Hold on to the Sun (8 page)

When they turned their backs on the light that was still clinging to the ocean, Lusia continued, “Whatever happens, I’m getting some repairs done in my apartment.The marble on the sink top in the kitchen, and the balcony blinds.”

“Whatever happens,” Monyek repeated after her.

They walked along the spacious street of the oceanside resort. The ornamental trees planted between the street lamps on the avenue swayed in the evening breeze.

“Remind me to take a sleeping pill when we get to the hotel,” said Monyek.

“All right,” said Lusia.

When they were approaching the hotel, in the light of the elegant display windows, Monyek Heller turned his head and stole a quick glance at the woman who was walking beside him with a heavy tread.

 

The next morning, Monyek knocked on Lusia’s door, as agreed.

“Mrs. Taft. Lusia.” He leaned into the door in the hallway.

“Yes yes,” answered Lusia, who was already awake in her bed.

“Sorry but I have to hurry you up,” continued Monyek behind the door, “Hirshel Feingold called and invited us to a celebration. I don’t understand exactly of what.”

“I’ll be ready in a minute,” replied Lusia, and she sat up in bed among the big pillows and sheets, which were still starched, although she’d already slept in them for two nights. The big room was dim, and underneath the high ceiling unknown smells were circulating. The night had left a murky residue in her. She propped herself up on both elbows and descended slowly from the high bed. She pulled the curtains apart and pushed the balcony shutters open. On the sunlit wallpaper countless shepherds
and shepherdesses with their flocks rested under pale blue trees. They climbed to the ceiling and disappeared behind the big wardrobe.

She went into the bathroom and rummaged in her old cosmetic bag in order to take out the toilet articles that for some reason she hesitated to leave displayed in the place intended for them, on the glass shelf glittering underneath the mirror. She turned her back—for years now she’d avoided looking at herself undressed in the mirror—and mechanically finished fastening her corset and pulling on her orthopedic stockings.Then she turned around, and with a few vehement strokes she painted vivid color over the slit of her lips. When she’d finished powdering her forehead and cheeks, she threw her things back into the cosmetic bag and straightened up her crushed coiffure.

When she’d finished dressing, she sat down for a moment on the corner of the high bed, ready to leave with her bulky purse already in position on her knees. For a moment she puzzled about the Sabbath here, which stretched on into Sunday, and then she immediately bent stiffly over her purse, with her short legs dangling, and made sure that she’d not forgotten to put in her compact. And while her hand was kneading the guts of her bag, she also made sure she had her pills. She stood up, wondering apprehensively whether she’d creased her skirt, and straightened the bedspread, whose motif of sailing ships reconfirmed the vacation
atmosphere. From the window she saw the two trees in the hotel garden. She crossed her hands under her bosom around the strap of her purse and left the room.

 

When they’d finished eating breakfast Lusia took the lipstick out of her purse again and roughly repaired the drawing around her lips. Monyek crumpled the napkin and placed in on the table. He rose from his chair and approached Lusia to offer her his arm. A heavy smell of perfume rose from her body. He was wearing his brown silk tie today, and it shone with the richness of earth between the lapels of his jacket.

When they stepped outside he was troubled by the pressure in his chest, which had grown worse since the chestnut trees had come into blossom. This morning too the sky was covered with mist and the air was not yet really warm. Only a few bathers had ventured onto the white beach, and the little flags strung between the lifeguard stands waved limply. They hastened down the wooden walkway on the beach in the direction of the café La Promenade. Monyek leaned over to tuck his hand in Lusia’s arm alongside the strap of her purse. Lusia patted her hair, and every time she put her heels down on the wooden planks the noise of her dragging feet eased for a moment the uncertainty of her deliberate tread.

At the other end of the wooden walk Hirshel Feingold, who’d come out to meet them, was already waving his hands at them, like a brightly-colored, capering stain on the open beach. He covered the distance between them at a scampering run and the coconut trees emblazoned on today’s shirt swayed violently from side to side.

“They wrote about it in the newspaper!” he shouted, spreading a big page in front of them.

