Days of Winter (17 page)

The family had been summoned …They sat in somber silence. Nathan seemed to have the strength of a fortress in his bereavement. He wouldn’t accept a word of consolation. This was a sorrow not to be shared …What comfort could mere words bring him …? The sorrow was his alone to bear.

Maurice whispered in his father’s ear. “Father … I leave it up to your discretion … but for the sake of Rubin’s wife, wouldn’t it be kinder if she didn’t attend the service?”

Nathan shook his head in disbelief. Even in the face of death, Maurice’s prejudices were in the forefront. Firmly, Nathan answered: “Magda is Rubin’s wife. She will be respected as such …In my son’s absence, Magda Hack will be present.”

Maurice looked meaningfully at Phillip, a look they both understood. Neither wanted Nathan to think the suggestion had been made for anyone’s sake except Magda’s.

“You’re quite right, Father. I’m sure Maurice realizes how thoughtless he was.”

Maurice agreed. “Indeed I was. Please forgive me, Father.”

Nathan did not answer …There was no need to.

The family crypt—home to the departed Hacks for many, many years—was opened to receive the last remains of Nathan’s beloved Sara. Maurice and Phillip stood on either side of their father as Matilda, Sylvia, and the six grandchildren stood behind him. Magda and Solange stood to one side. In Nathan’s grief, he realized that three of his loved ones were not present. Families should be together. Leon, Rubin, and Deborah were missed.

After the eulogy, the rabbi left the family alone and waited outside. Finally Maurice said quietly, “Father, I think it’s time to go.” Nathan looked at him vaguely, and nodded.

They left the small chapel, going out into the freezing December afternoon. Nathan lingered briefly, watching the heavy bronze doors being closed. He whispered, “Sleep well, my love … my life … my dearest Sara. I will lie with you each day and night until God wills that I be beside you.”

Maurice, Phillip and their wives rode with Nathan in one limousine, the grandchildren in another. Solange and Magda were in Magda’s Rolls-Royce as the funeral procession slowly drove off.

At sundown, after Magda had lit a memorial candle for Sara and said the traditional Hebrew prayer for the departed, she joined Solange in the drawing room. Sitting down, she looked at Solange’s tear-stained face. “Solange, I don’t know what to do.”

“How to tell Rubin, you mean?”

“Yes … what should I do? How should I tell him about his mother’s death?”

“I honestly don’t know …Perhaps it would be better to hold off a while …”

“Would it be better if the letter came from his father?”

“How can one ask that broken man to write? Hold off for a little while, Magda.”

“I suppose you’re right. The mails are so bad anyway. Let Rubin have a small reprieve …Knowing won’t bring his mother back.”

In the days that followed, the only comfort Nathan found was with the baby in the flat on Wimpole Street, though secretly he wished her name was Sara. He held the child in his arms the same way he’d held Rubin so long ago.

Of all his present children, Magda was the most understanding, the most compassionate. Perhaps, Nathan thought, it was because she, too, had lost dear ones and understood the pain. They developed a friendship that went beyond the bond of blood.

At tea one day Magda said, “Do you remember the little synagogue on the East Side where Jeanette was blessed?”

“Yes, of course … Sara and I were there that day.”

“If you don’t mind, I’d like Jeanette to be named again. I’ve spoken with the rabbi.”

Nathan was enormously pleased.

When they arrived at the synagogue Nathan held his youngest grandchild in front of the rabbi. He began with the blessing of naming this child, a name to be added to the book of life. From this day on, Jeanette would be known as Jeanette
Sara
Hack.

Nathan seemed to be rooted to the worn wooden floor, unable to move. Then, to Magda, with tears in his eyes: “Oh, my dearest child, that you would do this … I love you as Rubin does, but my thanks are beyond words that you have given me back my Sara. …She will live again through this child.”

