Out of Such Darkness (17 page)

The meeting with the marketing management of Heroes of the Alamo later that day passes in less than an hour. In that time Jay’s subjected to an initial painful condolence for his loss, the embarrassment of congratulations on his survival and a brief enquiry as to whether he could see his way to completing the project on his own. When he declines, it appears that the offer was made more out of concern for his wellbeing rather than any need on the company’s side.

In the cross-town cab back to the hotel he’s scrutinising Teri who’s wearing a grey nip-waisted trouser suit. He’s imagining the body beneath. ‘That was hardly the struggle to extricate ourselves from their clutches I thought it would be.’

She smiles and places her hand in his lap. ‘It leaves us the rest of the day to explore.’

‘The Alamo?’

I think she has something else in mind.

‘I gotta get out of this suit first,’ she says.

After an early, energetic siesta, they visit the Alamo and watch the IMAX film, which, Jay tells Teri, is good but not a patch on the John Wayne version. He explains that the film made him cry when he was a boy. It’s a cynical ploy to score points on the emotions index and it’s not a surprise when she leads him back to the hotel. Later they dine in a Riverwalk trattoria.

They’re silent on the plane back to La Guardia. He’s thinking about how they should say goodbye when they leave each other and go in opposite directions – she to New Jersey, him to Westchester. Should they hug and kiss? What if somebody’s meeting her?

Consider the possibility that Rachel cancels the limo and makes for the surprise greeting at the airport. She comes at you with a big sloppy kiss? What if you and Teri walk hand-in-hand into the arrivals hall like you were still on the Riverwalk?

He has this picture in his mind when he asks, ‘You know what you said – what goes on tour, stays on tour?’

She turns and her eyes seem darker, more intensely brown than they’ve ever been. ‘Yes?’

‘Does it mean it’s over?’

She smiles and leans her head on his shoulder. Her lips are close to his ear; her breath is on his neck. Her signature perfume stings his skin. She links an arm into his and hugs it against her chest. ‘We still gotta have our weekly meetings, don’t we? It may not be the most romantic bug hutch in Connecticut but it’s our bug-hutch. Just us alone.’

Knowing this makes Jay certain that they won’t cling to each other as they walk from the plane. They’ll shake hands in farewell.

I had vowed to smuggle Wolf out of Germany. The only way I could envisage doing this would be to disguise him as my younger brother or cousin. He would need a British passport. For that I would need to go to England.

The first priority was for Wolf to have somewhere to live. What was to stop him staying in my room? Only Frau Guttchen need know. The other tenants in the other rooms would realise in time that there was somebody there but, if he kept himself to himself, Frau Guttchen could pass him off as my younger brother who was recovering from an illness. It wasn’t inspired but it would do.

I went in search of Frau Guttchen and explained the bare bones of the problem.

“So he will stay in your room, Herr Cameron.”

“Yes, and I would like you to feed him.”

She sucked air between her front teeth. “This is a cost to me. How long will you be away?”

“I don’t know yet. Two weeks at the most?”

She went to a bureau and took out a letter pad and a pencil. She wrote down figures and did some multiplications all the while working her tongue-tip along her lips. Reading the numbers upside-down, I couldn’t see any mathematical progression. She was stalling while she calculated how much she could sting me for.

Finally she wrote a number totally unconnected with what had gone before and underlined it so heavily that she broke the pencil’s lead at the end of the line. She brushed the dust away with the back of her hand. She said the number out loud.

It was my turn to suck in air but I had no choice. “It’s a very fair figure, Frau Guttchen. I will make arrangements to leave for London tomorrow.”

Wolf and I dined in my room that night on food I brought back from one of the cafes. We slept in my bed, neither of us in the mood for sex. In the morning I combed Wolf’s hair and forced him to put on one of my white shirts and a striped tie. I posed him in front of the blank wall and took some head and shoulder photographs with my Leica. I removed the film and put it with my small carrying case.

