Read Your Eyes in Stars Online
Authors: M. E. Kerr
Your Eyes in Stars (11 page)
“D
O YOU HAVE
the radio on, Richard?”
“No. I have a new hat on. A fedora. It cost five bucks!”
“Don’t you hear the prison sirens?”
“Is it a Halloween stunt?”
“Slater has escaped. They’re looking for him.”
“How did he escape?”
“He must have walked away from the parade. When the sirens sounded, Elisa’s mother called here and said my father should send a guard to bring Elisa home! Then Elisa just ran out the door, across the street, all the while her mother was telling my mother that obviously my father couldn’t control his ‘gangsters.’”
“Slater’s going to need help, Jessie. He could get himself shot!”
“I knew you’d say something like that. You and Elisa are birds of a feather. She said you should try to find him and get him to go back.”
“Yes, but how?
How?
”
“She said take your bike and see if you can find him. He’s on foot in that blue band uniform. He knows only a few places. I know that much from Daddy telling me. He did away work at City Hall, our house, and the Joys’.”
“Jessie, what if I
do
find him?”
“Elisa says take him a long coat, a cap, some disguise so he can get back safely.”
“But why would he want to go back? He just escaped.”
“Tell him they’ll shoot him dead if he doesn’t go back. Elisa says he doesn’t want to die.”
“How does she know he doesn’t want to die?”
“She says he couldn’t play like that if he didn’t love life.”
“I think she’s got a crush on him, but so what?”
Once in the summer Elisa had told both Richard and me she might be in love with Slater. I was used to that old line. I knew how she had exaggerated her feelings for him, particularly right after she had heard the bugle. For a while that day, as we’d walked along, Richard had tears in his eyes, even though he’d said to Elisa it must be swell to feel that way about someone. Later he’d told me he’d thought it over and so what if she did love him? He was a lifer, wasn’t he?
I said, “Richard? I would help you, but I am not allowed out of the house. I am in the doghouse for dressing up as
a convict to go in the Halloween parade. Elisa can’t even talk to me on the telephone, her mother’s so furious!”
“I just hope some trigger-happy cop doesn’t shoot him,” Richard said. “I’m going to try to get him on a train.”
“No, take him back!”
“Let me handle this my way.” Since his braces had been removed, Richard was asserting himself more and more.
I said, “You know what Elisa’s mother told me? I called Elisa up to see if the convict costume had gotten her in trouble too, and her mother said I’d never talk to Elisa again!”
“If you want me to find Slater Carr, you’d better let me go right now.”
“Did you hear what I just said? Mrs. Stadler said I’d never talk to Elisa again!”
“How’s she going to stop you?” Richard said.
“That’s what I’d like to know. She said her twin sister was hysterical and Herr Stadler was on his way home from Cornell. All because Slater’s running around somewhere.”
“You’re kidding!”
“She’s afraid the whole prison will break out, and she said the Stadlers were not going to live in fear any longer!”
Richard laughed. “I don’t believe that woman!” he said.
Later on Richard believed that woman.
We all did.
But late Halloween afternoon Richard went off on his
bicycle to ride through as many neighborhoods as he could. He wore his long raincoat to give to Slater and had even made a small package filled with sandwiches, a Coke, a jackknife, a map of New York State, ten one-dollar bills, nickels for the phone, iodine, and Band-Aids.
Later that night he told me that if he had found Slater, he would even have given his new five-dollar fedora to him, to help with his disguise.
By then we had both heard the news that Slater Carr was dead.
There was no way we could tell Elisa. The Stadlers were not answering phones or doors.
B
EFORE WE KNEW
it, the Stadlers were gone, evacuating with the speed of disaster victims. It had taken them only two days to pack for New York City and book passage on a ship to Germany.
Four days later the postman left a small package in our mailbox addressed to me.
1 November 1934
My dearest best friend ever Jessica,
Aunt Gretchen says Omi is really ill and may even be dying! That was all
Vater
had to hear. You know how he loves her. Even if Slater had not made a break, we would probably be going, just not as soon as we are.
