Child of the Light (45 page)

He made his way up through the cabaret and into the shop. Once inside, he tore down the curtain that separated the shop from the basement steps, and covered his father's body. That done, he sat down on the stool and gave himself up to a day of prayer, and to memories of his father's goodness.

Time slid by, almost tangible, emollient and liquid as he sank ever deeper into dreams that were memories. Light played along the edges of his consciousness and began to turn slowly, a sparkling pinwheel that revolved, broke into shafts, became a world of gently tumbling crystals. "Season of madness," he thought he heard himself mutter, though he was uncertain if the words were outside his head or within it. He felt his chin droop forward and the muscles of his neck and shoulders go slack, and he entered a darkness tinged with gray, moiling fog.

For all the hours of the day, no other reality entered his consciousness. He would have sat there through the night had Miriam had come for him.

"The sun is setting," Miriam said. "You have been here all day, Sol." She took his hand. "It is Succot. Come. We will sanctify this holy day as best we can."

"I love you, Papa," he said softly. He looked at the Iron Cross that lay on his palm. He had been clutching it throughout the day, and its edges had ridged his skin. Turning to Miriam, he did his best to smile. "I love you too," he said.

She watched him find a box, layer it with tissue paper, and lay the medal on top.

"I want you to have this," he told her. "If anything ever happens to me, it is yours."

"Nothing--"

He placed his hand over her mouth. "If I am not here and you need help," he went on, "you must go to Erich. Despite everything, he is the only brother I have. It is tradition that a man take care of his brother's wife."

She took the box without further protest and gently kissed him on the cheek. There were tears in her eyes, though whether for Papa or because of his words to her, he did not know.

Silently, she led him to the meal she had set up on the floor of the cabaret's sub-basement. Covering her head with one of Jacob's old handkerchiefs, she lit a candle she had melted onto a saucer. When she had repeated the traditional blessing, she poured wine into a chipped coffee cup Jacob had kept at the back of the shop.

Sol lifted the wine, placed a hand on his head where his
yalmulke
should have been and sang softly,
"Baruch ato adonai, eluhainu melech ha-olam..."

Remembering other holidays with his family and choked by tears, he could not finish the prayer.

"Now let us eat." Miriam took the cup from him.

"How can I fill my stomach when my father's body is--"

"Didn't God command us to give thanks, even during mourning?"

A strand of hair had fallen across her eyes. He pushed it back in place. "Is this the time for talking?" he asked.
Is this your season of madness?
he heard, as if in counterpoint to his own words.,

"While you were in there," she nodded toward the sewer entry, "I went to see Erich. The food we ate, it came from him."

Sol glanced toward the sewer. While he was in there, talking to ghosts, had she...He put his hands on her shoulders. "It's all right if you slept with him--"

"It's all right with
you
?" she said sharply.

"Stop it. Please. Not now."

"How can I stop anything, Solomon? In the name of Heaven, how? Sometimes I feel like walking into the Reichschancellery and spitting in the eye of the first SS officer I see, just to get it over with."

"I'm sorry, Miri. I did not mean to offend you." Sol waited a moment before continuing. Taking her hand in his, he said, "You have to come with me to Amsterdam, Miriam. We must find a way to leave together. If you stay here, Erich will never let you go."

She shook her head. "You may be able to get to Amsterdam without too many problems right now," she said, "but even Holland will not always be safe for either of us. Erich came up with a better idea. He's going to suggest to an Argentinean named Juan Perón that he ask Hitler to me do an official dance tour in South America. He feels that the Führer is unlikely to refuse the request."

"Why would this Perón do you a favor?"

"I've known him longer than I've known you. He was very fond of Uncle Walther--and me. He'll do it. I know he will. Once I'm there you will join me, you and Mama and Recha."

"Like Papa joined them in Holland? If you insist on South America, I'll leave when Hitler grants Perón's request. Not a moment sooner."

"No, Sol. You have to leave as soon as possible!" Suddenly she was in his arms, sobbing. "Why must you fight me, Solomon? Safety--that's all that matters, right now."

"What is Erich's plan for me?"

Quietly, she filled him in.

"And what happens to you in the interim?"

He could feel her stiffen. "Erich says it will be safest for me if I move into his flat while I wait for him to make the arrangements for me to leave."

Sol heard the echo of his own words. You must go to Erich. Despite everything, he is the only brother I have. It is tradition that a man take care of his brother's wife.

After a moment he said, trembling, "I will do what you wish on one condition."

"Anything--"

He put his finger to her lips and picked up the candle. Taking her hand, he led her up the stairs and into the cabaret. On the dusty dance floor, amid the pallor of green light beaming down through one of the few small stained-glass windows that remained unbroken, he lifted her knuckles to his lips and closed his eyes.

"There is a season for all things, Miri," he said, once again echoing the twilight voice. "Marry me."

"Here? Tonight? And who will be the rabbi?"

"God."

He opened his eyes and looked into hers, and saw her answer. Though he felt joyous, he held back, denying himself his emotions. If he gave in to his feelings, would God not punish him, what with Papa dead upstairs, Mama unstable, and Recha--

"I have no right to be happy," Miriam said, as if she could hear his thoughts. Her eyes shone with tears. "You say there is a season for all things. Perhaps, too, there is a reason for everything, one only God understands. If so, He will surely forgive me for a moment of joy."

