodland fairy hovering over a toadstool.

  My father introduced Officer Lawson to Mrs. Marggrander and the twins, and she offered her cabin for the interview. Dad sat in the far corner, to allow the officer time with us, but stayed near in case I needed him.

  Elsbeth, Siegfried and I sat on the couch. The officer chose an armchair that faced us.

  Mrs. Marggrander smiled and was polite, offering coffee to the policeman and my father.

  They both accepted.

  She bus
ied herself in the kitchen and the interview began.

  “So, children. I heard you had quite an adventure the other night when your boat went down.”

  “That’s right,” I said. I was thrilled someone was finally talking to us, and imagined myself in an episode of Perry Mason.

  Officer Lawson settled more comfortably in the chair and flipped open a notebook. He took a pencil from his jacket pocket and began to take notes. “Can you remember what time it was when you saw the girl?”

  I spoke up, surprised at the squeaky tone of my voice. “It was Friday night, sir. We hit Big Blue around six, and were lost in the water for a good three hours. It was dark by the time we finally made it to shore.”

  Siegfried cleared his throat. “Ja. We saw the girl and the man who chased her, then ran to the campground store. We got there at about ten.”

  Elsbeth nodded vigorously, agreeing to his observations. Officer Lawson made some more notes, saying, “So, it was about nine o’clock when you saw them?”

  We each nodded.

  He wrote for a moment, and then looked up at us, one by one. “Can you tell me what she was doing? How about you, Elsbeth? What did you see?”

  Elsbeth shuddered and looked at her brother for support. “Well,” she began, “Sharon was running away from the man. She was scared. Her face was messed up. You know, bleeding.”

  I nodded in agreement and offered my own observations. “It was her mouth. It looked like she’d been hit in the mouth and blood was running down from her lip.” My voice cracked, remembering the awful sight. The image of Sharon played in my dreams and subconscious since I saw her in the foggy woods that night. It was tough to forget.

  “I’d like you to carefully describe the man you saw, kids. Starting with you, please.” He nodded to Elsbeth.

  Her eyes widened. She sat up straighter at the table and swallowed before she spoke. “Well, he was scary. His face and his voice were very angry. He had messy hair.” She thought for a few more seconds, then added, “And a ripped shirt.”

  The officer nodded politely, thanking her. He turned to me next. “Gus? Can you add to that? How about height, weight, coloring?”

  I closed my eyes and pictured the man I’d seen chasing Sharon, unloading bolts of wool from the trunk of the car, and storming out of the office at the mill. “He was tall,” I began, looking at my father. “Taller than Dad by at least two inches. He was heavy, too. His middle stuck out over his belt, it was sort of a beer belly.” I closed my eyes for a minute and summoned up the face. “His eyes were kinda squinty. Looked like he needed glasses or something. And he smelled really bad, like rotten fish and whisky.”

  My father nodded from his chair in the corner, pleased with my description. It clearly eliminated Sharon’s father as the suspect.

  Officer Lawson turned to Siegfried. “Can you add anything to this, young man?”

  Siegfried gazed steadily at the officer with his clear blue eyes. “Yes, sir. The man had a cruel mouth and a deep voice. It was lower than most men’s by at least an octave. He ran awkwardly, as if he could barely keep his balance. I believe he was inebriated.”

  Officer Lawson raised his eyebrows and glanced at Mrs. Marggrander, surprised at Siegfried’s succinct description. Siegfried’s genius was commonplace in our lives, so we barely noticed. Lawson collected himself and scribbled in the book again. “Okay, then. Gus? Your father said you saw the same man again at the mill, is that correct? Are you sure it was the same one, son?”

  I exchanged a glance with my father, who encouraged me with a slight nod of his head.

  “Yes, sir. It was the same man. My father said it was Frank Adamski, Sharon’s uncle. He was yelling at Mr. Adamski in the office. I’m positive it was the same guy.”

  Officer Lawson crossed one leg over the other and leaned forward slightly, looking at me. “Your dad tells me you think you’ve seen Sharon in the woods, Gus. Would you be willing to show me where you saw her? Could you find the place again?”

  I nodded quickly, relieved that someone was finally listening. “Yes, sir. We’ve marked the spot. We’ve left food several times, and it’s been gone by the next morning.”

  He nodded and looked hard at me. “Have you actually seen her, Gus? I mean, really seen her close up, since that first night?”

  I hesitated, looking over at Siegfried and Elsbeth. I’d been the only one to see something flash white in the forest. It seemed to be running away from me. But I hadn’t actually seen a person, just a glimpse. I explained it to the officer.

  After several more turns each, Officer Lawson closed his notebook and stood up. He finished the coffee and thanked Mrs. Marggrander for her hospitality. Before he left, he asked one more question. “You’re quite sure Sharon was running away from Frank Adamski? There’s no doubt about it?”

