It's You (14 page)

December 8, 1937

Received a reply from Director Kittel. If I am serious, I must go to Berlin and audition.

December 10, 1937

Mother replied to my letter regarding the Stern. She said “absolutely not.”

December 14, 1937

I wrote Herr Kittel asking when I could come audition. I mentioned that I was free for three weeks over the Christmas holidays. I then wrote to Mother and Father about my studies at the Hoch. I laid out a most intelligent but passionate argument as to why I must change schools.

December 21, 1937

I will be spending Christmas in Berlin!

December 23, 1937

Letter from Mother today. She said no. No, no, no, no. And Father supports Mother.

I’m going to Berlin anyway. I have to audition.

January 2, 1938

Had the most wonderful holiday in Berlin. I absolutely love the city. The theater scene is still very vibrant despite all. Can’t imagine what Mother would say if she knew I not only auditioned for Herr Kittel, but attended a New Year’s Eve party at the Adlon.

January 6, 1938

Not happy back at school. It’s beyond dull. Want to be back in Berlin.

January 8, 1938

I didn’t get in. I’m so disappointed.

January 11, 1938

I really don’t want to be here anymore. I want to be in Berlin. Have written privately to Father expressing my desire to do something else but haven’t had a response yet.

January 20, 1938

Still not happy but at least this semester I have an instructor that studied with Schoenberg in Vienna as part of the
Zweite Wiener Schule
, and he is introducing us to totally chromatic expression, as well as Schoenberg’s serial twelve-tone technique. I’m not sure I’m comfortable composing without firm tonal center, but I’m fascinated by Schoenberg’s creativity.

February 13, 1938

German troops have been entering Austria since yesterday. Germans aren’t concerned, as both Germans and Austrians (including those belonging to the Nazi party and those who don’t) have being calling for a
Heim ins Reich
, for years. Many view this as the natural order for things, and as Walther reminds everyone constantly, if Hitler can accomplish so much in Germany in such a short period of time, just imagine what he can do for Austria?

March 13, 1938

Anschluss
dominates the headlines in today’s paper. Austria has formally been annexed to Germany today. Reports say that ninety-some percent of Austrians voted in favor of the annexation. I wonder if that’s true . . .

May 15, 1938

Yesterday England’s football team defeated Germany’s, 6-3 and the Germans are protesting, crying foul.

Apparently Germans are supposed to win everything.

Perhaps England didn’t know?

June 18, 1938

The world is full of news of hate and aggression. Jews are being attacked and their property in Poland confiscated. The Nazis can confiscate art from “degenerates.” Japan has declared war on China. It’s better not to listen to the news. I get terrible knots in my stomach and feel sick all day.

August 16, 1938

Attending the Salzburg Festival with Frieda, Katrina, and Boris from Hoch, but the atmosphere is remarkably different from last year’s. Hitler’s soldiers are everywhere, creating an overwhelming, and oppressive presence. Worse,
Jedermann
—which has been part of the festival since the beginning—has been banned, along with my favorite,
Faust
. The music festival has come under the jurisdiction of the Nazi party so anything associated with a Jewish musician or composer is forbidden. Of course there are new productions of Wagner and Mozart to take the place of the banned productions.

And of course Hitler would idolize Wagner. Wagner himself was anti-Semitic. Thank goodness I am American and not German.

August 30, 1938

Met two brothers from San Antonio, Texas who have grown up spending most of their summers in Bavaria with their grandparents, and always attend the festival with them before returning to Texas, but don’t expect to return next year, due to politics.

They were quite shocked that I am here, on my own. I explained that I am not on a grand European tour but studying music at the
Hoch. They still found it shocking, and I don’t know if they thought it indulgent (in view of American citizens being warned that they should not travel in war zones) or simply too dangerous.

I was annoyed at the time, but now I wonder if they know something I do not.

I don’t feel in jeopardy here. But then again, I am not an undesirable.

September 2, 1938

Tonight’s radio broadcasts announce that Mussolini has declared that Jews in Italy have no rights.

So he, too, is now targeting the Jews.

I think back on my education and my first music teachers in Mexico were Jewish emigrants. And again, in Chile and Cairo, there were teachers and musicians who helped my studies.

