Briar Rose (9 page)

Stan was just finishing a summation of their reasons for visiting, when Becca returned, saying,

"So if we could know something of your ... involvement ... with the refugees and the Haven. And perhaps if you could look at some photographs."

Randolph cleared his throat. "I was one of the teachers who took the high school students out to the camp at open house .

"Not so open for us," Harvey interrupted.

"You see," Randolph continued as if Harvey hadn't spoken, "there'd been these rumors He paused.

"What kind of rumors?" asked Becca.

"Well, silly rumors, really. But that the refugees-and there were nearly a thousand of them-were living high at the taxpayers' ex-pense. And this, of course, after all we had been put through because of the war. The boys and girls had talked of nothing else for days, which meant of course that their parents were saying the same things-or worse-at home. High schoolers are like that, repeating their parents' arguments as if they are their own. So Ralph . . ."

"Mr. Cornell," Marge put in, touching her hair again, "the princi-pal. I was one of those kids. And you should should have heard some of the things they were saying!"

". . . so Ralph insisted that the students go to see for themselves.

And one look at those bare barracks and the barbed wire .

'Barbs!" Becca whispered.

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"Barbed wire?" Stan asked. "But these were refugees, not pri ers."

"Barbed wire!" Harvey said emphatically. "And this, mind, while the German POWs in other parts of the country were 9

weekend passes!"

"But after we saw," Marge said, almost quivering with eagen

"some of us came every afternoon after school to bring candy stuff."

Harvey sniffed. "And you shoved it through the wire as i were animals in a zoo." Glearly it was an old argument.

"Now, Harvey, you know the refugee children got to p school once things settled down a bit,"

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Randolph said. "And it a long time ago."

"Time does not excuse conscience," Harvey said shortly.

does not erase this." He unbuttoned his left sleeve and shove material back up his arm. Then he held out the arm for them see. There was a number tattooed in faded blue.

"No " Stan put in smoothly, "time may heal wounds, but it not erase the scars."

Harvey rolled the sleeve back down and silently rebuttonE

cuff. Marge looked down at her feet, and crossed and recross(

puffy ankles three times as if that were some sort of a c Randolph looked entreatingly at Becca.

"What else do you want to know?" he asked. "We h museum now. The Safe Haven Museum.

And the Gruber boc called Haven. Have you seen it?"

"Mr. Feist," Becca said, "I never even heard of Fort O~

before a few days ago. When my grandmother died, we foui box among her things. There were newspaper clippings fro

Palladium Times and some old photos. I'm just trying to track her past. She may have been in the refugee camp. At least s some papers that suggest that." Becca was careful not to sa thing about the fairy tale.

"What narneV' Harvey asked.

"Gid. Gitl Mandlestein. Or Dawna Stein. Or Genevie,~

seems to have had a number of names," Becca said.

"Gid. Gitl." Harvey closed his eyes and his fingers rubbed arm, as if the number under the shirt could be read like bra:

shook his head slowly. "Dawna. Genevieve."

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"Can I show you the photos?" Becca asked her voice almost a whisper.

"Done!" Coming into the room with a burst of energy, Samantha's cheery voice seemed to energize them all. "The monsters are down for the night. More coffee anyone?"

The cups were refilled and whatever tension had been in the room was effectively broken. Becca suspected that Samantha had planned it that way, an entrance as dramatic as any on stage. She immediately felt guilty about the thought, as if to think such a thing of Stan's old friend was a disloyalty of, the worst kind. Hastily she

drew out the photos and passed the first to Harvey.

He shook his head. "So long ago," he whispered. But he stared at one of the pictures, where a number of people crowded around

Gemma in her sack dress. He placed his second finger, right hand, on top of one young man.

Becca saw he had no nail on that finger.

"What is it, Harvey?" Samantha asked. "Are you all right?"

Harvey had closed his eyes. She placed her hand over his.

"That's me," he said. "That's the only photograph, of all the ones we have in the museum, that has me in it. It makes the old nightmares real."

