Hold on to the Sun (10 page)

Yes, that Marek Berger, that “Harari.” He was with us in the DP camp. A sad sack then too. No fight in him. No life. I better get Zucker to find out exactly what Berger knows about those surplus iron deals I had with the Germans! He never knew how to live. Why not, she can even buy a horse
if she likes. As long as she’s happy. I have to get in touch with Goldwasser right away. By himself he’ll never think of investing in gold now . . .

Good, good, very nice, let them open the door for me! They get paid for it. A mug like a
kapo
that doorman’s got. Oy! It’s after one already! Just don’t let them make any trouble with the Chateau-Lafite!

“I want there should be bottles of Chateau-Lafite on the table!” Hirshel Feingold burst with a shout into the hotel’s dimly lit restaurant, where a solitary couple was sitting secluded in a decorative niche.

“Chateau-Lafite, you hear. I want Chateau-Lafite with the meal!” Hirshel went on shouting even after he’d been surrounded by two waiters and the Maitre d’, all trying to appease him with smiles and bobbing heads.

“I’ll pay, I’ll pay, but it must be Chateau-Lafite!”

“It’s already taken care of, Monsieur Feingold,” the Maitre d’ folded himself into an obsequious bow, and after a moment straightened up, patted the sweating coconut trees on Hirshel’s back, and pointed with a flourish to the table:

“Voilà, monsieur! They’re already here. Four bottles from the famous vintage of 1924! It wasn’t easy to find them but we spared no effort. We know . . . ”

The Maitre d’ concluded with raised eyebrows, underscored by a light laugh.

“Fantastic! Fantastic!” Hirshel rapidly pulled an untidy bundle of banknotes out of his trouser pocket and thrust
them higgledy-piggledy into the hands of the Maitre d’ and the outstretched hands of the two waiters.

“Fantastic!”

He walked complacently round the table, darting a suspicious glance at the pair of diners, who did not, after all, appear to constitute a possible source of danger. Then he stopped, his broad back slumped for a moment and only his short arms still stirred at the sides of his body as if astonished. The waiters and the Maitre d’ waited in the dim recess next to the table covered by an orange cloth, crystal glasses, and the bayonet-sharp folds of stiff linen napkins. After a moment, all three bowed in embarrassment as a prelude to withdrawal, but at this point Hirshel raised his head again, looked fiercely at the Maitre d’, and cried in a panic:

“My guests are already here, eh? They got here before me in a taxi and they’re waiting in the garden?!”

The two waiters and the Maitre d’ shook their heads in the negative. But Hirshel had already rushed between the restaurant tables, spun the heavy glass door violently round on its axis, and planted himself on the gravel terrace of the hotel garden at the edge of the lawn which stretched all the way down to the sand.

They’re already arrived and they’re waiting in the garden! Very good, Henrietta should always take a taxi. Let her go everywhere in a taxi! As long as she’s got no complaints. Just as long as she’s got no complaints.With Zucker I don’t count the pennies. Last month I gave him fifty thousand
old francs for his business . . . What heat. Only June and look how hot it is. No, no, the Hararis aren’t supposed to be coming. They’ve already left.They said that Heineke was sick. Ahh . . . He didn’t show up for the trial. It’s always the same. Bastards. I’ll still show them who’ll have the last laugh! ...What heat, it’s a real scandal . . . Ahh . . . Ahh . . . The Honigers and Monyek with the lady he brought from Tel Aviv are waiting in the garden. Let them come to the table already!

But on all the hotel lawn, as also on the hazy beach, the colorful figures of Hella and Staszek Honiger were not to be seen, nor those of Monyek Heller and Lusia Taft, nor even of Henrietta and Mr. Zucker. And Hirshel suddenly stopped waving his hands.

They’re not here! They won’t come! All because of Henrietta. It was her who told them not to come. It’s all because of her . . . But Monyek, why should Monyek do this to me, why? All Henrietta knows how to do is cry. That’s all she can do, cry. A millstone round my neck, that woman. Crying and crying. Arlette’s the only one who knows how to live. She’s a treasure, that girl.Yes, yes, I’m going to buy it for her this afternoon! All she has to do is choose the color. And why does he look at me like that, that Marek Berger, that “Harari.” Maybe he wanted to hint at something about the German surplus iron, and the dirt the British made out of it in the end. Another trial. Haven’t they finished with it yet? Why don’t they stop already. Enough! The way they
looked at me, those croupiers in the casino, they were fit to burst ... Ahh ... Ahh ...