How can people fear them?

And yet, I dare not say anything here, because I am clearly in the minority. But what is happening in the world? And when will it end?

September 10, 1938

Walther has not returned to Hoch. He has joined Hitler’s SS.

I am surprised. He loved his music but I suppose he loves der Führer more. At the same time, it will be a relief not to have to listen to him lecture us girls on our proper place and responsibility (that women should be wives and mothers . . . producing the next generation . . . filling the Reich’s nurseries with blond-haired, blue-eyed infants . . .).

Maybe I should go home. But if I go home, I will not know what happens here.

October 1, 1938

The German radio announced tonight that it has annexed the Sudetenland to the Reich, as all ethnic Germans belong to Germany.

October 30, 1938

Spirited debate tonight over tea regarding the American Archbishop Beckman from nowhere Iowa, declaring swing music the “music of the devil.” Apparently all those who listen, or dance to it, are going to hell.

I am constantly amazed, and disappointed, by the ignorance of people.

Must write to Mother. I know she’s not a fan of swing, but I think she’ll be amused, if not dismayed, by Beckman’s condemnation.

November 9, 1938

Violence throughout Germany and Austria today as Jews were beaten, arrested, and murdered in retaliation for the assassination of the German diplomat, vom Rath, in Paris by a young Jew. I don’t know how many were killed, but by all accounts, it was close to one hundred.

November 10, 1938

I walked out of my theory class when Berthold said that the only bad thing about
Kristallnacht
was that more Jews weren’t murdered.

November 15, 1938

Goering announced earlier in the week that he thinks all Jews should go to Madagascar. That Madagascar should be their homeland. I laughed when I first heard the statement—does Goering even know where Madagascar is? And then I realized but of course he does. And I nearly cried.

Things are becoming very bad and no one is doing anything.

Tragically, I think Hitler understands far too well that “might is right.”

Ali

I
take Ruth to the dentist late Monday morning. Edie comes with us but she and I don’t speak. I hold Ruth’s hand as we leave the car and walk to the office. And then once I’ve signed her in and filled out the paperwork, I again hold her hand until they call her name. I carefully walk her back to the chair, and make sure she’s comfortable. Later when she’s relaxed, I return to the waiting room. Edie is staring at the TV screen; the sound is muted so she’s just watching the images.

I reach for a magazine and flip through it.

At the moment we are the only two people in the waiting room but we don’t talk. We haven’t said a word directly to each other since the other day. It’s not a comfortable silence now and part of me would like to apologize but another part is still angry.

• • •

A
n hour later, Ruth’s procedure finished, I walk her to the car, keeping a close eye on Edie who clearly doesn’t want any help from me.

“Thank you, Sophie dear,” Ruth says, patting my hand as I assist her buckling her seat belt once inside the car.

“You’re welcome, Ruth.”

Driving, I glance into the rearview mirror, checking on Ruth and Edie who are in the backseat together. Ruth is looking out the window while Edie stares straight ahead.

“Are you feeling okay, Ruth?” I ask.

“Yes, dear.”

“Nothing hurts?”

“No.”

“Good.” I focus on the road, and we travel a mile along the same street, eventually slowing for a red light.

As we sit at the intersection I hear Ruth sigh with pleasure. “Look at all those beautiful flowers,” she says, focusing on the flower stand. “Aren’t they lovely?”

“They are,” I agree.

“You like flowers, don’t you, Ruth?” Edie says.

“I do.”

I glance again into the rearview mirror. “Do you want to stop and have a closer look?”

Ruth nods. “Oh, yes, please.”

I signal and pull into the gravel parking lot. Ruth is eager to get out of the car but Edie doesn’t move. I think she’s going to stay behind but at the last moment she unclicks her seat belt and swings her door open and carefully climbs out.

“Do you need an arm?” I ask Edie.

“No. Just pay attention to Ruthie.”

I give Edie a tight smile, refusing to let a crabby old lady get me down, and escort Ruth to the stand, aware of Edie following slowly behind us.

The woman inside the flower stand greets us. I tell her we’ve stopped to admire her beautiful flowers. She tells us to take our time.