Sara had been gone a month, almost to the day, when Nathan was stricken with a massive coronary. Carried to his room, he was put to bed … the same bed in which Sara had conceived life, and known death. Lying against the pillows, he stared unseeing into the room. He had no fears. …What was there to fear …? Death was only the absence of life, after all. …But looking at the whole expanse of it, he thought how strange the excursion was. …A man is born into the world with a veil of placenta; it is peeled away layer by layer and exposes him, scrawny and red. He takes a look at the world for the first time upside-down, held by the feet, and is swatted on the rump but he is told, “Don’t cry, little one, this is only the beginning. You’ll feel the sting of life’s hand on your buttocks many times from the cradle to the grave.” He lies in his crib, in his excrement, and waits for someone to attend him, and one day he discovers he has feet, stands up, wobbles back and forth unsteadily, takes his first step, falls flat on his bottom, gets up and tries again. One day he stands and waddles into someone’s waiting arms, and he becomes a child, goes from puberty to adolescence, and the next day he’s a man, young and vigorous, ready to scan the heights, except by the time he reaches middle age, halfway there he becomes tired of the dizzying heights he couldn’t reach, sits back and awaits old age. His body bends over, his face wrinkles, his hair turns gray and sparse as it begins to expose the once-tiny baby head. He lies back, naked again in his excrement, and where once there were arms held out to help, now he finds there are none, and he falls asleep, never to awaken, and once again he becomes the infant, snug in the womb of the earth. …

The nurse was standing at his bedside, pulling him back from his dreamlike reverie. “Time for your medication, Mr. Hack.”

Laughing inwardly, he thought, You foolish old woman, how long do you think that will keep off the inevitable? Pills are for the living. …He opened his mouth and swallowed the tablet

When he awoke, Maurice and Phillip were seated near the bed. He looked at them. How wonderful to have children. One doesn’t always approve of the things they do, but when all’s said and done, they are of one flesh. …“Have you been here long?” he asked, his voice little more than a whisper.

“Not long, Father. The rest was good for you,” Maurice said.

“Are you feeling better?” asked Phillip.

Nathan looked at the sleeve that was missing an arm. He sighed. My dear Phillip, it must have been so painful, and I was not there to comfort you, but here you are at my side, when I need you. … “Yes, feeling much better, thank you. …”

“Father,” Maurice said uneasily, “Phillip and I need to talk to you—”

“Has anything happened to Leon or Rubin?”

“No … that’s not why we’re here.”

Nathan sighed with relief. “Talk then.”

Maurice ran his tongue over his dry lips. “Well … according to our family tradition, the eldest son has always been the … executor. …Of course, we pray it won’t be necessary for a very long time. …”

Nathan smiled to himself. It’s much closer than you know. …“Continue. …” he said.

Maurice cleared his throat. “Well, Father, the will states that all living children must be present before the legacy can be apportioned. …” Maurice hesitated again, which was beginning to annoy Nathan.

“Go on, Maurice, say what has to be said, whatever it is.”

Maurice swallowed. “Obviously, when the will was devised, you had no way of knowing that a situation such as the present one would prevent that from happening. …Leon and Rubin being away …We all pray the need won’t arise, but in the event of …”

“My passing?”

“Yes … well … if they are not present, the will could be held up in probate indefinitely. …”

“You’re quite right, Maurice. I should have taken care of that when the war broke out, but somehow it seemed unimportant compared to all the great issues of the world I imagined I was settling … go on, Maurice.”

“Well … many things have taken place, Father. Now Rubin has a wife and a child, and should, God forbid, anything happen to him, they are not provided for according to this will—unless Rubin is home, or accounted for.”

“Accounted for? You mean, should he die?”

“Well … yes.”

“And that concerns you a great deal, Maurice?”

“Yes—”

“I’m happy to hear that.”

“Well, Father, in spite of what my feelings were, I no longer feel that way. Nor does Phillip. …Rubin after all is our brother—”

“I am aware of that.”

“Yes … well, I’ll come to the point. …This is no time for you to redo a will. You’re in no condition. Perhaps later. But for now, to insure the future of all concerned, we—Phillip and I—after long discussion, feel I should have power of attorney … to dispense the funds as I … as we see fit. The world is changing. Investments can be made in American industry and elsewhere which could bring substantial profits to the family estate—”

“Help me sit up,” Nathan said, “so I can see you better. Ah … that’s good. …Now, Maurice … I have no strength to debate the wisdom of this. …Much of what you say makes sense. However, that leaves you … in complete control. Money can be a dangerous thing. It has its … temptations. I’ve been aware of your … attitudes … toward Rubin and Magda. How can I be sure … that you are being … completely candid with me?”

