The Other Traitor (27 page)

Mariasha shivered. Why was it so cold in the room? She got up carefully from her chair and went over to the radiator. There was no heat coming out of it. She banged it, hurting her hand. She brought her fingers to her lips. Cold. No heat coming from her body.

Over. Everything was nearly over.

She found a sheet of paper and a pen in one of the credenza drawers, then put Yitzy’s record on before she returned to her chair.

His beautiful voice rang out.

Embrace me, disgrace me

Just don’t erase me.

You are the apple of my soul

If you love me, don’t let me go.

The music transported her back to that Friday afternoon when she and Yitzy had made love in the back room of his friend’s store. They had both agreed. They would remain friends because the idea of never seeing each other again was unbearable to both of them, but they would never again come together as lovers. And then they swore that they would never speak to each other or anyone else about this one lapse. This one blissful and unpardonable afternoon of ecstasy.

And perhaps she would have been able to keep their secret, but destiny wasn’t finished with her games. A few weeks later, when Mariasha realized she was pregnant, she knew she had no choice but to tell Aaron. She was prepared for him to throw her and Yitzy’s baby out of his life. But Aaron was too kind a man for such things. He accepted her promise that she would never again cheat on him and took the birth of their daughter to be a blessing.

For almost five years, only Mariasha and Aaron knew the truth about Essie’s real father. But that changed one beautiful summer’s day.

Mari recognized Yitzy, even from behind. He was sitting on their bench beneath the lush oak tree. There was something about the upward slope of his shoulders and the way he held his head. Proud and confident, just like the fourteen-year-old boy who had once stood in front of a room of campers to sing the
Internationale.
Yitzy was wearing a straw hat and throwing breadcrumbs at the sparrows that pecked in the grass around his feet.

He turned when she was still a few feet away and stood up, favoring his good leg. His smile lit up his face. “I thought that was you sneaking up behind me.”

They gave each other a hug, as had been their practice the past few years when they would get together with their families. But this time, it seemed Yitzy held her a moment longer than usual. Her heart skipped. Maybe she shouldn’t have come. Even after all this time she wasn’t sure she could trust herself alone with him.

“Glad you could make it,” he said.

The Saturday before, when they’d been out to the movies with Betty and Aaron, he’d slipped her a note asking to meet.

“Is everything all right?” she asked.

She followed his gaze to the wide avenue behind them where a black car slowed, then sped up until it was out of sight.

“Let’s sit down,” he said. “We may not have much time, so I’ll get right to the point.”

His tone alarmed her.

“That car was probably the FBI. They’ve been keeping a close watch on me.”

“On you?”

“I’m sure you read in the papers that they arrested Bertie Shevsky and Joey Bartow.”

“I have.” In the last few months, people with communist leanings had been picked up and questioned. And since the Soviets had detonated a test atomic bomb recently, there had been a number of investigations into the leaking of secrets from Los Alamos. “But you had nothing to do with Bertie or Joey,” she said. “Why would the FBI be watching you?”

“Apparently they brought in Flossie Heller for questioning. She told them I was part of Bertie’s and Joey’s spy ring. In fact, she said I was the one calling the shots.”

“But that’s a lie.”

“Of course it’s a lie.” He threw another handful of crumbs at the birds. “But it’s a good way for Flossie to get Bertie and Joey lighter sentences and keep herself out of prison. Right now, the FBI’s game is to bring in people they think have information about atomic spy rings and give them ‘get-out-of-jail-free’ cards if they provide the name of someone higher up in the system.”

“Have they questioned you yet?”

“They did indeed. Right after Flossie pointed her finger at me.”

Mari took a deep breath to settle her panic. If they had questioned Yitzy, then Saul might be next. And for Saul there was no get-out-of-jail-free card.

“What did you tell them?” she asked.

“The truth. That I had nothing to do with any of Flossie’s crowd during the war.”

“But they’re still watching you. Do you think they know about Saul?”

He shook his head. “It doesn’t seem that way to me. In fact, these guys are pretty clueless. I think they’re under some pressure from the politicians to come up with a scapegoat to persuade everyone the Soviets stole the bomb from the U.S.”

She was quiet. There were people picnicking on blankets in the grass. Couples walking hand in hand along the path beside the river. Across the water, she could see the low, familiar Brooklyn skyline. It was a beautiful summer day, but her stomach was in knots. “Do you think you’re in any danger?”

“Nah,” he said. “They’ll never be able to prove a connection between me and Bertie or Joey.”