“I must go now, Wolf,” I said. I was standing with my case at my side, my raincoat over my arm.

Wolf, who was still wearing my pyjama bottoms beneath the shirt and tie, came and hugged me. The tears were dripping from his nose and chin. He smelled of a combination of bed and fresh laundry from the shirt. “Will I be safe here, Cammie?”

I pulled back and looked him in the eye while I held his forearms at his side. “As long as you stay in this room. You will have to go to the bathroom but do not linger on the landing. I’m sure Frau Guttchen wouldn’t mind emptying a chamber pot of … you know … liquid only … if you could bear to use it.”

He made a face.

“It is most important you do not go out. When I come back I hope to have a British passport for you and we will travel back to England as brothers.”

“Tell me how this will happen.”

I shook my head. “I don’t know exactly. I’m hoping my agent may know someone who has contacts. I can’t see any other way.”

“Can I tell my parents I am safe?”

“No. Have you forgotten? The SS have your papers. They may already have been to your home. Your father can’t afford to protect you. He mustn’t know where you are until you’re in London. You have to stay here secretly. Promise me you will.”

“I will. Cammie?”

“Yes?”

“I love you, Cammie. Thank you.”

We embraced again. Then I turned and left.

When the Golden Arrow pulled into Victoria Station after a difficult crossing, I took a cab the short distance to The St Ermin’s Hotel in Westminster. After my frugal existence in Berlin I felt I deserved to be looked after properly.

My problem was how to make contact with the sort of people who could produce a forged document for Wolf without opening me up to all sorts of risks. I remembered my last visits to pubs in Whitechapel. I was a Fresher at Oxford and was looking for the types of men on whom to base my Lefty MacGregor character. I had been comfortable in none of the dives that I visited and on more than one occasion had discerned that the other customers thought I was there on the lookout for ‘rough-trade’. This had made for all sorts of unnecessary complications that I find it distasteful to recall.

There was a telephone in my room so I asked the operator to put me through to Peter Everley’s number. “Evers, it’s Cameron Mortimer. I’m in London.”

“Is it finished, Mortimer? I thought you needed until the end of the year.”

“I’m well, Peter, Thanks for asking. No, I’m not here to deliver the book; I’m still working on it.”

“Oh! Well, look, welcome back. Have you left Berlin for good?”

“No, I’m here for a few days to sort something out.”

“Can I help?” His voice was hesitant – reluctant.

“It’s research.”

“About the exciting life of a literary agent?”

I chuckled. “No. Parnes has to organise a false British passport for a contact abroad. I need to know how he’d go about it. Any ideas?”

“What’s up with Lefty MacDonald?”

“MacGregor.”

“Sorry – MacGregor. Normally, you’d have Parnes send Lefty off with a five pound note and a day later he’d come back with the job done. No questions asked.”

He was right. It was exactly the job I’d have Lefty do. “Ummm. Lefty’s being held hostage. By the guy who needs the passport so Parnes is on his own.” I was conscious that the manuscript when it finally appeared on Everley’s desk would have none of this in it but I’d deal with it later.

“Hmm. Sounds like you’ve written yourself into a bit of a corner there, old chap.”

I was beginning to wish I hadn’t made the call. “So you can’t think of anything?”

“I didn’t say that, did I?”

“Well, can you?”

“I’ve got a new author. Female. Exciting talent. She has a detective book – policeman’s called Alleyn of the Yard – and she researched it closely. Shall I see if she knows somebody?”

“Who is she?”

“She’s from New Zealand. Funny first name, Nyo, spelt with a “g” in it. Last name’s easy enough – Marsh. I placed her first book with Collins. It’s out later this year –
A Man Lay Dead.
That’s why she’s in London now.
“

“Could she help?”

“Don’t know, frankly. But I could ask. As I say she’s hot on the procedural stuff. She must have some contacts in the police.”

“OK. See what you can do, Evers. Thanks.”

