Among the Living (4 page)

“Oh my God,” she whispered. Tears formed in her eyes. “I didn’t mean to say that. I didn’t mean that. That’s a terrible thing. I’m so sorry.”

Goldah answered gently, “You said nothing.” He wondered how many ways he had learned to numb himself to this. “This is a hot room. I leave the drapes closed when I’m not here. Very simple.”

Jesler seemed momentarily at a loss.

Goldah added, “And you’ve given me a blotter and pen on the desk. How very kind.”

The silence was worse than the heat until Jesler said, “A Montblanc. If you want to do some writing. And that’s another lamp.” He turned it on. “Plenty of light even if you keep the curtains closed.” He pointed to the bureau where a porcelain basin sat with a cloth draped across it. “A damp towel at night can do wonders. Mary Royal changes the water every day.” He tried to find something else in the room to talk about but found only Pearl. Her eyes had glazed over.

“Well,” said Jesler, “we’ll leave you to it then. Have a little lie-down or just take it easy.” He gently took Pearl by the arm. “Come on, honey. I’ll help you with the …” He lost the thought. “Got to have something they need me for in that kitchen, don’t they, Yitzhak?” He caught himself. “Ike. I mean Ike. Ike Goldah. I’m the one who came up with it, and here I am … Anyway. Okay then.”

Jesler moved Pearl to the door. As they passed, she placed a hand on Goldah’s arm and Jesler let her stand there.

“She’ll be fine,” said Jesler. “It just comes over her sometimes. I’ll call you when it’s time to come down. Maybe we’ll
have a little talk.” He turned to Pearl and said quietly, “All right, honey. Ike’s here and we couldn’t be happier.”

Jesler led her out of the room and pulled the door closed behind them.

Goldah waited until he heard them on the steps and then turned off the lamps. He pressed his palms down onto the bed. The mattress was thick and gave with the springs. He sat down and placed his hand on the pillow. It was cool and crisp, and he leaned his shoulder down until his cheek was resting on it. The cloth creased against his skin and, keeping his shoes on, he brought his feet up, drew his knees into his chest and placed his hands under the pillow. He stared across at the fan and tried to feel its air blow over him.

He would lie like this, he thought, with a solitude he could barely recall, and know it would ask more of him than he could ever give.

Goldah dreams, the same dream he has had for the past three years.

It never varies, the sound of a train whistle, then another, then the first again, and his brother is sitting across from him. They are at a table under a tree, water nearby, and a small glade where Goldah remembers holding a girl by the arms for the first time. A kiss, the redness in her face, the heat in his. Others sit beyond them, eating and laughing and listening to him tell of the hunger and the filth and the beatings from the Kapos. A wonderful feeling to be at home at last, with so many he knows and with so much to tell. And Goldah speaks and they listen until they are no longer listening because they have turned away to talk among themselves — words he cannot fully hear, things he cannot understand — and his brother
looks at him as if he does not know him. His brother stands to go and Goldah is left to sit and to watch and to feel the heat through the leaves, and he wonders if he has ever left the camp except in this dream.

He remembers the first time he recounted it to Pasco, an Italian Jew, small, who shared the wooden bunk with him and who spoke German. Pasco who taught him the most important thing — that shoes are life, that shoes are food, that swollen feet are only for the dead — and who explained that they all have this dream. All? Yes all. The exact same? Exact — what is exact? There is family and friends and listening and then no more listening, and grief because they have forgotten you or never knew you at all. That is enough. And when Goldah asks how it is that so many different minds can find this one dream, Pasco says it is a kind of gift, something owned and hidden away in the night where not even a Kapo can find it and take it. This is mine, he says, this is ours, this is what we share, but Goldah, even then, finds it strange to cling to such despair, even hidden despair, as the only promise of life. What gift is that? For him they share it only so that they can know its truth; they share it so that they can each recount it … one day, one day, one day.

Jesler sat with a whiskey held just below the lip of his desk. The light behind him had slipped in through the blinds, almost by accident.

The study was an affectation, but Pearl said men of a certain standing required one. The real paperwork was down at the store. Even so, Jesler kept a few outdated files scattered across the desk, just enough to have her think he was putting the place to good use. He heard her in the hall and set the half-full glass in the bottom drawer.

She said, “He’s asleep.”

She was leaning her shoulder against the jamb and, for a moment, Jesler recalled something almost carefree in her face.

“Feeling better?” he asked.

“Ike’s asleep.”

“Is he?”

“I looked in. With his shoes on, poor dear.”

“I’m not sure you should be looking in on him when he’s sleeping, do you, honey?”

Her head tilted against the jamb. “He has a funny sort of walk, did you notice that?”

“I hadn’t,” said Jesler, “no.”

“In the station and out to the car. Long strides with a little hitch.”

“He’s a tall fellow.”

“You don’t think —”

“No, Pearl, I think he’s just fine.”

She gave a weak smile. “We need to look after him, Abe.”

“We are.”

“I mean really look after him.”

“He’s a grown man.”

“You keep saying that.”

