The Puzzle King (36 page)

She remembered how they’d argued about coming to this place, how she would get so impatient with him whenever he talked about the sorry state of the world. Maybe her judgment bore down too hard on him, weakened his heart. After his long days at work, he should have come home to someone accepting and loving. She shouldn’t have let him spend all that time on those stupid flipbooks. She should have pitched in at the American Jewish Committee. Should’ve helped him find his family. Should’ve been nicer, made him happier. He should’ve been a father. Her fault. Her bad blood.

The
should haves
and
shouldn’t haves
were as persistent as the rain. If only it would stop raining. It was so cold in the hotel room, this dreadful hotel room. She got up and dug through the suitcase until she found one of Simon’s sweaters. She pulled it
over her silk blouse and her suit jacket. The sweater fit snugly and hit her right at the waist. She’d forgotten how small he was. Then she said the thing that made them all laugh despite the awful circumstances. “You never know a man’s true size until you put on his clothes.” The laughter freed them up to say other things.

“I can’t stay in this room another minute,” said Flora.

“We’ll go downstairs, get something warm in our stomachs,” said Edith. Flora took Edith’s arm and they went to the lobby, where a piano player was battling a waltz as treacly as the odor of lilies trying to overpower the room. “Do they think if they play this schmaltzy music and fill the room with flowers that we’ll forget that this is the worst weather in the history of the world?” asked Edith.

I love this girl, thought Flora, allowing herself be led to a corner table. If I leave tomorrow, I go back to Yonkers to what? To whom? She imagined walking through the front door of the house without Simon. His coat would still be hanging in the front room, his papers neatly filed at his desk. She thought about his slippers, his beautiful suits and handmade shirts standing at attention in his closet, and his mother’s apron, the old ragged lady among them, all waiting for him to call upon them. Such a sad empty thought.

“Tea with rum and a little honey, the day calls for that,” said Edith.

Flora was still lost in her thoughts. “I can’t go back to our house,” she said. “Not alone. I just can’t.”

“What if I go with you?” asked Edith. “I mean Werner and I? We could go back with you on the boat and stay for as long as you like.”

“You would do that?” asked Flora.

“I would,” said Edith. “I can’t speak for Werner, but I think he would.”

Grief sank, relief floated, and for the first time since early that morning, Flora felt the weight ease. “Well, that would be, it would be, I don’t know, I could …” Flora tried to collect her thoughts. “That would be wonderful but I think impossible. It’s not easy for Jews … you remember what Simon said yesterday.” The two of them cried at the thought that Simon was still part of their last twenty-four hours. They drank their tea and rum in silence, occasionally reaching across the table to hold hands. A few times Flora stroked Edith’s cheek. “My sweet child, what would I ever do without you?”

And after their second or third cup of tea and rum, Flora put her elbows on the table and rubbed her swollen eyes. “I have to go lie down. Let’s talk about all this tomorrow.”

Edith took Flora up to her room and offered to stay the night with her.

“No, I’ll be okay,” insisted Flora. “You go, get some sleep.”

Flora locked the door, relieved to be alone.

The hotel had made up the bed and left a single red rose in a vase on the dresser. Flora paced the room. She rubbed her hand along the freshly made bed and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her face was puffy and unrecognizable even to her. She ran her hands through her unkempt hair and kept walking around the room thinking if she stopped, she wouldn’t know what to do.

She opened the closet door. Simon’s suit was hanging exactly where he’d placed it the night before. It jarred her, almost as if he’d reappeared. She ran her fingers along the sleeve then pressed her nose to the suit’s back hoping to catch a whiff of him. She
took the suit from the hanger and laid it on the side of the bed where he had slept. She spread out the arms of the jacket and placed the pants beneath it. Then she laid down her back, on top of the suit, wrapping its arms around her, and fell asleep until long after sunset.

When she woke up, she felt calmer than she had since that morning. She washed her face and brushed her teeth. She picked the suitcase from its rack and placed it on the bed next to Simon’s suit. She unpacked what was left inside, making neat piles of underwear, pajamas, and cosmetics. There was no reason to do what she was doing, yet she did it with purpose. She took the socks from the pockets, the medicines from the side compartments. She had no idea he’d packed all this: calamine lotion, witch hazel, Ben-Gay. Simon had thought of everything.

