Among the Living (19 page)

“And this is how you choose to spend it?”

“I do.”

“There’s a cottage?”

“There is.”

“How very nice.”

“Yes. Are you going to come over and take the suit or are you expecting me to hand-deliver it?”

Goldah glanced around at the remaining chairs and small tables, one of which was sprouting an unopened umbrella. The pool itself was simple but elegant, blue and white tile, with an ever-widening set of steps leading down from the far corner. As with everything to do with the Weisses, Goldah had seen it all before in a magazine. Eva had placed two folded towels on the chair next to her. A bottle of wine and two glasses sat nearby, poolside.

He said, “As I won’t be putting the suit on, I don’t think it makes much of a difference.”

“Ooooh. How
very
bold of you. Skinny-dipping the first time you try out our pool.”

“Skinny what?”

“Dipping. Naked. No clothes. You shock me, Mr. Goldah. But how American. Look at how quickly you’re picking up on things.” She stood and Goldah found himself leaning back against the fence. She said, “You must really hate the water.”

Goldah wanted so much not to lose touch with her playfulness, but memories, he knew, were rarely that accommodating. It was all he could do to keep the more ruthless of them at bay. “Not at all.”

She moved toward him. “You can’t swim, can you? I saw it that first day when we went out to the beach.”

He said, “Not a lot of places to learn how to swim in Prague.”

“I don’t imagine that’s true. In fact I know it’s not true.”

“No … you’re quite right.”

“My God, are you going to come over or not?”

His attempt at charm was quickly becoming farce — and not the good kind — and Goldah forced his right foot forward, then his left. He hoped it looked like walking.

“You can change in the cabana. There’s a light inside.”

It was a small space, with varnished floors, a cushioned banquette, and a cabinet. There was a separate nook for a shower, along with a few hooks for towels, goggles, and robes. Goldah undressed. He turned on the shower, stepped in, and doused himself in cold water. He had gotten used to a shower every night. It was the one way he could find to rid his skin of the heat, if only for a few minutes. He toweled off and put on the suit. He couldn’t recall the last time he had left himself this exposed. Or maybe he could. Outside, she was sitting by the pool, her legs in the water up to her knees.

“We’ve had rain,” she said, “so the water’s not too warm. Your shower was probably more refreshing.”

“Bracing. Sadly it’s beginning to wear off.”

“Oh well. Then the pool’s your only hope.”

“My only hope?”

He had been waiting for her smile and now had it. She said, “My father tells me you’ve decided to write for him.”

“Did he? And that’s why we’re here tonight. A victory swim.”

“Oh, it’s not my victory. And wouldn’t that depend on how well you write?”

“He tells me I write very well. You should ask him.”

“I suppose I should. You know you look rather handsome in your suit.”

He had almost forgotten he was wearing it. “As do you.”

“Are you suggesting I try it on?”

This was an Eva he had yet to see, no less sure of herself but somehow more daring, though daring wasn’t the right word. Bold. No, that was wrong, too. Bewitching. My God, that was worse. Goldah thought he might be going a bit flush. “I meant in yours,” he said.

Her smile returned. “Why don’t you come over.”

His bare feet felt the cement more acutely than he expected, little ridges and fine grains scraping against his soles as he walked. He was nearly to her when she slid into the water. She waded out, her shoulders just above the surface. She stopped midpool and turned back to him.

“That’s a dirty trick,” he said.

“You’re coming in. No two ways about it.” She dove under, swam back to the side, and surfaced. She rested her arms on the ledge and let her legs float behind. “My father taught me to swim in this pool. He was a bit of taskmaster. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Part of his job description.” She saw his confusion. “It’s what he always says when he has to do terribly mean fatherly things. Part of his job.” She laughed quietly to herself. “He sent a boy home once, five minutes after he’d
arrived to pick me up. I was upstairs and the boy was gone by the time I came down. Can you imagine? I was mortified the next day at school. Alan Rabin. My father said he was rude, a thick skull — that was the term my father always liked to use. Turns out Alan had had a little something to drink before coming by. I learned that later. ‘Not on my watch.’ Another of my father’s favorite phrases.” She laughed again and propelled herself back to the middle of the pool. “So no one taught you to swim?”