He called back within the hour with a lunch meeting fixed for the next day. All night I hardly slept with worry for Wolf. I hoped he was keeping out of sight in my room. At the same time I worried about this meeting with the other writer. How could she help me? This was not merely a matter of impersonal research. She could easily fob me off with the name of a policeman at Scotland Yard. I could hardly say I wanted to find a contact who knew how to forge passports because I needed one. I had to have a plan I could put into practice and quickly.

We made a strange threesome next day sitting round a table in the Grill Room in The Café Royal. I was wearing a linen summer suit which flowed off my spare frame in a particularly louche (and I thought attractive) way. Everley was his usually oleaginous self, his black hair slicked back with oil and his dark looks brooding. Then there was Miss Marsh, as Everley had introduced her, who was taller than both of us and loomed over me like a presentiment of some dark and evil future.

So much has happened to him during his two-night absence in San Antonio that Jay expects there to have been big changes at home as well. Rachel hears his obligatory cry of ‘Honey, I’m home!’ and greets him civilly enough before making tea. He goes upstairs and unpacks. He sniffs his shirts looking for any sign of Teri’s scent before putting them in the wash-bin. If it’s there he hopes the trace is faint enough not to alert Rachel unless she’s looking for signs of duplicity. He realises that he’s not used the T-shirt and shorts he packed for nightwear so he puts them back on the shelf in his wardrobe. If Rachel says anything he’ll tell her that it was too hot in the hotel to wear them.

Over tea, he describes the meeting with Heroes, making more of the company’s need for his help and their request for Straub, DuCheyne to execute the contract. He feels bad about painting the decent people he met in San Antonio in a poor light but he has to justify a whole day in their company.

Feeling that his story holds up better with a good seasoning of truth, he tells Rachel about the Riverwalk and his meal alone at
Dick’s Last Resort
. He describes seeing the women in red hats and purple dresses and his brief visit to the Alamo. He declares that he would like to take Rachel to San Antonio someday. He says much less about a fictitious visit to a second company the next morning. ‘It was only a courtesy call ’cos I was in the area.’

“Cos”? Where is that coming from? She’ll suspect.

He’s talking too much. The circumstances in which he was able to connect the English thriller writer Cameron Mortimer with the old man in the nursing home flash into his head. Having made the connection to Willy Keel, he’ll follow it up as soon as he can make the time. He’s desperate for it to lead to Isherwood. He retains the vision of Teri reading the article naked in bed.

Focus on
now
, Jay. Look at the way your wife’s brow is furrowed.

He asks Rachel for her news.

She sighs. ‘Nothing much here. I’ve arranged a quote for the removals back home and I’m looking at flights. The best deal is if we fly on Christmas Day itself. How would you feel about that?’

$3 million and she’s worried about the cost?

‘One answer, Rache, is to mention $3 million. Do we
really
have to find the cheapest flight?’

‘We haven’t got our hands on the money yet. I’ll believe it when I see the cheque. Until then
…
’ She sips her tea.

‘Okay, but we
are
going business class.’

Her eyes widen. ‘Is there any other way?’ She puts her hand flat on the table between them. ‘As far as Christmas is concerned, we’re Jewish aren’t we? It means nothing to us.’

‘Mmm. Got me there. But somehow Christmas should be special–’

Won’t the cabin staff be drunk?

Jay ignores the interruption. ‘It doesn’t seem right. Why not do Christmas here and leave on the day after Boxing Day? Perhaps we could have a little celebration before we leave.’

She shrugs. ‘I’ll look at the deals for December 27th then.’

He puts his hand over hers. ‘Good! Any news on Ben?’

Rachel tells him that they’ve increased the frequency of rehearsals for
Cabaret
to every lunchtime. Ben’s nervous about his performance because of Rabbi Stern’s activities but he’s determined to do his best in the role. He’s also trialled for soccer and is training with his year-team.

‘Have you told the school he’s not going back?’

‘No, not yet. I’ll wait until we have a date.’