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Becca stared at the photo in his hand. The face of the young man was hungry; he was staring yearningly at Gemma.

"And that's Ksiginiczka."

"What!" Becca and Stan spoke together and Stan leaned forward as well.

"We called her that. It meant princess. Because. . . " Suddenly he looked puzzled, as if memory-and the desire to remember-were

I

simply not enough.

"Because she was born in a castle?" Becca asked, the words almost painful in her throat.

"A Jew born in a castle?" Harvey was momentarily nonplussed.

"No-because she would have nothing to do with the rest of us.

With me. As if . . ." His voice trailed off. Almost as an afterthought, he added, "It's so long ago."

"Can't you remember?" Becca. begged. "Anything? Did she go to school? Did she talk about the vast? Did she ... ?"

"She had a new baby but no husband and . . . That is all remember."

"Please try, Mr. Goldman," Becca begged. "Please,"

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Randolph held up his hand as he must have done so often in t classroom. "Harvey's right. It's all so long ago. And memory is st:

a strange and unwieldy device. We remember odd things. Like old woman who kissed the ground when she arrived."

'You didn't see that, Randolph," Marge interrupted. "It wa,, the paper."

"You're probably right," Randolph admitted. "But it seems a I remember it. That's what I mean about memory. Still, I do rem ber the refugee children who came to school. Pathetic little th~

most of them, undernourished, jumpy. And how they stuck gether. But so bright, even in their broken English." He srn~

"This Ruth Gruber who wrote the book, she was the one who to pick which refugees came to the Fort, and they weren't all J

either. Some were Catholics, who were allowed out to attend r at my church because it was nearest the Fort. And some Protesu too, I remember."

"From Italy we came," Harvey said. "From hot to cold. And baby died in the crossing. That I remember. The mother coulc cry for two days, but she could not speak either, until we passe, Statue of Liberty. Then with everyone else crying with joy she, thing, sobbed her sorrow."

For a moment they were all silent.

"And I remember thinking," Harvey continued, "how fre were. At last. How free. And how shocked I was when we suddenly back behind barbed wire again. I was sure we had all that way
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just to be killed in America."

"And look at you now," Marge said, "You own half of Osw

"I have one small shop, but I am content," Harvey said irr.

ately. "How is that half of the city?"

"Please," Becca interrupted, not having Samantha's gift prise, "what about my grandmother?"

"She carried herself like a princess," said Harvey. "The remember. She was like something out of a fairy book, the skin and the reddest hair, as if the war and all the horrors cot touch that beauty.

You look quite a bit like her, except for th

Your eyes are warm. They are here. Hers were-somewhere el boys were all half in love with her, I think. But she did noi to any of us. It was as if a curse had been placed upon hei

"A curse?" Becca asked.

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"The Nazis were the curse," said Harvey. "They still are."

"The Nazis are all dead, Harvey," Marge said, her hands once more smoothing down her hair.

"For you they are dead," he said. "Not for me." He sighed and stood. "I must go. It is too late for an old man like me."

"I am an old man, too," Randolph said.

"But not like me," said Harvey. He winked at Becca, then took her hand. "I am glad to have met the granddaughter of Ksiqiniczka." Smiling shyly, he kissed her hand. Then he gave Samantha a kiss on both cheeks and left.

The rest soon followed.

"A prince came from a nearby country, " said Gemma. Becca was in bez pneumonia. Her sisters called it "Flu-monia" and tried to get it, toc Gemma shooed them away. 'Tou can't get out of school that easily, said.

"Why is it always a prince who rescues her?" asked Becca.

"lou watch too much television, " said Gemma. "Too much Gerald Donahue. Too much women's rights. In the old days it was a prinn Becca's chest and throat hurt too much to argue.

"The prince came riding by with all his troops. He saw the hedge A tried to see over it. He tried to see under it. "

"Why didn't he just uproot it?" Becca asked, the fever makit, cranky.

