All Good Women (42 page)

It looks like things are going better and I may be home this summer. What do you think of that? I'm afraid to anticipate. What if I don't make it? Or what if we're delayed? Or what if you don't want me when we get there? Well this kind of rambling is silly. How is the family? I hear from Stanley that your mother is doing better, working at the cannery. And Betty's music? Tell her I expect a concert when I return. Tell her sister I expect a lot of dances and quiet evenings strolling through the city and …

Wanda stared
down at the
sidewalk which was littered with bottles and wrappers. She could almost smell the dog shit. When she lived on Stockton Street, she thought she lived in the city, but clearly there were city streets and city streets. What part of town did Roy want to stroll in?

She considered that long, dramatic hike they took through Golden Gate Park three-and-a-half-years before. Three-and-a-half years and still she had doubts about this marriage. Was he the right man? Would they have a good life together? These were the same doubts. However, marriage then was posed against an exciting career as a world roving reporter. Now it was posed against a past of commitment and a future of responsibility. They would get married as soon as he returned from Italy. Everyone expected it. At age twenty-seven, it was time for her to be married. Still, he was encouraging her journalism. After all, she had planned to write before she joined the reporter-photographer team. She did write. Why, during the camp years her diary grew as long as a book. Not that she would want to publish such private material, but it did show her what she could do. Earlier this week, she had five or six article ideas. But, it was impossible — how could she take care of Mama and Betty and go to school? Well, she had never known how they would make it through the last three years. Could the unpredictability of misfortune prepare you for the unpredictability of luck?

The phone rang.

‘Hello Wanda, this is Carolyn.'

Chastened about her small worries, she forced herself to be bright. ‘How are you, Carolyn? How's my beautiful niece? How's the job?'

‘Oh, Winnie is fine. It's hard balancing work and home. I'm lucky to have Aunt Yoshiye to take care of her. I'm grateful for the job. And I keep my eyes open for you, Wanda. I've told my boss that you're a crack bookkeeper. When he starts to see our kind is trustworthy, I'm sure he'll interview. The man they have doing the books now is drunk half the time.'

‘Thanks, Carolyn.' Wanda didn't want to raise her hopes. Besides, she wasn't sure Mama would wish her to leave the cannery. ‘How's your father doing?' She stared at the front page of the newspaper. ‘Hitler Commits Suicide.' She had heard them screaming about it on the street. You couldn't get anything else on the radio. She was only reading the newspaper now because Carolyn made her nervous — one more person who thought Wanda had the answers.

‘Oh, fine, getting some of his former students back. But he's particularly down today because he got a letter from Uncle Minoru in Japan. My God, I had no idea of the extent of the destruction! And the hunger. I should have known, but I've been concentrating on my own woes. Anyway, hearing what happened to our family alone is horrifying. Only one uncle left out of six.'

Wanda nodded silently. She wanted to go up to her room with the tea and write in her diary until Betty and Mama returned. She had so much to sort out today — about Teddy and Moira, about the war closing, about Roy's return. But Carolyn was tense, going on hectically, and she needed someone to listen.

‘You know, as awful as that camp was, Wanda, I always feel kind of grateful for it because it was there I met you. I know that's cockeyed.'

‘Not at all.'

‘Well, it is a relief to be away from that place — to have a private bathroom and kitchen and not to have to walk a mile to do the laundry — but it's also hard sometimes. I don't know. I get lonely. Lonely, after years of being in a prison camp, that's crazy, you know?'

‘I know.'

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Spring 1945, London

32,000 INMATES RELEASED FROM DACHAU

BRITISH OCCUPY LEBANON AND SYRIA

CHINESE MOVE INTO INDOCHINA

US TAKES OKINAWA

Anna Rosenzweig stood
at the
front door watching the parade on Chester Court. Everyone was outdoors tonight. Kids raced up and down the pavement. Neighbors who hadn't spoken for six years were chatting like old friends. Drivers weaved and honked, shaking flags from their car windows. It wasn't safe to be out tonight. Anna shook her head. If it was like this in Hackney, she could just imagine the West End. The radio announcer said Piccadilly Circus was exploding.

