Too Many Men (57 page)

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L I L Y B R E T T

mans. “Oskar Schindler saved altogether one thousand two hundred Jews,” Helena said.

“I do know two Jews what he did save,” Edek said to Helena. “Two brothers from Melbourne.” Ruth knew the two men Edek was talking about. Both brothers were musicians.

“Steven Spielberg did win seven Oscars for this film,
Schindler’s List,
”

Helena said. Ruth groaned. “Steven Spielberg did film
Schindler’s List
in thirty-five locations in Kraków,” Helena said.

“Really?” said Edek.

Ruth tried to work out how to derail the Steven Spielberg speech tact-fully. She didn’t want to offend Helena. She couldn’t think of how to do it.

“Do you know Steven Spielberg?” Helena said to Ruth. Ruth laughed.

“No,” she said. ‘No one ordinary knows Steven Spielberg,” she said.

“And I don’t know if he knows anybody ordinary.”

“Really?” Helena said.

“Of course,” said Edek, with authority. Ruth saw that Edek was eager to contribute to this conversation.

“Only celebrities know Steven Spielberg,” Ruth said.

“That is the truth,” Edek said. “How would a person what is a normal person meet such a person like Mr. Spielberg, who is not a person what meets normal persons?”

Edek was repeating himself in his rush to be an authority on the subject and impress Helena, Ruth thought. “President Clinton knows Steven Spielberg,” Ruth said to Helena. “President Clinton and Mrs. Clinton stayed with Steven Spielberg and his wife at their beach house in the summer,”

Ruth said.

“My daughter does know everything,” Edek said.

“It was on the front page of every New York newspaper,” Ruth said.

“So the president of America was a guest at Steven Spielberg’s house?”

Helena said. Ruth wondered if this new piece of information would be tacked on to all the future Schindler’s factory tours.

“Yes,” she said to Helena. Helena looked very pleased to be the recipient of this fact. Edek looked very pleased to have pleased Helena.

“I know someone who knows Steven Spielberg’s mother,” Ruth said.

She stepped back in surprise at what she had just said. She couldn’t believe what she had just said. Why had she said that? She had obviously been carT O O M A N Y M E N

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ried away. Buoyed by the success of the Clinton news item. Edek and Helena both moved toward her.

“You do know somebody what knows the mother of Steven Spielberg?”

Edek said. He looked wildly impressed.

“You know someone who knows Steven Spielberg’s mother?” Helena said.

Ruth felt foolish. She couldn’t believe the turn the conversation had taken. Still, it was her fault. She had started it.

“I think we should catch a taxi back to the hotel,” Ruth said. Edek looked disappointed. “I’m tired,” Ruth said.

“My daughter does need a rest,” Edek said.

“This former Schindler factory is now occupied by a company that manufactures electronic components,” Helena said. “I will go inside and order a taxi for you. They know me here.”

Ruth and Edek waited outside. “She is a very nice girl,” Edek said to Ruth.

“She is a very nice girl,” Ruth said.

Ruth was tired. She felt a bit sick. The taxi Helena had arranged for them stank of cigarettes. She should have something to eat, she decided.

“Do you want some lunch?” Ruth said.

“No thanks,” Edek said. “I will wait until dinner.”

“I’ve booked a Jewish dinner at the Samson Restaurant,” Ruth said.

“The dinner comes with a Jewish cabaret.”

“This does sound interesting,” Edek said. “A cabaret.”

“Would you be interested to go to a visit to the Auschwitz Museum?”

the cabdriver said. “I will do a very good price. Very cheap.” Ruth was stunned. How many people were peddling trips to Auschwitz in this city? And how did they know to whom to offer the trips? The takers, in this marketplace, the potential clients, must be clearly marked, Ruth thought.

“We do not want to go there in this car,” Edek hissed to Ruth. In Polish, Edek said to the driver, “Thank you very much for your offer. We have already made prior arrangements.” Ruth was irritated by Edek’s excessive politeness to this tobacco-stained driver.

“It will be better a Mercedes to get for such a long trip,” Edek said to Ruth.

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L I L Y B R E T T

“It is the Auschwitz death camp,” Ruth said slowly to the driver. “Not the Auschwitz Museum.”

“It is not necessary to say this,” Edek said to Ruth.

“I’ve already booked a Mercedes,” she said to Edek.

