Legacy of Silence (7 page)

“Do you feel as if you’re at the theater?” Caroline asked one day. “None of this seems possible. Where are we going, Lore? We don’t even know where we’re going.”

“Well, we know we’re going to bump into land. Wherever the ocean ends, the ship has to stop.”

The empty response was purposeful. Lore was worried about her and did not want to show it. A moment later, though, she did speak very earnestly.

“I talked to the ship’s doctor about you this morning. He can see you right after lunch.”

“Me, and all the rest of the seasick passengers. He must be bored with the sameness of it. Anyway, you treat me as if I were a child again, and I wish you wouldn’t.”

“I’m very well aware that you’re not a child. You’re a woman who needs help. And I am a nurse, remember? I’m not entirely ignorant. You forget that.”

“All right, I’ll go.”

“Good. He’s a nice young man—French, but he speaks English or German, whichever you want.”

He was a pleasant young man, who began by telling her that he understood she was going through a very hard time. “Your sister has explained it all.”

She hoped he wasn’t going to be too sympathetic. People meant well, but often they did not understand that sympathy can make a person cry.

“So we won’t have to go into all that,” he said.

“No, since the main cause is seasickness.”

“I’ll be blunt. Your sister thinks you may be pregnant.”

“That’s ridiculous, Doctor.”

“Well, if it is … If you’re sure it is completely impossible, there’ll be no sense in going further.”

Completely impossible … If you’re a virgin, he meant.

She put her hand on her hot cheek, murmuring, “It’s not impossible. But I don’t think—”

“Let me ask a few questions.”

Aware that he sensed her dismay, she was grateful. The ensuing dialogue, which was very short, proceeded in cut-off clauses whose meaning was, nevertheless, quite clear to both of them.

“—not always regular, so that I was not concerned—”

“—but nausea, generally in the morning, I believe?—”

“—true, but nerves, all the trouble, not sleeping much—”

“—might undo your blouse, if you don’t mind—” She minded terribly, but minded more that the
wrong answer might send her into another fit of weeping. But to be pregnant! And she had asked Lore whether she felt as if she were watching the theater.…

“I’m not a gynecologist,” the young man said, carefully not looking at Caroline, “but by the appearance of your breasts, I think it’s safe to conclude that you are well into the second month.”

“My God,” she whispered.

“You must have a proper examination when you get where you’re going.” Now he looked at her. “Above all, keep it a secret. You might have a lot of trouble at immigration if you don’t. I believe they have something in the States called ‘moral turpitude.’ ”

Her fingers fumbled at the buttons on her blouse. Her heart hammered. Yes, it was like a small hammer held by a frantic hand. She stood up, thanked the man, and stumbled out of the office. Then she went to her suitcase—in which, for some stupid reason, she had packed a little photo of Walter—walked to the deck, and threw it overboard.

She had expected a display of some sort from Lore; shock, or dismay, or wringing of hands, but there was none. Instead, she was calm and tried to console.

“I’m not going to ask you any questions. There’s nothing to ask, anyway. It happened, and it has to be faced, that’s all. You’re not the first, Caroline, nor
will you be the last. We’ll think of something. First, let’s get our feet on land.”

They spent half the night talking while the ship creaked and sped westward.

“I’m stunned, Lore. I hate him. How quickly love can turn to hatred!”

Lore put a hand over hers. “Listen to me. He was no good. Your parents were right. Not that I want to make you feel guilty, but they only went along with it for your sake. They didn’t want to deny you any joy, but they had their doubts. And if you recall, so did I.”

Caroline tried to imagine herself walking into the library at home and telling her parents, who would be reading in the chairs beside the big window, that she was pregnant with Walter’s child. It was unimaginable. She cried softly.

“I loved him so, Lore.”

“Of course you did. But you’ll get through. Remember. You’re not alone.”

She looked into the good, homely face. “Thank God for you, Lore,” she said.

T
HEY
were two days away from the Statue of Liberty when the news came. It was September 1, 1939. Germany had invaded Poland, and the Second World War had begun. If ever there had been a chance for Father and Mama, there was none now. If ever it had
been possible for Caroline to speak of “the end of the past,” it was not possible anymore. Her past was to stay with her for the next seven months, and for the rest of her life.