Victory in Europe. German Surrender. The end of war. Peace. Were they the same? What had been won — the remaining lives? Reports about the dead became more frightening every day. This was a war they would continue to suffer for years, as the details of the concentration camps were uncovered. For tonight, however, Anna forced herself to admit simple relief. The fighting was over. No matter how many Jews they had killed, this was the end. Reuben had rung and left a message for her to meet him at the Prince George.

She lit a cigarette and stared at her hysterical neighbors. She couldn't celebrate yet. She needed time to contemplate the conclusion and to absorb the idea of having a future. She also needed to watch over Leah tonight. For all his romance about family, Reuben didn't understand the responsibility of having a small child. He would be expecting her. And he would be angry.

Climbing the stairs now, she heard Leah moan from her dreams. The girl had been tired today — not sick, but slow — and she had always been able to sleep through anything. Peacefully curled on her cot in the corner of Anna's room, the child sighed as the door opened. Peacefully, this was such a relative term nowadays. Would a girl who had been ripped apart from her family at age two, only to find at age seven that they were all dead, ever sleep peacefully? Now that the war was really over, Anna would start formal adoption papers. Although this is what they both wanted, Anna worried that the official step would re-open the child's wounds. Yet she had to admit Leah seemed happier since she came here. She ate better and was even-tempered. Cheerful, the word for blessed Leah was cheerful. What would she think of the surrender? She could hardly remember anything besides war in her life. For Anna, peace raised a sheet of decisions about Reuben, about Mama and Papa, about where she and Leah belonged.

‘Anna Rosenzweig,' she whispered. ‘Anna Rosenzweig.' She was glad to have taken back the family name from the chopping block of Ellis Island. And although her given name was Ann — Papa would countenance no antedeluvian immigrant nomenclature in his American family — she knew she was Anna. Anna Rosenzweig looked out of the window this London evening and knew she would be leaving the city soon. Papa refused to notice and still addressed his letters to Ann Rose. Daniel was good about it, saying if that's the name she wanted it was OK with him, but he hoped he could still be her brother if he kept the Rose. The girls had tried. Teddy was the most consistent. Well, people would just have to get used to it. And she had a right to call herself whatever she wanted. Certainly these two years in Europe had been as much of a birth as the one she experienced twenty-seven years before. She had come to London and found her name.

‘God save our gracious king …' The voices would get louder and louder all evening. Eventually they would wake Leah. She turned to find the child still asleep. Of course she had had to sleep through much worse — the journey from Germany, the blitz, midnight screams from the other children in the dormitory.

They would all carry these last few years with them for the rest of their lives. Anna thought about her own despair and fear and exhilaration in London. She felt tougher and more compassionate. Somehow she was able to know the pain of other people in a way she had never been able to experience her family's pain. She wasn't afraid of catching it. This outside pain helped her to understand Mama's illness and Papa's intransigence. Anna looked out at the dancers and the cars. Yes, it was good that she had come here. She had contributed something and she had gained a lot — not the least of which was perspective on her family. But she couldn't assume that understanding better meant behaving differently.

Sometimes she daydreamed about introducing Leah to Mama, having Mama sit up in bed and hold the child. But most of the time she doubted that Mama would ever be able to respond again. If home were so horrible, she asked herself, why was she planning to return? She could stay here and marry Reuben. She could go to New York, visit Ilse Stein and start all over again. She could … maybe that's why this ‘victory' was so ambiguous.

Now that the world had temporarily quietened, her choices echoed again.

‘Telephone, hen.'

‘Yes, Mrs MacDonald,' answered Anna. She knew Reuben would ring again, ‘I'll be down in a second. Thanks.'

