The Puppet Boy of Warsaw (34 page)

Minutes later the performers and the technician are in the foyer, mingling with the children and the other members of the audience. The tall blonde woman stands alone with a Coke in her hand while the brunette is surrounded by a group of children. He strolls up to the woman with the Coke.

‘Excuse me, are you Mara Meierhauser?’

The woman smiles at him. ‘No, dear, I am Sibylle, that woman over there is Mara.’ She points at the women with brown hair.

‘Thanks.’ He moves away before she can ask him anything.

I should go home, this is just stupid.
He moves past the children, walks through the front door. The cold hits him like a wall but he welcomes its sobering effect. He decides to wait exactly five minutes.

The sidewalk has been transformed into brown slush. He stomps down the road with extra-large steps, enjoying the splash of the dirty snow. A bagel shop catches his eye and his stomach starts to rumble. He’s hardly eaten anything over the past few days. He considers buying a bagel but then thinks again about the German woman, selling her grandfather’s story to those gullible kids. Still, he wants to meet her – he knows that’s what his grandpa would want him to do.

Daniel turns, walks back to the theatre and enters the foyer.

‘Come on, kids.’ The teacher ushers her students into a corner and starts counting.

She is alone now, Daniel
thinks
. Just stay cool, I can always slip out of here.
But his heart betrays him, beats as crazily as a drum. He takes a deep breath, approaches her from behind, his hands in his pocket, trying to swagger, look casual.

‘Are you Mara Meierhauser?’ he says.

‘Yes, I am.’ She turns and smiles but he can see she is nervous. Was she nervous with the kids too?

‘I’m Daniel Hernsteyn,’ Daniel says. He’s never seen blood drain so quickly from a face. She looks white, and spooked like a horse after a fall, a panicked rabbit.

‘Daniel . . . Hernsteyn?’

‘Yes, Danny, actually. You left a message on my grandpa’s answer machine?’

‘Yes, yes, I did. Oh my God. And you’re his grandson?’

‘Yeah. But he’s in hospital. He had a heart attack three days ago.’

If it is possible the woman looks even whiter now. She moves to a group of chairs and sits down.

‘You all right?’ he asks, following her.

‘Yes, I’m OK; I just didn’t expect this when I didn’t hear from your grandpa. How’s he doing?’

‘Not sure. He’s unconscious. He’s on a machine.’

‘Oh no,’ she looks at Daniel directly, ‘I’m so sorry to hear that. I hope he gets better soon.’

‘Yes, so do I. So, you wanted to talk to him?’

‘Yes.’ She sounds shy now. ‘I don’t know where to start, there’s so much to say. Do you have some time?’

Daniel nods.

‘Shall we find a place where we can sit for a while?’ Mara asks.

‘Sure, there’s a bagel shop just down the road,’ Daniel replies, turning towards the exit.

‘Sounds good. I’ll just tell my colleagues.’ She gets up, talks to the tall woman, then disappears and returns a few minutes later dressed in a dark blue coat and a rubyred scarf.

They venture out into the road and walk the few hundred yards to the bagel shop without speaking. As they enter, a waft of freshly baked bread greets them like a warm hug. They peel off their coats and sit at a table near the window.

‘Choose whatever you like, please, it’s on me,’ Mara says. The waitress brings the menu. Daniel hesitates.

‘OK, then, thanks, I’ll have cream cheese and lox and a Coke,’ he says.

‘I’ll have that too. You don’t call it salmon here? We call it
Lachs
in German. Same word.’ She smiles. Daniel wonders whether that is supposed to make him feel better. The waitress takes their orders and they sit in silence.

‘I’m so glad you came. I’ve been looking for your grandad for a long time. There’s something I want to give back to him.’ She isn’t smiling now and her voice sounds hoarse. She reaches into her coat pocket and pulls out a dark red bundle. It’s the prince, the narrator of the show. She puts the puppet on the table facing Daniel and adjusts the little crown.

‘So is this . . .’ Daniel stretches his arm towards the puppet but doesn’t touch it.

‘Yes, it’s the same prince – the puppet your grandad gave my grandfather in 1942 in Warsaw. Did he ever tell you about that?’

‘Yeah, he told me some things, but only a few days ago. Before that he never told anyone anything about it, not even my mother.’

Then suddenly it all spills out.