“Good,” he said. “Please do not say anything more to this driver.”

“Okay,” she said. She didn’t want to spoil Edek’s good mood.

“Only young Germans do visit Auschwitz,” the taxi driver said.

“He speaks English,” Edek said to Ruth.

“Old Germans, never,” the driver said. “Who knows, maybe they are
Wehrmacht
.”

“Do a lot of young Germans go?” Ruth said.

“Quite a few young Germans visit the Auschwitz Museum,” the driver said.

“The death camp,” said Ruth.

“Ruthie,” Edek said.

“Sorry, Dad,” she said. She was glad that young Germans were visiting Auschwitz. It was a good sign. It was too late for old Germans anyway.

They had too much at stake to repent now. They had to justify so much.

They would unravel if they unpicked a few of the historical myths they had stitched together.

“Are you going to have a rest?” Ruth asked Edek when they got back in the hotel.

“I do not need a rest,” he said. “I will read a bit. I did just start today a new book.”

“What’s the new book called?” Ruth said.

“Thrusts from Above,”
Edek said.

Thrusts from Above?
What on earth was her father reading?
“Thrusts
from Above?”
she said.

“It is a very good book,” Edek said. “It is about a man who did used to be a pilot. A very good pilot.”

“Don’t tell me anymore,” Ruth said. “That’s enough.”

“That’s enough?” Edek said. “I did tell you nothing. It is a very interesting story.”

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“I’ve got some work to do,” Ruth said. “How about I meet you downstairs in the lounge in a couple of hours?”

“Okey dokey,” Edek said.

“Don’t forget to order something to eat if you’re hungry,” Ruth said.

“I am not hungry,” Edek said. “But I think I will sit in the lunge and have a drink of soda water.”

“Good idea,” Ruth said. She walked off smiling.

Ruth sat down on the bed in her room. It was a nice room. It was large and airy. Filled with light. She had her own balcony, which looked out on to a small, cobbled street. Edek’s room was even bigger than hers. He had been very pleased with his room. She felt she should check in with Max. To make sure things were under control. Under control. Could anything ever really be under control? In order? Probably not. She didn’t think she was destined for an orderly life. A life under control. All the order she had tried to put in place seemed to have frayed, or split at the seams. Why was she using sewing metaphors? She had no idea. She was tired.

She should call Max, she thought. She put her feet up on the bed. Why was she so tired? Why was she so much more tired than Edek? She was so much younger. She was probably going to be a washout of an old woman, if she lived that long. She always added the coda, if she lived that long. As though to omit it would tempt fate. Incur wrath. Whose wrath would she be incurring? She had never been too clear on that.

Ruth dialed Max’s home number.

“Hi, great to hear your voice,” Max said. Max sounded very chirpy. Too chirpy for Ruth.

“Hi, Max,” she said.

“Let me ring you back,” Max said. “You’re in Kraków?”

“Yes,” Ruth said. She began to tell Max not to bother, but Max had already hung up. Why did Max sound so bright? The phone rang. It was Max.

“You sound exhausted,” Max said.

“You could tell that from a ten-second conversation?” Ruth said.

“Yes,” said Max.

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L I L Y B R E T T

“Well, the trip hasn’t been a picnic,” she said.

“You didn’t expect it to be, did you?” Max said.

“I don’t know what I expected,” said Ruth.

“The
Observer
rang,” Max said. “They asked if we wanted to increase the size of our ad. They’ve got a special on. For two weeks we can double the size of our ad for not much extra.”

“We don’t need a bigger ad,” Ruth said.

“Can’t we try it?” Max said. “It won’t cost much.”

“We don’t want to look like a multinational corporation,” said Ruth.

“Three inches by three inches is hardly multinational,” Max said.

“There are some things that are more effective small,” Ruth said.

“You’re not thinking about men, are you?” Max said, and laughed.

“No, not at all,” Ruth said. She hardly thought about men. Her brain already seemed too crowded without adding thoughts of men. Too many men. Was that what the gypsy woman had said? What a strange thing to say to her. “You’ve got sex on the brain, Max,” Ruth said. “I’ve noticed it ever since you took up with the married man.”

“Five minutes and thirty seconds it took you to mention him,” Max said. “I had a bet with Bern. I said it would take you less than five minutes.

I owe Bern two dollars.”

“Let’s get through the rest of the business,” Ruth said.