She took the stairs two at a time, thinking about that dreary day last year when she had the flu. She would like to see his sweet face tonight.

Reuben was more excited than irritated. ‘Come on down, now, Anna. Lots of people. Esther is here. And Sheila. Everyone from the office. We miss you. I miss you.'

‘I can't, Reuben, there's Leah. Someone should stay with her tonight. There's all this shouting and singing. It might frighten her.'

‘Bring her along.'

‘Children don't belong in pubs, friend.' She shook her head.

‘Tonight she should be out. Several children are here already. The police are celebrating too. This is history, Anna, bring the girl along.'

‘I'd rather be quiet tonight, myself,' she tried.

‘Quiet, for quiet you'd have to travel to the North Pole. Pull yourself together. This is the end of the war, love, the end. We've won. You don't celebrate alone in your room.'

He was right. She would just get lost here in her morose family thoughts if she didn't go. And Leah would love the festivities. He was right. About this.

Leah held Anna's hand
as
they walked into the Prince George. ‘So many people, Mummy.' Leah was amazed.

‘Yes,' Anna stuttered, still unused to being called Mummy.

‘Over here! Anna. Leah.' A familiar bass voice penetrated the din.

‘There he is. Over by the wall.'

Reuben embraced the two of them and kissed Anna on the cheek.

She stared at this tall, handsome man all dressed up in his best black suit. He had shaved closer than she could ever remember and she was mesmerized by the tiny pits in his skin. Sometimes she was astonished by how strange men looked.

He didn't seem to notice her scrutiny. ‘You two stay here and I'll bring drinks. Lemon squash?' He turned to Leah. ‘And bitter?'

Anna nodded. An old man and woman squeezed together on the bench to make room for Leah.

‘Thank you.' She smiled gracefully and accepted the seat.

Such a beautiful girl, thought Anna, bright and vital and so poised for a seven year old. She fairly glowed in that blue cotton dress, a much better choice than the drab brown one Anna had selected for herself.

‘Where are you from?'

Anna turned to see Leah engaging her new friends in conversation. She smiled and leaned against the wall, following Reuben's bold movement through the crowd to the bar. As her eyes settled to the smoky atmosphere, she began to make out familiar faces. There was Esther sitting by the window. Yes, she was waving her to come over. Anna shook her head and pointed to Reuben. She had never known the pub this full and loud. She guessed it didn't matter if people couldn't understand each other because they were all saying the same thing.

Reuben returned with drinks. He handed her a whole pint of bitter. Had she made progress? No, he probably just didn't want to fight his way through the crowd for another half. She watched him chatting animatedly with Leah.

The warm beer was soothing on her throat. She looked around at the flushed British faces. They had endured a lot during six years of war. How could she have been so cranky about their songs on the street? She sensed Reuben standing beside her, his long body against her arm and thigh. He was always discreet in public. Not that anyone would mind tonight if they kissed passionately. Except Leah. She liked Reuben, but she was possessive of her mummy. Normal, Anna surmised, startled how normal they all were.

‘I love you,' he whispered.

She smiled.

‘We made it through together.' He smiled back.

‘Yes,' she nodded and took another long drink.

‘No reason not to settle down. Nothing to wait for now, except the rest of our lives.'

She stared across to the large, ornate mirror over the bar. She would have to make a decision sooner than she had imagined. Perhaps she had never imagined making a decision.

He moved closer. ‘Tonight we live in tonight.' He clinked his glass with hers.

She reached up and kissed his lips softly.

Anna took another sip. Reuben was right. This was a night to forget the future and the past. Look at these people. They had all lost relatives and friends and limbs and homes and businesses and hopes to the war, but they were immersed in victory. She regarded Leah, sociably chatting with the old couple. She set her glass on the table and pulled out a cigarette. Reuben lit her tip with his.

He puffed studiously, blowing smoke rings into the hazy room.

‘Balloons,' called Leah. ‘Can you do a balloon, Mummy?'

