Jaffa Beach: Historical Fiction (22 page)

But Otto loved playing the violin more than anything else. He knew that in her heart, his mother approved. When he left, she gave
him a kerchief in which there were a few zlotas, her last months’ savings.

His teacher told her, “Your son has a magic talent. He can make the violin cry or laugh at his will. He’s already an artist. What he needs is to be heard and encouraged.”

First he lived in his Leipzig professor’s home after the teacher learned that Otto was born in a Polish
shtetl
not far from his own place of birth. With the help of his professor’s acquaintances, Otto started teaching children and soon was able to move into his own place. His colleagues at the Hochschule acquired a new respect for him after they heard him play at one of the school’s concerts. They didn’t giggle anymore at his out-of-fashion clothes or at his flying hair, the Paganini Jew.

That same concert brought him another reward, one he never expected—Gretchen Trammer. She was the Hochschule’s most talented pianist, and a beauty for whom, he was told, many of his colleagues wrote poems of burning passion. Her diaphanous blond hair framed a high forehead, strong cheekbones, a mobile, smiling mouth, and eyes, the bluest Otto had ever seen, the way he imagined Lorelei’s, Goethe’s sea enchantress.

He would have never approached her; he was too timid, and besides, she was always surrounded by a crowd of admirers like a queen bee. It was Gretchen who came to him one afternoon.

“I heard you play,” she said, “and I was moved like never before. At the end of your recital, I had tears in my eyes.”

Gretchen stopped, waiting, but Otto, overwhelmed by her presence and her compliments, couldn’t get a word out of his mouth.

“The other violinists play correctly, but you, you are a magician; in your hands the violin is as alive as a human heart.” Gretchen’s tone changed. “I came to ask you,” she said timidly, “if you’d agree to play with me in the chamber music class. I want to learn from you.”

Otto felt dizzy. His teeth were clenched so tightly he couldn’t open his mouth.
She was asking him to play with her
. He would
gladly give ten years of his life for the courage to address her. And here she came to him!

“Of course,” Gretchen said quickly, “if you’ve already committed yourself, I understand.”

“Oh! No! No!” Otto stammered, “I’d be happy to, more than happy, I’d be honored. I admire you,” he stammered, “I’d be most honored,” he repeated, afraid that he was babbling and she was going to think him a complete idiot.

“Can we start tomorrow, then?” Gretchen asked, “I’ll bring a few Mozart sonatas to read through.” She smiled, “I’m sure we’ll get better acquainted through our music than through words.”

He walked and walked that evening, rehearsing in his head what he’d say to her the next day. Then he panicked. Maybe he dreamed the whole thing. Suffering from too much practice and little sleep, he’d probably had a vision. It hadn’t been Gretchen. Yet, since he couldn’t fall asleep, he took out the Mozart sonatas and played until the gray light of dawn announced a new day.

“My dear lady, the tea is served,” Otto clamored, bringing in a tray with two tall glasses and two pieces of cake. But Gretchen had fallen asleep, a forlorn smile on her wrinkled face. She must be dreaming of Ruth, Otto thought. And when she wakes up she’ll scream again, “Where is Ruth, where is my daughter?” and thrash around to look for her. Otto put Gretchen’s medication on the tray and carefully rearranged the shawl that had slipped away.

In the evening Otto wrapped his arms around a still sleeping Gretchen and gently directed her steps toward the bedroom. He had already put a hot-water bottle on her side of the bed. Her feet were usually so cold he could feel her shiver even in her sleep. But tonight, Gretchen seemed calm, while he turned and turned, his head flooded by memories.

When did he realize that she was in love with him?
Was it when she took him to the imposing Thomaskirche, the church where
almost two hundred years before, Johann Sebastian Bach played the organ and conducted the choir? Inside the cold, empty church, as the late afternoon light filtered through the stained-glass windows, she whispered, “Please, play for me.”

Otto stood quietly for a moment, then began playing Bach’s Air on the G String.