“But there’s a connection to Saul.”

“No one’s looking for Saul,” he said. “Stop worrying about him.

“But what if they pressure you to give them a name?”

He jerked his head back and studied her from beneath the brim of his straw hat. His right eyelid drooped like a falling curtain. “You think I’d ever give your brother away, Mariasha?”

“No. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”  She took off her white gloves, looked at the gold wedding band Aaron had given her. She was worried, but what could she say? She had to trust him.

Yitzy rested his hand over hers. “It’s going to be all right.”

She let out a shaky breath.

“I know you and I promised each other we would never talk about that afternoon,” he said, “but I’m going to break that promise.”

“Let’s not, Yitzy. Please.”

He held up his hand. “I told you then how much I love you, Mariasha. That hasn’t changed. It will never change.”

She couldn’t meet his eye. Her mind didn’t want to go there, but her heart was making its own choices. It ached inside her.

“I think about that afternoon every single day,” Yitzy said.

“Me, too,” she said softly.

“You do?” His voice lifted. Just like it did in the song he’d recorded for her.

“Not that way,” she said quickly, then felt her cheeks grow warm.

He frowned. “What way then?”

“Nothing. I didn’t mean anything.”

“Yes, you did.” He looked across the river at the tugboats pushing larger ships. “Essie’s birthday is in October.”

Mari felt an awful weight pressing against her.

“I always wondered.” He threw a few crumbs at the birds. They attacked them. “Her blue eyes. Her blonde curls. But Aaron’s such a loving father that I stopped hoping.”

“You hoped?” she said, stunned.

“Of course I hoped. Do you think anything could give me greater joy than for us to have made a beautiful child like Essie?”

“I promised Aaron I would never tell you she’s yours.”

“Essie’s my daughter,” he whispered. His eyes watered. He rubbed them with the back of his hands.

She had never guessed her secret would affect him so deeply.

“And you’re saying that Aaron knows the truth?”

She nodded.

“Aaron’s a great man.”

“Yes,” she said. “He is.”

“I want you to know something, Mariasha.” He lifted her chin with his finger. “Even if Essie never learns that I’m her real father, I love her as much as I love her mother, and I promise you that I will do whatever’s in my power to keep her safe.”

* * *

The record was over. The needle made an ugly sound as it went around and around in the run-out groove, but Mariasha didn’t have the strength to get up and set it back on the record.

She shivered. It was so cold that she could hardly hold the pen in her hand, but she had to write this letter. She needed to tell Essie what she had never had the guts to tell her before.

She began to write.

Precious Daughter of my Heart:

My Essie. You were named for my mother, Esther, the strongest woman I’ve ever known. If only I could have been more like her…

Essie heard the door close as her son left the house after telling her of her mother’s treachery. It was ironic that despite the awfulness of the situation, Julian was more her son than he’d been since his father died. ‘Mom,’ he called her for the first time in twenty years.

So perhaps she should be grateful to her mother for this. But how could she be grateful to Mariasha Lowe for anything after all the years of pain? Now this fresh insult. Would it ever end with this hateful woman? But one thing Essie realized was if she didn’t confront her mother now, she would never be free of her.

A taxi dropped her off in front of her mother’s building. Essie’s childhood home, where she’d played hopscotch on the sidewalk, thrown a pink rubber ball against the courtyard wall. She used to play with Sally Goldstein. They’d been best friends until Sally and her mother moved away. Essie had only vaguely understood there was shame in the Goldstein family. She knew it the last couple of times the two girls had played together, Sally unable to laugh or meet Essie’s eye.

I could have been that little girl.

She used the key she still kept on her key ring to get into the building, then took the elevator up to the fourth floor. The elevator seemed smaller than she remembered it, as it often did when she returned.

When was the last time she’d been here? Two years ago? Three? Longer, since she’d seen her mother? Essie called her mother from time to time, but always felt even more discouraged after each brief conversation. She tried to persuade herself that Mariasha didn’t matter to her, but that didn’t work. Essie had been drinking more and more in the last few years, trying to numb an ache that wouldn’t go away. An ache she’d inadvertently passed on to her son.

Sure, she could blame Julian for pulling away from her, but he had been a child. She was his mother. She should have tried harder, but she didn’t. She receded into an ice chest, just as her mother had done with her.

At the front door, she hesitated. She could turn around and leave things alone. Live with her anger, just as she always had.

No. No more avoidance. She was finally going to have it out with her mother.

She knocked, her heart beating wildly.

No answer.