“O
nly two of you?” With a shy smile, eyebrows raised in surprise and a large paper square marked “Jacob Sandler” pinned to his chest, he was there waiting when they emerged from Immigration.

Through several long formalities, the retrieval of the luggage, the clamor and shouts in the new language so hard to understand when too quickly spoken, panic had almost overpowered Caroline. What if there had been some misunderstanding and no one was there to meet them? Where would they go?

But here he was with his friendly, outstretched hand, saying friendly words. “You must be Caroline. And this is Lore. You see, I know all about you. Your father wrote everything. Is he—” He stopped, looking from one to the other; his smile died, for Caroline’s eyes had filled.

“My English,” Lore said quickly, “it’s not fast. I try—”

“My parents—I hope they will come later. We don’t know whether …”

“Well,” Mr. Sandler said briskly, “let’s load up the car. I’ve brought my friend Lew to help, and borrowed his delivery truck, too. For myself, I don’t own a truck or a car. You don’t need a car in New York. You walk, or you take the subway. I myself take the subway to work every day.”

He was chattering, Caroline knew, to fill empty space. These facts, our coming here and the probable reasons for my parents’ absence, are painful for him, too. Yet it seemed unnatural to ignore the facts. Wet eyes or not, she needed to express herself.

“I wish I knew some words that could thank you enough, Mr. Sandler.”

“Jake,” he interrupted. “And my wife is Annie. She’s home making a good dinner for you. I hope you’ll be hungry. You don’t need to thank us again. Your father did it many times, wrote beautiful letters.”

Lore, understanding much of all this, tried English again. “The ship was seasick. We don’t eat much there.”

“Is that so? Me, I never was on a boat, but my mother was. Came from the old country long before I was born. Must have come on a tub, the way she tells it. Not like this one.”

Behind them the grand liner towered, with its flags
and pennants stretched in the wind. The Old Country, Caroline thought. This ship was her last link with it. She stood for a moment, taking a final look, and then turned to watch the two men hoist the trunk and suitcases into the small truck,
RIGHT AND READY DRY CLEANING
it said on the side.

“Okay? All aboard!” They climbed in, the two women sitting in back with the luggage.

So they entered the stone alleys of the city, a place unimagined in spite of all the photographs that had gone around the world. The sky-high towers were narrow as needles; it seemed miraculous that they did not fall. The sidewalks were clogged with people, pushing and rushing. They looked poor and sweaty in the heat. Then suddenly came wide avenues with glittering shops and fashionable people going in and out. Then came narrow streets again, this time with shady trees and baby carriages. Caroline and Lore were silent, gathering it all in.

Jake turned around. “Capital of the world. What do you think of it so far?”

“I don’t know enough to think anything yet. It’s bewildering,” Caroline replied.

“Say, you have an English accent, don’t you? How’s that?”

“I had an English governess for many years.” She felt self-conscious. This man would not be familiar with governesses. He might get the wrong idea about her. And yet she knew that being completely open was the only way.

He was equally open. “We’re plain people. I only recognize the accent from the movies. I’ll tell you, I never thought I’d live to see another war.”

“It will be far away from you, I’m sure.”

“Are you kidding? We’ll be in it soon enough. Not me, I’m forty-five, but the young guys will.”

Walter, she thought, and was stabbed. He deserves to die, she thought, and was stabbed again.

There was no help, no escape from her thoughts. From every angle, they pierced. And she leaned toward the window to concentrate on the scene instead, to fill her head.

The city went on and on. They went over a bridge, there were more bridges that seemed to connect with each other, there were bays and inlets with boats, and still it was New York.

“Enormous,” Lore murmured, speaking German, “but I wouldn’t want to stay here.”

“Why? Do you like a smaller place better?” asked Jake. And seeing Lore’s discomfiture, he explained. “I can understand some German. I grew up hearing Yiddish, and it’s a relative, you know.”

“I didn’t mean—” began Lore.

“It’s okay. You two have to decide where you want to go. This is a big country, and there are committees that can help you find a place in it. Don’t worry.”

For the first time, Lew spoke. “You ladies listen to Jake. He’ll steer you right. He knows his way around.”