He heard the accusation. “Did you take a Bayer? Headache all gone?”

“The house feels full, doesn’t it? Already. As if it was meant to be, him coming.”

Jesler knew to tread lightly. “I’m not sure he’d see it that way, honey.”

Pearl’s eyes wandered, her voice with them. “It was a terrible thing I said, wasn’t it? I should never have even thought it.”

“We’re all thinking it,” said Jesler, drawing her back in. “Can’t be helped at the start. We’ll get better. Oh, by the way,
I was thinking, if Ike doesn’t want to come and work with me down at the store —”

Pearl straightened herself up. “What does that mean?” she said sharply. “You said he’d be working with you.”

“I know.”

“You said it. I thought we agreed on this.”

“We did. Don’t get so het up. He’ll come work at the store, but if it’s not what he wants —”

“How can he know what he wants? We talked about this, Abe. That’s for us to help him with. And especially with the expansion.”

Jesler said slowly, “Pearl, honey, I don’t want to talk about that.”

“But you said it’s all set out.”

“I said —” Jesler stopped himself. “That’s not for you to worry about, okay? How’s your head?”

“Fine, Abe, fine. But you know I wanted to have a party for it. Your announcement — and then Ike here. What a chance it would have been for tonight — introducing Ike and telling everyone how he’s going to be a big part of the store’s expansion. Don’t you see how nice that would have been for me? The whole day would have been different.”

“I do — I do see that.”

“You weren’t always like this, you know, keeping everything so close to the chest, and taking me along with you.”

“I know. I’m a mean and terrible man.”

“Oh, stop. But joys don’t come along all that often, and you know it.”

“I do — except sometimes it’s best to wait on them, don’t you think?”

He saw the sudden coldness in her expression and thought she might lash out — buried pain has such a refined capacity
for cruelty — but instead she said, “Well anyway, it’ll give us a chance to celebrate twice. Once for Ike tonight. And once when you let me tell the whole world about the expansion. So there.” She flipped her wrist with too much youth and Jesler gave her a bright fake smile.

He said, “And there you are.”

“Yes, there I am. Mary Royal!” she shouted. “The meatballs should be done.” She pointed a finger at him. “So. There.”

Pearl blew him a kiss and moved along. Jesler retrieved his glass from the drawer and toasted to his latest reprieve.

“Ike?”

Goldah heard the knocking. It grew stronger and he checked for his shoes. He pushed himself up and dropped his feet to the floor. Beyond the knocking was the low hum of voices, laughter, glasses tinkling. There was a sudden swell of light that passed across the wall and he stood and pulled back the drape to see a line of cars along the street. He tasted the sleep in his mouth and ran his hand across his face.

The door creaked open and Jesler’s head emerged into the room.

“Ike?”

The light from the hallway angled across his bed. “I’m here,” said Goldah.

“Oh, yes. There you are. Good. Pearl thought it’d be best if we let you sleep. She’s set everything out for you in the bathroom. Tooth cream, toothbrush, razor, comb, towels, that sort of thing. If you need a shirt, there’s one of mine laid out. Shouldn’t be too bad under the jacket. There’s a tie or two as well.”

“Thank you.”

“Take your time. People are still arriving. You’ll get to make a grand entrance. How about that?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

Jesler looked as if he might go; instead, he stepped farther into the room.

“Just so you know” — Jesler spoke to explain or to apologize, Goldah couldn’t tell which — “most of the folks coming tonight are in business like me. They’ll probably want to talk to you about the kind of work they do, maybe the kind of work you were doing. You were in newspapers before the war, weren’t you?”

“I was, yes.”

“Well there, you see … that’s something they’ll be interested in. And they’re going to want to help you fit in, maybe talk about opportunities, I don’t know, so if it gets too much and you’re feeling out of sorts, you just come and find me. Pearl’s not too good at knowing when things can get a bit much. Then again if something
does
interest you, well that’s okay, too. That’d be great. So you just let me know. Okay?”

Goldah nodded and Jesler nodded, perhaps expecting more. Jesler said, “All right, then. I’ll see you down there.”

He closed the door behind him and Goldah waited for his eyes to find the lamp. He stepped over and turned it on and winced at the light. The room was still so hot and all he felt was that he had never known sleep, only this exhaustion. Why not give him this first night, he thought. Why not that? It was the first and only self-pity he had allowed.

Five minutes later Goldah noticed how the shirt was too big in the chest. Pulled back, it was still better than the wrinkles and stench of his own. The tie was wide and he put some water in his hair to give it a shine. His face smelled of mint from shaving.

He tried to empty his mind as he stood at the top of the stairs. It was always best to come at these things without something to say: so much anticipated of him, as if he were only waiting for the opportunity to unburden himself. To see them all thinking, “I understand what it is you’ve lived through” — if only there wasn’t such a desperate longing in each of them to run. What a bind to put themselves in, the moral weight of it all, to be brave and consoling even as they felt nothing but pity and revulsion. Was it wrong to be revolted by a man like this? Did his story forgive them that? Wouldn’t he forgive them that? Didn’t they deserve to be forgiven?