Winds of War (46 page)

Her words had a remarkable effect on Aaron Jastrow. He smiled tremulously, his eyes misted, and he all at once did look strikingly Jewish - the mouth, the nose, the expression, the soft white hand at his beard, were all features of a hatless little rabbi. He spoke in a soft shaky voice. “Of course you know exactly what to say to please me.”

“That’s what I think, Aaron.”

“Well, bless you. I’ve evolved into a pagan, a materialist, and a hedonist - and I fell in love with the grandeur of Christianity and of Jesus long long ago - but none of that has made me less Jewish. Nobody else in the family will accept that, your father least of all. I’m so grateful that you can. I truly think that the books on Constantine and Luther will round out the picture. I want to get them done. In my way I’m bearing witness, as my rabbinic forebears did in theirs. Though no doubt they’d be horrified by me.” He studied her face. He smiled, and his eyes began to twinkle. “How long after you left would Byron remain? He gives me such a secure feeling, just by being here.”

“Give him a raise in salary. That’ll convince him more than anything. He’s never earned a penny before.”

Jastrow pursed his lips, rounded his-eyes, and tilted his head. Many years of living in Italy showed in the mannerism. “I have to watch my money now. We’ll see. My strong impression is, actually, that you’ll marry Leslie once you get back there, and - oh, stop blushing and looking so coy. Have I hit it?”

“Never mind, A.J.”

“I’m sure if Byron were aware of that, he’d be more likely to stay on.” Jastrow stroked his beard, smiling at her.

“Good God, Aaron! Do you expect me to tell Byron Henry I’m going to marry Slote, just to make him stay with you?”

“Why, my dear, whoever suggested such a thing? Wait - my point is -” Jastrow stretched out a hand and looked after her, utterly astonished at her abrupt walkout.

Chapter 20

“Holy cow!” Bryon exclaimed. “There’s my father, or his double.”

“Where?” said Natalie. Her flight was delayed, and they were drinking coffee in the Rome airport at a table outside a little café; the same café where they had lunched before setting off for Warsaw.

“Inside that ring of carabinieri over there.”

He pointed to a group of men leaving the terminal, escorted by six deferential police officers. Some of the party wore the green uniform of the foreign ministry; the rest were in civilian clothes. The military bearing of a short broad-shouldered man, in a pepper-and-salt suit and soft hat, had caught Byron’s eye. He stood, saying, “Can it be him? But why the devil didn’t he write or wire me that he was coming to Italy? I’ll take a look.”

“Briny!”

He was starting to lope away; he stopped short. “Yes?”

“If it is your father – I’m so tacky and sooty from that horrible train ride, and he’s obviously busy.” Natalie, usually so self-assured, suddenly looked confused and nervous, in an appealing, pathetic way. “I wasn’t expecting this. I’d rather meet him another time.”

“Well, let’s see if it’s him.”

Victory Henry heard the voice behind him just as the party reached the exit doors. “Dad!
Dad
! Wait up!”

Recognizing the voice, Pug turned, waved, and asked his escort from the ministry to wait for him. “
D’addordo
.” The Italian smiled and bowed, eyeing sharply the young man who was hurrying up. “I will see to your luggage, Commander, and meet you outside. There is plenty of time.”

The father and son clasped hands. “Well, how about this?” Victor Henry said, looking up at Byron’s face, with affection he usually concealed when less surprised.

“What’s up, Dad? Couldn’t you let me know you were coming?”

“It happened sudden-like. I intended to ring you tonight. What are you doing down here in Rome?”

“Natalie’s going home. Her father’s sick.”

“Oh? Has she left already?”

“No. That’s her, sitting over there.”

“That’s the famous Natalie Jastrow? The one in gray?”

“No, further over, in black. With the big hat.”

Victor Henry caught a new proprietary note in his son’s voice. The listless, hangdog air of his Berlin days had given way to a confident glance and a straighter back. “You’re looking mighty bright-eyed and bushy-tailed,” Pug said.

“I feel marvellous.”

“I’d like to meet that girl.” The father suddenly strode toward her, so fast that Byron had to take a running step or two to catch up. There was no stopping him. They came and faced Natalie, who remained seated, hands clasped in her lap.

“Natalie, this is Dad.”