When he reached them he grabbed Monyek by the arm, pumping it up and down in agitation. “I took the Hararis to the casino last night to let them have a look. But with Hirshel there’s no such thing as just watching. I started playing with a hundred and ended up breaking the bank! They shut the casino down when I won!” He burst into expansive laughter, and hit the rustling paper with the back of his hand. “Take a look!”

Lusia and Monyek bent over the newspaper and saw a dark picture of Hirshel embracing two uniformed croupiers against the background of the roulette table, his round face beaming.

Still laughing, Hirshel snatched the paper away, disappearing for a moment behind the sheet spread between his two hands and emerging again with a gleeful face after he folded it. Once again he grabbed Monyek’s arm and started pulling him along.

“First we’ll have champagne at La Promenade,” he announced, “And after that lunch at the Excelsior.
Hirshel never misses a chance for a celebration!” And he was off again, running in front of them with his low shoulders swaying from side to side, the coconut trees on his shirt swaying right along.

On the terrace of La Promenade Henrietta stood tensely, twisting and untwisting the strap of her purse. Next to her stood a man in a striped suit and a brown hat. Monyek presented him to Mrs. Taft. “Please allow me to introduce—Mrs. Taft, Mr. Zucker.”

“Pleased to meet you,” said Lusia with her polite smile, and she shook hands with Henrietta, placing one foot in front of the other in order to indicate that as far as she was concerned the walk was over.

“He was with us in the same DP camp,” whispered Monyek into Lusia’s ear. “Also in ladies’ wear. He never comes before Saturday night—can’t afford to shut his business down earlier.”

Lusia nodded her head understandingly and went on smiling at the owner of the brown hat.

“Arlette hasn’t arrived yet!” Henrietta burst out.

“But Mrs. Feingold,” said Mr. Zucker soothingly, obviously for the umpteenth time, “You know what youngsters are like today. Really, there’s nothing to worry about.”

But Henrietta was not appeased and she went on wringing the strap of her purse with small, rapid movements.

From the table Hirshel clapped his hands. “Mrs. Taft, Mr. Zucker, Monyek! We’re all waiting for you!” and he signaled
to the waiter who hurried to uncork the bottles of champagne standing on the table.

They sat down in their usual places, except that this morning Mr. Zucker trying to be useful seated himself between Lusia and Henrietta. Hirshel rose to his feet and poured the frothing liquid into the glasses with a flourish.

Marek Harari choked a little and coughed. Gusta Harari hurried to pat him on the back. Marek’s sallow face flushed like an elongated copper platter. When his coughing had subsided he raised his face apologetically and smiled at Hirshel Feingold, who was already refilling the glasses. Hella Honiger laughed, and her broad bosom looked more authoritative than ever inside its pink jacket. Mr. Honiger nonchalantly emptied his second glass of champagne, and Lusia whispered in confidence to Monyek, “I’m not used to drinking so much.”

“A little celebration never did anybody any harm,” replied Monyek, clinking his glass ceremoniously against hers.

“Us too! Us too!” Staszek Honiger called out from the other side of the table, stretching across to clink his brimming glass against Mrs.Taft’s and half rising to his feet as he said, “We wish you the . . . ” But he sat down again without finishing his sentence. They haven’t said anything official yet, so maybe it’s better not to be too much in a hurry, he muttered to himself, and in order to cover up his over-hasty gesture he addressed the rest of his toast to Henrietta:
“We wish only happiness to our young ones!” And he gulped down the rest of his champagne, holding his jaunty checkered cap in place with the back of his hand.

Hella Honiger chimed in quickly, “Yes, the young ones should be happy!”

Mrs. Harari too raised her glass in a burst of emotion and announced, “The young ones shouldn’t suffer; they should live in peace! That’s the most important thing. In peace and quiet!”

“Drink up! Drink up! Don’t be lazy!” urged Hirshel Feingold, lifting another bottle from the tray, which was already covered with a puddle of champagne, and impatiently filling the glasses. “You should’ve seen the people in the casino last night; they were fit to burst!” he said, pouring the champagne onto the table without paying any attention to what he was doing. He added, shaking with laughter, “I think they won’t let me into the casino again! Ha ha!”

Marek Harari leaned toward Mrs. Honiger and said something to her. Gusta Harari nodded quickly in agreement. Mr. Honiger agreed too, and hastened to say, “We have to start moving already. The Hararis have to be at the railway station.”