Perhaps she was napping or showering. Essie used her key and stepped into the foyer.

Memories flooded her. Her mother calling.
Leave your shoes in the foyer, sweetheart.

Her father hugging her.
How’s my Esseleh? Did you have a good day at school?

There was a scratching sound coming from the living room. She listened. The needle from the old phonograph at the end of a record. She remembered the sound from her childhood.

She peered into the living room. It was exactly the same as when she was growing up. The bulbous art deco sofa and chairs. Coffee table shaped like a boomerang. TV cabinet with the old black-and-white television that hadn’t worked in thirty years.

Her mother was asleep on the turquoise chair. It had always been her favorite place to sit. It faced the picture windows and three sculptures.
Woman Wearing New Hat, Man Reading, Boy Playing Stickball.
Her mother’s parents and brother. Still Essie’s family, even though she now, apparently, had a different father.

She took a step closer to her mother. She didn’t want to wake her, not just yet. Didn’t want to end these few minutes of memories with an ugly confrontation.

Her mother’s head was against the arm of the chair, eyes closed, mouth open. Essie’s heart jumped. How tiny she looked in her black sweater and pants against the large chair. She had seemed like such an enormous presence when Essie was a girl. A beautiful, famous sculptress with a larger than life personality. She was beautiful still, even with her wrinkles and sunken cheeks.

There was something on her lap. A book. On top of it a paper. A letter she was writing? A pen had fallen to the floor.

The phonograph needle went around and around.

She took another step, finally admitting to herself what she had known the moment she’d entered the room and seen her mother absolutely still. No movement in her chest. No fluttering in her eyelids.

Mariasha Lowe was dead.

“My mother is dead,” Essie said to the room. She waited for the stab of pain that had hit her when she learned of her father’s death, and then again when her husband died. But she felt nothing.

“Good,” she said. “I’m glad you’re dead.”

Nothing. No pain. No joy. Just the sound of scratching as the phonograph needle went around and around.

She moistened her lips and approached her mother’s body.

There would be no confrontation now. No resolution. Her mother was dead.

She reached for the letter in her lap. The handwriting was barely legible, but as soon as she’d read the first couple of lines, she knew things weren’t completely finished with Mariasha Lowe.

Precious Daughter of my Heart:

My Essie. You were named for my mother, Esther, the strongest woman I’ve ever known. If only I could have been more like her.

Esseleh, your father called you. Oh, he loved you more than life itself, even though he knew he hadn’t made you. He forgave me for that. No, more than forgave. He thanked me for giving him a daughter, because he’d been unable to have children of his own. And you lit up his life, as you did mine.

I wish I had told you how much I love you, but my world was forever darkened the moment Yitzy Goldstein was executed. Every time I looked at you, I remembered that I was responsible for your father’s death. Guilt kept me from hugging you, kissing you, telling you how much I love you.

Oh my darling girl, how can I ever make up to you the pain I’ve caused you?

I can only tell you that Yitzy Goldstein, the father who made you, was a good man. A kind and generous man. And you were the product of the purest, the most beautiful love. I only wish …

The letter ended there, the ‘h’ in ‘wish’ running off the page.

Essie stood without moving, as the phonograph needle scratched around and around, making a shrill noise like the scream that was forming in her head.

“Liar,” she said. “You’re such a liar.”

She went to the old Victrola and lifted the tone arm.

The record was ancient, with a hand-written label.

For Mariasha
, it said.
From Yitzy.

A heavy pressure pushed against her chest. She cranked up the phonograph and cued the tone arm.

A wistful voice sang a cappella. Soft and distant, like it was coming to her from another world. But the words were clear and strong.

Believe me, deceive me

Darling, just don’t leave me

You are the apple of my soul

If you love me, don’t let me go.

Her real father.

She thought about her mother’s letter.
You were the product of the purest, the most beautiful love.
Was that part true?

Essie sank down beside her mother on the chair and held her small, stiff body. Hugged her tight. She smelled the citrusy fragrance that had always been her mother’s and a memory came to her.

Her mother combing her hair when she was very little.
You have your father’s golden curls.
Then a kiss.
I love you, Essie. More than you’ll ever know.

The pain started deep, deep inside, taking her breath away, as her father continued to sing.

One promise I will make to you

Wherever I am, whatever you choose.

I will love you till my last breath’s drawn

I will love you long after my time is gone.

Tears ran down Essie’s cheeks as the pain erupted.

“I love you, too, Mommy. More than you’ll ever know.”