  Siegfried answered for us. “Sir, the girl was frightened for her life, and the man looked as if he’d kill her if he caught her.”

  His words created a hush around the room. A mayfly landed on the screen door and rubbed his wings together, making a soft fluttering sound. I shifted on the plaid fabric of the couch cushions, uncomfortable with the image that was thrust into my head.

  My father put his coffee cup down on the side table with a clunk and rose from the armchair.

  Officer Lawson followed suit, tucking his notebook into his shirt pocket. He ran his hand through thinning blond hair and repositioned his hat. “Thank you. You’ve been very helpful. We’ll come back later today to take a look at area around the boulder, okay? I’ve got some work I need to finish first, then we’d like to head out to the woods with you kids. How’s four o’clock?”

  “Um. Sure.” I was still troubled by the vision Siegfried’s comments had brought to mind.

  My father came to my side and put his arm around my shoulders. “Four o’clock will be just fine, Officer. We’ll be ready.”

  Chapter 30

  My father walked Officer Lawson to the door and accompanied him up the hill to his car.

  Mrs. Marggrander turned to us and clapped her hands. “Well! Enough of this sad topic. I have something wonderful to share with you.”

  Elsbeth and Siegfried gawked in surprise as she walked to the small desk in the corner and opened one of the side drawers. She withdrew a brown paper package wrapped in twine, covered in multicolored stamps and unfamiliar markings.

  Settling into the same chair Officer Lawson used, she cut the string with a small pair of scissors. After removing the wrapping, she opened the box and pulled out the crumpled newspapers. Finally, she took a letter from the top of the box, and handed it to Siegfried. “Would you like to translate for us, mein Sohn (my son)?”

  Elsbeth sat up in interest. “Is it from Germany, Mama? From Aunt Frieda?”

  “Yes. It’s from Aunt Frieda. Go ahead and read it, Siegfried. Langsame, bitte (slowly, please), so we can enjoy every word.”

  Frieda Hirsch discussed life in the small village of Denkendorf, West Germany. The cramped spidery writing covered four pages of pale blue airmail stationery. Siegfried read to us about Frieda’s flower gardens, church activities, and her son Eberhardt’s progress in the academy.

  While Siegfried continued to read, Mrs. Marggrander opened the box and withdrew several bars of chocolate. Laughing, she unwrapped one of the lavender wrappers and broke off pieces, doling them out to us. The word, “Milka” was printed in large white letters on the label beside a lavender and white cow.

  The chocolate was unlike any I’d ever tasted. It melted into a creamy confection that transported me to Heaven and back.

  We continued to listen to the letter, and I couldn’t help myself. All I could think about was the chocolate. I longed to taste one more square.

  As if reading my mind, Mrs. Marggrander broke off another piece for each of us while Siegfried flipped over the last page of the letter. The newsy tone darkened. Frieda discussed the passing of a woman named Audhilde Mauritz.

  Mrs. Marggrander dropped a half
-eaten piece of chocolate and grew silent, listening with a grave expression. She stared into the distance and her eyes filled with tears.

  We exchanged worried glances. Siegfried stood up, rested his hands on her shoulders, and murmured comforting words in German. Finally, tears trickled down her cheeks and she spluttered in German to the twins.

  I sat still, wondering what the connection was between Mrs. Marggrander and Audhilde Mauritz.

  Mr. Marggrander clomped up the porch steps carrying two brown paper bags full of groceries. He dropped them on the couch and rushed to his wife’s side, pushing past Siegfried. Siegfried moved back over to the couch beside me.

  “What’s going on, Sig? Who was she?” I asked.

  Mr. Marggrander helped his wife stand and walked her toward the bedroom. She began to sob in earnest. He gently closed the door behind them.

  Siegfried and Elsbeth returned to the couch looking seriously shaken. I glanced from one to the other, hoping for an explanation.

  Elsbeth met my eyes first, then over at her parents bedroom door. She lowered her voice. “She was my mother’s best friend in the camps. They both lost their families in Buchenwald and became like sisters. She died from an accident last week, and left three children behind.”

  I listened uncomfortably to the mournful sobs coming from the bedroom. I wished I knew what to say or do to make her feel better, but nothing came to mind.

  Although she’d been released from the camps over nineteen years ago, the memories often tortured Brigit Marggrander. On good days, she would talk endlessly about her family and life in the concentration camp, trying to assure that no one would ever forget those who were lost and the enormity of the atrocities.

  I realized later in life that she’d watered down the description of the violence for the sake of our tender souls, but I never forgot her face when she described the horrors. I wondered how such an event could have taken place in our modern world.