“I’m sorry you feel called upon to ask that question, Father. No matter what my feelings might have been, this war has changed them. What seemed important yesterday is of no importance today. My main concern is with the family.”

“Which is how it should always have been. …All right, on your honor, do you swear … you would not do anything … to hurt … I must lie back. …Thank you for helping me, Phillip. …Adjust the pillow … under my head.”

Maurice quickly declared, “I give you my word, Father … my sacred word, and I do believe I’m a man of honor.”

Nathan closed his eyes. Maurice and Phillip turned to one another … thinking as one that if Nathan died at this moment there would be no opportunity …Bending over the bed, Maurice whispered, “Are you all right, Father?”

“Yes … I think it’s better with my eyes closed. …I can see more clearly.”

Maurice cleared his throat.

“So this is a risk I shall have to take,” Nathan continued, “because I need to believe in you, you’re my son. …”

“Thank you, Father. And you needn’t worry—”

“I suppose you’ve already prepared a document?”

“Yes, giving me power of attorney
only
until a new will can be drawn by you.” He took out the document, reading it slowly.

“Is it dated?”

“Yes. Two days ago, January 9.”

“That was very farsighted of you.” And when Maurice didn’t answer, “Now, you have witnesses?”

“Martin and the footman could—”

“Bring them in.”

Phillip went to call them.

Maurice was the last to sign.

“Now, leave the document with me … tonight …In the morning have our solicitor here by eight. I want to make a new will. Then, of course, this document becomes null and void. …”

Maurice tried to hold down his anger. “We’ll be here in the morning, Father.”

Nathan lay back. The color had left his face. His eyes were glassy. Maurice summoned the nurse. When she got there, Nathan gasped, his head rolled to one side. He was gone.

Phillip threw himself across Nathan and cried softly, as though no one else was in the room. “Forgive us, Father. I loved you and I betrayed you. …”

Maurice picked up the document and placed it in his inner coat pocket. Looking down at Nathan he said to himself, Father, you didn’t agree but I honestly believe this is fair. Leon will get his share of everything, and Rubin will get what he deserves—a hundred pounds for life. He brought scandal and shame to our family, a shame we must forever live with—a whore who has the name of Hack. You were weak, Father … but I loved you … I loved you as much as the others, but what you thought was strength I felt was weakness. …Sympathy was hurtful to the loyal members of your family.

Still, no matter how hard he tried to convince himself—and only God knew how he tried to justify himself—when he looked at the death head of Nathan, his heart turned over. This man had been his father. No more. Maurice felt suddenly cold, and old. …Now he was no one’s child. His mother and father were gone. He could cry for them. But what he felt for Rubin was a separate thing.

Nathan’s illness had greatly worried Magda. In spite of the Hacks she wanted to go to see him. Her reasons for not doing so were not because she feared for herself. The hostile Hacks neither intimidated her nor threatened her peace of mind. In fact, she longed for a confrontation. It would clear the air once and for all. But she had felt that an unfortunate scene would only make Nathan worse. And so she stayed away.

It was Martin who gave her the news of Nathan’s death. “Was he alone?” she asked.

“No, madam. The family had been with him constantly.”

Well, I’m the family too, but I wasn’t there. …If only Rubin had been here; he wouldn’t have let them keep us away. “I’m coming over, Martin … I’m leaving right away.”

“Madam”—he couldn’t refer to Nathan as the body or the remains—“Mr. Hack has already been taken to the chapel.”

At 7:00 A.M. Magda and Solange were led into the chapel by a very sober gentleman in a black cutaway jacket, striped trousers, a white shirt and black tie.

Magda placed the small gold baby ring in Nathan’s hand. It was inscribed with the name of Sara … the ring Nathan had given his last grandchild. …Bending over the casket, she kissed the cold lips, then sat in the first pew alongside Solange, praying and reciting the mourning prayer.

“
Yis-gad-dal v’yis-kad-dash sh’meh rab-bo, b’ol’mo di’v-ro kir’-u-seh v’yam-lich mal-chu-seh, b’cha-ye-chon u-v’yo-me-chon u-v’cha-yeh d’chol bes yis-ro-el, ba-ago-lo u-viz-man ko-riv, v’rim-ru O-men.
”

How long they were there, she couldn’t say. But she knew she had felt so great a loss only once before … for her brother, Niko. Obliging the usher, she signed the register and left.