Margot: A Novel (36 page)

Ilsa’s story, it is a nice one. It is a story of bravery and selfless
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ness and redemption. It is a story that makes Margot nothing
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more than one of the millions of other Jews who suffered, the
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ones now whose dead sisters are not icons. It is a story that
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makes me nothing more than a victim of the Nazis and then,
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somehow, like Bryda Korzynski, a survivor of them too.
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It could be the truth. It might not be. When I close my
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eyes and envision the scene, I can see it happening that way,
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just as Ilsa described. My sister insisting that I go, pushing
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me from the train. I imagine it the same way I can imagine
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my sister stepping in front of me in line, getting tattooed first.
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I cannot tell you if this is the way it happened. I wish I could.
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But I cannot.
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“You have suffered so much,” Ilsa is saying now. She
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reaches up and strokes my hair with her hand, and I lay my
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head down on her fragile bony shoulder. “Oh, my dear,” she
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whispers into my hair. “It is time for you to become whole
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again.”
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Chapter Fifty
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Eventually, Ilsa and I stand up from the bench and
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continue walking down the street. It feels strange, that noth
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ing around us looks different, that not even the air has
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changed after I have told Ilsa so much, and Ilsa has given me
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a story that I may be able to cling to.
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As we walk, I think about her words, that it is time for me
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to become whole again. What does that even mean? I wonder,
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until we hit the front entrance to John Wanamaker’s, and
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then her words begin to make sense.
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Ilsa pulls open the heavy door, but I stop, let go of her
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hand, and give her a hug. “I have to go,” I tell her.
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“Where?” Ilsa asks me.
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“There is someone I need to see,” I tell her. I think about
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that last moment in the annex with Peter, my sister, and me.
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What might have happened, had the Green Police not
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stormed in? I would’ve asked my sister what she meant, why
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she was saying his name that way. And Peter would’ve
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stood. He would’ve looked me in the eyes with confusion
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or he would’ve gone to my sister. Either way, I would’ve
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fought for him. I would not have run away—I did not run
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away; I was ripped away. And that is entirely different. I
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wouldn’t have let Peter go, just like that. I would’ve at least
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tried. The way we were together the night before, that last
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night in the annex. That meant something. I know it did. The
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way Joshua had looked at me, put his hand on my face.
I
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cannot work with you, Margie
. He was saying more than that.
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He was.
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“Someone?” Ilsa is saying now, arching her eyebrows.
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“My boss,” I say. Ilsa said it was time for me to become
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whole. And now I cannot imagine myself as someone whole,
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someone real, without Joshua.
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“Your boss?” Ilsa raises her tiny eyebrows, and her voice
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now reveals that she has also long suspected there is more
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between me and Joshua than my inability to work with mur
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derers. But I do not clarify any further.
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“I’ll call you later,” I promise her again.
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“Margie,” she says.
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“I will call you. I promise.” I hesitate for a moment. And
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then I add, “And please, don’t tell anyone the things I have
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told you.”
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“Of course,” she says. If it were anyone but Ilsa, I might
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worry, but I trust Ilsa more than I have trusted anyone since
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my blood family, and I know she will keep my secret.
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“Margie,” she says my name again. “Wait—I could come
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with you.”
“Thank you,” I tell her. “But this is something I need to do
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alone.”
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She hesitates for a moment before leaning in to give me
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another quick hug. And then she stands back and watches
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me go.
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It is nearly lunchtime by the time I arrive at the lobby of the
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office building, and as a result I have to wait a while for the
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elevator. I pace the marble-tiled floor in front of it, Ilsa’s words
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echoing in my brain.
You have suffered so much. It is time for
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you to be whole again
.
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I have been hiding for so long that it has become all I am.
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And I realize I am not even truly certain why I am still hiding,
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except now it is all I know. A promise I made so long ago that
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has no meaning anymore.
Ilsa knew. She has known for a
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while.
