Among the Living (11 page)

Selma said, “I’m sure they were eating much more exotic than that, Herb. Doesn’t it have a nice tang to it, Ike?”

They were in one of the booths that ringed the dining room, quieter here, although the conversation seemed to bounce off the dark wood of the walls before disappearing into the domed white of the ceiling. At one point Joe had mentioned Prohibition and curtains, but Joe wasn’t terribly good at finishing a story. Orbed lights hovered above, the most pronounced sprouting from a single column at the center of the room, where strips of mirror reflected what seemed to be every possible angle. Had there been the grinding sound of a calliope, Goldah might have mistaken the place for a carousel.

Fannie pressed the service button. “I’ll get you some more bread, Ike. It’s a madhouse tonight so it might be a little while for the food.”

“You might have to wait a bit,” said Herb, “but you never go hungry in Savannah.”

Goldah all but expected the requisite look of abject apology for this slip of the tongue but, to his credit, Herb plowed on. It was a relief.

“Must be a little much for you, all this,” Herb said. “Heaping plates and such. Fannie and I saw the newsreels up in New York —”

“Herb!” said Fannie.

“He doesn’t have to answer — you don’t have to answer, I’m not doing it to provoke — but he must know it’s what we’ve all been wondering. I’m not going to pretend.”

Goldah appreciated the honesty, and Pearl said, “I’m sorry, but I think that’s highly inappropriate.”

“The man’s lived through one of the great evils in history,” said Herb. “He must have something to say about that.”

Pearl said sharply, “Well I don’t think it’s for you to ask.”

Goldah had his finger on the last of the crumbs on his bread plate. “It’s all right,” he said vaguely. “You probably have a better idea of it than I do. I haven’t seen the reels so I have a rather small idea of the history.”

Fannie’s eyes showed shock, then slipped back to their usual caring. “You haven’t seen them? Any of them?” When she realized why, she said, “No, of course you wouldn’t have. I’m so sorry.”

Pearl said, “Fannie, why don’t we talk about something else?”

“I’m fine, really,” Goldah said. He spoke with enough calm for the entire table. “There are certain things I don’t care to talk about, but the rest …”

The door had been opened a crack, and it was all any of them could do not to step through.

“Well that’s very brave,” said Selma. “You have to know Pearl’s told us so much already.”

He did know. How else would it be? He had been through it all endless times elsewhere; why not here? They started in on the basics — which camp, when he had gotten there, how many of his family had been lost. He answered each in turn even as the food arrived. Father, uncle, younger brother. His mother had died from a cancer of the liver in 1937 and so had been spared any of it. Selma took this as a small blessing.

Herb said, “So almost two and a half years?” Herb had gone in for the fried chicken. Goldah had been told one was meant to use one’s fingers.

“Yes,” said Goldah. “Fourteen months in Terezín, the rest in Birkenau.”

There was no need to explain these once trivial names on obscure rail lines. They were now a part of the vernacular.

“And Terezín was the holding camp?” said Herb.

Goldah had gotten the fish. It had been a mistake.

“No, not really,” he said. “It was a city, a fortress. The Germans created it for propaganda so everyone would think we were being treated well enough.”

“How terrible,” said Fannie.

Goldah nodded, if only to let her feel that this had been the right thing to say.

“And then they moved you,” said Herb, “and you stayed with the same group from the first place?”

Goldah had trouble understanding the question. “ ‘Stayed with …?’ ” he repeated.

“I think what Herb is asking is did they keep you together from the first place?” Selma seemed proud of this
clarification even if it made no more sense to Goldah. He shook his head.

“And did you know where they were taking you?” said Herb.

“We did. Yes.”

“You knew it would get worse?”

Goldah moved the fish with his fork. “I imagine so.” He was now concentrating on the potatoes. “Or maybe not. I don’t know. It’s hard to remember when exactly you knew and didn’t know.”

The two couples shared a glance and Goldah kept his eyes on his plate.

Herb said, “And inside the camp?”

“It was cold. Very cold. And wet.”

“And all of it was forced labor?”

“Yes,” said Goldah. “We made rubber.”

Fannie asked, “And what if you became ill?”

Goldah noticed how the cream of the potatoes seemed to keep the barbecue sauce at bay.

