The Great Husband Hunt (33 page)

I waited beneath the clock. It seemed to me Sapphire might know that's where people meet at railroad stations. But I grew fatigued from peering into the crowds searching for her face and then, from one moment to the next, the champagne cleared away from my mind and I had a series of alarming thoughts. First, that she might not be in the station. She might have climbed aboard that train by a different door and found her way safely to Humpy and Em. Or, that she had not found her way to them. That she had been lured into a couchette by some villain and robbed of her citrine necklace. In either case I was the one left behind to face the Germans.

Alternatively, she might have run away deliberately. It might be her plan to disobey me and cause inconvenience. If I ever found her, I decided, I would send her directly to Buenos Aires. It was high time Gilbert Catchings experienced the burdens of parenthood.

There were no taxis to be had. I began to walk, but by the time I reached Pantheon I had to take off my shoes and carry them. No one gave me a second look, a lone woman in a good suit, walking in her stocking feet. That was when I knew something crazy was happening to Paris. And every painful step I took reminded me of another night when I had walked till my stockings were full of holes. The night my pa didn't come home on the
Carpathia.

Every house in rue Vavin had its eyes closed. No one answered at Humpy's door though I knew he was allowing people to stay there, and the old place, where Gil and I had once enjoyed happy times, was dark and shuttered, too.

I huddled on the step, too tired to walk any further, and yet wide awake. I was homeless. I suppose the sky began to lignten at about four.

At seven I limped to Lilas for coffee and there I received several great kindnesses from Nub the Armenian waiter. He gave me a pair of sturdy English laced shoes intended for a man, an omelette, and a suggestion where I might find Sapphire.

“The boy,” he said, “the one she likes. He lives up in Rosiers with the rest of his kind.”

I had never heard of such a place. Nub drew me a map on a napkin.

“Better get her back quick,” he said. And he made a gesture, cutting across his throat with the edge of his hand.

I made slow progress, with my poor sore feet slipping about inside Nub's shoes, and I feared I was too late anyway. My baby, whom I had never really gotten to know, was probably lying in some thieves' den with her throat cut. Then, on the Pont Marie, I saw her coming toward me. It was the almond green of her dress I recognized first. She was walking fast, not looking where she was going. I had to call out her name three times before she heard me, then saw me, then came running into my arms.

“I couldn't find him, Mom,” was all she would say. “I couldn't find him anywhere.”

I took her to a little place in Saint-Germain and fed her on bread and café au lait until she seemed more disposed to listen to me.

I said, “Do you realize what trouble you've caused? Humpy and Emerald have gone without us and I've spent the night on some stranger's front stoop, and our luggage is entirely lost.”

“I didn't ask you to come looking for me,” she said. “You could have gone. You could have taken care of your luggage and left me to take care of myself.”

“Some day,” I said, “you will have a daughter of your own. Then you'll know why I came looking for you.”

That stopped her in her self-pitying tracks.

“And thank goodness for Humpy,” I said. “Otherwise poor Em would have been all alone on that train. Did you ever think of that? And who is this boy? Do we know his people?”

“Listen to yourself,” she said. “You sound like Grandma Jacoby.”

I said, “Nub at the Lilas says they're dangerous types.”

“What!” she said. “Nub said that? He did not. He knows René.”

She was in love with René, Humpy's boy who played the cello. Sixteen years old, and she believed she had met the love of her life.

I said, “But Sapphy…”

I thought René was probably one of Humpy's funny crowd. The kind that never fell in love with girls.

“I know what you're going to say,” she said. “He's a Jew. But I don't care. I love him. I'm going to stay with him till this beastly war's finished. I'll be a Jew too.”

I always found that word oddly shocking in English. In French it just rustled silkily off the tongue.

I looked at her, my wilder skinnier junior. She had nothing of Gil about her, except her height. Even her eyes had darkened to match mine. I judged this was not the moment to do anything but persuade her onto a train.

I said, “You know, Humpy may have got them papers, for America. For René and for Lionel. I know he was determined to do it. And wouldn't it be a terrible thing if René got to New York and you were stuck here with the Hun?”

