The Ghost of Hannah Mendes (17 page)

Suárez, Fernandez Luis
, Documentos Acerca de la Expulsión de los Judios,
Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Cientificas, Valladolid, 1964
.

Even after their children were seized, thousands of Jews persisted in refusing to be baptized. These were summoned to Lisbon by King Manoel, who pretended that he would allow them to leave on ships. Instead, they were herded into the barracks of Os Estaos, tortured, and starved. When after three days this still failed to win their consent to voluntary conversion, their bodies were tied up with ropes and they were dragged by their hair and beards to baptismal fonts. Many threw themselves into the sea, or into wells or from the tops of roofs….

And that is how my grandfather, my mother, my father, Aunt Constanza, her daughter, Elvira, and all the Jews of Portugal took the baptismal waters. But being forced, their conversion changed nothing in their souls and they continued to practice the religion of their forefathers almost openly, for the King—fearing their endless enmity—had promised them they would not be disturbed
.

This, alas, was not to be
.

In the year 1506, there was a drought and famine in the land. On April 19, Passover night, a family was found conducting a seder and eating matzoh. Preachers claimed this was the reason for G-d’s holding back the rain. To ask for G-d’s mercy, they constructed a crucifix from hollow glass and placed a candle inside. They told the people it would produce fire, proof of the great miracle, and that G-d would judge the Jews by fire
.

A voice in the congregation rang out: “Would it were water and not fire, for it is water we need in this drought.”

The crowd, who recognized the speaker as a New Christian, and thinking he mocked them, tore him limb from limb, then burst from the cathedral, raiding New Christian homes, urged on by the priests who promised them one hundred days’ penance in the World to Come for every heretic they killed. Three thousand died that night, including pregnant women who were thrown out of windows and caught on spears
.

King Manoel put an end to it, and forty of the murderers were hanged
.

But this was the end of the life aboveground for my family and the beginning of the windowless cellars filled with secret rituals. Children were sworn to secrecy and only instructed as to their true identity when they neared the age for marriage
.

I try, sometimes, to imagine how it must have been for Grandfather. How his throat must have contracted when told to swallow the communion wine and bread! How his knees must have shaken as they crumpled beneath him, kneeling and bowing before figures of marble and wood, in bitter betrayal of all he held sacred!

The older I become, the more I understand the power of the wind into which he had lowered his proud, strong head. I understood the burden that had bent his back into a permanent curve of submission
.

And yet, for all his weakness, he bequeathed to me a heart that remembers to beat with a steadfast pulse and eyes that cannot be deceived. And something of that unquenchable spirit that flowed through his veins flows through mine as well, sustaining the sacred, unshakable loyalty that has always informed my life and my deeds
.

I know there are others who, sharing my history and ancestry, have nevertheless turned traitor. Indeed, they have become our people’s most despicable enemies. To my shame, I must admit that I have always understood them. For at first I, too, shed bitter tears over being one of those lowly people whom all despised. Only with time did I begin to fathom what a treasure had been bequeathed to me, and at what fabulous cost
.

Be wise: Remember this
.

All things of utmost excellence are extremely difficult to obtain. The luster of gold is found only after the dross is burned away in great fires; the splendor of the diamond revealed only after leveling by the heavy, grinding wheel
.

So, too, human beings—particularly the great, misjudged, and most unfairly condemned of peoples, into whom I, and you, my children, have been born and are irrevocably connected. Thus must we endure our suffering in order to emerge—all dross fallen away—to shine in the eyes of G-d and man. And then—what happiness awaits us!!

And with this as preface, I now reveal part of the great secret that I hold and which I bequeath to you:

Endure. Resist the importunate harassments of the Enemy with a marvelous constancy. Yet be not like those brothers who end their lives rather than carry their burdens. Let your head bend, your back sway from the heaviness of the unbearable load, yet survive! Breathe. Move. Live!

For ten years in chains are better than one moment in the ground
.

This is wisdom
.

