The Forgotten (36 page)

“Brain tumor.”

“I’m so sorry.” His face filled with self-loathing as he shook his head. “God, that was rude of me.”

“I don’t feel bad about the question. You shouldn’t, either. Can we go somewhere and talk?”

“Yes.” He nodded vigorously. “Yes, of course. Upstairs. This way.”

She walked by his side as they climbed the stairs. Confessing her own baggage had humanized Rina in the man’s eyes. She knew that. But it seemed like such a crass thing to do. Actually, it had slipped out. Yitzchak had been dead for over a decade. She had been married longer to Peter than she had to him. He crossed her mind on occasion, but rarely when she was awake. In dreams…the dreams were always so real…his asking why she hadn’t waited for him. The guilt was overwhelming when she awoke. It made no sense, but there it was anyway. Maybe she felt guilty because in her dreams he never, ever scolded. A sharp tongue wasn’t Yitzchak’s style.
In her first marriage, she had been the volatile one. Funny how things change.

Golding led her into the upstairs powder room. It held just a toilet and a small pedestal sink topped with a round, beveled mirror. She found her reflection disconcerting because in Jewish homes, mirrors were covered during the first month of mourning. Golding locked the door, put down the toilet-seat cover, and offered it to her.

“I’m fine,” Rina said. “Why don’t you sit?”

Golding didn’t argue. “I appreciate your coming here, Mrs. Decker. And so early.”

“I’ve actually been up since five-thirty.”

“You should have called me. I was up.”

Rina smiled.

Golding said, “Is that your normal time to get up?”

“It’s early for me. But I had things to do. First, I went to the police station to badger my husband into releasing to me some more photographs from the evidence room—”

“What photographs?”

“Evidence left behind after the synagogue was vandalized—and those from your son’s room.”

“The pictures of the dead bodies?” Golding dropped his head between his knees. “My father! What did he do?”

“Carter, I would never come here at a time like this and deliver bad news. Let me get this out, and then you can ask all the questions you want.”

Slowly, he straightened up. “It’s not bad?”

“No, it’s not bad—”

“Just complicated.” Golding looked up. “I’m sorry. Go on.”

There was a twist of the outside doorknob.

“I’m in here,” Golding shouted. “Go away.” The sound of retreating footsteps. He let out a bitter chuckle. “I’m too distraught to be polite. Go on.”

Rina cleared her throat. “A lot of this is conjecture, but I think this may have happened. While looking through papers
and old documents for research to write his family history assignment, Ernesto found these horrible snapshots—”

“Do you think I should see them?”

“They’re graphic, but yes, after I finish my story, you might want to see them. May I finish first?”

“Of course.”

“Ernesto found these pictures among your father’s effects. Then he began to delve deeper, finding inconsistencies about his grandfather’s emigration to America. He thought the worst…which is a terrible shame because I spoke to someone who might have had contact with your dad when your father was a boy—when they both were boys actually. I showed him the most recent picture you gave me—the one of you, your father, and your two sons. He didn’t recognize your father. Instead, he thought that your son, Karl, resembled a man he had met in his youth.”

“Karl looked like my dad.” Carter was excited. “It’s true. Everyone thought they looked alike. Who is this man?”

“He’s one of the handful of men who survived Treblinka.”

“So my father was in the camp?”

“I don’t think so. I am telling you about a young boy of around sixteen—a Pole, not a Jew. This was around 1943, right before Treblinka was burned down by the Nazis. This young boy, the son of a Polish policeman, used to sneak into the outside perimeter of the camp and go right up to the electrified gates. He used to take pictures of the inmates: some were living, some were dead. I don’t know why he took the pictures. But I do know that by taking the pictures, the boy risked his own life. He was not a member of the SS, and if he had been caught, he would have been shot. Plus, the boy gave the inmates food—ersatz bread, bits of carrots and turnips and potatoes…once even strawberries. All food was a luxury. At that time, food was very scarce, not only for the inmates but for all of Poland. So what he did was very, very generous. It’s possible that this boy was your father.”

Carter’s breathing was audible and shallow. He whispered, “What was this boy’s name?”

“I don’t know. Neither did the man I spoke to.”

“So who is Isaac Golding?”