I am so upset that now he is dead, Jessica, and I sail from New York City tomorrow with him a part of the grief I feel. Slater is the first person near my
own age who has died and who meant something to me. Even though I never met him, he was part of my life in America, and I will never forget him or the sound of his bugle every night.
I did not know Mr. Joy, so I do not grieve for him, but I guess the whole town does. I believe Slater did not intend to kill him. He would only kill for passion, for love. You told me that.
Mutti
was determined to get us away from that “Wild West” immediately and to keep me from the inevitable sad farewell. She said it was for my own good that I did not see you.
When I ran from your house still in the prison stripes because so much happened so fast, I forgot what I had on! You can imagine how that was received by my aunt and
Mutti!
Inside this package are some things for you. My father is mailing this for me because he knows how much our friendship means to us. Lord Byron, a poet I should have introduced you to, said “Friendship Is Love Without His Wings.”
I will write you every chance I get, and you must write me too. I will send you my address the moment I know it. We will not stay with Omi, because she needs a nurse and her house is too tiny. We will return sometime in early January, for
Father has his work at Cornell. Even though Mutti insists we have to relocate to Ithaca, I will see you very often, every weekend. It is not that far from Cayuta.
Love and many kisses, dear friend of my life,
Elisa
P.S. At least Wolfgang Schwitter does not have to be my gigolo now because that was almost what he would have been if he had gone home with me in January. Oh,
Papachen
wouldn’t have paid him to go with me, but it would have been a favor to Herr Reinhardt Schwitter, so is that not the same thing?
E.
Inside the package were the dachshund pin and a book of Sara Teasdale’s poetry.
“W
HAT IS
P
URR
doing here?” my father wanted to know when he came down from The Hill for lunch and saw the kitten.
“She’s been here for over a week,” Mother said. “Mugshot scared her, and she was living under the couch. Is that your name for her, Purr?”
“I didn’t name her.”
“I suppose that was the killer’s name for her.”
“Never mind, Olivia.”
“Well, she is called Dietrich now. Mrs. Heinz Pickle was going to turn her loose in a field somewhere. She said cats could always get along outside. And
she
is supposed to be some kind of brain!”
“How did we end up with her?”
“Elisa called Richard Nolan right before they left. She told Richard the cat was hanging around the Sontags’.
Mrs. Stadler wouldn’t let her in. She told the cat to find another place to live. Can you imagine?”
My father shrugged.
Mother said, “If anyone should ride up on a bicycle and ask whose fault all of this is, it’s your Mr. Carr’s fault! All of it is!”
“It’s all my fault,” my father said. “I didn’t follow the rules.”
“Oh, the rules, the rules, Arthur. He was a bad apple.”
“I should have perceived that. Horace Joy might be alive today if I had paid closer attention to Mr. Carr’s character. Mr. Carr would be too. I got derailed by his musical ability.” Then he looked across the table at me and said, “Why aren’t you eating?”
“She’s still mooning over Miss Germany,” said my mother.
In place of any wanted poster on my bedroom wall was an enormous calendar I had made of November and December 1934 and January 1935. I was crossing off the days to whatever date Elisa would return in the first month of the new year.
Daddy had been spending so much time up at the prison, I don’t think what was going on anywhere else registered with him. Mother said he was in deep trouble with the authorities because of Slater. He was in so much
trouble, she did not even bawl him out for getting the old convict uniforms from the cellar, for Elisa and me to wear on Halloween.
She said, “I still can’t believe those Stadlers left without a fare-thee-well, just
pffft
took off, all four.”
“You mean all three.”
“The twin sister was visiting them from Germany. The grandmother is sick, I heard. They plan to bring her back.”
“That’s not why they all left, though. They all left because Mrs. Stadler thought there’d be a prison break-out,” I said.
“And you two girls were dressed up as convicts!” my mother said. “That might have made
me
leave too, if I had a place to go!”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” My father tried to smile at me, but the truth was I don’t think he could have smiled if his life depended on it. I had never seen him so unhappy. He was hardly ever home, and when he was, he just sat in his chair in the living room and listened to the radio.
He reached over and put his hand on mine for a moment. “I think the Stadlers were unhappy here anyway,” he said.