And yet she has said nothing until now. She has cooked
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me dinner and worried about my weight, and called me “my
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dear” as if I were her flesh and blood. Is it possible that no
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matter who a person once was, what your past is, how terrible
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that past is, that you can somehow transcend it? I thought I
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could, that I would, when I first moved to America. I thought
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my life would be free and open, and I would find Peter and
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we would marry. I did not imagine the way my father would
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put my sister’s book into the world filled with such a different
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version of life in the annex than the one I remember, the way
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that would change everything. The way everyone would know
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my story but me. But I hope that Ilsa is right, that it is not too
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late. Even now.
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Finally the elevator doors ding and slide open. A group of
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men in suits, not lawyers from the firm, but men or clients
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from one of the other companies in the building, step out,
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past me. Henry holds on to the button to keep the doors open
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for me, and I am the only one going in, the only one going up,
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at this hour of the day.
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“Miss Franklin,” Henry says, shooting me a kind smile.
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His warm brown eyes melt against my face. “I thought maybe
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you was sick today when you didn’t ride up first thing this
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morning.”
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“No,” I say. “Just a little sidetracked, that’s all, Henry.”
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Maybe I have been sidetracked for years now, I think. But I
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don’t share this thought with Henry.
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The doors open onto the seventh floor and Henry tells me
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to have a good afternoon. I smile at him and walk quickly
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toward my desk. It is empty, I see, which means Joshua hasn’t
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replaced me yet, even temporarily. Not that I would’ve
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expected him to, this fast, but still I also cannot imagine
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Joshua working efficiently without a secretary.
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Shelby is at her desk, but she does not appear to be work
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ing. She is staring at something—maybe the window by Josh
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ua’s office?—and she lets her cigarette dangle loosely in her
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right hand.
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“Shelby.” I say her name, and she jumps a little.
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Her chocolate eyes turn, then fall. I wonder if something
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has happened with her and Ron, but before I have a chance
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to ask, she is saying, “Oh, Margie, where have you been?” I
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look past her to Joshua’s glass window, trying to get the tiniest
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of glimpses of him. But I quickly see the light in his office is
off, the office dark, and that Joshua is not inside.
He’s at
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lunch, with Penny. Of course.
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Still I ask Shelby now, “Where’s Joshua?”
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“Oh,” she says. “You don’t know, do you?”
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I expect her to say it, that over the weekend, Penny and
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Joshua got engaged, that of course he could not be expected
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to work on the cusp of such a happy and exciting occasion.
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Her eyes, when she saw me, it had nothing at all to do with
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Ron. “Know what?” I ask, my voice breaking.
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“Ezra,” she says, her voice thick with a sadness that I am
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not used to from her. I turn and look at her, and there are
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tears in her eyes. One escapes and runs down her cheek. She
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quickly wipes it away.
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“No,” I whisper, not wanting to believe what she is telling
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me. If this is true, then why has no one called to tell me? But
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then I think guiltily of the way I walked out of Isaac’s on Fri
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day as Joshua called after me.
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Shelby nods. “He passed away on Saturday.”
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My fingers feel numb, the air suddenly too thick. “Where
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is he?” I whisper.
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“Ezra?”
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“Joshua?”
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“Oh.” She grabs a tissue from inside her satchel and blows
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her nose. “Margate,” she says. “He called in this morning.”
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She pauses. “He asked for you.”
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“He did?”
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She nods. “I tried to cover for you, Margie. I lied and told
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him you were in the bathroom, but he said he knew I was lying,
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that you weren’t in. Where in God’s name were you, anyway?”
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“I have to go,” I tell her. And I turn and walk back toward
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the elevator.
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“Margie,” she calls after me. “Margie.”
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I press the button for the elevator, but it is still lunchtime,
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still slow. Shelby stands up from her desk and runs over to
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where I’m standing. She puts her hand on my shoulder, and I
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turn to look at her face. Her brown eyes well up with confu
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sion and sadness. “What is going on with you?” she asks. I
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don’t answer, and the elevator doors open. Henry raises his
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eyebrows at me, in surprise, but he does not say a word.
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“Joshua really asked for me?” I say. She nods, and I step
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inside the elevator.
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“Margie,” Shelby calls after me. “Where are you going?”
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“Margate,” I say, and there is just enough time before the
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elevator doors shut for me to watch Shelby’s lips fall open in
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surprise.
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Ch
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When I reach my apartment building, I find Ilsa sit