Ruth pauses to examine the long-stemmed red roses. “My mother always had the most beautiful rose garden,” she says. “Red and white roses.”

“My mother loved roses, too,” I tell her.

She looks at me. “My mother was a dancer. A ballerina.”

“My mother was a teacher.”

Ruth leans over to smell the red roses, inhaling deeply, but when she straightens she’s no longer smiling. “They don’t smell like anything.”

I lean over and take a sniff. The red roses aren’t without fragrance, but it’s admittedly very light, almost an afterthought. “That’s disappointing.”

“Yes.”

We walk slowly along the stand, Ruth’s hand tucked into the crook of my arm, as we examine the flowers in each silver bucket, with Ruth smelling each.

Ruth talks about her mother the dancer, and from my peripheral vision I track Edie, aware that I’ll have hell to pay should anything happen to her.

We reach the end of the stand and we’re turning away when I hear Edie tsk-tsking. Glancing back, I discover her bent over a bucket of summer dahlias, a mix of spiky pinks and oranges with dinner-plate red and purple, and she’s beaming as if she’s just bumped into long lost friends.

Edie catches my eye, and straightens abruptly. “Dahlias are such show-offs,” she says with a snort.

But I’m not fooled. And I smile.

• • •

B
ack at Napa Estates, an aide takes Ruth in a wheelchair back to her room. Edie stalks off without a word to me.

I stand in the lobby entrance and am frustrated and hurt and confused.

I don’t know how to make this right. I am trying so hard, too.

Abruptly Edie stops walking and turns to face me. “Well?” she demands. “What are you waiting for? Come with me.”

Edie

I
n my little apartment kitchen I show Alison where I keep the teacups and the canister of tea. I tell her to plug the kettle in and get everything ready.

I sit at the small kitchen table watching and giving direction as need be.

I have to apologize to her, and I don’t know how. I am not very good with apologies.

I was going to talk to her once we had our tea, but I find it difficult to sit in silence, while we wait for the water to boil.

I fuss with the red pom-pom fringe on my white tablecloth. I’ve had this round cloth with the red cherry embroidery for years. I remember once how one of Chad’s girlfriends admired my “vintage” linens.

The kettle whistles just as I’m about to speak. Alison pours the water, filling the cups, floating the tea bags.

She carries both cup and saucers to the table.

“If you like sugar, there’s a spoon in the top drawer and the sugar bowl is already on the table,” I tell her.

“I don’t need any,” she answers. “Would you like sugar?”

I shake my head and she sits across from me. We sit stiffly, and yet so politely. I should have apologized the moment we reached my apartment and gotten it over with. I don’t know what to say now. I’ve lost my nerve and my energy.

I can be a sour old woman and I know it. I am not kind to most people anymore, not tactful, either.

Finally I can’t bear it any longer. “I’m sorry,” I say quickly, my voice not entirely steady. “I am sorry for what I said Friday. It was mean-spirited and I displayed poor manners.” I take a quick breath. “I would also like to say thank you for taking Ruth today. Not just to the dentist, but to see the flowers. That was very kind of you and appreciated by me.”

The girl’s been staring down into her teacup this entire time but now she lifts her head and looks up at me. “I wasn’t very nice, either. And I’m sorry, too.”

“Your father said you had a broken engagement.”

She dunks her tea bag once, twice. “He died last year. Six weeks before our wedding.” She looks back down, into the tea. “He killed himself . . . and I was the one who found him.”

Her father hadn’t told me this. I frown, at a loss for words. Quiet stretches.

“We met in dental school,” she adds, as if compelled to fill the uneasy silence. “We studied together, lived together. He was my best friend.”

I take the tea bag out and place it in the saucer next to the cup. “You thought you were going to be a bride and a wife, but then he was gone.”

“Yes.”

“You feel cheated.”

“And confused. How could someone I love so much, just . . . go?”

“Without a good-bye,” I add softly.

She looks up into my eyes. “Yes. Exactly. There was no good-bye. No warning. He was there with me, and then he was gone.”

I rub my knuckles, kneading the ache in my hands. “I loved someone once, like that. And I didn’t get to say good-bye to him, either.”