With such a flat introduction these two people, the opposed poles in Byron’s life, all at once confronted each other. Natalie offered her hand to Byron’s father, looked him in the eye, and waited for him to speak. At first sight Victor Henry was taken by this weary-looking travel-stained girl with the dark eyes and gaunt face. She was not the legendary adventurous Jewess he had built up in his imagination; she had an everyday American look; but withal there was a certain exotic aura, and a strong calm feminine presence. She must be feeling highly self-conscious, he thought, but there was no sign of it. In her slight smile as he took her hand, there was even a trace of reflected affection for Byron.

He said, “I’m sorry to hear about your father.”

She nodded her thanks. “I don’t know how bad it is. But they want me at home, and so I’m going.” Her low voice was sweet, yet as firm as her look.

“Are you coming back?”

“I’m not sure. Dr. Jastrow may be returning to the States too, you see.”

“He’d be well advised to do that fairly fast.”

Pug was looking keenly at her, and she was meeting his glance. When neither found more to say for the moment, it became a sort of staring contest. Soon Natalie smiled a broad, wry, puckish smile, as though to say “
All right, you’re his father and I don’t blame you for trying to see what’s there. How do you like it?
”

This disconcerted Victor Henry. He seldom lost such eye-to-eye confrontations, but this time he shifted his glance to Byron, who was watching with lively interest, struck by Natalie’s swift recovery of her poise. “Well, Briny,” he almost growled, “I ought to mosey along, and not keep that foreign ministry type waiting.”

“Right, Dad.”

Natalie said, “Byron told me that you became friendly with the Tudsburys in Berlin, Commander. I know Pamela.”

“You do?” Pug managed a smile. She was actually trying to put him at his ease with small talk, and he liked that.

“Yes, in Paris she and I used to date two fellows who shared the same flat. She’s lovely.”

“I agree, and very devoted to her father. Maniacal driver, though.”

“Oh, did you find that out? I once drove with her from Paris to Chartres, and almost walked back. She scared me senseless.”

“I’d guess it would take more than that to scare you.” Pug held out his hand. “I’m glad I met you, even in this accidental way, Natalie.” Awkwardly, in almost a mumble, he added “It explains a lot. Happy landings. Flying all the way?”

“I’ve got a seat on the Thursday Clipper out of Lisbon. I hope I don’t get bumped.”

“You shouldn’t. Things are quiet now. But you’re well out of this continent. Good-bye.”

“Good-bye, Commander Henry.”

Victor Henry abruptly walked off, with Byron hurrying at his elbow. “Briny, what about you, now? You’re staying on in Siena?”

“For the time being.”

“Do you know that Warren’s engaged?”

“Oh, it’s definite now?”

“Yes. They’ve set a date for May twentieth, after he finishes his carrier training. I hope you’ll count on getting back by then. You won’t see any more brothers’ weddings. I’m working on a leave for myself.”

“I’ll certainly try. How’s Mom?”

“Off her feed. Berlin’s getting her down.”

“I thought she liked it.”

“It’s becoming less likable.” They stopped at the terminal’s glass doors. “How long will you be in Rome?”

“If I can see you, Dad, I’ll just stay on till you’re free.”

“Well, fine. Check in at the embassy with Captain Kirkwood. He’s the naval attaché. Could be we’ll dine together tonight.”

“Great.”

“That’s some girl.”

Byron smiled uncertainly. “Could you really tell anything?”

“What you never said is that she’s so pretty.”

“What? I honestly don’t think she is. Not pretty, exactly. I’m nuts about her, as you well know, but –”

“She’s got eyes you could drown in. She’s stunning. However, what I wrote you about her long ago still goes. Even more so, now that I’ve seen her. She’s a grown-up woman.” He put his hand for a moment on Byron’s shoulder. “No offense.”

“I love her.”

“Well, we won’t settle that question here and now. Go back to her, she’s sitting there all alone. And call Kirkwood about tonight.”

“I will.”

Natalie’s face was tense and inquiring when Byron came back. He fell into the chair beside her. “Gad, that was a shock. I still can’t quite believe it. It all went so fast. He looks tired.”

“Do you know why he’s here?”

Byron shook his head slowly.

She said, “I didn’t picture him that way. He doesn’t look severe; on the contrary, almost genial. But then when he talks he’s scary.”

“He fell for you.”

“Byron, don’t talk rot. Look at me. A soot-covered slattern.”

“He said something sappy about your eyes.”

“I don’t believe it. What did he say?”

“I won’t tell you. It’s embarrassing. I never heard him say anything like it before. What luck! He likes you. Say, my brother’s getting married.”

“Oh? When?”

“In May. She’s the daughter of a congressman. She doesn’t seem all that concerned about marrying a naval officer! Let’s make it a double wedding.”

