Entwined (51 page)

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Mama Magda's was empty when Vebekka walked in. She called out and, receiving no reply, descended the dark unlit staircase. She passed through the arch with the beaded curtains, called out again, and walked toward the office. Eric opened the door.

"I came to see Magda."

Eric squinted in the darkness, unable to see her face clearly.

"I want to talk to her."

"That would be very difficult. Who are you?"

Vebekka introduced herself, and Eric opened the door wider.

"Please, it is very important I speak to her."

Eric gestured for her to come in. "You're twenty-four hours too late. She died last night."

Vebekka leaned on the doorframe. "Oh no…no please, no!"

Eric offered her a chair, but she refused.

"Can I be of help? I've taken over the club…sit, please sit."

"She called me Ruda…"

Eric saw how distressed Vebekka was. "Look, I'm sorry I can't help you."

Eric watched her leave, then remembered the purse. If she was who she said she was maybe she could cause trouble. He opened the drawer, picked up her purse and ran after her.

"You left this last night, your purse…no money, there was no money in it, okay?"

She stared at the bag, disinterested. Eric thrust it toward her.

"It's yours, eh, are you okay?"

She took the purse. She seemed close to tears. "It was perhaps just a coincidence, you see…Ruda, Ruda was my sister. The big woman called me Ruda."

"I can ask around for you, what's her last name?"

"I don't know."

Eric backed away; she was a nut. "Well I can't help you then, good-bye. Any time you're passing, drop in…"

He made his way back, and heard a screech of tires. She had walked out into the street and a car had narrowly missed her, but she kept on walking, not even turning to the shocked driver.

♦ ♦ ♦

Helen turned to see the baron, who was out of breath, having run up from the reception. "She came to the hotel, went up to the suite, and then took a taxi. The driver has just come back. He said Vebekka went to 'Mama Magda's' and he's waiting to take us there now."

When they reached the club, Eric explained that the baroness had been there; he swore he had returned the handbag she left there the previous evening.

"We are not interested in that, all we want to know is where she went."

Eric explained she had come asking about her sister, someone called Ruda, and the next minute she had almost got herself killed walking across the street, straight into the traffic.

Eric followed them out to the sidewalk, and watched them as they, too, ran across the street amid blaring horns. He shook his head. Crazy foreigners, all crazy.

♦ ♦ ♦

Vebekka walked on, bumping into passersby. She turned into a churchyard, unaware of where she was going. Fragmented pictures kept cropping up in her mind. She walked into the church and sat in a row at the back. Rosa used to take her to church on Sundays, but her adopted father never accompanied them. Vebekka closed her eyes, remembering. She used to call Rosa "the woman"—she didn't know the name of the woman who worked at the hospital where they had taken her after the camp was liberated.

The woman had been very gentle. She had explained she was just examining her, to see if she needed any medication. She asked her if she remembered her name, but Rebecca was too terrified to speak; any moment she expected them to stick needles into her arms. When the needles didn't come, she lived in terror they would bring the electric pads, and she hid beneath the sheets for long periods of time. The woman would come every day with little presents, but Rebecca would refuse to take them. She knew it was a trick. After a few weeks, maybe even months, she began to believe she was safe; until they had taken her to the X-ray department, and she had screamed and screamed.

Rebecca had spent six months in the hospital before she was sent to an orphanage; she had yet to speak a word, but she had begun to get used to the nice woman's visits. The woman had explained to Rebecca that she lived in Berlin with her husband, that she was not a doctor, just helping in any way she could. She had held the frightened girl's hand, saying she wanted to help her, and that she would come to the orphanage to see her, if Rebecca wished. Rebecca had slowly nodded her head.

In the orphanage, the older children would steal her things, and pinch her. She was so fat—they called her a pig, a fat pig. They were too young, too bruised themselves to know she had been injected and tortured, to know that they had all suffered. Rebecca rarely spoke. She missed her sister, cried for her every night. Then, one day, the nice woman arrived with her husband. She asked Rebecca if she would like to live with them.

