Margot: A Novel (38 page)

ing in America. Maybe because it was when I first began to
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understand that staying hidden forever, even here, even now, it
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is impossible.
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But do not think I blame you for this, Pim. Do not think I
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blame you for anything. The book, the movie, your new life in
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Switzerland . . . In one way, I should probably thank you. Had
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it not been for the movie, I might not have searched for Peter
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again, or met Bryda, or worked more closely with Joshua. Ilsa
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might not have figured out the truth about me, and in doing so,
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I might not have figured out the truth about myself. I am still not
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sure what happened that day on the train. But now, when I
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think about it, I realize that Ilsa is partly right. I do think my
S28
sister would want me to live. And not in hiding either. If I could
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ask her now, I believe she would say, much like Ilsa, that I very
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much deserve my American happiness. And that is what I am
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working toward now, Pim.
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A month after Joshua buried his father, he officially left his
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position as lawyer at Rosenstein, Greenburg and Moscowitz
.
We
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packed up our desks at the same time as Shelby clung to her
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cigarette and pleaded with me not to leave her all alone, but
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then both of us, Shelby and I, we laughed a little, since we knew
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it would only be a matter of time until she was married and she
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would be leaving too. Shelby also finally asked Ron about the
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woman Peggy saw him with, and it turns out it was his secretary,
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helping him pick out Shelby’s ring. So I am pleased that Shelby
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too really genuinely seems to have found her happiness. And
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even though we are no longer working together, we are still
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friends, and we sometimes find ourselves meeting for a drink
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after work.
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In August, I completed my paralegal studies, and Joshua offi-
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cially opened the doors of his new firm, which he simply calls
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Joshua S. Rosenstein, Attorney-at-Law. He contacted Bryda
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and Reisel and the others on our list, and since then, we have
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been working hard on their case. In September, we attracted the
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attention of
Philadelphia
magazine, and they did a write-up on
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Joshua, calling him a “pioneer of our time.” I clipped the article,
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put it in a frame, and hung it up in our new office, which for
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now is only one tiny room with two large desks, just above
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Isaac’s storefront. It is meant to be a studio apartment, I think,
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but for the time being, it suffices as our office space.
28S
The article also has brought in some fresh cases. Not mur-
29N
derers, but generally Jewish people who need help, and who
have come to understand that Joshua is a person they can trust.
01
Joshua has handled several divorces, one adoption, and also
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helped a man sue another man who hit him with his car. Joshua
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says this will be enough for us to keep our doors open for now
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and continue work on our group litigation, which pleases us
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both.
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Most days, Joshua does not even wear a suit to work, but
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casual pants and a starched, collared plaid shirt that almost
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always brings out the handsomeness of his gray-green eyes. I go
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to work without my sweater, except for now, when the weather
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is turning cooler again, and a sweater has become a necessity—
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not for hiding, but for warmth.
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My Jewishness is no longer a secret in the city of Philadel-
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phia. And if I am being honest with myself, I’m not sure why I
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really kept it one so for so long. Though I am sometimes still
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afraid of anti-Semites, when I read the news now I make a point
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to look for good things that happen to Jews in America. And
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there are a lot: weddings, births, and even that very nice article
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about a Jewish lawyer who is trying to help other Jews. I was
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lying to myself, as much as I was lying to everyone else, I guess.
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My Shabbat candle was more than a ritual. And so were my
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prayers. In a way, the Nazis tried to erase our Jewishness. Then
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I tried to erase my Jewishness too. But as Eduard once very
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wisely told me, you are who you are. I understand now that hid-
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ing, it is not really being alive. And I am, Pim. I’m alive.
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Maybe I clung to Peter’s words much more than I should’ve.
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Who knows if Peter even meant them, or if they were just fairy
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tale? But they were the only thing that made me feel safe, for so
S28
very long. And there remained a secret strand of hope that if I
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01
did what Peter and I promised each other, he would still find
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me. Maybe you think that’s silly, and I wonder if you have even
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known before now about me and Peter. If you found my diary,
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then you did, I suppose. But if the NSB destroyed it, or if it is
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still tucked away somewhere under the folds of my cot . . . well
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then, I expect a lot of this might surprise you. I hope it will not
07
upset you.