“Became ill?” he said. “No — you didn’t become ill.”

“But surely in all that time —”

“If you became ill you were chosen, so you weren’t ill.”

Again the four shared a glance. Goldah knew they were desperate to stop asking if only they could. It was why he kept his eyes fixed on his plate.

Joe said, “And did they tell you that from the start?”

Goldah could feel it coming now. “Tell us not to get ill?”

“No,” said Joe with no small amount of confusion. “I mean — did they tell you about —”

“The selections?” said Goldah. “No. They didn’t tell us about that.”

“But you must have been thinking, How can they do this?”

And there it was: the question that always came. How this? How could they be so inhuman? But that wasn’t the question they were really asking. What they really wanted to know was: How could you have let this happen to yourself? Surely you could have seen something early on, understood.
We
would have seen it, wouldn’t we?

“It wasn’t the guards who were inhuman,” Goldah said distantly. “It was us.” He watched as the sauce seeped through. “If we’d been allowed to keep anything of what made us human, it would have been far worse. And we all knew it.” He finally looked up. There were never any questions after that. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m not sure that answers your question.”

Joe continued to stare across the table. He nodded pensively. “No … it does. Of course.”

Selma said quietly, “It’s all so very brave.”

Goldah felt a tightening in his head. He thought he would have been able to manage more of this. He took another bite of the potatoes.

A black boy stepped over with a pitcher of water. Herb slid his glass to the table’s edge for a refill. “I don’t know how you make it through that,” said Herb.

Goldah waited for the boy to finish and thanked him. The boy moved off and Goldah said, “I suppose you just do.”

Pearl said, “Oh my God.”

They all looked at her. She had her head flat against the booth and was staring out at the dining room.

“Don’t look, Selma — I
said
don’t look — but guess who’s just walked in?”

It was an unnecessary caution as no one in the place was showing the least bit of interest in any of them. Even so, Selma brought her head back.

“Sit back, Joe,” she said, “I can’t see.” Selma looked out and her eyes widened. “Well that’s just perfect, isn’t it?”

Goldah recognized no one. Herb was also staring out.

“Who are you talking about?” Herb said.

“Nothing,” Pearl said. “Never mind.” She raised her eyebrows to Selma.

“Well what is it?” said Joe. “I’m looking out at the Karps, the Ringelmans — I think that’s the fella who just moved down from Atlanta with his wife — and there’s Art Weiss and his wife —”

“Well imagine that,” said Pearl, still looking at Selma.

Joe looked at her. “Why am I looking at Art Weiss?”

Goldah now understood what he was meant to be looking for, even if he had no idea which of the men was Weiss.

“The tall one,” Herb said, helping him along. “With the pretty wife, in the blue.”

“She’s not that pretty,” said Fannie.

“Yes, she is. She’s always been pretty. That’s why the girl is such a knockout.”

“I’m glad to see you’ve taken such an interest.”

“I can tell you a woman’s good-looking, Fan, and still save all my undying love for you.”

“You better.”

The conversation continued — a seamless string of muted words — as Goldah watched the Weisses follow a young man with menus across the other side of the room. Weiss was slim and tall with a shock of white hair, premature on a face that was at most in its early fifties. The wife was tall as well, elegant in the way she sashayed between the chairs and the tables, her husband’s hand gently nestled in the small of her back. Goldah saw the resemblance to Eva at once.

The Weisses sat and Goldah turned to Fannie. “Do you mind?” He pointed beyond the booth.

The table became quiet, and Pearl said, “Where are you going, Ike?”

“I thought I’d introduce myself.”

He felt Pearl’s hand on his arm under the table.

“And why would you want to do that?”

Goldah conjured the smile from this afternoon on the porch. “He wrote a very kind article about me. It seems only right to thank him for it.”

Selma said to Joe, “Ike had lunch with Mrs. Eva De la Parra this afternoon.”

“It wasn’t lunch, Selma,” Pearl said sharply. “She brought him some newspaper articles. That’s all.”

“I thought you said —”

“Ike was a newspaperman back in Europe.” Pearl’s eyes widened as if to say, Leave it alone. “It was the thoughtful thing to do.” Pearl let go of his arm. “You go right ahead, Ike. You be courteous.”