Here they were in a car with these two strange men, driving through strange streets. It was like reading Kafka, or seeing a Dali landscape, where time was a warped clock seen in a dream. The streets rolled past; gas stations, groceries, shoe stores, and lines of identical houses repeated themselves without end. And suddenly they stopped.

“Home,” Jake said. “This is it. And not too much later than I expected, either.”

There was a row of stores, and above them curtained windows, some with flowerpots on the sills. Jake pointed upward.

“See the red geraniums there over the Right and Ready Dry Cleaners sign? That’s our flat. Annie’s crazy about flowers. Come on up. She’s all excited about you.”

They climbed the stairs, which were narrow, dark, and clean. Cooking smells from roasting meat and onions drifted down. No doubt that was Annie waiting at the top; in the dimness, Caroline saw a flowered apron and outspread arms.

“Oh, my God, you’re here!” First Caroline, then Lore, were taken into a hot embrace. Annie was crying and laughing. “I don’t believe it. Really you. How are you? I thought you would never get here. Where are the rest of you? The Hartzingers?”

“Not now, that’s a long story. Later, Annie,” Jake said. “Let them get in first and catch their breath.”

Surely there was no precedent anywhere for a meeting like this one. You could fall on your knees
and thank these rescuers. You could burst into tears or you could be stricken dumb. Caroline and Lore were, for the moment, stricken dumb.

“Go in, go in,” Jake commanded. “You’ll have to excuse Annie. She gets emotional.” For Annie had started to cry. “Annie, don’t burn the roast. I’ll show them their room. Now there’s the bathroom at the end of the hall. This here is for you, twin beds and a nice lamp between. I’ve put in a bright bulb in case you like to read in bed, though maybe you’ll be too tired tonight. You want to change clothes? If you do, Lew and I’ll bring your things right now, but I think Annie’s got the food ready, so maybe—”

“We’ll wash quickly. We won’t keep her waiting.”

“Great.” Jake rubbed his hands. “Smells good. Annie’s a great cook.”

He left them standing in the middle of the room. Between the two beds and the large dresser, there was scarcely space to do more than stand. The summer evening beyond the window sent a weak shaft of light across the brown and tan interior, the tan walls and rug, the varnished brown furniture. Caroline walked to the window and saw the rear of a building similar to this one; a boy stared silently at her across a fire escape. Behind him hung a torn curtain. When she turned back to Lore, there was a weight of sadness in her chest.

“I could cry,” she said.

“Does it seem as awful as all that to you?”

“No. Because of their goodness, I meant.”

They went in to dinner. Four places had been set on a small table covered with a smooth white cloth. At the center were some red geraniums in a jelly jar.

“Jake and I, being alone now, usually eat in the kitchen,” Annie explained. “This table that folds we keep for company. First I had it set for six, but I took the plates off just now when I saw—”

“Annie, please, I asked you—” began Jake.

Caroline stopped him. “It’s all right. We have to face the truth. My parents haven’t been able to get out. I don’t know where they are.”

“I’m sorry,” Annie said. “Sorry about it and sorry that I brought up the subject. We know all about it. So many people in this neighborhood have relatives or friends over there. The world has gone crazy. And you are sisters? You don’t look alike at all.”

“Annie!” Jake protested with such desperation that Caroline had to smile.

“It’s all right,” Caroline said for the second time, and after giving them a brief family history, went on to tell them that Lore was a beginner in English, but that if they would speak Yiddish, she might understand some of it. “Speak slowly,” she added.

The result was some fairly successful conversation over a hearty dinner. By the end of it, Lore and Caroline knew a good deal about the Sandlers. He was a house painter. She worked downtown in a basement housewares department. They had two sons, who had gone to California colleges on part scholarship and had decided afterward to stay there.

“Annie has five more years to get her twenty-five-year bonus, and then maybe we’ll join them. Me, I can be a painter anyplace,” Jake said. “Now let’s talk about you folks. Seems to me the first thing you need to do is cable your friends in Switzerland and tell them you arrived safely. But that’s in the morning. Right now you must be knocked out. Lew and I will bring your stuff upstairs here, you can unpack what you need and get to bed. Tomorrow we’ll talk more.”