Goldah continued to stand. “Not in the job description.”

“You haven’t told me about your father.”

“I thought I was here to learn to swim?”

“Are you in the pool?”

Goldah weighed the alternatives. He sat and eased his feet into the water. “He was a writer.”

“A journalist?”

“No, a writer. An editor. Stories, essays, that sort of thing.”

“Isn’t a journalist a writer?”

This time Goldah laughed. At least these memories were more manageable. “I’m sure somewhere that’s true. No, not for us. He thought ideas deserved more than the facts behind them. That was one of his, if we’re trading favorites. Words have a deeper purpose. ‘Facts are the enemy of truth.’ Cervantes, but he made it his own.”

“It’s a lovely idea.”

“I’m sure it is, although not such a good idea if you’re living in Prague in 1938.”

She drew closer to him and again rested her arms on the ledge. Her face was no more than two or three inches from his knees. “But he must have loved the way you wrote.”

He leaned forward and placed his hands in the water. He brought them out and rubbed them on his cheeks. “He liked to find the things he had taught me in the pieces I wrote. Not
so much the pieces themselves.” Goldah became quiet but then his eyes widened and he gave her his best smile. “He should have taught me how to swim instead.”

She mirrored the smile and took hold of his hands. She then stepped back. “I won’t let you go. Just hop down.”

“This is fine.”

“Hop down.”

He felt the weight of her pulling him in. He might have resisted but he knew there was nothing for it now. When he was standing next to her, she said, “Lie back. I’ll have you, I promise. Lie back and float.”

He felt his breath shorten. His heart began to race. He had yet to move.

“Please,” he heard her say.

“I know how to swim,” he said quietly. His throat was tightening. “I just don’t care to.”

“It’s only swimming.”

He had told himself he could find a way here, with her. He had put on the suit. He had waded out. But no. Even now, there was no way he could find the words.

“I know,” he said. “I know.” He took her hand. “Can we drink that nice bottle of wine?”

She waited. She knew he would tell her nothing. Instead, she let him lead her back to the side. He pulled himself out and, sitting, drew his legs out of the water as well. When she was next to him, he brought the glasses over and poured.

Eight days later, a young woman, fully believing herself to be Malke Posner, stepped down onto the Savannah platform from the Richmond train. She carried a single bag and had instructed the Lubecks — her distant cousins — to send
on the rest of her belongings once she had settled herself in. The Lubecks, generous to a fault, had been hesitant to let her go but, as they had no legal recourse to keep her in Virginia — other than the laws of compassion and nature — they agreed, so long as Malke stayed in close contact during her travels. Even so, they remained concerned: A woman with so little English might get lost or worse. Mrs. Lubeck had even offered to make the trip with her, but Malke insisted that this was out of the question.

Malke had telephoned from Petersburg, Rocky Mount, Fayetteville, Dillon, Florence — she had missed her opportunity in Kingstree due to a somewhat stumbling conversation with a young woman from Yemassee — and then Charleston.

The woman from Yemassee, it turned out, was an Avon Lady, who showed Malke how she might best work with some of the more demanding areas of her lips and cheeks. It was all in the application and the shading, the young woman said. Malke had tried to follow as best she could and wondered if perhaps the mirror the young lady provided might not have been specially designed to help enhance these gentle deceptions, but the young lady insisted nonetheless.

Malke had purchased seven dollars worth of lip, cheek, and eye makeup, which she now carried in a small case in her purse.

When she arrived at the Jesler home in the taxicab she thought, This is what I have been hoping for all along. When Pearl answered the door and Malke recognized the deep sensitivity in the woman’s eyes, Malke felt that perhaps, at long last, her suffering had come to an end.