‘The Germans took everything, why could he not have let Grandpa at least keep his favourite puppet? How could your grandfather take it? My grandpa was only a boy. And by the way, Mika lost everyone in Warsaw, your play is wrong; he was the only one to get out of that hell alive. No one, not one of his family, survived.’ Daniel’s voice is louder than he wants it to be and his cheeks have turned a fiery red.

‘That’s awful.’ Mara’s voice is thin and she looks down at her hands. ‘I’m so sorry.’

Daniel glares at her but she still doesn’t look up. After a while Mara takes a deep breath and lifts her head.

‘Look,’ she speaks quietly, bending forward, ‘there’s nothing I can do to change the past, but I want to give you this puppet at least. Please take it back to your grandad. The prince belongs to him.’ She looks at Daniel with her large dark green eyes and pushes the puppet towards him. A fierce anger surges through Daniel like a bolt of electricity.
That would be easy, wouldn’t it? As if that could wash away everything.
He breathes in sharply but tries not to sound too severe.

‘Thanks, but you’ll have to do that yourself. Grandpa’s at the Downtown Hospital, room 215. Visiting hours are from one to five in the afternoon, and seven till eight in the evening.’ He thinks he can see Mara flinch but she doesn’t betray anything as she speaks.

‘OK, I will do that.’

Just then the waitress arrives, placing the plates on the table with a grand gesture.

‘Two bagels with cream cheese and lox, one Coke and one beer. Oh, how sweet,’ she says, looking at the prince, but before she can touch it Mara puts the puppet back into her pocket.

‘Thanks,’ Mara says. The waitress leaves and they sit in silence. Daniel takes a few sips of his Coke but neither of them eats.

‘You say it happened only a few days ago, your grandad having the heart attack?’ Mara breaks the silence.

‘Yes, on Sunday. I was pretty shaken after he told me the whole story about Warsaw, so he said I should stay over. Mum was cool about it, especially with all the snow. I didn’t say anything to her about Grandpa and his story, but she still picked up on something, said my voice sounded kind of funny. When I put down the phone I heard Grandpa saying: “I’m just popping out to get some air. Could you make us some sandwiches?”

‘I couldn’t believe he wanted to go out into the dark and the snow on his own, so I said, “No way, old man, I’m coming with you!” He fought me but after a while he gave in, picked up his walking stick, pulled on his fur cap and off we went. We took his usual route around the block. He looked funny, hitting the new snow with his stick.

‘All of a sudden he stopped under a street lamp, looking up at the falling snow. Then he stepped right into the centre of the light as if it were some kind of spotlight and let go of his stick. He started moving, as if he were dancing to some music I couldn’t hear. Slowly at first, then faster and faster, lifting his arms towards the sky, whirling and spinning with the snowflakes. I guess I should’ve stopped him right there, but I just stared. It was so strange and beautiful, the way he kept looking up at the sky, flakes melting on his face. He was smiling the whole time. And then he fell.’

Slowly Daniel feels his anger dissolve like the snowflakes on Mika’s face.

‘I didn’t know what to do, I was pretty freaked. I tried to get him up but nothing worked. I called the ambulance and, well, you know the rest. Think it wore him out, all that talking about the war.’ Daniel sits back, takes a big gulp from his Coke.

‘I’m so sorry.’ Mara’s voice sounds croaky. Daniel looks up and catches her gaze. Tears are running down her face, two silent streams. She doesn’t wipe them away and for a moment she puts her hand on his arm, light as a butterfly.

Suddenly there is an opening, an opportunity.

‘I’m not sure Grandpa would want me to tell you lots about him, but I guess if you’re doing this puppet play you need to know what it was really like for him.’ He puts his hand in his pocket and pulls out the crocodile.

‘Well, here’s one of his old puppets.’ He slides his hand into the crocodile, snaps its mouth open and shut.

‘Oh my God, it survived? How amazing,’ Mara says, stretching her hand towards the crocodile.
She looks like a child
, he thinks.

‘Grandpa managed to keep a few puppets hidden in his coat. But when he arrived in America he stored the coat for years in his wardrobe and only brought it out a few days ago.’ He slips his hand out of the crocodile and puts the puppet back on the table like an invitation. Mara strokes it with her fingertips.

‘And what about the prince, what’s his story? How did he survive?’ Daniel asks.

Mara reaches into her coat, pulls out the prince and slips her hand under the velvet robe. ‘Well now, Danny.’ She speaks with a low voice, sits the puppet next to her plate facing him.

‘Let me tell you what happened to me . . .’