She said, “But I don't think Humpy did get them papers. I think they've been taken away somewhere.”

“Well then,” I said, “you'll have to wait for him until we've won the war. You'll have to take your love somewhere safe and guard it patiently. If it's true love, it'll endure.”

I had read a number of novelettes recommended by Angelica, so I knew the gist of what to say.

Sapphy said, “It is true love. And you don't mind about the Jewish side of things?”

“How could I?” I said.

Not telling the truth is not at all the same as lying.

On rue Monge I managed to obtain a taxi by stepping into its path.

“I want to look one more time,” Sapphy said. “It won't take long.”

“Sapphire,” I said, “you're grown up now, and grown-ups have duties. We have to rescue your little sister.”

“Half-sister,” she said quietly, as we neared the Gare d'Austerlitz.

46

We caught up with Humpy and Emerald nearly three weeks later at the Plaza Hotel in Lisbon.

“I was almost resigned to fatherhood,” Humpy said. “With a bereft waif in a foreign land.”

There had never been anything waif-like about Em. She eyed me warily.

“What took you so long?” she said. “Why didn't you get on the train? I could have been left all alone and not known where to get off or anything.”

The good news was that there was an agreeably gay crowd staying in town. The bad news was that they were all there for the same reason we were. Waiting for seats on a clipper. I sent Humpy to the ticket office with a bribe immediately, but he said it made no difference. For a man who promised to open doors for escaping artists he had surprisingly little spine in such situations. I believe this came of his never having had proper money. It has been my experience that money always makes the difference.

We ordered rum cocktails and waited for the girls to come down to dinner.

I said, “It was about the boy René. She believes she's in love.”

“Oh God!” he said.

I said, “She's only a baby. And now she's quite obsessed with the idea that Germans are going to shoot him and he has to be rescued. She's quite determined to play the heroine. I can't tell you what a strain it's been, Humpy, watching her every minute. I still wouldn't put it beyond her to jump on a train back to Paris.”

“She certainly mustn't do that,” he said. “I don't think there's anything to be done for René and Lionel now.”

I said, “Well, don't tell Sapphire that. I only succeeded in bringing her here by telling her those people were certain to turn up in New York. I told her you'd arranged papers for them.”

He groaned.

“God, Poppy,” he said. “It's bad enough I've run out on things there. I hope you're not asking me to fib as well.”

I said, “Damn and blast it, Humpy, why did you allow her to get so attached to this person? She doesn't just have a pash on him. She's decided she's going to be Jewish too, like René.”

He raised an eyebrow.

I said, “She doesn't know. We just don't really bother with that kind of thing. Gil wasn't Jewish. But if she knew, if she thought for one moment…I'd have lost her completely. I'd never have dragged her away from Paris.”

“Gracious,” he said. “What a muddle.”

I said, “It's not a muddle at all, Humpy. It's very simple. You mustn't say anything. When all this has blown over I'll explain things to her, but right now she mustn't suspect a thing.”

We allowed the girls one cocktail each before we went out for a fine seafood dinner and I forced the conversation along at a furious pace so as not to allow Sapphire any opportunity for questions or reproaches. I talked until I was exhausted, and then Humpy failed to notice my signals that he should take over, and a dangerous silence occurred.

“Uncle Humpy,” she began, “when do you suppose René will get to America? We're going to be married, you know?”

Humpy choked a little.

“Hard to say,” he said. “Hard to know even when we'll be there.”

“I was so afraid he'd been taken away,” she said. “The whole building was empty.”

She turned to Emerald.

“René's Jewish,” she said, “but Mom doesn't mind. So when we get married, I shall become Jewish, too. It won't affect you, though.”

She gazed down at the debris of her lobster and Emerald looked at her, at first with the blandest of expressions. Then she began to shake. First she shook silently, then tears spilled down her cheeks and she began to make ugly whooping noises. Finally she fell sideways off her chair. All this on one rum cocktail. Her voice floated up while she was still on the floor.

“I shall become Jewish, too.” She had Sapphire's expression exactly.

“You twit, Sapph. You're already Jewish. You ninny. You utter, utter ninny.”