9

“
POSNER
?” Pearl said.

She stared at the strange, frail young woman, with her ungainly bag and eye shadow that was several shades too dark. Pearl was having trouble understanding the accent; it was so thick and halting. She took a moment to piece things together. “You’re looking for Mr. Goldah?”

“Yes,” said Malke. “Forgive my English. Do you speak perhaps Yiddish or German?”

Pearl felt her own apprehension more acutely and knew it would be best to manage all this inside. She led the girl through, expecting at least one kind word about the house, but Miss Posner walked in silence — with a slight limp, Pearl thought, though she tried not to take any unwarranted notice of it.

Pearl brought in two glasses and the pitcher of tea that Mary Royal had made yesterday afternoon. Mary Royal was still slipping away for a few hours here and there — Pearl had told her it was fine — and this afternoon just happened to be one of those occasions. Sitting stiffly on the lip of the settee, Pearl felt this would have gone a great deal better with Mary Royal at her side.

“I’m not quite sure I understand,” Pearl said. “You say you were a part of Mr. Goldah’s family from before the war. In
Prague. Well that would mean you’re a part of
our
family, too? Mr. Goldah is our cousin. Do you understand what I’m saying? That would make us cousins as well.”

Pearl couldn’t be sure if the look in the girl’s eyes was confusion or something else — the face was irregular and so difficult to read — and, thinking back to long-forgotten grandparents, Pearl said, “
Kuzeen.
That’s it, I think. Mr. Goldah is our
kuzeen.
Our cousin.
Versteht
?”

Malke stared intently and then seemed to have a breakthrough before she shook her head. “Ah, no. I am not a cousin of Yitzhak. I was to be his wife.”

The miracle of finding Abe at the store, coupled with the frantic quality of Pearl’s reenactment over the telephone, had him home in twenty minutes. He was now sitting with Pearl on the settee drinking something stronger than tea.

“You say you’ve been in Richmond?” he asked.

“Yes. Richmond. For four months. I have had some medical troubles.”

“And you’re feeling better now?”

“Abe,” Pearl cut in gently. She shook her head, then tried a smile for Miss Posner. “And you say you found Ike — I mean Yitzhak — through the government office.”

“Yes,” said Malke.

Jesler said, “And they didn’t recommend that you call or write before coming?”

Malke had prepared for this question: “I have your address since two days. I prefer to come myself. It is a long time. I do not wish to wait for the post.”

“Sure …” said Jesler. “No, of course. Better to get yourself here.”

“And I am not good so far on English in the telephone.”

“Yes, I imagine that’s true.” Jesler took a drink. “Well … We’ll need to track down Ike — Yitzhak — as fast as we can.”

“He will be home soon?”

Jesler felt Pearl looking through him.

“No,” he said. “He doesn’t stay with us anymore. He’s taken a few rooms of his own. Not far from here, of course, but once he got himself settled — you know — a young man needs a place on his own.”

“On his own?”

“Yes,” said Pearl. “It’s a very recent development.”

“And, it would seem, all for the best now,” Jesler said.

Pearl ignored this latest justification. She said, “I do apologize, Miss Posner, but it’s quite startling for us — not just having you here but … you should know, Yitzhak never mentioned a fiancée. This is the first we’ve heard of it.”

It was clear things were moving too quickly for Malke. “Pardon?”

“A fiancée. A —” Pearl looked to Abe. “What’s the word, Abe?”

“The word? Oh … that would be … 
kaleh
,” he said triumphantly.

“Yes,” Malke said, not understanding why they were having such trouble. “I am
kaleh
of Yitzhak.
Verlobte.
”

“Yes,” said Jesler, “but he never mentioned it. He didn’t say he was waiting for someone. That seems a little odd to us, don’t you see? Unless he thought —” He caught himself.