The Ghost of Greenwich Village: A Novel (35 page)

Much like she was.

Well, she wasn’t completely powerless, she thought, putting down her fork. She put the plastic cover back on the turkey, slid it into the fridge, and picked up the phone.

   
• • •

In the doorway, Klieg put his warm, smooth palms on Eve’s cold cheeks and pressed, smiling down at her. “What bad luck,” he said, referring to her story that she’d had to call off her dinner party because her pipes had frozen. He stepped aside so she could enter. “But as it happens, this works out very well.”

Eve let Highball off her leash. “It’s no trouble that we’re here?”

“Far from it. Günter was supposed to go to Germany to be with his parents, but his flight was canceled due to the weather.” He gestured at the snow blowing sideways outside, before closing the door.

“Weren’t you going as well?” asked Eve, shrugging out of her wrap.

“No. My brother, Henrik, and I are not on the best of terms.” It was clear he didn’t want to discuss it. “So it is just Günter and me this evening, and frankly, we could use the buffer.”

Eve had stopped on the way to buy Klieg a present, a new edition of Dawn Powell’s
The Happy Island
. “It’s one of my favorites. I hope you’ll like it,” she said, handing it to him.

“It goes on the top of my stack,” said Klieg, and led the way up to the drawing room, where the Christmas tree rose high into the air and glittered with white lights and tasteful silver drops. He poured champagne and after they toasted he smiled wanly at her.

Just then Günter entered. He’d shaved off the tips of his rather long sideburns since Eve had last seen him, and there was a tiny patch of very white skin just in front of each ear. As Eve reached out to shake his hand, she inadvertently swayed forward on her toes. “Excuse me,” she said, trying not to look foolish as she used his chest to brace herself.

“Hello,” he said, tightening his mouth slightly in what might have been a smile or a grimace. He dropped his hand to his blazer pocket, pulled out a rubber ball shaped like a Christmas
ornament, and looked questioningly at Eve. When she nodded, he threw it for Highball, who skidded after it, up and down the highly glossed wood floor. They made small talk for a few minutes and watched the dog, Eve trying to assess relations between Klieg and his nephew. There seemed to be some kind of holiday cease-fire but still little warmth.

Marie served dinner in the formal dining room, which looked enchanting, with tapered candles at least two feet high running down the center of the table and the wainscoting draped with evergreen garlands. A roast goose held center stage on the sideboard along with a suckling pig. These were surrounded by silver bowls of jellies, white sausages, macaroni salads, and wire baskets of bread called Christstollen.

Klieg took a seat at the head of the table, Eve and Günter on either side. Klieg bowed his head and delivered a short prayer in German, and Eve was touched by the earnestness of his tone and the humility of his posture. She wondered what he prayed for.

Klieg poured them all big glasses of wine so dark it looked almost black. “How should we translate
Dickbauch
?” he asked his nephew.

“Fat stomach,” said Günter. Eve looked quizzically back and forth between them and Günter continued. “It is what the superstitious aspire to on the holiday. Tradition states that those who do not eat well on Christmas Eve will be haunted by demons during the night. Hence, enough food for an army, even for just three,” he said, cutting through a crispy piece of goose. “Of course, some suffer demons either way,” he said, under his breath.

Klieg did not seem to have heard the last part. In fact he appeared cheered by his nephew’s relatively lengthy speech. “Ah, yes,” he said, wiping his mouth. “We have many traditions and fables surrounding this day. Legend has it that in Germany on Christmas Eve the rivers turn to wine, the animals speak, mountains split open to reveal precious gems, and church bells can be heard ringing from the bottom of the sea.”

Eve smiled, thinking it sounded as magical as New York had appeared to her when she’d first arrived. And sometimes, despite everything, enchantment still revealed itself slyly through cracks in the everyday.

Klieg took a sip of water and continued, “Unfortunately, only the pure of heart can see these magical happenings.”

Günter nodded silently, just once, then occupied himself with his usual exercise in textbook dining while feeding Highball none too surreptitiously under the table.

