One Eye Laughing, the Other Weeping (18 page)

The police were approaching them, holding a white flag of truce. Suddenly the horrible creatures began fir-ing heat rays, which burned alive spectators and police alike. There were now forty dead, and martial law had been declared. Then the radio station lost contact with the mobile unit. And then, more music.

I was afraid it was worse than monsters from outer space. I was afraid Hitler and his Nazis had found a way to cross the ocean and were coming to attack the Jews in America.

Uncle Martin tried to call the restaurant where Aunt Clara was having dinner, but no one answered. He went over to the window and pulled back the curtains — just like Max did that night in Vienna when the Nazis in their trucks came, shouting, “Kill the Jews, kill the Jews.”

I could hear Daddy on the phone with Mr. Heller, and feel Mother next to me on the couch. I turned to look at Mother, but there was no one there and then the door opened, just like it did that night, but this time it was Aunt Clara.

“Aunt Clara!” I cried, and ran to her and hugged her so tightly, I was afraid I might hurt her.

Uncle Martin told her what had happened, and she

laughed. She said there was nothing of the sort happening outside. It was such a nice night, she had decided to walk home after dinner.

She went to the telephone, laughing as she dialed, and spoke to someone she knew at
The New York Times.
He told her it was a hoax — some silly radio program, nothing more.

Mr. Esposito told me that Mrs. Lowenstein also had listened to the program and was going to swallow some poison so she could avoid the horrors of the Martian invasion from outer space. But first she had brought down her dogs for safekeeping, and Mr. Nicolson had convinced her that there wasn’t any invasion.

WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 2, 1938

Margaret is still worried that her costume doesn’t conceal all of her flying harness, and no matter how many times I assure her that it does, she continues to worry. She says if anyone in the audience sees it, it spoils the whole affect.

She comes early nearly every day to practice her fly-ing, even though she doesn’t really need to. Aunt Clara says Margaret is a dedicated and devoted actress. It’s

hard to believe she’s twenty-five — she looks so much younger.
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After
Peter Pan
, she’s going to Los Angeles to be in a movie.

FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 11, 1938

It’s so exciting coming out at night after the show is over. Thanks to the theater signs, it’s light even though it’s after ten.

There are always people waiting for Aunt Clara, Mr. Buttinger, and, of course, Margaret. But there are even some girls who are there to see me. They hold their autograph books out, and I sign them: Julie Weiss. It’s nice being so popular.

SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 13, 1938

The radio says that the unspeakable is once again happening in Vienna. A desperate Jewish boy has killed a Nazi officer to avenge the death of his parents. Nazi mobs are running wild in the streets, looting and destroying Jewish shops and burning schools, hospitals, and synagogues to the ground.

The streets are littered with broken glass. There are fires raging all over Vienna.
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MONDAY, NOVEMBER 14, 1938

I write calmly, but I feel like screaming.

The Nazis are beating people in the streets of Vienna.

They are rounding up Jews and taking them away.

Uncle Martin assures me he is making every effort to contact Daddy. He says I should be hopeful, but he looks hopeless.

And I am here. Safe and sound. Writing at my desk and sleeping in my warm bed while my father and brother are god knows where.

TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 15, 1938

After tonight’s performance, Mr. Robie asked me to come back out on the stage. I was very, very nervous. I had felt distracted throughout the play, even though I had tried my hardest to concentrate.

I could see everyone creeping back into the wings, watching and waiting to see what he wanted to talk to me about. It was embarrassing.

He said I was not saying all my words clearly, and he wanted to work on it with me right then and there.

“Say apple,” he said, and I said apple. “Again,” he said, and I repeated it.

He wanted every person in the theater to hear each syllable.

“Say apple,” he said, and I said apple. “Again,” he said, and I repeated it, feeling foolish and thinking it sounded just fine the first time.

“You’re losing the p-l-e,” he said. I was so nervous and so aware of everyone watching that I didn’t really even know what p-l-e he was talking about.

He must have seen that I didn’t, because he said, “The p-l-e in apple. Now try it again.”

“Apple,” I said.

He raised his eyebrows as if to say, “You see, there it is,” but I didn’t. He started walking backward, keeping his eyes on me, and I thought for sure he was going to fall into the orchestra pit, but he landed on his feet, saying, as he did, “Again.”

I said it louder this time, and with more emphasis. I wanted this all to end just as soon as possible.

“Again,” he said, still walking backward up the

center aisle. I said it again, but he just kept saying again, again, and again until I could hardly see him.
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He was all the way in the back of the theater, sitting in the very last row. “One last time,” he said, and I was so angry and frustrated that I spit out, “AP-PLE,” and as soon as I did, everyone in the wings burst into ap-plause and I turned to see Aunt Clara beaming.

“Now,” Mr. Robie said, “everyone can go home and get a good night’s sleep.”

WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 16, 1938

When I came in today, everyone in the cast had a shiny red apple for me as a present, which turned my face at least as red as the apples.