Anna closed her eyes, concentrating on producing a smoke ring.

Reuben laughed as her balloons spiralled toward the intricately moulded ceiling.

The excitement continued
at a
fever pitch for days. Anna couldn't believe such giddy behavior from the British. They had even managed to drag her out of her own torpor. This week, she had gone dancing twice with Reuben. In fact, she got so far behind on work that she had to bring papers home on Sunday. What a blessing when Reuben and Mark invited Leah to the museum for the afternoon. The museum. Anna hadn't thought about museums for years. How many other usual activities had she ignored during the war?

She heard the doorbell ring and it took her a minute to realize she was alone in the house. Mrs MacDonald was at the Red Cross and the others were either working or enjoying their day off. She cleared her throat and reluctantly walked downstairs. As she opened the door, she saw the man walking back down the path. She stood frozen, but some innate sense of responsibility opened her mouth. ‘Here we are. You have something for one of us?' As she spoke, she realized the telegram could be for someone else. The man swivelled and she noticed his shiny black shoes with the perforated toes.

‘Glad you're here,' he called. The voice grew too loud as he approached. ‘Didn't want to make another trip.' Too loud. ‘Yes, this one's for Miss Ann Rose.'

She stared at his sandy hair and his flushed face. The man in the rooming house on Turk Street. He had found her again. No, he had been wearing a paper bag over his face. She remembered the wrinkled brown bag with a stain down the right side. But she had always imagined him to be fair like this.

‘Miss Ann Rose,' he repeated.

‘That's me,' she said, standing straighter for stability. Pathetic to quibble about names now.

‘Sign here,' he said.

She returned his book. He waited. ‘We're meant to see if there's a reply.' She heard his East End accent.

Anna read through the window of the envelope, ‘San Francisco, California'. It would be about Mama. Or maybe about Daniel. Papa would hear first about Daniel. But the war was over; it was too late for casualties.

‘No.' She turned to the man and found relief in his eyes. Horrible job. ‘I don't think there'll be a reply right now. Thank you.' She dug into her pocket for a sixpenny bit.

‘Ta, Miss,' he said hesitantly.

Anna crept up the stairs, holding the telegram in front of her. Collapsing into the armchair, she stared out blankly at the street. Mama or Daniel. Cruel roulette. What made her think she could get through the war unscathed? Sometimes she thought she had come to Europe to tempt fate, to put herself on the line, to assure everyone else's safety. She could hardly move her fingers. Slowly, she unfolded the telegram and read.

Dear Ann,

Mama passed away in her sleep yesterday. Funeral next week. I miss you. Love, Papa

No, it wasn't possible. Mama knew she was gone only for a short time. How could she leave like that? Anna read the telegram again. A mistake. How could she be dead? Her eyes filled with tears, held in by a skein of anger. Never again to see Mama. Never again to say, ‘I'm sorry'. Never to say, ‘I love you'; to say, ‘I wish I could have made it better'. Never again to try for that bond that had been impossible while she was growing up.

Tears rolled down her cheeks; she wiped them away with her palms and then with the sleeve of her sweater. She thought of Teddy. Why did she have to be in London, for God's sake, so far from everyone? This failure she had been sorrowing about all her life was now irreconcilable. Mama was dead. Mama would never hear how she loved her. Mama could never tell her. Oh, Mama, Mama. Why hadn't she been in San Francisco? She might have been able to do something. Had Mama called her name? Did she feel Anna had abandoned her as everyone else had? ‘Mama, Mama, I tried so hard to make it right for you. I wanted you to be happy. Mama, Mama. I love you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.'

Anna staggered from the chair and found her handbag. They would return any minute and she couldn't bear anyone just now. She was tempted to leave the telegram on the table, to give them the shock she had received. Instead, she scrawled a note saying she would be home in a couple of hours. She tucked the telegram in her pocket where it felt warm. Lighting a cigarette, she scuttled down to the cool afternoon street.