The afternoon dissolves as they talk for hours. Mara tells the prince’s story until Daniel’s ears ring, then the tide turns and Daniel pours out as much as he can recall of his grandfather’s tale. He never intended to, but his grandfather’s story is like a flood that forges its own path. As Mika’s story unfolds, Mara slowly sheds the defensiveness that has become second nature to her: the price for being German and speaking about the war. She feels herself crumble; fate finally catching up with her.

‘Can I get you anything else?’ The waitress’s voice startles them both. As if emerging from deep waters, Mara looks at her watch.

‘Oh my God, is that the time? Let me pay and then I’ll tell my colleagues to cancel tonight’s show. I’ll be in the hospital in an hour or so. Do you think they will let me in? Or shall I come tomorrow?’

‘No, I’m sure it’s fine, come tonight. If anyone asks just say you’re a friend of the family.’

‘Thanks, Danny.’ She looks away. ‘Shall we get these wrapped up?’ Neither of them has touched the bagels.

M
ara stands in the flower shop opposite the hospital among an abundance of colours, unable to choose. Flowers for Mika, the old man who was once a boy in Warsaw. The pocket boy; the Puppet Boy. She picks up a bunch of pink roses, then puts them back. Orange gerbera. Too bright. In the end she chooses a big bunch of bright yellow roses. For life.

She enters the hospital, hurries through the labyrinthine corridors, and finally finds the room: 215. Standing on the threshold, knocking at the door, she tenses. A woman with a thick head of dark curls sits at the bedside. She turns and, on seeing Mara, gets up. Comes straight towards her and embraces her.

‘Thank you for coming. I’m Hannah, Danny’s mum. Mika’s daughter.’

Danny sits close to the bed. He smiles at her. ‘Hi, glad you’re here.’

Mara shifts from one leg to another; her hands are clammy. The friendly reception chokes her. She feels more comfortable standing, but is also grateful for Danny’s gesture, fetching her a chair. She clings to every piece of friendliness from these people into whose lives she has catapulted herself. She feels out of place, out of her depth. As if she has somehow broken a taboo.

‘Thank you,’ is all she can manage.
What am I doing here, a German puppeteer with a dead soldier grandfather on my shoulder?
she thinks.

Glancing at the old man, Mara stands still now, rooted as a tree. Daniel fetches a vase for Mara’s flowers; they look extra bright in the room.

Suddenly Mara remembers why she is there. She reaches inside her pocket and hands Hannah a small parcel.

‘Here, I would like you to have this.’

‘Thank you.’ Hannah receives the parcel with both hands. Daniel peeps over his mother’s shoulder.

Slowly, from beneath layers of thin blue tissue paper, a piece of matted fur emerges, then some dark red velvet, a head with big painted eyes, a little dented crown. The prince.

‘Oh my God, he’s so tiny.’ Hannah holds up the puppet, then slowly slips her right hand underneath his robe.

‘Is this really the puppet my dad gave to that soldier . . . I mean, your grandfather? The old prince from Warsaw?’

Mara nods. A lump has formed in her throat. The prince, alive under Hannah’s hand now, turns his head from Mara to Daniel, then to Mika. The puppet is silent. Hannah moves closer to Mika’s bed and, leaning over him, lays the old prince next to her father’s right hand.

Mara can hardly breathe. Her eyes are streaming, releasing the lump, her heart burning.

‘Daddy, this woman here, Mara, has brought back the puppet you gave to a German soldier in Warsaw. A man called Max. Mara is his granddaughter. It’s the prince, Daddy.’

The old man lies still. He looks as if he is drowning in so much whiteness, except for the puppet, a spot of colour like an accidental splash on a blank canvas. The prince, his crimson robe and matted fur collar, apple-red cheeks and delicate smile. His head could fit perfectly into Mika’s palm like an egg.

All three stare at the prince, his little head facing Mika’s hand, his body limp like the old man’s under the sheets.

Mika’s world has shrunk to a white cubicle suspended in time: a bed, a milky window, a muffled universe. He remembers the surging flash cutting him down like a tree as he danced among the snowflakes. He feels submerged, under water, under a sheet of ice. A line of poetry crosses his foggy mind like a crow soaring across a snowy landscape:
‘Now my ladder
’
s gone . . . I must lie down where all the ladders start: in the foul rag-and-bone shop of the heart.’
Something inside him repeats the line like a broken record:
rag-and-bone shop of the heart . . .