“Why not? You’ll be manager of a bank by then, no doubt.”

They were both smiling, but the unsettled questions between them put an edge in their tones. It was a relief when the droning loudspeaker announced her flight. Byron carried her hand luggage and some fragile gifts for her family into the mill of jabbering, weeping passengers and relatives at the gate. Natalie was clutching her ticket, and trying to understand the shouts of the uniformed attendants. He attempted to kiss her. But it wasn’t much of a kiss.

“I love you, Natalie,” he said.

She embraced him with one arm amid the jostling passengers, and spoke over the tumult. “It’s as well that I’m going home just now, I think. Meantime I met your father! That was something. He did like me? Really?”

“You bowled him over, I tell you. And why not?”

The crowd was starting to push through the gate.

“How will I ever carry all this stuff? Load me up, sweetheart.”

“Promise me you’ll cable if you decide not to come back,” Byron said, poking bundles into her arms and under them. “Because I’ll take the next plane home.”

“Yes, I’ll cable.”

“And promise that you’ll make no other decision, do nothing drastic, before you see me again.”

“Oh, Byron how young you are. All these damned words. Don’t you know how I love you?”

“Promise!”

Her dark eyes wet and huge, her hands and arms piled, the green and yellow ticket sticking out of her fingers, she shrugged, laughed, and said, “Oh, hell. It’s a promise, but you know what Lenin said. Promises like piecrusts are made to be broken. Good-bye, my darling, my sweet. Good-bye Byron.” Her voice rose as the press of passengers dragged her away.

* * *

After a couple of hours of troubled sleep at the hotel, Commander Henry put on a freshly pressed uniform, with shoes gleaming like black mirrors, and walked to the embassy. Under a low gray sky, in the rows of tables and chairs along the Via Veneto, only a few people were braving the December chill. The gasoline shortage had almost emptied the broad boulevard of traffic. Like Berlin, this capital city exuded penury and gloom.

Captain Kirkwood had left for the day. His yeoman handed Pug a long lumpy envelope. Two small objects clattered to the desk when he ripped it open: silver eagles on pins, the collar insignia of a captain.

Captain William Kirkwood presents his compliments to
Captain
Victor Henry, and trusts he is free to dine at nine, at the Osteria dell’ Orso.

P.S. You’re out of uniform. Four stripes, please.

Clipped to the note was a strip of gold braid, and the Alnav letter listing newly selected captains, on which
Victor (none) Henry
was ringed in heavy red lines.

The yeoman’s refreshing, freckled American face wore a wide grin. “Congratulations, Cap’n.”

“Thank you. Did my son call?”

“Yes, suh. He’s coming to dinner. That’s all arranged. Ah’ve got fresh coffee going, suh, if you’d like a cup in the cap’n’s office.”

“That’ll be fine.”

Sitting in the attaché’s swivel chair, Pug drank one cup after another of the rich Navy brew, delightful after months of the German ersatz stuff. He ranged on the desk before him the eagles, the Alnav, the strip of gold braid. His seamed pale face looked calm, almost bored, as he swung the chair idly, contemplating the tokens of his new rank; but he was stirred, exalted, and above all relieved.

He had long been dreading that the selection board, on this first round, might pass him over. Execs of battleships and cruisers, squadron commanders of submarines and destroyers, insiders in BuShips and BuOrd, could well crowd out an attaché. The big hurdle of the race for flag rank was early promotion to captain. The few officers who became admirals had to make captain on the wing. This early promotion, this small dry irrevocable statistic in the record, was his guerdon for a quarter of a century of getting things done. It was his first promotion in ten years, and it was the crucial one.

He wished he could share this cheering news at once with his restless wife. Perhaps when he got back to Berlin they could throw a wingding, he thought, for embassy people, correspondents, and friendly foreign attachés, and lighten the gloom lying heavy in the Jew’s mansion in Grunewald.

Natalie Jastrow popped back into his mind, displacing even the promotion. Since the chance encounter, he kept thinking of her. In those few minutes he had sensed the powerful, perhaps unbreakable, bond between his son and the girl. Yet how could that be? Young women like Natalie Jastrow, if they went outside their natural age bracket, tended to marry a man almost his own age rather than to reach down and cradle-snatch a stripling like Byron. Natalie was more mature and accomplished than Janice, who was marrying Byron’s older brother. It was mismatch enough for these reasons, and made him wonder about her sense and stability, but the Jewish problem loomed above all.