I remember that Passover night when my grandfather begged my forgiveness. I regret that I did not then possess the knowledge to have granted it with a full and understanding heart
.

He died before I came of age. But many times since have I seen him in that twilight hour where dreams become flesh, and past overlays present
.

“Grandfather,” I whisper, “the shame is not yours, but theirs. I, Grandfather, will never let them trample me. I will keep this back, these knees, this heart, upright, for your sake and for the honor of all those who came before me.”

And each time I say these things, I see it happen: Like a miracle, his back straightens and his shoulders rise and span the sky
.

13

“Oh, here it is! The last one. I really thought they’d lost it,” Francesca said, peering anxiously down the luggage conveyer. She grabbed the handle of the enormous Pullman, attempting to dissuade it from its relentless momentum forward. It wouldn’t budge.

“Ask one of these guys to help you, Francesca. Men love that.”

“I can manage perfectly well,” she insisted, breathless with exertion, the suitcase moving her, rather than vice-versa.

“Right.” Suzanne sighed, joining her sister and pushing at the dead weight with all her might until it slid to the floor. Together, they lifted it onto a luggage cart. “Really, Francesca! First commandment: Reduce consumption,” Suzanne complained, throwing her duffle bag over her shoulder. “This kind of
Grand Hotel
traveling went out with Greta Garbo. If you insist on traveling this way, get a husband! Oh, look! Tourist brochures.”

She picked up a few and leafed through the various listings of restaurants, nightclubs, galleries, and services. “Listen: ‘Mandeer. Old, atmospheric and famous Indian cafe and restaurant serving gourmet vegetarian food. Special diets—vegan and Jain—are catered to….’ “How does that sound for dinner?”

“How can you think about dinner? We just ate.”

“It’s never too early to think about dinner,” Suzanne insisted, skimming the page, her eye suddenly caught by a listing for “Women: London Crisis Center.” It would be great to compare notes!

She circled the number and stuffed the brochure into her pocket along with a few pamphlets about current West End hits: Sting was at the Palladium.
Cats
was still playing.
Blood Brothers
. She began to feel a heady wave of joy. London!

“Theater brochures? We’re not exactly on vacation, Suzanne.”

“But we’re not in jail, either. I mean, on my old job there was such a thing as after working hours. Besides, if I were Gran, I’d want us to enjoy this trip. We are her granddaughters, after all.”

“I know. The joy of taking. Especially from one’s own flesh and blood.”

“Why do you have to be so…so…uptight all the time?”

“Look, let’s get something straight. We have a lot of work ahead of us, and that is what this is all about. We’ll just have to see if we have time left over for other things.”

“You’re just afraid to explore, to open yourself up to new possibilities. To enjoy life.”

“No, I’m not!” Francesca protested indignantly, afraid it was true.

“What is the nature of your stay in Britain?” the weary passport control official asked Francesca perfunctorily, holding the entry stamp paused above her passport.

“I’m here to work,” she said, glaring at Suzanne.

He put the stamp down and peered up at her, alert suspicion and unfriendliness swiftly replacing his lethargy. “Do you have a work visa?” he demanded.

“No…. But….”

“You aren’t permitted to work in Great Britain without a work visa…”

“But I’m not really working…I mean…” She swallowed hard, glancing desperately at Suzanne, who rolled her eyes heavenward.

“You mean you didn’t tell me the truth? Is that it?” His voice rose. Francesca watched, terrified, as he lifted the phone and began to dial.

“Look, I’m sure my sister didn’t understand your question. She’s a little…”—Suzanne was suddenly at her elbow, making sympathetic faces at her—“…woozy from the flight. All that liquor in first class…you know.” She winked. “What she meant to say was that we’re both on holiday and plan to work really hard at it.”

He looked at her. She tossed her lovely reddish curls and smiled her big, white, American cover-girl smile. “Maybe you can tell us what’s worth seeing in the West End these days?”