‘Be best if you don’t tell them. He may not be picked for the team if they know he’s not permanent.’

Rachel nods.

At the synagogue next day, during the community announcements, Rabbi Zwyck departs from the usual rota of studies, shul and youth groups. ‘I’ve asked for God’s guidance in the subject of the Jefferson High School production,
Cabaret
. As you know a visitor member of our community
…
’

Jay sees heads turn towards him and the heat rushes to his face. He knows that Ben alongside him will be blushing, looking down at his shoes. The harder Jay tries to maintain a mask the more a tic develops in front of his right ear. All the eyes in the building are burning into him.

However, for me it’s good to be the centre of attention. It’s like old times.

‘
…
Ben Halprin is taking an important role in the production. Speaking personally, I’m relaxed about this. I’ve talked to Ben and his father and both of them understand the spirit in which the musical was written – not to glorify Nazism but to emphasise its bigotry and hatred. The song Ben sings is a pivotal moment in the play’s narrative. The second time Ben sings his song, the dominant theme shifts from the decadent light-headedness to a darker, chilling portent of the future. What at first hearing was a charming folk song becomes a rallying cry for the resurgent country behind banners that we all find distasteful and shocking, and which are, to some of us, terrifying.’

A low murmur of assent gathers pace like the rumble of faraway artillery.

‘But I say this, members of our Bar Shalom community: we should support the production. Don’t be afraid to go. We must not be scared to confront the past. Rabbi Stern over at Beth El disagrees. I respect his right to do so. But I think he’s wrong. I pray for Ben and his family – that they have the strength to see this through.’

At the end of the service Jay hangs back and shakes Rabbi Zwyck’s hand. ‘Thank you for what you said. It was kind.’

‘I was only speaking God’s truth as I see it.’

He nods. ‘Well thank you anyway.’

‘Mr Halprin – Jay, you’ll know better than most here that Americans are not good at irony.’ She shrugs. ‘Jews? We
do
irony. The way those boys wrote that song into the play, it’s subtle and this is what gives it so much power. I hope Mr Costidy understands this. If the school and your Ben can pull off this song half as well as they do in the film it will bring a lot more force to the message of the play. I hope he can do it.’

‘I’m certain Ben can – and will,’ Jay says.

It’s on the drive home from the temple that Jay decides to visit Rabbi Stern and put his point of view.

Beard the lion in his den. I like it.

Rabbi Stern has agreed to see Jay and they’re meeting in a coffee shop close to the orthodox synagogue in Burford Station. The rabbi is drinking hot chocolate and Jay, who has already had his strong coffee for the day, has taken a decaffeinated long black. The rabbi’s not as Jay expected. He’d anticipated the large-lensed spectacles correctly, but his other imaginings – that the rabbi would be round-shouldered and wizened – are well wide of the mark. He’s tall and broad. His hair is tight with salt-and-pepper curls.

‘My mother was a Jew in Berlin,’ he says in answer to Jay’s opening question about what’s wrong with the school play. ‘She had a policeman friend who told her about Kristallnacht the day before it happened. She took refuge in a hotel but the SS arrested her husband and all the Jewish men in their street and took them to Sachsenhausen. The SS tortured him there – he had heart trouble – he died.’

‘Your father?’

The rabbi smiled grimly. ‘Kristallnacht was in 1938, Mr Halprin. How old do I look? I was born in 1949 after my mother married a second time.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘No matter. The point is that the Hakenkreuz was then and still is a symbol of oppression for my family and my people. Under it, my mother had to do unspeakable things to survive. Jews betrayed Jews. We were forced to be Judas-goats leading others of our kind into their so-called showers …’

Join the shuffling line. Keep schtum. Take the shower.

‘On pain of immediate death, Jews had to wrest the gold teeth out of the mouths of the dead. Jews had to throw the emaciated bodies of other Jews into mass graves.’

The burdens … so many.