She took out the envelopes filled with some unfinished work from the flipbooks. She placed them next to the documents from the night before. When she finished unpacking, she turned the suitcase upside down to make sure she hadn’t missed anything. She shook it and thumped it and could feel that there was something else inside. She ran her fingers along the silky inside of the suitcase. Then she felt it, the outline of a large envelope and the weight of a book. They were underneath the back pocket. She looked closely. The silk had been neatly cut and sewn back up again. Gently, she tugged at the stitches, wondering what it was that had needed to be hidden so carefully.

She slid her fingers inside the slit and felt the corner of an envelope, grasping it between her two fingers and pulling it out. The envelope was sealed and for a moment Flora wondered whether or not to open it. It was clearly something Simon hadn’t wanted
her to see. Would this be a betrayal? She thought she knew all of Simon’s secrets. But this was no time for second thoughts.

She sliced through the envelope with the Grand Hotel letter opener. What she found inside were four sheets of paper, all written in Simon’s beautiful cursive script. There were lists of names, starting with Cohn.

Werner and Edith Cohn: 14 Eisenbahn (businessman)

Artur and Erna Cohn: 32 Froebelstrase (tailor)

Max and Hermine Cohn: 27 Bismarckstrase (postal clerk)

Albert and Elsa Cohn: 5 Augustastrase (furrier)

There must have been forty Cohns, each listed with an address and profession after the name. And then there were the Grossmans, another forty or so, same thing: name address and profession, followed by the Ehrlichs, including Frederick and Margot Ehrlich (butcher). In all, there were more than 100 names.

There was also a book, a thick book with a yellowish-beige cover and brown type. She’d heard about this book.

Simon hadn’t mentioned the book or the list. She figured he’d picked up the new book at the office, as he often did. The names on the list must have come from the AJC, all the Cohns, Ehrlichs, and Grossmans in Kaiserslautern, many of them relatives. She held the pages in her hand, imagining Simon bent over his desk late at night writing each name. She knew right away that the names on the list represented the people Simon was hoping to get out of Germany. His family.

But how? How could anybody get so many people out now?

Then she thought about the conversation with Edith and Werner
the night before, and how Simon had become impatient when Werner mentioned the complications of Jews leaving Germany. “The visas, the affidavits of support …”

Simon had waved him away. “Yes, I know all that,” he’d said. “And we are prepared to help you.”

Flora stared at the sheets of paper. The affidavits of support. That must be what this was all about. He’d listed all the people he wanted to help, along with their occupations. He was going to ensure an affidavit for every one of them. That was what this trip was all about.

It was the middle of the night when the train from Marseille crossed into Germany and lurched to a halt. Most passengers were sleeping, so the sudden stop caused books to fall from their laps and half-drunk bottles of wine to spill to the floor. Soldiers swarmed the train in darkness. The sound of them shouting orders and kicking various pieces of luggage added to the chaos. Flora, Edith, and Werner had chosen to stay awake. No doubt two German Jews traveling with an American Jew into Germany would be a cause for suspicion. They had rehearsed many times the part each would play: Flora, the arrogant American; Werner, the obedient German; and Edith, the new bride. And they wanted to be alert and fully in character when it came time for their papers to be inspected and questions to be answered. They were fortunate that Seema had a quick mind. When Edith cabled her to say that Simon had died and they were bringing Flora back to Kaiserslautern with them, Seema immediately wrote back:
KARL EMERLING WILL SEE TO IT THAT YOU ALL HAVE A PLEASANT JOURNEY
. It was the only reassurance they had that this part of the trip would go smoothly.

The officer who inspected their papers was brusque, licking his finger as he turned the pages of their documents. “Cohn,” he said, looking down at Werner. “Yes sir, I am Werner Cohn, and this is Mrs. Cohn, my new wife.” Edith lowered her eyes and bent her head. “We are traveling with my wife’s aunt,” he continued, “my Aunt Flora Phelps from America.”