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I guess I should also tell you that everybody here in Philadel-
09
phia still calls me Margie Franklin. Even Joshua and Ilsa, who
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know there is more to me than that. I
am
Margie Franklin now,
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Pim. She is the woman I have become. Margot, she is the girl
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who only lives on as a character in the book.
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Everything I have revealed to you here, I am telling you in
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confidence. I do not want the entire world to know me, or to
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think they know me. My sister, she can be the face of all the
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suffering, the one reminding everyone, still, now, that it cannot,
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must not, happen again. That we were real people. This is
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important, and I am glad her legacy lives on this way, whether
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her diary was stories, fantasies, reality. I do not know. Perhaps
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it does not even matter. But me—I do not want a book, or a
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movie, or even a play. I have a life, and what I want now most
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is to finally live it.
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I hope you will understand my story, Pim. That you will
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understand why it has taken me so long to write you. I do not
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know if you will respond to me, but I hope you will. I would like
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very much for you to meet Joshua and Ilsa and Bertram too.
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Someday.
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Quite often, I think about that line from my sister’s book,
29N
where she said that even amid all the terrible things that were
happening to us, she still believed in the goodness of people. So
01
do I, Pim. Brigitta, the nun, saved me. And Mother’s friend Edu-
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ard took care of me in Frankfurt when I thought I had no one
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left. Ilsa and Bertram, they brought me to America, and loved
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me as if I were their family. Shelby has become my true Ameri-
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can friend, and Joshua . . . Joshua has given me breath again.
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I hope that you too have continued to believe in the goodness
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of people, Pim. That you too are happy in your new life.
08
09
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I hear a knock at the door of my studio apartment, and I put
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my pen and the paper down. The papers form a long thick
12
pile now, more than a diary, maybe even more than a book.
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I gather the paper into a neater pile and put it all into the
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thick brown envelope, which I have already addressed to
15
Switzerland. I seal it. And then I put it on the corner of my
16
table. I will mail it. Soon. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe next
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week.Sometime—
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I hear the knock at the door again, and I stand. “Just a
19
minute,” I call. I give Katze a quick pat on the head and pick
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up my small pink purse, which Shelby had been ecstatic to
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find in the exact pink shade of our bridesmaid’s dresses.
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I open the door, and Joshua stands there, his tall body
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arched in the frame. He wears a black suit with a starched
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white shirt and black tie. He holds his hands behind his back,
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but when he sees me, he pulls his arms around, and I see he
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is holding a small nosegay of pink roses in one hand. “For the
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bridesmaid,” he says, smiling his uniquely Joshua smile,
S28
where his gray-green eyes dance across my face. Then he
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01
unfolds his other hand to reveal a small ball of twine. “For
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Mr. Katz,” he says.
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I laugh, and I take the twine and throw it in the direction
04
of Katze, who is lying on the blue couch. He peeks his head
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up for a moment, then ignores both the twine and Joshua,
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and goes back to sleep.
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I turn back to Joshua and take the flowers. “They’re beauti
08
ful,” I say, and I smile back at him. I hold them to my nose and
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inhale the sweet sharp scent. They too seem to match my
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dress exactly, which is a pink taffeta with long sleeves, which
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Shelby decided upon after I told her I was Jewish and showed
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her my tattoo. In typical Shelby fashion, she only shrugged,
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offered me a cigarette, and then told me not to worry at all
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about the dress. To her, my tattoo, my religion, it changed
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nothing between us. Though of course she might have flinched
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had I told her the rest. Worse, she might not have been able to
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keep it to herself. And that, I think, is the real reason that I
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hold my final secret close, and have told only Ilsa and Joshua.
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“You ready?” Joshua asks now. I grab my coat off the chair,
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pull it over my shoulders, and then Joshua holds out his hand,
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across the doorway.
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“I’m ready,” I say. I take his hand and step out into the
23
hallway. He gives my hand a squeeze, and he smiles one more