I spoke sharply to Emerald. Better, I felt, to focus on the disgrace of her falling down drunk than to allow her any kind of victory over poor Sapphy. Humpy was no help. I believe he found something amusing in the scene himself.

Em climbed back into her seat, watching Sapphire, looking for more trouble.

“Aren't we, Mommy?” she challenged me. “Aren't we Jewish as can be?”

She chanted to herself, “Jewish, Jewish, Jewish.” I had a mind to slap her, right there and then, but Humpy placed a restraining hand on mine and called for the check.

“Perhaps you and Sapphy should head back,” he said. “You must be tired. Em and I might go for cake.”

Emerald said, “Sapphy's not tired, are you Sapphy? She wants to go for cake, too, and hear all about being Jewish.”

Sapphire said nothing. She refused cake or soda and when I tried to link arms with her, hers felt like stone. So we just walked, and I talked. For the longest time that night it seemed like I was talking to myself.

I said, “You see, there's Jewish and there's
Jewish.
Like some people go to the opera if they're specially asked and some people go every week, even if they know they're not going to enjoy the show. Like some people will take whiskey with you if you offer it, but they'd never think of keeping a bottle on their own sideboard. Then, actually, there are hundreds of different kinds of Jewish. Your uncle Harry was only Jewish in business. Hardly even that. Whereas some people are Jewish every minute of the day, like…well, we don't really know any of that kind. Grandpa Jacoby is kind of medium Jewish. Anyhow, it's not a major thing. It's just about who your people were. You can be Jewish if you want to be. Grandma Jacoby'll probably like that. When I was a little girl we didn't act Jewish because my aunt Fish thought it might…hold us back. But these days your grandma goes in for it in quite a big way. It can be nice. I'd probably have been more Jewish myself but I've always been so busy. I always thought I might learn the Hebrew words. But you know how it is. Well, perhaps you'll do it. You're young. You have all the time in the world. And especially if you marry a Jewish person. Any Jewish person.”

“How can I?” she whispered. “How can I even face him again? You've made me look such a fool.”

Without even trying I had managed to change her mind. She had gone from searching for his face in every place we passed, to dreading that they'd ever meet again, and all because of a silly misunderstanding.

I said, “No one thinks you're a fool, Sapphy.”

“I do,” she said. “I'm a fool ever to have trusted you. You told Em. Why didn't you tell me?”

But I had told Emerald nothing.

She said, “I bet Reggie told her. He never liked me. Why didn't you just send me to my real daddy? He'd never have done this to me.”

She was shouting by the end.

“I hate you,” she yelled. “I always hated you. And now you've completely ruined my life.”

It wasn't me who ruined her life, of course. She always had that Catchings tendency. And then, eventually, there was the drink.

We finally boarded the
Dixie
clipper in October 1940. I wore a pair of wide-legged slacks in taupe, a kidskin jacket with a lightning fastener, and a black bandeau. Those were the kind of colors we were wearing in war-torn Europe.

We made Horta, our first stop, in five and a half hours and the wind was blowing so hard across that godforsaken rock I remained on board and played red dog with an amusing boy from Chicago. He had found himself almost cut off in Marseilles and was disinclined to venture outside again until we were safely on American soil.

The next stage of the journey was the worst. Sixteen hours to Bermuda, with nothing to do but eat and drink and try to keep Emerald from tormenting Sapphire.

After Bermuda the whole tone of the party was quite changed. Many new passengers came on board, making it so much less comfortable for us, and causing long delays at the bar. Humpy was morose. My little card-playing friend attached himself to one of the new horde. And Sapphire, having chewed all her fingernails to the quick, developed the very irritating habit of nibbling at the ends of her hair.

I was relieved to hear we were nearing Jones Beach, and even more relieved to find no one had been sent to meet us. I had already decided to enjoy a decent night's sleep at the Brevoort before I faced family.

In the event, I found I needed two nights and a trip to Bonwit Teller to replace some of our lost treasures. Never one to be defeated by adversity, I had improvised interesting skirts out of Portuguese tablecloths, but they were jarringly unsuitable for a New York fall.