Since she took a sip of wine at every awkward silence, by the end of dinner Eve was quite drunk. But afterward, when Klieg urged her, she accepted a glass of brandy by the fire in the drawing room. Highball curled up by the large window, the coolest spot in the room, and Klieg went to the antique gramophone and put on what sounded like German folk music. He swayed to the lilting accordion melody. “Remember this dance, Günter?” he asked, his eyes twinkling slightly as he looked at his nephew in the flickering light. “You were quite good at it as a child.”

“Only because Louisa was such a good teacher.”

“How did Louisa come to be an expert at German folk dance?” asked Eve.

“It was the enthusiasm of the émigré, I suppose,” said Klieg. “We did not live in Germany very long but while we were there she was determined to become part of things. The dancing she kept up long after we left.”

Günter got up to poke the fire.

“While you are up, why not show Eve how it’s done?” said Klieg.

Eve wanted to crawl under one of the damask pillows on the Regency sofa. Günter might be behaving civilly but this was no reason to push it. Indeed, he said nothing, just busied himself scraping ash with a small, flat shovel.

“Günter.
Es ist Weihnachten
,” prodded Klieg.

“Yes, Uncle.” Günter straightened and came toward Eve. “It
will be my pleasure.” He offered his hand and led her to the open area just in front of the hearth, where he faced her.
“Frölicher Kreis,”
he said.

“I’m sorry?” Eve couldn’t say she’d ever been a fan of the German language; its rasp seemed almost deliberately unpleasant. But there was something provocative about Günter’s particular elocution. Some months ago, when talking about an ex-boyfriend, Gwendolyn had used the term “sexy ugly,” and Eve thought this was as good a way as any to describe the sound of Günter speaking his native tongue.

“It means ‘the Happy Circle.’ It is supposed to be a dance for eight.” He held up his palms to face her and nodded for her to do the same. He took a step backward and she did, too, so their arms were fully extended. Then, waiting for the beat, they stepped in, and out again. In, then out again. Suddenly, he came around the side, put a stiff arm around her waist, and began to promenade her quickly in a small circle.

Eve looked over her shoulder at Klieg as they moved past him. He smiled, but at something, or someone, far beyond them.

After a few moments, Günter’s posture relaxed slightly. Eve leaned in. “Why are you so difficult with your uncle?” she whispered under the music.

“You do not know what you are talking about,” he replied.

“He’s an old man. Can’t you be a bit kinder to him?”

“It is he who is unkind to me.”

“I can’t believe that. I mean, I know he can be moody, but he means well.”

“He only brings himself to be pleasant when you are around.”

“What do you mean?” she asked as they faced one another again with their palms touching.

“He mopes all day. When he does talk, it is to complain. Except, every once in a while, he waxes poetic. About you,” said Günter, as they stepped in and out again. “As if you are the child he never had or something.” Eve looked at Klieg, who was nodding
to the music, but Günter wasn’t done. “I used to be special to him. I was the only child of the next generation, which is why he wanted to groom me for his business. But even though I wouldn’t pin his dresses for him, he adored me. Spoiled me terribly.”

“So what happened?”

“When Louisa died, he sank into a bad humor. This was to be expected, of course. But it never ended. Even I, who always brought a smile to his face, could do nothing to cheer him. I tried so often to please him, but it was impossible.”

“That must have been difficult.”

“And now. I accepted this post in New York to be near him. It is not easy for me at the lab, but I stay with it because all I want is to have back what we once had, the closeness. Our whole family feels it is now or never, that if the rift continues much longer, we will lose him forever. So I keep trying. But it seems there is only one person who can make him smile, and it is not me.”

“I’m sorry.” Eve realized for the first time that it was pain, far more than anger, that animated Günter.

“What is the connection between you?” asked Günter. “You have an uncanny similarity to my aunt; even I have noticed this. At first I thought that was it. But when I see you together, it seems there is something else.”

“I don’t really know,” said Eve.

Suddenly, he whirled around and placed his hand on her shoulder and put hers on his own. They clasped hands underneath and went round and round. “Perhaps you hope he will fall in love with you? Perhaps you think you will get his money?”

Eve dropped her arms and stepped back, looking at him with utter incredulity.

“I’m sorry,” Günter said. “That was rude. I forget myself. Please.” He held out his hand. She took it reluctantly, thinking he really did look repentant and not wanting Klieg to know anything was wrong.