♦ ♦ ♦

There were many children to choose from, but Rebecca had touched Rosa deeply; she was also outwardly the most healthy of the children, and Rosa was confident that, in time, Rebecca would be able to overcome her terror.

They had tried to trace Rebecca's family to no avail; she could not remember her last name. They knew her first name only because one of the children told them. Rebecca left with the Goldbergs a year and a half after her release from Birkenau, but it was months before she started to believe they were not going to hurt her.

Rosa made the decision never to speak of Birkenau. What she had heard about the camp was too much for her to accept and she felt it was better for Rebecca to forget the past. They had a plastic surgeon remove her tattoo, and although the doctors and nurses had terrified her, Rebecca recovered remarkably quickly.

Three years after the adoption, Rosa was beginning to despair. Rebecca still hid food, peed on the floor, and wet her bed every night. She remained suspicious and noncommunicative, retreating into sulking silences for so long that Rosa began to despair. And she had suffered from nightmares: Virtually every night Rebecca woke screaming hysterically and would let no one near her.

At school she disrupted classes, had no friends, fought, spat, and kicked. She stole children's toys and lunch boxes.

She alternated between refusing food for days on end and gluttonous horrific binges; Rosa would find her sitting on the kitchen floor eating everything in sight—mustard, jam, raw eggs—anything her hands could reach she would stuff into her mouth.

Rebecca wore Rosa Goldberg down. No care, no love seemed to break through to her. She was as cruel and vicious to pets as to the smaller children at school. The Goldbergs began to think they had adopted a monster.

Therapy sessions followed, and partly helped; through therapy they discovered she had a twin sister.

Rosa had tried to trace Ruda in a desperate bid to help Rebecca, but it was a long, fruitless, financially exhausting search. Ruda, it was presumed, had died in the camp. There was no record of her leaving Birkenau, no record in any orphanage; she had, like thousands of others, perished.

David Goldberg was at his wits' end. Under the strain of caring for Rebecca, Rosa became a nervous wreck. As a last resort, when they arrived in Philadelphia, Rosa arranged a session with a hypnotherapist.

For the first time Rebecca calmed down. Rosa soon read every book she could find on the subject. She trained at a local hypnosis clinic so that she could hypnotize Rebecca at home. Gradually she began to erase from the child's mind the memory of the past.

Rebecca did not change overnight. There were setbacks when she remembered Ruda. But Rosa found a solution: She talked Rebecca into locking her sister away, so she would not come out and would not make her do bad things. She would lock her away and lose the key. From then on Rebecca was able to study and she caught up with the other children.

Vebekka sat back, staring at the altar. She understood now why she had been so afraid for her babies, afraid they would be born with two heads, born twisted, with ropes. She had been too young to know about umbilical cords. She had seen the twisting baby ropes cut with rusty knives. With the fascination of a young child she'd watched the skeletal women deliver. She saw once again the hundreds of rows of jars containing deformed fetuses in the hospital.

In the silence of the church Rebecca remembered, too, the relief and joy she had felt in holding her babies, and in touching their perfect little bodies. Her voice echoed softly around the dark empty church. "I'm so sorry." She had never meant to hurt them, it was beyond her control.

She thought of Sasha, and for a moment was panic-stricken: sweet innocent Sasha. She remembered wanting Sasha to see what she had seen, but then, she had not understood why. She wanted Sasha to see the burning babies in the hidden compartments in her mind. She had wanted Sasha to understand. Rebecca let out a long moan, remembering how she had frightened her daughter, frightened Louis, poor dear Louis. He was such an innocent, how could a man who had led such a pampered, charmed existence be expected to understand? He had only wanted her to love him—but Ruda's pull was stronger.