Hirshel’s breathing quickened and the drops of perspiration now flowed from the folds in his neck.

It was Henrietta who decided not to come. She told Monyek and Zucker that it was all off! All because of Henrietta! I’ll phone! I’ll go and phone now. Tell them to come straight away. They don’t want to celebrate with me. All they know to do is exploit, only exploit. And once in a blue moon, when I want to be happy, they don’t come. I have to call Goldwasser and tell him to invest in gold. It’s past one already and they’re not here. They decided not to come! I have to phone Goldwasser. Alone he won’t know how to invest. I always have to tell him what to do; he can’t make one move without me. He can’t do a thing on his own. Always me. Me. Everything alone. Alone. Mama and Papa too and Belka with Zelig and the little ones, and Srulik. Otherwise he won’t know to invest in gold as long as the rates haven’t gone up, and afterwards put the profits back into circulation. I always have to do everything alone. Alone.

The strip of sand next to the ocean was crossed by a party of cantering riders. In the distance their colorful jackets gleamed, but the tiny figures themselves were only vaguely visible through the haze rising from the shimmering surface of the water.

Arlette! Arlette! She knows how to live, ahh!

Hirshel waved with both his hands. He rushed across the lawn and on hasty feet began trudging through the sand.

Here’s Arlette! . . . Ahh . . . How that child rides! Yes, yes, definitely! We’ll buy her the oceanfront flat on the boulevard. So she can ride and enjoy herself whenever she wants! She can afford it. This breathing is going to kill me. A plague!

A pack of dogs leaped out from behind the riders and bounded playfully across the beach toward the lawn. Hirshel stood still in the sand, and his legs didn’t resume their running, not even after the dogs disappeared barking sharply in the wake of the riders and were quickly transformed into a blurred, dancing spot. Hirshel squashed his handkerchief into the folds of skin on his face. He took off his sunglasses and wiped the sweat from the wrinkles around his eyes and the sagging pouches of skin beneath. His feet were still quivering in the sand, the coconut trees on his shirt shuddered in a solitary storm on the vast beach, which was now empty and open.

Yes, yes, I’ll buy her the flat on the oceanfront today. It wasn’t her. Couldn’t be. She would have stopped . . . It was Henrietta that told them not to come! It’s all because of Henrietta.This breathing’s going to kill me. A plague! Even Srulik. Even him . . . After the liberation! From weakness . . . a plague! I’ll buy it. I’ll buy it for her. I have to get in touch with Goldwasser immediately. A plague . . . Alone.
Everything alone. One hundred million old francs ... Ahh . . . Ahh . . . Even Srulik. Alone. Always alone. This breathing’s going to kill me. A plague . . . And from the interest he can cover all the damages . . . Ahh . . .

He stuck the sunglasses back on his face. For a moment the brightly colored coconut trees wavered in the lenses, but they were immediately effaced and behind the lenses appeared the pupils of Hirshel Feingold’s eyes, and beneath them the quivering bags of skin.

“Can you still stand?” joked Monyek Heller, when they finally emerged from the Hotel Excelsior that afternoon.

“So much food, I’m not used to it any more,” said Lusia Taft in a low voice.

They stood there for a moment, a few steps from the hotel entrance at the point where the path leading down to the beach split off from the esplanade.

“It’s after five already. So late,” said Monyek, and then added, “Soon our weekend will be over.”

“Yes, soon be over,” Lusia echoed.

“Over,” repeated Monyek, and fell silent.

They turned onto the paved path along the beach. After a few steps Lusia said, “Oh, I really drank too much. We can’t afford such silliness any more.”

She smiled, bent over her purse, and opened its spring
clasp, but in the middle of exploring its depths, she withdrew her hand again and snapped it shut.

“Why not, why not, we only live once. A person should know how to enjoy himself a bit, no?” Monyek’s voice rang out.

“That’s true, really,” replied Lusia.

Monyek drew himself up with a slightly dandyish air and smoothed his jacket.

“I’ve decided to transfer the business to the boys,” he said, “I’ve had enough. Now it’s their turn to work!”

“I’m not sure. After all, work keeps a person going. I like going to the shop,” said Lusia.

“Everything has to come to an end sometime. A person has to enjoy himself too,” Monyek said, and then added, “Maybe we should start collecting paintings, like Hirshel, eh? What do you say?” He laughed, and his sparse hair jiggled slightly.

“I’m not sure,” said Lusia.

“When will we do it if not now?” Monyek asked again.