"It would have torn his poor hands to shreds," Gemma said. Sh a cool cloth and wiped Becca's face with it slowly, and hummed a bit tI

her nose. 'Just then a peasant came by and saw him trying to see ov, trying to see under. 'Better not/ the peasant said. 'Whoever goes in 4

come out. ' "

"Uhmmmm, " said Becca, more comforted by the washcloth's soft trations than the story.

"The prince turned to the peasant. 'And how do you know?' The p smiled. He had only a few teeth. We peasants always know this thing. ' " Gemma paused and put the cloth into the basin on the dresse

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turned back to Becca who was almost asleep. " 'But do you know courage?'

asked the prince. And so saying he put his right hand into the thorns. "

Becca shivered. This was the part of the story she loved the best, better than the kiss, better than the wedding, better than the curse. She didn't know why.

Having pneumonia meant that once she started shivering, she could not stop.

Gemma pulled the covers up around her and then lay down by her side, giving her extra warmth. Becca was asleep before the story ended.

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turned back to Becca who was almost asleep. " 'But do you know courage?'

a ked the prince. And so saying he put his right hand into the thorns.

"

Becca shivered. This was the part of the story she loved the best, better than the kiss, better than the wedding, better than the curse. She didn't know why.

Having pneumonia meant that once she started shivering, she could not stop.

Gemma pulled the covers up around her and then lay down by her side, giving her extra warmth. Becca was asleep before the story ended.

f,

The museum had been an anticlimax. There were no pictures in which Gemma appeared, though there were photos of hundreds of women dressed in sack dresses. And as Harvey Goldman had said, none in which he could be identified either. The rest of the exhibits were interesting and depressing.

"Like most histories," Samantha commented. As a member of the board, Linn had been able to get them in early Sunday morning and, with the place to themselves, they were loud in their commen-taries.

"Like most morgues," Stan said. "It's why I prefer current events."

Becca looked up shanply From the ipictjire %Ke'd beet-, eyarn-in~S-It was as if Stan had suddenly explained himself to her. "Find out what the past has to say, and then move on?" she asked.

"Yes!" He grinned at her.

"Well, this past doesn't seem to say anything more about my grandmother except she was here."

"Then where was she before she got here?" asked Samantha.

"The sixty-four-million-dollar question," said Stan.

"That used to be the sixty-four-dollar question," Linn said.

"Inflation!" Stan and Samantha and Becca all said together. They
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were still laughing about it when they locked the door to the Safe Haven Museum behind them.

The ride home seemed to go too fast. Becca and Stan sang old songs and told family stories, and even discussed a couple of pieces that

Becca wanted to write for the Advocate. Two of them Stan vetoed but the third made him turn his head towards her. "That interests me," he said.

"She sets the hook," Becca said, smiling.

She slept all the way from Albany, apologizing profusely when, upon waking with a start, saw they were just coming off Route 91

into Hatfield.

"Gave me time to think," Stan said. "I find it hard to think around you."

Becca decided not to ask what that meant. It might mean nothing. It might mean something. Either way she foresaw problems.

"What did you think about?" she asked.

"About the princess. And where she was before she got to the Fort. I'd like to look at those papers again."

"Tomorrow," Becca said.

"Lunch," Stan agreed.

He let her off at the house but didn't come in. He didn't try to kiss her, but he didn't shake her hand, either. Becca thought that meant they hadn't been on a date, but -were closer than just col-leagues. She'd think about it later, when Stan wasn't around.

Her parents were asleep when she got in, so she spread all the papers and photos once more over the dining room table. Gemma's face stared up at her, with Harvey Goldman's hungry face behind.

"Oh, Gemma," Becca whispered, "what are you looking at? The past? Or the present? Or maybe seeing into the future?"

A hand on her shoulder startled her. "Glad you got back safely, sweetheart." It was her father in his pajamas. "Learn anything new?"

"Gemma was at Fort Oswego. There was a man there who remembered her. Remembered her as The Princess."

"And was she?"

"Oh, Daddy!" She smiled.

"Never heard of Jewish American Princesses?" he asked.