Jay’s confused by the MC. Where’s this stuff coming from? He needs to calm the rabbi down. ‘But your mother survived.’

‘She stayed out of the camps. Her police friend organised false papers. She lived through the war as an Aryan.’ He uses a paper napkin to dab a line of chocolate from his lips. He takes a deep breath. ‘Anyway, back to your son.’

‘Yes. You know the show isn’t pro-Nazi – far from it.’

‘I know all this, Mr Halprin. The show is anti-Nazi. The writers were Jewish.’ He’s counting on his fingers. ‘The song, your son’s song chills the audience and ushers in the darkness – I know all this.’

‘So why–’

‘The things I described earlier, they happened while the swastika fluttered over most of Europe. How can our town’s school ask a Jewish boy to wear that awful insignia? The holocaust is still a personal thing for so many Jews, Mr Halprin. We lived with our parents’ guilt that they survived. We knew the people who died in the Shoah. They were our grandparents and their parents. To see a Jew wearing the Hakenkreuz and have the audience clap and cheer, it’s not right.’

Jay shrugs. ‘We don’t know for sure that Ben qualifies as Jewish. We won’t know properly until we go back to England. Rabbi Zwyck tells us that the families’ synagogues will have records. These together with our birth certificates …’

‘Rabbi Zwyck may be correct in this. Who knows? But with your names and background I would say you’ll be confirmed as Jewish.’ His twisted smile appears again, accompanied by an exaggerated shrug. ‘Why would a gentile claim to be a Jew?’

‘What if he isn’t?’

‘Who knows? Have you seen the show? The audience is very wound up as the first half closes with your son’s song. There is an ambiguity – are they cheering the flags? Do they applaud the swastika that they see for the first time? We’re not happy. Mr Costidy doesn’t understand that our preference would be for the school not to put on this particular production. If it has to be
Cabaret
– why not some other symbol?

‘But he will do it. We have Rabbi Zwyck’s support … and her congregation’s.’

‘Rabbi Zwyck is a fine woman but she’s not
…
’ he tails off. ‘Look, Mr Halprin. I’m proud to have become a citizen of this great country. I’m proud that we have freedom of speech. Mr Costidy should have the right to put on the production. Your son should have the right to play this part. I don’t agree but wasn’t it a British politician who said he would defend such rights with his life?’

It was Voltaire – he was French.

‘I think it was Voltaire – French.’

Stern sticks out his bottom lip and nods. ‘Voltaire? I must look it up. But I and my congregation – we have the right to say it shouldn’t be so. We have the right to disagree.’

Jay nods. ‘I can understand what you’re saying. I can’t argue with it. As long as it doesn’t affect my boy.’

‘In my experience teenage boys can stand being the centre of attention better than we realise.’ He steeples his fingers under his chin. ‘We can agree to disagree on this then, Mr Halprin? ’

‘Jay. Call me Jay.’

‘You know, Jay, you’re an interesting man.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘I’m referring to your escape from the towers.’

Here it comes.

Jay examines the bottom of his coffee mug.

‘God has given you a new start. What an opportunity!’

Butt out, Rabbi! This is Elayna’s job.

‘What do you mean?’ Jay stretches his neck to alleviate the tension building around his collar bones.

‘You’re already some way along the path by returning to the faith.’

Jay spreads his hands. ‘I’m confused more than anything. We’re going back to the UK. After that …’

‘Perhaps there you’ll find the opportunity to dedicate your life … fulfil your destiny.’

‘I have no sense of destiny – I don’t know what it feels like.’

I’ve told you.
I know enough about destiny for both of us.

‘You’ll know it when it comes – a sign from God perhaps.’ Stern stands and offers his hand. ‘It’s been good to meet the enemy, Mr Halprin. Unbridled antipathy of a personal nature is seldom warranted.’

Jay takes the hand and shakes it. ‘I agree, Rabbi. I agree.’

When Jay arrives home, Rachel tells him there’s a phone message: Prentice Chervansky has set aside some books for him.