“Uh, huh,” responded Lusia after a moment, without taking her eyes off the milky light shimmering over the water in the distance.

The sun had drawn a white veil of haze and clouds over its face and seemed to be standing still, without attempting to narrow the vast distance it still had to cross before reaching the horizon.

“It reminds me a bit of Tarnów here,” said Lusia suddenly. “Perhaps it’s the weather. The pastry shops. It’s odd.”

“Yes, it’s odd,” Monyek turned his head to the creases in his trousers.

“There was a chocolate shop opposite our house. Rozycki. Famous in the whole town,” said Lusia. “We used to go with Mama and my sisters to buy chocolates everyThursday afternoon. Very good chocolates. Rozycki.”

“Uh, huh,” Monyek made a pecking motion of agreement.

“During the war people from the SS used to go there. They were very friendly with the owners of the shop. It was dangerous, opposite our house,” said Lusia.

They had still hardly left the edge of the sand, no more than a few steps along the path leading down to the beach. And at this hour of the afternoon the expanse of sand stretching between them and the sea looked broader and more glittering than ever.

Monyek glanced at Lusia, who was staring straight in front of her without seeing anything.

“Yes, the past,” he said.

“Suddenly it all came back. It’s odd,” said Lusia, looking ahead at the paved path and stepping firmly, “ I really don’t know what’s gotten into me today. It must be because of the trip, and everything.”

“Yes, well, that’s the way it goes,” said Monyek, and set off behind her. He fixed the knot in his tie and leaned over
slightly, as if he were about to say something when they heard merry voices calling behind them.

 

“It’s Mrs. Taft and Monyek Heller!”

“Yes, yes, it’s them! They’re walking too!”

Mr. and Mrs. Honiger were bearing down upon them rapidly from the bend in the path.

“So, you decided to take a little walk after the meal as well?” cried Staszek Honiger. He raised his checkered cap slightly, said “Mrs. Taft!” with a bow and a click of his heels, replaced the cap on his head, and continued with the same smile, “If we don’t get rid of some of the food Hirshel succeeded in stuffing into us we’ll finish our vacation with a heart attack, ha, ha, ha . . . ”

And Mr. Honiger seized Monyek’s elbow in a friendly grip, while Mrs. Honiger in her pink outfit bounced along next to Lusia.

“Hirshel went to buy that picture he was talking about, and Henrietta went back to the hotel in a taxi with Mr. Zucker,” Hella Honiger reported.

“So what do you think of that Hirshel, eh?” asked Staszek, shaking his head.

“I don’t know if I’d buy a picture like that, of a Madonna, I just don’t know,” said Mrs. Honiger vehemently.

“Nobody’s offering you. In any case you haven’t got enough money, ha, ha, ha . . . ” Mr. Honiger squeezed Monyek’s elbow.

“What do
you
think?” Mrs. Honiger turned to Lusia as if to settle the matter.

“Me? I don’t know,” Lusia laughed slightly, making an effort to keep up with the others.

“But that meal he gave us was something, eh?You’ve got to hand it to him!” said Staszek, the smile never leaving his rather horsey face for an instant.

The brisk pace set by the Honigers swept Monyek and Lusia along, and they quickened their steps. Staszek Honiger gave up the attempt to crowd onto the edge of the path with the others, and plodded strenuously through the sand.

“So what do you say, are you staying a few days longer?” he asked Monyek.

“No, I have to be back at the business tomorrow, and Mrs. Taft has to go back to Tel Aviv, for the time being . . . ”

“Yes, yes,” said Lusia.

“What are you saying?” cried Mr. Honiger. “Tomorrow already! What are you saying?!”

“But I haven’t shown you the pictures of my grandchildren yet!” said Hella, quickly pulling an envelope out of her gleaming summer purse.

“This is my Claudia, a beauty, eh, isn’t she a beauty? She’s wonderful!” Mrs. Honiger thrust the snapshot into Lusia’s right hand, so that she had to transfer her purse to her left.

“And this is Bernard,” continued Mrs. Honiger.

“Yes, yes,” Lusia nodded her head at the small images, dragging her feet in an effort to keep up with the brisk pace.

“Look, look, here they are skiing in Grindelwald.” Mrs. Honiger exchanged the snapshot in Lusia’s hand. “And here, yes, here it’s with Marie-Hélène, my daughter-in-law, on the beach in St. Raphaël. Beautiful children, eh, aren’t they beautiful? And here they are last summer in the Phillipines. They took a vacation in the east.”