“I have no idea. Ernesto had information stating that Yitzchak Golding had died in Treblinka. But I don’t know where that information came from.”

“If my father didn’t do anything, why take on that name?”

“Maybe he didn’t, but maybe his parents did because they needed the name of dead people to escape the tribunals and get false passports. I’m not saying that happened, but who knows? Or maybe your father took on the name because it was the name of a concentration-camp inmate who made an impression on him. Maybe he did it to honor him. Perhaps you can find out. There are many records and lists. You know Yitzchak Golding was sent to Treblinka. If you search hard enough, maybe you’ll find the history of Yitzchak Golding somewhere. It depends how far you want to take this.”

No one spoke for a moment. From the outside, someone was twisting the doorknob.

“It’s occupied—”

“Sorry,” answered a muffled voice from behind the door.

Finally, Golding spoke. “This man that you spoke with. He’s reliable?”

“As reliable as they come, considering that he’s in the ninth decade of his life. He doesn’t know the boy’s name, and he doesn’t know who Yitzchak Golding was. But he said the photographs were pictures of Treblinka. He could make out the wire fence.” Rina looked away, and wiped her wet eyes. “It was excruciatingly hard for him to look at these pictures. But he did it to give you resolution, because he didn’t want anyone to suffer. He called the boy photographer a minor hero. If that was your father, you should feel good about it.”

“And if it isn’t?”

“As I said, it depends how far you want to take it.”

“He called my father a minor hero?”

“Yes.”

“My father was a minor hero. Your husband said that my son might have died a minor hero…trying to do the right thing. He was probably just trying to make me feel better.”

“No, that’s not Peter,” Rina said. “If he told you that your son was trying to do right, then it’s the truth.”

No one spoke.

Rina said, “You know, most people never even get close to being any kind of a hero—major or minor. You have two of them.”

“You mean, I
had
two of them.” Carter’s cheeks were tear-slicked. He stood up. “Thank you for everything you’ve done, Mrs. Decker. And so quickly.”

“It wasn’t anything, Carter. And please, call me Rina. We’ve both bared enough pain to be on a first-name basis.”

There were cops
outside Ruby’s hospital room, their guns catching Jacob’s eyes. Peter told him to hold on for a moment, leaving him about three doors away from hers. He watched his stepfather talk to the uniforms and plainclothesmen assigned to the watch. It took about five minutes, then Peter stepped away and came to him, a concerned look on his face.

“She’s still a mess. Not more than five minutes, all right?”

“You’re bending a few rules?” Jacob asked.

“It’s not a problem as long as you’re quick.”

“I’ll make you look good.” Jacob tossed him a smile. But he was nervous. The first step was the hardest. After that it was just a matter of placing one foot in front of the other. He stopped at the threshold. The bed nearest the door was empty: hers was on the right side, closest to the window. She was surrounded by medical apparatus—monitors, IV lines, and machines that bleeped.

He tiptoed over until he was in talking distance. She didn’t notice him. How could she notice him? She seemed incapable of moving her head. The smell was strong and unpleasant. Jacob wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, staring as the seconds ticked on.

Her eyes were closed, her head a turban of bandages. What showed through was red and raw and swollen. A swath of
gauze cut through the center of her face, hiding her nose and cheeks. He could see chipped teeth through her mangled lips.

She had been in the hospital for three days. She had asked for him. It had taken him a full twenty-four hours to shore up his courage.

The eyelids lifted, her brown orbs swimming in a sea of jaundice yellow and blood red. They glommed on to Jacob and looked him up and down. She muttered. He couldn’t understand, so he stepped closer.

She whispered, “You’ve grown.”

Jacob licked his lips. “Couple of inches.”

“What are you?” she slurred out. “Six, six-one?”

“A little under six, actually. The shortest male in my family.”

“Yeah…” Breathy voice. “Your old man is real tall.”

“He doesn’t count.” Jacob winced. “I mean he doesn’t count genetically. He’s my stepfather.”

“That’s right.” As Ruby moved her head, her eyes registered pain. “So what’d you tell him?”

“Everything.”

The purple lids raised a fraction of an inch.