I am thankful I have the play to take my mind off everything else. Uncle Martin says there is still no news.

SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 20, 1938

We played a free matinee performance for orphans and poor children from around the city.

When the children entered the theater, a big bag of

candy was on every seat, with a balloon tied to the armrest. Mr. Garfinkel arranged it with Macy’s, which is the big department store near here.

I could tell it was going to be a great performance from the opening act’s first scene. Everyone sounded so much like their character and stayed that way the whole time.

Of course Margaret stole the show. Everyone in the audience held their breath as she flew over them, right up to the balcony.

She’s completely fearless. It makes me nervous just to watch her.

When it was all over, the children leaped to their feet, clapped, yelled, and stomped up and down so much that the theater was shaking from the noise.

We had to take five curtain calls.

MONDAY, NOVEMBER 21, 1938

We went to dinner with Mr. and Mrs. Garfinkel.

Uncle Martin didn’t want to go because he doesn’t like to socialize, especially with “theater people.”

But Aunt Clara put her foot down. Mr. Garfinkel said he had some special announcements to make and

invited all of us, so Aunt Clara said she wanted the whole family to be together.

It was the first time Aunt Clara said we were a family.

It was a very pretty restaurant, and everyone was most attentive to Mr. Garfinkel. They hovered over him and made sure everything was just so.

He insisted we have caviar and champagne first. I liked the caviar — it tasted like salty bubbles.

Mrs. Garfinkel didn’t stop talking for almost the whole dinner.

Mostly she talked about the new house they had just bought in Beverly Hills. Beverly Hills is in Los Angeles, where all the movie stars live. The Garfinkels have two homes now: an apartment in New York City, and the new house.

She explained that Mr. Garfinkel is going to produce movies half the year, and plays the other half.

She said if we came to visit we could stay with them because there was plenty of room. The house has a bowling alley, a billiard room, a music room (with a grand piano), a movie room (with its own projector, big screen, and seats, just like a real movie theater), a

ten-car garage, horse stables, tennis courts, and two swimming pools — one for grown-ups and one for children.

“It’s the land of milk and honey,” Mrs. Garfinkel said, lifting her champagne glass, which had pink lipstick smeared on it.

Fortunately by the end of dinner she had run out of steam. (Uncle Martin whispered in my ear that she was “stewed to the gills.”)

Mr. Garfinkel asked Aunt Clara if she ever thought about the movies. Aunt Clara looked surprised and said she hadn’t, and Mr. Garfinkel said she’d better start.

Then he announced that he was going to produce a new play, called
Our Town.
It was “destined to become one of the great plays in the history of the American theater.”

It’s about two ordinary families growing up in a small town called Grover’s Corners.

Mr. Garfinkel wants Aunt Clara and me to play mother and daughter again, just like we did in
Peter Pan.
He said he thinks we can bring “something special” to it.

I was very excited, but Aunt Clara was cool — she

can be like that if it’s something important, like a new play.

She told Mr. Garfinkel that if he sent the script over in the morning, she would give him her answer by evening.

I so hope Aunt Clara will say yes, because the tim-ing couldn’t be more perfect.
Peter Pan
is closing Friday, and Mr. Garfinkel said we could begin rehearsals for
Our Town
as soon as Aunt Clara wants.

TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 22, 1938

Mr. Esposito brought the script up as soon as the messenger arrived.

Aunt Clara and I read it sitting side by side on the couch in the sunroom. I think we were both shaken when we read what happens to Emily, the character I am to play.

Emily dies giving birth, just like Eva. I didn’t know what to do, so I just reached out and held Aunt Clara’s trembling hand.

She turned to me. I had never seen her look so serious before. “Should we do it, and can we do it?” she asked.

I didn’t hesitate for a moment. I told her that we could.
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WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 23, 1938

Aunt Clara called Mr. Garfinkel and said yes. She told him it was a miraculous and deeply moving play and that we would be honored to play Mrs. Webb and her daughter, Emily.

Rehearsals start in two weeks, so that we can open Christmas Day. Aunt Clara and I aren’t going to wait, though. We’re going to begin our own rehearsals right here in the apartment, just as soon as
Peter Pan
closes.

THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 24, 1938

Mrs. Parrish may not know how to bake a proper cheesecake, but she certainly knows how to cook a proper turkey.

Uncle Martin showed me how to split the wishbone with him. He told me to make a wish, and I’m afraid I took longer to make a wish than he had counted on, but I wanted to really think about it.

I wished I could talk to someone in my family, just once.
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FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 25, 1938

Tonight was the last performance.

The audience threw flowers until the stage was covered, and cried “Bravo!” until we left.

SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 26, 1938

Our Town
is so poetic. Each time I read it, I think something different. One time I think how terribly ter-rifying life is, and another time I think how glorious it is.

Emily has the most eloquent lines, and she’s perfect for me, or rather, I’m perfect for her. She’s dreamy, just like me, and a little too smart for her own good. (She’s the smartest student in her class, also.)

And the best part is that Emily is the best part: She’s the star!