“I think he likes me because I let him tell his stories,” she said as they picked up the steps again. “People need to do that, you know.”

“Does he have stories to tell?”

“Yes.”

“About what?”

“Why don’t you ask him and see for yourself?”

“I have tried. Uncle doesn’t make it easy. Half the time, he seems lost, in another place. Like right now,” he said, nodding toward Klieg, whose eyes were closed. “Sometimes I don’t even think he sees me.”

Eve thought of herself as a child, playing on the floor of her mother’s room, facing Penelope’s back. “I’m sure that hurts,” she said. She recognized by the music that it was time to go back to the promenade, and she turned, putting her hand against the small of her back for him to grasp.

“What about you?” Günter asked as they walked the circle.

“What do you mean?”

“Something is wrong, is it not?” Without his help, the fire sputtered and the room had grown dim.

“What makes you say that?” she asked, stumbling slightly.

“You seem different tonight. I noticed during dinner. Though you did your best to appear your usual charming self, I have a feeling something is not right.”

Eve’s cheeks grew hot and she looked over her shoulder at Klieg. His eyes were closed and his chin rested against his chest. It was easy enough to explain her melancholy if she chose to; she’d been fired from her job, after all. But that wasn’t it. “You really want to know?” she asked, and Günter nodded. Eve stopped walking and faced him, aware of the wine coursing through her and glad that in the undulating darkness she couldn’t see his eyes. Out of nowhere, she was overwhelmed with emotion and pressed her palms into her eyes.

“Someone has broken your heart?” guessed Günter, with surprising gentleness. She shook her head vigorously. Günter remained
silent, gazing at her. Eve felt a hot tear slide down her cheek. “A boyfriend?”

“No, God no. Of course not.” What an idea. “I mean, not really.”

“But a great love, nonetheless.”

Eve shrugged her shoulders helplessly. Günter nodded and the song ended. The needle on the record made a scratching sound.

   • • •

Eve lay under a blanket on a divan in the library, dark save for the glow of a second, smaller Christmas tree. The twinkling lights threw giant shadows of needles across the walls and ceiling, making the room feel like a glade in a forest.

Before Klieg had gone up to bed, he’d suggested she spend the night, since it was so late. None of the guest rooms were made up and he’d offered her his own, but Eve said she’d be quite happy in the library. She lay for several minutes, looking up at the ceiling. Unable to sleep, she threw off the covers and made her way to the shelf with the photographs, the sea of tiny faces staring back from across the decades. She flicked on a reading light. From somewhere outside, carolers made their way through the night.
“Silent night, holy night …”

She found the picture she was looking for and searched Donald’s face. She pressed his image lightly with her fingernail and the photo bounced back, as if something thick had been shoved in behind it. She turned it over, and slid the back of the frame out from the sides. Out slipped another picture, folded in half.

It was Klieg and Donald, Louisa between them. It looked like it was taken the same day as the other one; everyone was in the same clothes, though Donald’s pipe was missing. The three smiled, pressing in close to fit inside the frame. They looked young and jaunty, all bold fronts and endless possibilities. Looking into Donald’s eyes gave Eve a chill, the intimacy of it almost too much to bear. She dropped her gaze to the bottom of the picture
and noticed something: Donald and Louisa were holding hands. Klieg and Louisa were not. A throat cleared.

“I was on my way to get some hot water and honey.…”

Klieg appeared in the doorway. “I saw the light.”

The carolers began a new song.

He saw immediately what she had in her hand.

“You said Donald and Louisa weren’t friends.”

Klieg gazed at her for several long moments. Then he walked toward her and sat on one of the leather chairs. Eve took the other. They faced each other for several moments.

“I do not think I can talk about this.” He sighed and folded his hands. He sat silent for several long moments. “But I suppose I can try. What’s the difference anymore?” He dipped his head. “Our group in Paris consisted of painters, sculptors, actors. Big talents, big egos. As a relative youngster, and a designer, not to mention a German, I was the outsider. I was not disliked, but I was thought of as, at best, a mascot. Yet Donald took a liking to me. We shared an architectural approach to our work. The others shook their heads, they did not understand our relationship. The writer and the dressmaker.”