Heidegger's Glasses: A Novel (15 page)

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Authors: Thaisa Frank

BOOK: Heidegger's Glasses: A Novel
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I knew it was a bad idea, said Stumpf.
Don’t talk to me, said Lodenstein. The two of you did this behind my back.
We didn’t, said Elie.
Lodenstein picked up an artificial rose bush and smashed the pot into shards.
Then how is bringing two fugitives the same as bringing mail?
Elie kicked one of the shards.
I won’t talk about it now, she said. You’re acting like an animal.
She went back to the Solomons’ and banged the door with such force it rattled the artificial pear tree.
I did it for Elie, said Stumpf when Elie left. And the deal was for just one child.
What do you mean deal? said Lodenstein.
I mean it was for Elie, said Stumpf. She’s good-hearted, but she doesn’t think. Here—have some schnapps.
I don’t want schnapps. I want to know what’s going on.
Elie went to that town and got them. I’ll make her bring them back.
You’re a liar and a moron.
Don’t shout! It’s our private business.
Business, my ass. Lodenstein picked up the chessboard and held it over Stumpf’s head.
I could crack your skull with this, he said, and no one would know. That’s how stupid you are.
The tick above Stumpf’s eye began to skitter.
Please! he said. The walls can hear!
And indeed all the Scribes were listening. Nothing was better than a good fight. Maybe Lodenstein would murder Stumpf, and they could bury him in the woods.
I told you there would be a mess, said Ferdinand La Toya.
Maybe it’s not a mess, said Parvis Nafissian.
Believe me, it’s a mess, said La Toya. We should have written a letter after all.
Soon banging pots could be heard throughout the Compound—Stumpf, eating more than his share of sausage to quell his anxiety. Elie buried her face in the Solomons’ couch.
What is this place? said the girl.
Someone’s invention, said Mikhail.
But do people really live here? said Maria.
In a manner of speaking, said Mikhail.
Where do they sleep?
Mostly in a big room, said Talia. But you’ll sleep here.
Can I see that room? Maria asked.
Tomorrow, said Mikhail.
I wish I could see it now.
Talia and Mikhail looked at each other with disappointment. Maria, who’d been nine when they last saw her, now reminded them of Aaron before they went to Lodz—fascinated by the world, whatever that world was—and not very interested in them.
Elie turned to Dimitri. Do you want to see the room too?
No, he said. It was the first word he’d spoken.
Elie was pleased that he’d said something. She kissed him and said: Why not?
Because this is so soft, said Dimitri, patting a pillow.
Talia and Mikhail looked uncomfortable. Then Talia said: He’s so little. You two can sleep on the couch tonight.
I don’t mind sleeping in that big room, said Maria.
And there’s always room for another Scribe in there, said Elie.
Mikhail laughed. Always room for another Scribe? he said. You’re talking like the Reich.
But I’m not thinking like the Reich, said Elie. She hugged Dimitri and told Talia and Mikhail to bring him to her if he got scared.
Don’t lose sight of Maria
, Talia mouthed.
I won’t
, she mouthed back.
While they walked down the cobblestone street, Elie pointed to the frozen canopy and told Maria not to worry about the groans of pulleys and gears—it was just the sky changing from night to day and back again. Maria said the only sounds that worried her were gunshots.
No one new had arrived for almost a year, and Maria got a standing ovation from Parvis Nafissian, Niles Schopenhauer, and a man named Knut Grossheimer, who never talked to anyone. When the clapping stopped, Elie took Maria back to the street and asked if she knew about French letters—common slang for condoms. Maria said she’d gotten some from a soldier who snatched her from a line to the gas chambers, but she only needed to open one.
So that’s how she saved herself
, Elie thought. She brought Maria to her desk, showed her where to find them in the top drawer, and told her to open every single one she needed. Maria nodded and looked at the wall.
What’s all that stuff?
A jumble shop, said Elie. She pulled out a blue coat and held it to Maria’s face.
Look, she said. This coat is the color of water. It would look lovely on you.
But Maria—as if suddenly transported to when she saw her parents led to the gas chambers—said she didn’t want anything lovely. She looked very young and as though she was going to cry. Parvis Nafissian came up silently, swept the coat from Elie, and put it around Maria’s shoulders.
You’re more than lovely, he said to her.
Parvis, said Elie. She’s been through enough.
I agree, said La Toya.
What business is it of yours? said Gitka.
He’s robbing the cradle, said La Toya.
That cradle would be in a death camp if it hadn’t been robbed before, Gitka said.
She opened her fur coat and showed La Toya a black lace camisole, delicate, filigreed. La Toya turned away, and Elie remembered—not without hurt feelings—that she’d gotten Gitka’s camisole from the best corset-maker in Berlin—a favor for smuggling her son to Switzerland. She pushed aside the telescope and pulled thick fur coats to make beds for her and Maria.
Where do all these coats come from? said Maria.
Elie hesitated. Then she said:
From people who weren’t so lucky.
The Scribes were getting ready for the night. A few who hadn’t won the lottery for Elie’s old room began to push desks together so they could make love in cramped tunnels. There were sounds of scraping, bumping, paper cascading, and shouts of
Damn! But better than a bed at Auschwitz.
Elie eased into layers of coats and sat with her arms around Maria. One lamp after another went out until the room was dark.
Dearest Joseph,
I want you to know that I’m okay. The food is decent—better, they say, than at home. And there’s a woods where they keep angora rabbits. Most of all, though, I miss our walks, our dinners—and seeing your face in the morning. I think of you all the time. I can’t imagine life without you.
All my love,
Ernestine
Late that night, Elie left the Scribes asleep on desks and in tunnels and knocked on the Solomons’ door. Dimitri was sleeping on the velveteen couch, half-covered with a white afghan. Talia was asleep in the alcove. And the eternal crescent moon was shining outside a window. Elie adjusted the afghan so it covered Dimitri and felt a sense of peace. Until she saw a chess game on the piecrust table.
Was Gerhardt here? she asked Mikhail.
Good for five moves before he got furious. He said he would have gotten Maria if I’d asked him. Is she asleep?
I wouldn’t have come here if she weren’t, said Elie. In fact, she got a standing ovation. She’s beautiful. It saved her life.
I know, said Mikhail.
And Gerhardt’s right, said Elie. He would have gotten her if you asked.
I know that too, said Mikhail.
But you made a deal with Stumpf instead.
What makes you so sure?
Because Stumpf asked me to get Maria. And he told me everything.
Mikhail adjusted a lantern and leafed through a German dictionary.
Is that all you’re going to say about it? said Elie.
I had to save my niece, said Mikhail. So I put teeth into my bargain.
More like fangs, said Elie, when you mess with a fool like Stumpf.
They looked at each other evenly, not without resentment: Elie, forced to travel, unable to stop saving people; Mikhail, in seclusion, hardly able to save his niece. Elie walked over to the window and lit a cigarette. Then she said:
I was happy to save Maria. But now I want a favor.

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