He played with closed eyes. Still immersed in the music, he felt her burning lips touch his. A tremor went through his body. He responded with the passion he had tried to hide for more than a year. Only when they played together had Otto’s violin declared his love for her.

“I know that you love me, too,” Gretchen said, breathing hard, when he finally let her out of his embrace. Then she kissed him again.

What a marvelous time
! During their long walks, after they finished practicing, Gretchen introduced him to the beauties of Leipzig, its famous University dating back to the 15
^th
century, and its beautiful parks. She took him to Auerbach’s Keller, the beer hall where Goethe had been a frequent visitor. They talked frequently about their future, but very little about their past.

Otto knew that Gretchen was born into a well-to-do family. She told him that her father owned a number of factories that manufactured fine luggage, not only in Leipzig, but also in other cities in Saxony.

“My parents live in the past. Almost ten years after the end of the Great War, their hearts are still wounded by Germany’s defeat.” Gretchen sighed, “My parents are very conservative.”

Was that the reason she never introduced him to them? Otto was sure that she hadn’t told them about their making music together. He imagined how her father would raise an eyebrow and say, “You play with a Jewish Pollack? Couldn’t you find another partner?”

Be realistic, Otto said to himself, what kind of life could you offer Gretchen? The basement you live in? But luck or fate was on his side. His professor retired from his position with the famous Gewandhaus Orchestra. A competition to fill his position was
posted. Otto was known to the orchestra members from his recitals, and the many times he substituted for sick orchestra members or was available when the orchestra needed additional players.

Otto was doubtful that at his age, twenty-two, and without much orchestral experience, he could win. But his teacher encouraged him, and so did Gretchen.

“You have to try,” she said. “Remember, I believe in you.”

Before he started to play behind the curtain, as was the rule, the judges not being allowed to see the candidates, Otto took an oath. “If I win, I’ll ask Gretchen to marry me.”

Closing his eyes, he began, Gretchen constantly present in his heart. After he finished he heard a storm of applause; the jury applauded him.

Yes, Otto thought, those were beautiful times. Beautiful memories! But those times were long gone and by thinking of them he was only twisting a knife in his heart. Gretchen turned and murmured in her sleep, “Ruthie, Ruthie,
wie bist du?”
It scared Otto, but he saw that she hadn’t awoken. Otherwise she would scream inconsolably until the wee hours of the morning.

- - -

When Otto was informed that he was accepted in Leipzig’s Gewandhaus Orchestra, one of Germany’s best, he became delirious with joy.

Gretchen, as thrilled as he was, said, “I told you, I was sure you’d be chosen. This calls for a celebration.”

She wouldn’t tell him what her plan was. “It’s a surprise,” she said.

The same evening, holding a bottle of champagne, she took his arm, “Tonight we are going to have a lot of fun.”

They went through barely lit streets until they arrived before a gate. After Gretchen rang the bell, she whispered her name, and the gate opened. It seemed so mysterious. Only after they entered, Otto understood. They were inside one of
the city’s famous underground cabarets. Through the smoke, he saw skimpily dressed women, dancing languidly between tables topped with champagne, whisky and brandy. He breathed in the acrid odor of cigarettes, alcohol and something else that he couldn’t determine, hashish maybe?

Seeing that Otto seemed uncomfortable, Gretchen said, “You didn’t know that places like this existed, did you?” She laughed, “Neither do my parents. But we are not doing anything wrong. We’re just having a good time.”

From a table in a corner, somebody called, “Gretchen, Gretchen, over here.” Otto recognized some of his colleagues from the Hochschule.

“Finally you succeeded in bringing your prodigy to join us,” one of his colleagues said without malice.

Gretchen smiled mischievously. She took Otto’s arm. “At least here,” she addressed her companions, “we can forget what’s happening in Germany today. We don’t cry for its lost status in the world.”

Hearing a storm of applause, Otto turned his head. On the stage, a woman dressed in a black tuxedo jacket, her long legs in black stockings and high heels, stepped into a spotlight and began to sing with a voice as smoky as the hall itself.