“What is the purpose of your journey?” snapped the officer.

“We are returning home from our honeymoon. Our aunt has met up with us so she can visit Kaiserslautern, where she will be a guest of our friend Karl Emerling.”

The officer studied Flora, who was dressed in a mauve suit with a fur collar and matching hat. She sat straight and never looked him in the eye. “May I see your passport, madame?”

Flora looked as if she’d been inconvenienced by the officer’s request. She rummaged through her purse, taking time before retrieving her passport. He took the passport, and again licked his fingers before flipping through its pages. “So, you have been to our beautiful country before,” he said trying to make conversation.

Flora nodded and gave a weak smile. He handed the passport back to her. As soon as he turned his back, she pulled out a handkerchief and wiped where he’d touched the page with spit on his finger.

It took an hour for the soldiers to go person to person throughout the train, and by the time the engine began to chug forward, the sun was rising and the people in the train were talking loudly and laughing with relief.

It was late afternoon by the time they got to Frankfurt. Seema was waiting for them at the train station. Flora was the first to see her. Immediately she was struck by how much older she looked. She was still striking, that would never change, but her eyes seemed faded and smaller than she remembered. There were lines
around her mouth, as if that area might cave in. Flora chided herself for noticing this.
You spiteful thing
, she thought.
You wouldn’t be here except for her, and all you can think about is how she’s aged
.

Of course, Seema was having similar thoughts about Flora. Even in grief, she thought, her bearing was sturdy and regal. And of course she was dressed in one of her expensive suits. No one here dressed like that anymore. Seema drank in the sight of her sister’s richly colored clothing and extravagant fur. She had become starved for color and style and women who didn’t look drab and neutral. Flora looked so New York. It was the first favorable thought Seema had had about the city since she’d left.

Only when the two sisters embraced did Seema feel her sister’s misery. Flora buried her head in her sister’s neck and heaved with sobs. “Oh Flora,” said Seema, rubbing her sister’s back. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“I know,” said Flora “It’s awful.” They stood that way for a long while until the unmistakable sound of
Tee-poo-peep-pa. Tee-poo-peep-pa. Tee-poo-peep-pa
blared in the background.

“Karl’s here,” said Seema, her voice jumping. She dabbed her eyes and put on lipstick without bothering to look in the mirror. “He’s going to drive us to Stuttgart.” Flora stiffened and exchanged looks with Edith and Werner. They knew why Karl’s horn made that funny sound. But they also knew that Karl was the one who had gotten them out of Marseille and into Germany, and how tomorrow Karl would smooth the way for Flora to get an appointment with the American consul in Stuttgart.

I
T WAS A WINDY
, sunless morning when Flora, Seema, and Edith showed up at the American consul’s office. Flora held onto her hat with one hand, and in the other she was clutching
an envelope with the information that Simon had prepared, plus a package that he had brought along also for this day. The wind caught her skirt, and for a moment, it blew up around her knees, which gave the people around her even more reason to stare. She was still beautiful, this American woman, with her thick, curly, blond hair falling loosely to her shoulders. She was in no mood to worry about what she wore that day, but Seema and Edith had definite thoughts about what was or was not appropriate, and looking like a grieving widow was not what they had in mind. Instead, they chose a silk floral-patterned dress that clung to her body and accentuated her ample curves. And they made sure that the helmetlike raspberry cloche she wore was tilted in such a way as to emphasize her eager brown eyes. Vanities such as this had all but disappeared here and they wanted Flora to make an unforgettable impression.

The offices of the consulate were painted in an indeterminate gray, and Flora, Seema, and Edith were asked to sit with the others on folded wooden chairs. Edith pointed to the leg of her chair, on which someone had carved
A.J
. 1931. Flora thought about how empty this office probably had been in 1931. Not like now, with people desperate and sleepless who had clearly been waiting here for several days. The woman at the front desk wore her hair in a tight bun and never looked up when she called out names. She said them only once. If no one answered, she moved onto the next. So there was an unearthly quiet about this place, as everyone fixed their eyes on the woman’s bun and leaned forward when it moved even an inch, just in case she was getting ready to speak.