“They’re coming back,” I said.
“And I’m from Paris, France,” my mother said.
“They’ll be back in January,” I said.
“Well, we’ll have to have a celebration for them, complete with party hats.”
“Ollie, let up.”
My mother said, “Richard Nolan told us the grandmother really is very sick.”
“They knew that,” I said. “That didn’t make them all decide to go at once. Slater Carr loose made Mrs. Stadler a raving maniac.”
“Ohhh, shush,” said my mother. “Your father feels bad enough.”
“You’re the one nagging him about it.”
“Jess, I don’t nag. I am not a nag. If the Stadlers do plan to come back, and I’ll believe that when it snows in August, then let’s not carry on as though it’s their funeral.”
“Who said they planned to come back?” my father asked me.
“Elisa said that in her letter.”
“So it’s not that bad, sweetie.”
“How can she come back?” my mother said. “That man won’t leave his wife there, and she will
not
come back here! Trust me!”
“He has a job at Cornell!” I insisted.
“That’s right, he does,” said Daddy. “Where’s Seth?”
“At the Joys’,” my mother said. “Where else?”
“I still think some sort of service would have been appropriate for Horace Joy.”
“Apparently he didn’t want one. Seth said it was in his will. Upon his death no memorial of any kind. He was cremated.”
My father sighed. “Did Seth say what was in the letter Horace wrote him?”
“He said Mr. Joy gave him permission to marry J. J. when they are graduated.”
“Graduated from where?”
“High East, I guess.”
“No college?”
“Ask Seth, Arthur. I don’t know.”
“Why didn’t Horace just tell Seth that? Why write a letter?”
“Ask…Seth…all right?” said Mother. “Have you heard anything from the powers that be?”
“No. The superintendent said the board will meet next month.” My dad couldn’t eat. He was pushing his chair back from the table, depression visible in his eyes, his shoulders slumped.
My mother followed him down the hall, saying she would give him a massage to relax him. She looked back at me long enough to say, “We may be leaving Cayuta too. Do you realize that, Jess? If your father gets disciplined for what your Goldilocks did, we may be packing up ourselves.”
“I don’t care,” I said. “I don’t care about anything.”
“Oh, really?” my mother said. “Then why do you ask if there’s mail for you the minute you get home from school?”
My father sighed again. He said, “Lay off it, Olivia.” Then to me he said, “Mail takes a while, you know. You could wait a month or more.”
“If Elisa Stadler writes at all,” said my mother. “Don’t hold your breath while you’re waiting.”
November 7, 1934
My dear best friend,
We are experiencing a rough crossing, and poor
Mutti
is very sick and cannot wait to be home.
I will be glad to see my Potsdam again, but also I will eagerly await a return to Cayuta and you, Jessica, knower of all scandalous secrets. Please tell Richard I will write him soon, but probably not until we are there.
I miss our picnics and going to Hoopes Park. I miss our days on Alden Avenue and even at High East, which I hated so at the beginning. I miss you most of all.
Now I wish we could have said
auf Wiedersehen,
but
Mutti
was truly afraid of anything or anyone who had something to do with the prison. You know how afraid of our friendship she was and that it would make me admire crime.
Please for me thank your mother for letting Dietrich stay with you until we are back. It would have been so much more painful to leave worrying
about my kitten off in the fields looking for a home. Maybe when I come back, Dietrich and Mugshot will at last be friends. Write please! You may use Omi’s address on the back of this envelope.
With love and your eyes in stars,
xxxx Elisa
P.S. I feel bad about our poor Slater. Your father must feel awful too, because wasn’t he his pet?
P.P.S. At least I do not have to tolerate Wolfgang Schwitter patronizing me. Apparently he is involved in the opening of that Broadway musical. I forgot the name and the song, but it was something about “your eyes in stars,” which gave me the inspiration to sign this that way. I heard he was going to Harvard University but decided to take a year off. Do you see him around Cayuta?
November 29, 1934
Dear Elisa,
I got your letter today, so by now you are probably in Germany.