What Sol felt at that moment was akin to the passion of cerebral discovery; he had not believed it possible to feel that way except from what lay between the bindings of a book. He had the impression that if he stood still long enough and stayed silent enough, the cabaret would disappear and they would be transported to some bygone era when the world was whole and where they had a chance for peace and contentment.

They stood among dusty muslin sheets, thrown carelessly over once-new tables and chairs surrounding an abandoned dance floor in a closed cabaret in a world without hope. Berlin, the Reich, their own emotions, Erich: to Sol, they all seemed like spokes of a wheel someone else had set in motion. Like the wheels of Walther Rathenau's limousine, which could even now be headed toward the cabaret. He gave no credence to Miriam's words and hopes concerning the freedom South America afforded. He did not want to leave her, had not really believed she would accept his suggestion--no matter how obvious and necessary his immediate departure.

"The marriage will make the paperwork easier when I get to South America," she said.

"Is that the only reason we should marry?"

"What do you think?" she asked softly.

He slid his arms around her waist. "I think love is a better reason."

"And I do love you," she said.

He kissed her and discovered a new yielding to her lips. When the embrace ended, he glanced around the room and said, "Didn't I hear something about there being a wedding in here today?"

She squeezed his hands, and smiled. "Make two stacks of three tables each. I will be right back."

Fear touched him. "You're not going outside, are you?"

"Of course not," she said as affably and coyly as a girl at a prom. "Wait and see." She moved across the floor and into the shadows with her dancer's grace.

By the time Sol had the tables piled up in the center of the dance floor, Miriam returned, a rose-colored shawl over her shoulders. "Remember this? I wore it that first night in the cabaret--Miss Debutante, singing and dancing and expecting the world to applaud." She briefly curtsied.

"But where--"

"A different kind of tradition, Sol." She took off the shawl and draped it between the two table stacks. "Every performer leaves something behind in the dressing room, for luck. I was young, rich, and silly...I left the biggest and brightest thing I could think of. It was there, in the costume trunk. It's a bit musty, but at least the fish moths left it alone. Here, give me a hand."

"And do what?"

"We have to have a canopy, don't we? It wouldn't be a wedding without one."

"Does that mean you are accepting my proposal, Fraülein Rathenau?" he asked seriously.

"Let's just say I have given the matter due consideration, and I concur with your idea, Herr Freund."

Before he could say anything else she bounded off again, this time down the stairs leading to the sub-basement. He worked on the canopy, wondering what surprise she now had in store for him.

She returned with the burgundy and three dusty glasses.

Wriggling out of her slip, she wrapped it around one of the glasses and placed it under the canopy. "Now flowers, and..." She looked around in dismay. "Forget it. There's no way."

"Music? I'll be back."

He hurried down the stairs. When he returned, she twirled around to show him the lavender spray she had twisted into her hair. "Lilac. It's silk, but it'll do."

"And here's my contribution." He dug in his pocket and pulled out the harmonica he had retrieved from his old book bag. He blew in the mouth organ to clear it of dust and, with the instrument cupped lovingly in his hands, watched her sway as he softly played a Schubert melody.

When he had finished, he fished in his pocket, pulled out a cigar and removed their gold bands. "I went up through the sewer and..."

She put her fingers to his lips to hush him. "My God, Solomon Freund, you must have shopped for weeks! Don't tell anyone where you bought the rings." Glancing around suspiciously, she added, "Some of the fashionable women in this place might overhear and bribe the jeweler for duplicates."

Taking the wrapper-rings from his hand, she held them in her palm for a moment before returning the smaller of the two to him. The look in her eyes told him that to her it truly was a treasure.

He ushered her beneath the canopy and took her in his arms. "In the eyes of God, from this day on and for as long as we shall live, we are man and wife," he said huskily. Trembling, he slid the cigar band onto her finger. "I love you, Miriam. I always have, I always will."

"And I love you, Solomon Freund."

He held out his hand. As she slipped the ring on her finger, he brought down his heel sharp and hard onto the wrapped glass and felt it splinter underfoot. Then he kissed her.

As dusk faded and shadows lengthened, they held each other like children. When night came, so did Konrad.

"A few more minutes, please, Konnie," Miriam begged.

Sol knew that Konrad had never been able to refuse Miriam anything. Though he frowned and was clearly worried, he did not refuse her now. "It
can
only be a few minutes, Miss Miriam," he said, glancing at the wristwatch Miriam had brought him from America so many years before. "The train for Amsterdam leaves in half an hour, and you are expected at the flat."

He headed up the circular stairs. As he closed the door behind himself, Miriam glided into Solomon's arms. "One dance, my love," she whispered.

He held her so close, he thought she must break in two. Then, warmed by wine and passion, they ignored the storm clouds gathering outside and danced to imaginary violins playing Schubert and Strauss and Brahms for them alone.

But the storm would not be denied. Growing ever more ominous, it continued unabated on its predetermined course.