“I had to tell him about the place, so I had to tell him everything.” Jacob forced himself to look at her. “He felt your life was in danger.”

She closed her eyelids. “Pretty good for a kike…never thought a prick like you…would do it.”

Jacob didn’t respond, staring at her bandaged face. “I guess the fantasy of rape is better than the reality.”

The lids snapped up, her expression ugly and angry. “You shit!”

His voice rose. “I became dirt in my father’s eyes to save your life, and you have the gall to call me a kike and a prick?”

“Shut the fuck up, okay?” She was breathing heavily. She spoke softly and slowly. “Worse things in life than being a kike and a prick.” She closed her eyes again. “I’m going to jail. Not for the murders—I didn’t know—but for computer
stuff. I’ve got half of Quantico outside.” An attempt at a smile. “Like I could go somewhere.”

Jacob didn’t answer.

“I’m first…time felon with an…abusive father. I should get probation. No chance. Too many people dropped. I gotta do time.”

“I’m sorry,” Jacob lied.

“No you’re not.”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

The shredded lips formed something that approximated a smile. “Whatever! I’ll sell the movie rights for millions. Besides…dykes are okay. I like boys better, but…I can suck pussy better than any guy.”

“You rock, Ruby.”

“Fuck you, Lazarus!” she sneered. “Self-righteous asshole. Your God may have prevented you from putting on the uniform…but He couldn’t stop you from rutting like a pig. You loved it, man.”

Jacob felt the stab down to the core. He tried to slough it off like dead skin. “I’m sure I would have had I been conscious.”

“Yeah? Rationalize it, baby! First, you were zonked, later…it wore off. You woulda nastied all night,
Yonkie,
if
I
hadn’t stopped you!”

Slam dunk on that one! Jacob wilted. He couldn’t look at her. “So I liked it. So what?”

“So what? You hated me…but you still fucked me. What does that say about you?”

“It says I’m an idiot. Congratulations, Ruby. You humbled me.”

She managed to crank up a smug smile. But it didn’t last long. Moments later, tears formed in her eyes. “Write to me in prison?”

Such longing in her voice. It shocked him. But his hatred outweighed his compassion. “No, I’m not going to write to you.”

“How about a birthday card? For your first girl?”

He turned to her and saw red, wet eyeballs…tears falling down the bandages. She was crying blood. Her voice had come out small and shaking…pleading with him just like she had done that night. Then the naked truth dawned on him. Through all the bravado, all the venomous words she had slung at him, she had actually liked him. He looked at her heart monitor, watching it record the
s
and
p
cardiac waves that he had learned about in biology. Yep, even Ruby had a heart. “When’s your birthday?”

“August twenty-fifth.”

“Okay. I’ll send you a birthday card.”

No one spoke.

Ruby closed her eyes. “You were the number one hottie, Lazarus…the wet dream of every bitch at the rages. Which is why
I
got you. Once you figure out…what to do…I’m sure you’ll make some nice
Jewish
girl very happy.”

The put-down sounded surprisingly good to Jacob’s ear. “I certainly hope so.”

That was his exit line. Wordlessly, he turned and left the room. His stepfather was down the hall, talking to some official, but he broke off the conversation when he saw Jacob approaching.

“Ready?” Decker asked.

Jacob nodded.

They walked without speaking, down the long corridors, passing a pink-clad orderly wheeling a cart of blood vials. When they were alone and out of earshot of anyone else, Decker said, “You’re not dirt.”

Jacob blushed. “Exactly how much did you hear?”

“Overhear,” Decker corrected. “Not much after that. You lowered your voice.”

“I was shouting?”

“You were expressing your displeasure at being called a kike and a prick. Also, I didn’t want to hear any more, so I walked away.”

“That was nice of you.”

“Believe it or not, I try to respect your privacy.”

They walked a few moments in silence.

Decker said, “I’ve been a disappointment to you, haven’t I?”

Jacob stopped and stared. “What?”

“When I married Eema, you thought you’d get a real hero of a dad. Someone to protect you and keep the bogeyman away. And maybe I’ve done that. But you were also banking on a buddy—someone to ride horses with, to play ball with…maybe coach your team, a confidant to have long, meaningful talks with. Instead of a pal, you got saddled with a sullen adult male who not only works all the time but who took your Eema away from you.”