I do not feel bad about Slater’s death. Slater Carr may have ruined our lives. If the authorities decide to demote my father and send him someplace he cannot have a band, that will be a punishment almost too hard for my father to bear. If he is fired or sent to another prison, I will have to live somewhere else and be gone by the time you get back.
I just don’t get it. Why would Slater do such a thing after my father was so good to him? I liked poor Mr. Joy too, but I still cannot stand J. J.
Something strange is going on here, which I can’t figure out.
The other night Daddy came home very late, held up by a meeting of the prison board. Of all things, Seth was waiting up for him, and they went into the living room to talk. The two of them haven’t just sat and talked for almost a year. All I could hear was this:
—Dad? I’ve been waiting for you.
—Is everything all right, Seth?
—Do you know about the letter?
—The one from Horace Joy?
—Yes.
—Giving you permission to marry J. J.?
—Can we talk about it, Dad?
—Of course. Come into the living room.
Come into the living room, where I can’t hear anything from the stairs. And they shut the door! We never shut the living room door. So that is a big mystery. You should have heard Seth’s voice. As you would say, he sounded full of bash.
One thing I did not think that much about until I got your letter. Yes, you are right: My father must feel terrible about Slater’s death. It might bring Seth back to him, but I think (and don’t quote me) my father was fonder of Slater. I know that sounds just awful, but when you think about it, a father has to be fond of his son, but my father picked Slater out of everyone on The Hill and gave him a radio and all that away time. Now I see better, thanks to you, why he is so down in the dumps. I have never seen him this way before. Yes, his job is on the line, but that isn’t news. He was always being bawled out for being too lenient with the prisoners. This time, though, he is a basket case. Don’t ask me to translate that. Just trust me, he’s in bad shape!
I did a paper on Sara Teasdale, which I am sending you. Tell me what you think of it. Miss Hightower wanted to know if I knew what became of Sara Teasdale. I said she killed herself, and Miss Hightower said why would you pick someone who did that? I said I didn’t pick her because of
that, but what was wrong with killing yourself if life is unbearable? She said if life was unbearable you should learn to have faith in God. I told her what you once said to me: that I would like to believe in God, but I would wait until there was more proof. I should have told her I used to think of doing what Sara did. Remember the time we talked about it and you said everyone had suicidal thoughts? That was the last of them for me. That feeling is gone now. Who wants to be like everyone? Besides, I hope to see YOU again, soon, I hope.
I am doing a lot of reading, mostly poetry, which I am beginning to like, and for a combined early Christmas/birthday gift I am sending you Edna St. Vincent Millay’s collected works with my composition on Teasdale. Millay is my favorite as of this moment.
I will keep writing. You must too. Does your father say when you are coming back?
Love and kisses, Jessica
P.S. Guess who sleeps with my mother at night? Dietrich! At last she has someone!
P.P.S. I do not see any of the Schwitters around town. That does not mean they aren’t here. We just don’t
run into each other. Do you still think of Wolfgang that way?
December 16, 1934
My dearest best friend, Jessica,
When we arrived in Germany, we stayed with Omi in the small village outside Potsdam where I grew up. We were not prepared for the signs we saw along the road as we entered.
JUDEN UNERWÜNSCHT
! Jews unwanted!
That was mild for what was ahead. I wish you knew more German, because the words sound so much harsher to my ears, but I will translate.
THOSE WITH HOOK NOSES AND KINKY HAIR SHALL NOT ENJOY OUR LAND
!
WHO HELPS THE JEWS HELPS COMMUNISTS
!
GERMANY
!
WAKE UP
!
GET RID OF JEW TRAITORS
!
Omi says it is a temporary thing and not to pay attention. I guess she is right, for there are more pleasant surprises, and it is not all so bad here. You should see the roads! There are no billboards advertising things and no food stands, no telephone poles, no gas stations. Trucks are not allowed either.
The roadsides are planted with shrubs and trees, and grass strips divide the two ways of traffic, all kept immaculately.