Fannie slid out and Goldah moved into the dining room. He imagined he had Pearl’s eyes boring through him the entire way.

The Weisses were in a booth, glancing through their menus, when Goldah drew up. He stood for several seconds waiting until Weiss pulled his reading glasses from his eyes and looked across the table to his wife.

“That was easy,” Weiss said. “Ribs for me tonight.” He slid the glasses into his breast pocket and noticed Goldah. “Hello there.” Weiss spoke in a friendly way. “Can I help you with something?” Before Goldah could answer, Weiss said, “Oh, of course. It’s Mr. Goldah.” Weiss slid out and stood. He extended his hand and they shook. “What a pleasure to meet you. Are you here with friends tonight?”

“Family,” said Goldah. “You’re very kind to recognize me.”

“I like to look at a man’s picture before I write about him. I have to say yours was a tough one.”

“I’m afraid I’m not the most photogenic.”

Weiss said, “Allow me to introduce my wife. Marion, this is Mr. Goldah. I believe I might have mentioned him to you once or twice.”

Her smile was far more reserved. “Yes, of course. Hello.”

Weiss said, “And are you enjoying Savannah, Mr. Goldah?”

“I am. Yes.”

“Good. That’s good. You know I managed to track down some of the pieces you wrote before the war. The
Herald Tribune.
Some wonderful stuff. You were their native correspondent in Prague, is that right?”

“I was. Yes.”

“I did a stint with the
New York Herald
a hundred years ago. During my woolly years after college. I came back down to Savannah just as quick as I could. Not quick enough for some, but …” Another icy smile from Mrs. Weiss before Weiss said, “You know you’ve got a wonderful command of the language.”

“Thank you,” said Goldah. “As do you. I’ve had the pleasure of reading several of your editorials.”

“Yes, but despite what people might think, English is my
first
language. I was duly impressed, I truly was, especially for a man your age.”

“You’re very kind.”

“Kindness has nothing to do with it. Believe me. Would you care to sit for a drink or do you need to get back?”

Had it been Weiss alone Goldah wouldn’t have thought twice about abandoning Pearl and the rest. But it was clear Mrs. Weiss had other plans.

“That’s very thoughtful,” Goldah said, “but I wouldn’t want to interrupt your evening. Perhaps another time.”

“I’d like that.” Weiss pulled a silver case from his jacket pocket and handed Goldah his card.

Goldah said, “I’m afraid I haven’t had any printed up just yet.”

“Not to worry. That’s the office and that’s the home. Feel free to call either.”

Goldah said his goodbyes and the two men shook again. There was a last bob of the head from Mrs. Weiss, and Goldah started back. He felt a wonderful surge of purpose moving past the chairs and the waiters. There was something here that resembled a life he had once known. He felt invigorated by it.

The sight of Pearl and the others brought him quickly back to earth. Before any of them could catch his eye, Goldah decided on a quick trip to the bathroom.

Five minutes later he stepped from the men’s room and saw Mrs. Weiss standing in front of the ladies’. The lights were dim but he recognized her at once, an awkward moment between them as they stood in the little corridor: odder still as Goldah felt as if she had been waiting for him.

“Hello again, Mr. Goldah.” Her voice was no less distant.

“Hello.”

“You’ll forgive me, but this seemed somewhat more private.”

Evidently he had been right.

“Yes,” he said, not knowing why.

“My husband doesn’t know you’ve met with my daughter or that the two of you have spent time together. If he did I’m certain your conversation would have gone a very different way. You understand that, of course.”

Goldah didn’t but nodded all the same.

“I think I’ll say my piece and then be done with it. Is that all right?”

The unspoken threat was voiced with such gentility that Goldah had no choice but to nod again.

“I’m sorry for all that you’ve gone through,” she said. “I truly am. And I’m so pleased that you’ve been able to find a home here with your people. But my daughter is still very fragile, even now, and there are things you can’t possibly know or understand about what she is going through. I believe the word they like to use these days is ‘susceptible,’ and you, Mr. Goldah, are the perfect vessel for a woman in that state. A man who needs help. A man broken by this war. You can understand that, too.”

Goldah realized he wasn’t meant to answer, just nod.