“A client asked if we could do a thank-you-for-your-introduction-to-anagent letter,” Max said. “He’s an actor, and he said he wants a really special letter. The person he’s writing to introduced him to one of New York’s biggest theatrical agents.”

“Can’t you do it, Max?” Ruth said.

“I’ve tried,” Max said. “I just can’t seem to get it right.”

“Did the agent take the actor on?” Ruth said.

“The actor doesn’t know yet,” said Max.

“Okay, I’ll do it,” Ruth said. “Fax me the details.”

“He needs it this week,” Max said.

“I’ll do it in the next couple of days,” Ruth said.

“Thanks,” Max said.

“What else is new?” Ruth said.

“John Sharp called,” Max said. “He insisted that he had to talk to you personally.”

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“Did you give him my number?” Ruth said.

“No,” Max said.

Ruth was relieved. John Sharp was immensely wealthy and, like many of the immensely wealthy, expected attention the moment he requested it.

Ruth wasn’t up to getting a call from John Sharp.

“I know he’s a big client,” Max said. “But he makes me mad. He speaks to me like I’m a servant. He’s just a tall, slobby, unattractive, overweight man who happens to be very rich.”

“It’s
as
though I’m a servant, not
like
I’m a servant,” Ruth said.

“I knew you’d pick up on that,” said Max. “Anyway, I can’t stand John Sharp. I hope he chokes on a big tin of Beluga caviar.”

Ruth laughed. “You have to be careful what you say about other people,” she said. “It could have repercussions. Come back at you in some form of karma.”

“What’s happened to you, Ruth?” Max said. “Something’s changed.

You’re sounding mystical. You need to get back to New York.”

“You’re right,” Ruth said. “I do.”

Edek was sitting in an armchair in the lounge of the Mimoza. A large, half-eaten platter of cheeses, smoked and pickled fish, pâté and cold meats was on a coffee table in front of him. The coffee table was crowded. Around the platter were glasses, napkins, and three almost empty bowls of nuts. On either side of Edek, also in armchairs, were the two women Ruth and Edek had exchanged greetings with at breakfast. Edek and the two women were laughing raucously. Edek saw Ruth. He stood up and waved to her. The women stood up, too.

Edek introduced Ruth. “This is my daughter Ruthie,” Edek said. “And Ruthie, this is Walentyna and Zofia.” Both women rushed to shake Ruth’s hand. Zofia, the larger of the women, shook Ruth’s hand first. Her handshake was as firm as her sturdy appearance suggested. She gripped Ruth’s hand and shook it until Ruth’s knuckles hurt. Walentyna, the dainty one, had a demure handshake.

Ruth looked at what was left of the food on the coffee table. Edek and the women had clearly been having a good time. “Sit down,” Edek said. He pulled over a chair for Ruth.

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“Please have something to eat,” Zofia said.

“My daughter does not eat,” Edek said.

“You don’t eat?” Zofia said. “I read, in America, that women don’t eat.”

“They like to be slim in America,” Walentyna said.

“Too slim is not good for a woman,” Zofia said. She looked at Ruth.

“You know what I mean?” she said. Ruth had no idea what Zofia meant.

She nodded her head. She didn’t want to find out. Zofia’s strength and vigor intimidated her. She felt flimsy next to Zofia. How must Walentyna feel? Walentyna was a fraction of Zofia’s size.

“I do eat,” Ruth said. “I eat plenty.” She patted her hips to emphasize that she was not slightly built, and not starving herself.

“She used to be a fatty,” Edek said.

“She is not fat at all,” Walentyna said.

“She is not fat,” said Zofia. “She is thin.”

“I’m not thin,” Ruth said.

“You are thin,” Zofia said. “Have some liverwurst.”

“It is a very good liverwurst,” Edek said.

Ruth sat down. She felt dazed. How had this conversation begun? And how had she been sucked into its vortex so quickly? Here she was patting her hips, and arguing about whether she was thin or not. Ruth looked at Edek. He hadn’t used the term “fatty” for years.

“Your father has been talking about you,” Walentyna, the smaller woman, said. A sense of dread filled Ruth. What else had her father been saying?

“He said you are rich,” Zofia said. Ruth was speechless. Of course, she should have guessed. “I’m not rich,” she said.

“It’s good to be rich,” Zofia said. This came out as a forceful statement.