I will write you in more detail when I have time, for we are looking for an apartment in Berlin. Mother thinks Omi is too ill to travel just now, and she must be out of her house next month. Do not worry, because I intend to return to America with Father. I will be company for
Papachen,
and we will be back across the street at least until school is out. He does not now mention finding a house nearer Cornell either, plus we have paid the Sontags rent already for months ahead.
How is Dietrich? I hope your mother will not be too fond of her, so when we return, I will be able to retrieve her.
Please tell Richard I think of him often and will write him when we get settled. Now, I write only you. My father said Richard could have been arrested for aiding the escape of a prisoner if he had found Slater that day. I love Richard for that.
I understand that you can’t forgive Slater. I believe he was trying for his freedom and was caught attempting to steal Mr. Joy’s car.
Vater
says the gunfight that ensued killed them both. Do you know any more about the letter Mr. Joy wrote
to Seth? What could he have said?
I regret so much that your father is blamed for giving Slater too much freedom. I believe that is what life is all about: being free.
Today I am sixteen! Beethoven too had his birthday today.
With much love, stars, your friend always, Elisa
P.S. Your package did not arrive yet. Mail is slow here.
January 7, 1935
Elisa dearest,
New Year’s Eve at the stroke of midnight I made a wish you would come back next month.
Everyone in school is excited that I got mail from Europe! My father is interested in what you have to say about how Jews are treated. He says it is hard to believe and that you must be in a small enclave where there is anti-Semitism. He remembers when he went to a wardens’ convention in Miami, Florida, last year there were certain hotels with “Restricted” on their signs outside. That
means no Jews. That must be how it is where your grandmother lives. There must be many places that do not have those feelings, just as we do not have restricted hotels up north and the colored can use public bathrooms. (They can’t in our south, did you know that?)
My father says he stopped himself from saying he “Jewed someone down” when he realized it was offensive, even though it is not an uncommon expression for getting a bargain. My mother says there are many Jews she likes (her own doctor is one) but not living on our street because it brings down property values.
I don’t think I have ever been friends with a Jew, but I certainly would not mind that.
The prison board meeting was postponed to next month, and we will know then if Daddy will remain in Cayuta or what. If it weren’t for you, I would be praying he gets sent back to Elmira. Daddy was the one who got the band started there, and though they never won a Baaa, one year they came in second.
I don’t think I will ever know what Mr. Joy wrote to Seth. But Seth is acting completely different toward my dad. They both are acting different. I said to Seth, “What’s going on with you and Dad?
Anyone would think you’re father and son.”
He didn’t think it was funny, I guess. He pretended not to hear. One night out of the blue Seth said to me that one thing neither of us should ever do is underestimate Dad. I told Seth I never did, did he? He said he thought everyone underestimated our father.
My mother notices them too but says they are close again because Slater Carr is out of the picture. Did I ever tell you she can’t say the word
dead?
She says “out of the picture, passed, crossed over,” anything but!
There is a writer I think you would like called Sinclair Lewis. Richard is very excited about him too and says
Babbitt
is the story of our parents’ hypocrisy. The main character, George Babbitt, sells people houses for more than they can afford to pay.
Richard says our parents are all conniving snobs. He says we overvalue them just because they are our parents. I don’t think my father is a bad man, but I can see why Richard thinks that, since his father takes people’s cars away if they miss a payment. When I finish
Babbitt,
he says, I can send it to you.
We had a very quiet Christmas. We had the usual
tree indoors, but Mother did not think we should decorate outdoors because of Mr. Joy and also because Daddy’s fate is still undecided.
Please tell me what you are reading, and if it is in English, I can read it too. I would like to compare notes with you. I think you will be surprised at what a big poetry reader I am becoming. My teachers can’t believe it. They say they believe my friend from Germany made me more appreciative of it, and I say they are right!
Please write me often, as I will you.
Love and xxxxx, Jessica
P.S. Daddy is still sad and in the dark about what will become of him (and us).
P.P.S. Do you ever think of Wolfgang? I never see him anywhere.
February 1, 1935
Dearest best friend Elisa,
You will not believe this. This morning as I was dressing for school I listened to our local station.
They play all the latest hits, and lo and behold on came the song with “your eyes in stars above” in the lyrics. I’m sure that’s the song Wolfgang sang to you—“The Very Thought of You.”