Francesca’s heart lifted in relief as the man’s eyes softened, moving appreciatively down her sister’s face and body. He put down the phone. “Vacation, what? Well, luv, tell your sister not to mix business with pleasure, will you?” he said, stamping the passports and pushing them under the glass.

“I’m sure there won’t be any time for business for us girls here in London,” she said archly, nudging Francesca, who managed an inert smile.

“You almost got yourself thrown out of the country!”

Francesca walked forward at a New York pace, her fists clenched. “It wasn’t my fault! How was I to know?”

“Well, at least thank me for saving you!”

“Saving me? I’m sure if I would have just explained the situation to him, I would have been perfectly fine.”

“Sure. In a few hours. Oh, let’s not fight. Let’s take a cab straight to the hotel and check in. Then you can take a rest, and I’ll go down to Leicester Square and see if I can’t get us half-price tickets for the evening. I really want to see
Blood Brothers
. My British friend Ian said it was fabulous, all about the evils of race and class.”

“I really think we should make our phone calls first to all the places Gran listed.”

“Sure, sure. But after…”

“I’ll say it again—I really don’t feel right about planning recreational activities until we see about the work that’s involved.”

“You are such a wet blanket!” Suzanne groaned.

“And you are such a freeloading, lazy, good-for-nothing sponge.” Francesca fumed as the exit doors slid open.

“Girls!”

Suzanne and Francesca looked up, stunned.

“Abuela!”

“Isn’t it marvelous.” Catherine beamed, linking her arms through theirs. “All three of us here, together, beginning this journey.”

“When did you arrive?” Francesca gave her a confused smile.

“Gran, are you really feeling up to it?” Suzanne asked, shaking her head in disbelief.

“Not another word!” Catherine placed her finger over Suzanne’s lips, giving her a private little warning shake of the head. “We’ll talk about it all when we get to the hotel. Here, give the driver your bags. Ah, we’ve got so much to talk about! I have such stupendous news!”

14

Taking long, slow sips of freshly brewed coffee that had come up on her breakfast tray, Francesca pulled back the heavy damask curtain and peered into the street below. She was charmed by the lovely, rich foliage of old trees, the fountains and the quaint statues. That, and the luxurious, old grandeur of her hotel room—its marble floors and bath, the polished antique furniture and big canopy bed—seemed to transport her back in time to a more leisurely and gracious era.

London was everything she’d imagined: regal, civilized, polishing the past to a fine patina that spread its glow over the present.

It had been so odd seeing Gran there in the airport, but almost immediately, it had become a tremendous relief. Having her around setting the pace and directing the whole enterprise took the burdensome feeling of responsibility off her shoulders. Dinner, for example, had been such a leisurely, warming meal, wine sparkling in firelight and everyone so calm and mellow. Gran had looked tired, but there’d been a pinkish glow on her face and a twinkle in her eye as she laid out all her plans for the coming weeks. She seemed like a girl again in her frilly dress with the long string of pearls. London, she’d told them, reminded her of the time she’d fallen “crazy in love.”

Gran, crazy in love! Just the words, the very idea! She laughed quietly to herself. But then, as she looked out at the bower of thick leaves and the little romantic niches on every corner, it seemed less ridiculous. She’d have to remember to get Gran to give them the details.

She put down her coffee and picked up a slice of toast, spreading it thickly with marmalade and wondering if she would be able to resist the temptation to crawl back beneath the soft down covers. Aside from the mere decadence of the idea, she couldn’t think of a single reason why not.

She took out her day planner and checked it. She was in no rush. They’d all agreed to meet at eleven at the offices of Serouya and Company, Dealers in Rare Books and Manuscripts, 48 Charing Cross Road. Gran had advised them not to bother following up any other leads until then.

And so, for the first time she could remember, there was not a blessed thing that duty, honesty, or responsibility demanded of her at the moment. She glanced at the inviting bed as she poured herself another cup of coffee and took small bites out of a buttery croissant. Maybe. Or maybe she’d run herself a bath and pour in the entire bottle of bath foam…She leaned back on the soft couch pillows and simply closed her eyes.