She sat back, feeling the hard wood of the church pew against her back. The red, green and blue panes of the stained glass window sparkled in front of her. She stared at the colors…she heard his voice, that soft persuasive voice and the music…He played the same Wagner recording over and over, he even whistled it as he walked through the camp, he used to hum it to her when he laid out the cards…

"Clear your mind of everything, look at the cards, red, green…look at the cards, there's a good girl, now more cards…"

The white gloves snapped down the colored cards. At first she had liked the game—it was fun, and Papa Mengele had kissed and cuddled her when she remembered each one. When she could transmit the exact colors to Ruda he rewarded her with chocolate, breaking off pieces, popping them into her mouth.

Then the games had become frightening. She was forced to transmit more and more colors. At first it had begun with just three cards, next day six. She found it hard to concentrate, she was hungry. Once she said she couldn't remember them because she was hungry, then she had been force-fed until she was bloated. Now, he had told her, you are full. Now show me how clever you are. This time there were twenty cards, this time, because she was frightened, she had concentrated as hard as possible. These sessions went on every day and gradually Rebecca was able to transmit telepathically to Ruda up to twenty-five colors.

If Ruda made a mistake, she would be punished. They told Rebecca that it was her fault, that she was hurting her sister. One day Papa displayed fifty cards, and Rebecca started to cry. Papa drew back the curtain then and made her see what she had done to Ruda. Ruda sat on a high chair with things clipped to her head. A nurse held her up.

Vebekka rubbed her temples, staring at the stained glass. It began to blur, her head throbbed. She was trying to reach Ruda, just as she had done as a child. Vebekka started to cry. She could not hope to reach out to her, it was too late. If only Rosa had understood, had not been afraid, if only she had allowed Rebecca to open up the past, then she might have been able to find Ruda. Instead, she had buried Ruda alive.

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Ruda double-checked the props. Next she went to the meat trailer and asked if all the cats had eaten. She was on her way to Mamon's cage when she remembered the time. The public would soon be starting to line up. As she started back to the trailer, suddenly her head felt as though it would burst open. She gasped with pain and leaned against the side of a trailer. Ruda forced herself to carry on, telling herself she hadn't eaten. That's what it was, she had to have something to eat.

Torsen arrived at Freda's apartment building, ran his fingers through his hair, and rang the bell. She opened the door before he had finished buzzing. She had her coat over her arm, and her purse in her hand. Freda asked whether his use of the patrol car meant he was on duty. He shook his head. As they drove off he explained they were to pick up his sergeant and a girlfriend.

The two couples talked animatedly, looking forward to the show.

"How was my father today?" Torsen asked Freda.

"Well, he was very well at breakfast, but then it was snowflake time again."

Rieckert asked what she meant, and Freda explained, pulling a little bit of tissue from her purse, licking it and sticking it on the end of her nose, then blowing it off. "He does it for hours until the floor looks like there's been a snowstorm."

Rieckert laughed, nudged Torsen, and said it could be hereditary.

Torsen seethed. He would have to speak to Freda about this snowflake business, it wasn't funny. As Rieckert started to mimic his father in the backseat, Torsen got more and more uptight.

"If it were your father, you wouldn't think it was funny! It is not funny!"

Rieckert blew a fragment of tissue off his nose. "I agree! But it's one hell of a hobby!"

♦ ♦ ♦

As the baron and Helen continued walking, they passed one of the circus ads. Helen stopped dead and looked at the face surrounded by lions. Louis turned back as she pointed to Ruda Kellerman's name. "Ruda," she repeated, and then ran to hail a passing taxi.

Louis was a step behind her. "Why a taxi? The man said she was walking!"

Helen bent down to the driver. "The circus, please take us to the circus!"

♦ ♦ ♦

The parking lot was filling up: Crowds walked from the train stations and buses deposited parties near the fenced perimeter. Children waited impatiently to have their photograph taken while they sat on top of the elephant. Clowns passed leaflets and sold balloons. Speakers blasted music, and two majorettes in red sequined costumes paraded up and down banging their drums.

Ruda sat in the bedroom wearing her boots and white trousers. Her body wouldn't stop trembling. She pressed her hands together. They were wet with perspiration. She had never felt this way before, and she was beginning to get frightened. Luis ran into the trailer.