Jacob swallowed hard, his eyes never leaving Peter’s face. “I don’t think that at all.”

“Yes, you do. You’re just being polite.” Decker headed toward the elevator with Jacob in tow. Arriving at the bank of lifts, he punched the down button and waited without talking. “Take last night. Even after I smacked your face, you came up to me to say good-bye. Instead of giving you my full attention for thirty seconds, I brushed you off because I was preoccupied—”

“It was understandable.”

“It was unnecessary. How long does a hug and kiss take? I’m sorry you got such a raw deal.”

The elevator chimed. Neither spoke as they rode the cage down to the parking lot.

When they stepped out, Jacob said, “You’ve got it all wrong. I’ve been the big disappointment. I’ve caused you and Eema nothing but grief. I sometimes wonder why you put up with me. I know you have to because you’re married to my mother, but it goes beyond that. I know you try hard. And I’m not even yours biologically. Or maybe that’s why you can toss it off—”

Decker spun around and grabbed Jacob’s shoulders. “You and Sammy are as much my sons as Cynthia and Hannah are my daughters. Blood relationship or not, no matter what
would happen to Eema—God forbid—you are stuck with
me
for the rest of your friggin’ life.”

Jacob managed a wet smile. “You make it sound like a death sentence.”

“Ask Cindy. I’m sure at times she feels that way.”

“It’s fine with me, Dad. I love you.”

Decker hugged him so hard, he could hear the bones crack. “I love you, too, Jacob. And I’m going to miss you terribly. All these years have passed…I can’t get them back. I’m sorry—”

“Stop saying that!” Jacob lowered his voice. “Just…” He broke away, then looped his arm around his stepfather’s waist. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Good idea.”

They headed toward the car.

Jacob said, “She said she’s going to prison.”

“I’m not her lawyer, but I would say that’s correct.”

“For computer hacking or for the murders?” He wiped his eyes. “She claimed she didn’t know what Moke was doing.”

“And you believe her?”

Jacob thought a moment, then shook his head.

Decker said, “Do you like her?”

“No. I think she’s detestable!”

“But you’re still attracted to her.”

“If you like mummies.”

Silence.

Jacob sighed. “Maybe.”

“It’s understandable.” Arm in arm, they walked through the sea of vehicles, trying to find the car.

“You did a really good job the other night,” Jacob said. “I was bowled over, how you just took command…had things all figured out in, like, no time. It made me proud to be your son.”

Decker allowed himself a slight smile. “Thank you. You couldn’t have said anything nicer.” He looked away. “I still think you should let me tell your Eema about my dragging you down—”

“She’ll only yell at both of us, Dad.”

“She should know about my stupidity.”

“Then she’ll find out about my stupidity. Frankly, who needs the friction? Besides, it was neat…being on the edge like that. It had a certain pulse.”

“You talk as if you enjoyed it, Yonkeleh.”

“A little…a lot, actually.”

“Don’t say that!” Decker cried out. “You’ll give your mother a heart attack.”

“So we won’t tell my mother that, either. Another little secret.” He sighed. “Lord knows we’ve had enough of them over the past couple of years.”

Decker threw his hand over his son’s shoulder. Jacob was so young, yet weighted down. “I know I have zero credibility with you, but you’ll be all right. It’ll work out, Yonkeleh.”

“Sure it will.”

“It will. All you need is a brilliant, stunningly beautiful, wonderful, Jewish, religious girl with a sexy body and an overactive libido.”

“Right!”

“They do exist—”

“No, Dad, they
don’t
exist!”

“Oh, they do.” A slow smile spread across Decker’s face. He raised his eyebrows. “Believe me, they do.”

Jacob stared at him. “Eeeuw!”

“Eeeuw?”

“Yes, eeeuw. Stop smiling like that! That’s my mother!”

“We all come into the world the same way, Yonkel, both prince and bastard—”

“
Stop!
I love my mother!”

“I love your mother, too. Just a little bit…
differently
than you do—”

“Oh, gross!” He stalked off toward the car.

Decker smiled broadly, sticking his hands into his pants pockets. Poor Jacob. He thought he had invented sex.