“Yes, yes,” said Marek Harari, jumping up from his place. Gusta rose immediately after him and stood beside him, ready to go.

Hella Honiger said, summing up with an official air, “It was a pleasure!”

Lusia Taft made haste to rise after them. “I’ll give you my son’s telephone number. If you could get in touch . . . ”

“Out of the question! You’re not going like that!” Hirshel cried, clapping his hands for the waiter. “We’re all going to see our Israelis off.
Nu
,
nu
!” He urged Mr. Zucker on, signaling him to support Henrietta, fumbled with his wallet, and rapidly placed the bills in the waiter’s hand.

Lusia Taft finished writing the telephone number down on a piece of paper and bumped into her chair as she hurried around the table to Gusta Harari. The waiter folded the bills into the pocket of his vest, highly satisfied with the generous tip he’d received to judge by the number of times he bobbed his head at the celebrants as they withdrew. Monyek smoothed his brown silk tie and waited for Lusia Taft.

Henrietta Feingold rose to her feet and announced, “I’m not going. I’m waiting here for Arlette!”

“But Mrs. Feingold, really, there’s nothing to worry about.” Mr. Zucker, who depended on the good will of Hirshel Feingold for his living, immediately renewed his coaxing. “Nothing has happened!”

Hirshel bustled the company out between the tables and ran on ahead of them up the esplanade, his hands churning at his sides. After him Mr. Zucker hurried to give his arm to Henrietta, who rose obediently to follow her husband. It was evident that Mr. Zucker was torn between his desire to run loyally side by side with Hirshel Feingold and his duty
to slow down to the limping pace of Henrietta, who kept turning her head back in the effort to locate Arlette.

Mrs. Honiger, a cordial guide, sailed like a pink ship beside the embarrassed, slightly charred figure of Marek Harari. Lusia threw her pencil back into the belly of her purse, and Gusta Harari closed her own purse on Lusia’s note with a sharp click. Gusta, in her old travelling costume, hurried after Mr. Honiger, who thrust out his head in order to emphasize the carefree vacation air proclaimed by his checkered cap. And the last to leave were Monyek Heller and Lusia Taft, who brought up the rear of the little procession.

 

As if taking shelter under the shade of Hella Honiger’s bosom, Marek Harari hurried behind the limping Henrietta and the halting Mr. Zucker. His narrow forehead wrinkled up, giving his whole figure a questioning air. “I hope there won’t be any problems,” he said.

Mrs. Honiger gestured with both hands toward him and began encouragingly, “But Marek, everything will be alright. You’ll arrive in time. You’ll take off in time. And this evening you’ll be at home already.” Her bosom forged ahead like a scout in front of the troops.

“Yes, yes,” Mr. Harari capitulated.

“It’s good that you came for a little rest,” said Staszek Honiger to Mrs. Harari behind them, pulling his checkered cap backward and forward on his head.

“Really, there are no words to thank . . . ” said Gusta Harari, “It was all such an effort . . . ”

“It’s good that you came!” Mr. Honiger cut her short. “A wonderful opportunity to see the flat we bought here.
Nu
, so we achieved something in the end. If we’d stayed in Israel, who knows . . . ” He looked a little pityingly at Marek Harari and returned the checkered cap to its proper position on his head.

Marek Harari looked down at the pavement, and the skin of his neck tightened. “I don’t know how we’ll go back to everyday life after this,” he said, and his chin reached out to the ocean, distant at the bottom of the bluff. “It won’t be easy. No, it won’t be easy.”

And Mrs. Honiger pursed her lips in annoyance and made no more efforts to cheer him up.

Lusia was tired of running back and forth, first from the hotel to the café, and now from the café to the restaurant. She tightened her grip on the purse beneath her bosom, dug her heels heavily into the pavement, and made an effort not to lag behind in the climb up the hill. Monyek smiled wryly, perhaps because of the fast pace which was quickening his breathing, and perhaps as a result of the debate taking place inside him. “It’s all coincidence,” he announced to Lusia, as if he were making a confession, “Why we landed here instead of somewhere else.” He fumbled with his tie, and the square signet ring on his finger wandered to and
fro. “In the beginning we wanted to get established, and afterward the children were already used to it.”