“It’s Marlene Dietrich,” Gretchen whispered, “our blue angel.”

The champagne or the way Gretchen leaned so close to him, her legs intertwined with his, made Otto almost lose his head.

The toasts never stopped. “Prosit,” one called, followed by the others. “To your success,” they raised their glasses. Otto had never felt so happy and relaxed.

Leaving the cabaret, Gretchen whispered in his ear, “Let’s go to your place. We’ll continue to celebrate.” As much as he wanted to, Otto thought that it would not be proper. “I’d better walk you home,” he said. “It’s already very late.”

“For only a minute,” she said, snuggling to him, “I want to see your place.”

How could he resist? He thought of his wet socks hanging in a corner of the room, his unmade bed, and the sheets of music scattered on the floor.

He had planned to propose to her after receiving the first paycheck from the orchestra, when he would be able to rent an apartment and buy new clothes. Then, with his heart thudding in his chest, he would go talk to her parents. That was the right thing to do, Otto knew. He was a decent man. His parents had instilled in him the moral code they themselves inherited from their parents.

“It’s too hot in here,” Gretchen said, and without waiting, she took off her fur coat and her dress. “Come,” she said, throwing her arms around his neck, “I want you to make love to me. I knew from the very beginning that we are made for each other. If we wait a minute longer it would be a lost minute.”

Her perfume, her willowy body, her lips! He couldn’t deliberate anymore. He threw all caution to the wind. She belonged to him! That night their bodies made the most beautiful music.

“I’m going to ask your parents for your hand in marriage,” was the first thing Otto said, the morning after their night of ecstasy, “This afternoon, in fact.”

Gretchen laughed. “They’ll never agree,” she said. “You don’t know my parents. But since I am twenty-one, the law gives me the right to decide my future, and my parents can’t stop me. This morning we’ll go to City Hall and get our marriage license.”

Gretchen had thought of everything.

“Sweetheart,” Gretchen said, “aren’t you happy? You are so quiet. Did I make a mistake by throwing myself into your arms? Don’t you want to share your life with me?” Tears filled her eyes.

Was he happy? Of course he was, but the idea of getting married behind her parents’ back as well as his—oh, he’d better stop thinking of his parents
. He knew that his father’s desire was for Otto to marry the daughter of one of his friends.

Otto knelt in front of her, “You are my love and my life. I am just in shock by so many surprises all at once.” He kissed her hands, “I can’t live without you, you are the air I breathe, my sun by day and my moon by night.”

Gretchen closed his mouth with a kiss. “Let’s get dressed and stop by a coffee house on the way to the City Hall. I want to hear a forceful yes when you’ll answer the registrar’s question if you want to marry me!”

They both laughed. Oh, Gretchen, impetuous Gretchen, the girl more precious to him than his own life!

Dawn. Shortly the Mediterranean sun will appear at the horizon, the signal for Otto to rise. Another lost night sifting through his memories. In his forties, he felt the burden of a man twice his age. Barefoot, he went to the kitchen. Jaffa oranges, Palestine’s pride, filled the small place with perfume. Patiently, Otto squeezed one after another preparing Gretchen’s breakfast. Soon he would have to go to the Palestine Orchestra’s rehearsal, where he occupied the third chair of the second violin section.

He was worried every time he had to leave the house, though by now he trusted the Arab woman who came daily to clean and cook, and most importantly to be with Gretchen while he was away. Third seat in the second violin section, not even section leader, was not a great accomplishment. And yet he was lucky, lucky to be alive, to have employment, to put bread on the table, and to be able to pay for Gretchen’s medications.

He would have had another position if he had followed Bronislaw Huberman, his Polish landsman, when he came to Germany in 1936 and proposed to all Jewish musicians fired from German orchestras to come to Palestine and join him in establishing a Jewish orchestra. Gretchen had said, “What a dreamer. He wants to build an orchestra on sand. What’s happening here, now, it’s only a temporary situation. I know the German people, I am German myself. Soon we’ll get rid of this mustached clown.”