After school Richard and I went down to Dare’s Music Shop and listened to the song and copied the words down so you could have them. They are enclosed. I remember you said how you liked that song, even though you didn’t like the idea of your father trying to fix you up with Wolfgang. You probably would still have your eye on him if it weren’t for that, I bet.
I heard Wolfgang did not go to Germany yet but is planning a visit there. My mother heard it from the Schwitters’ maid, who is the wife of one of our guards. I never do see much of him.
I just want to rush this off to you.
Xxxxxxx come back soon…
Your dearest friend,
Jessica
P.S. Richard has a “push” on a German writer called Friedrich Nietzsche, and he is always quoting him. One line he quoted is when Nietzsche said, “As an artist, a man has no home in Europe save in Paris.” Now I would give anything to be in Paris with you,
and I would go up in the elevator too.
Richard thinks he will be a writer and go there to live.
February 28, 1935
Dearest friend Jessica,
At times America, and Cayuta, seem far away, as though it were a long time ago that I was there. But here I am in Germany, and my poor country seems almost as distant and unreal.
Jessica, do you remember once we had a conversation about your mother wanting your neighborhood
Judenrein?
Remember that word? Jew free…There is a growing feeling in so many places now that Jews are the cause of all our troubles and that we should get them out of Germany. Now the signs against them are everywhere and get uglier every day. Your father is wrong to think it is just in one part of this country. I don’t think Americans know what is going on here.
I went with
Vater
to the All-German Farm Festival in the Harz. It is a major celebration in Germany. Farmers from all over assemble. We were
invited to stay overnight with old friends of our family. With us were a man and wife, also friends of my father, the Schulzes, prosperous farmers from Hessen. We were having dinner when the eight-year-old daughter of our hosts refused to take a platter of sauerkraut and sausage from Mrs. Schulze. This little girl, blond, blue-eyed, and “cute” you would call her, in her school uniform, blue skirt, white blouse, shouted out, “I am forbidden to take anything from a Jew nose’s hands!” Then, shaking her tiny fist at Mr. Schulze, she cried, “Jew, you and your wife, leave our German house!”
Everybody was embarrassed for our hosts, who apologized profusely, and a servant then passed the food, stopping by each guest to offer some. The little girl, Gudrun, was sent to her room. You would think that would be enough of a picture for you to see what it is like here, but no! The next day the servant was arrested and taken away. Gudrun reported her.
Even if you are not Jewish, you feel the fear in Germany. Life goes on with crowds attending opera and theater. Jews cannot go to public events, cannot go to concerts or perform in them, cannot even sit in public parks. And then suddenly you see a Jew being shamed in public by a Nazi officer, or you
hear of one whose windows were painted over with swastikas, the Nazi emblem.
Mother says because growing up I have lived so many places, I do not know and trust my homeland as she and my Omi do. They say this will stop.
We are probably going to rent an apartment in Berlin. I am not certain when we can return. It is not easy to come and go now, but my father says not to worry because he must continue with his work at Cornell.
So everything is postponed a little, and everything will be better soon, I keep hearing. Only my father does not say that. He does not say much, for he is too shocked, I think. I believe he is expecting Wolfgang and Mr. Schwitter to arrive here soon. He says he wrote warning them it is a bad time for anyone to visit Germany. What about us? I said to him, and he said that is different because this is our home. I don’t remember its being this way, and
Vater
said it wasn’t this way ever and it won’t be for long.
It is peculiar that I miss Dietrich, because I did not have her long, but she made an impression, the same as you did, on my heart. My mother says when we settle down in Berlin, I can get a kitty, and she will take care of it while I return to America. She may not come when I do because it may take a long
time before Omi is strong enough. Everyone is doing all they can to make me like it here, but I do not feel it is my Germany, and I miss you so!
With love and stars from your friend, Elisa
P.S. No longer can you greet or say good-bye to someone with the customary
Grüss Gott.
Now you must say
Heil Hitler!
Everything you say and do gets reported to police.
P.P.S. Remember me by being nice to a Jew.