Shadows of Berlin полностью

A perfect touch. The small reminder of his tattoo. Of his suffering. Of course she shouldn’t be surprised. She knows that her feter is a master of extemporaneous solutions, a talented ad-­lib performer. This is how he has survived. This is why he is still alive.

On the way home, she thinks about the painting itself as the subway barrels through the tunnel. Of all her mother’s works, it was the only portrait with a living heartbeat. Perhaps that is why the sight of it was so frightening. To be confronted by a demon in the flesh brought back from death. The angel resurrected. Terrifying. It makes her reach for the comfort of Miltown. She should be relieved, shouldn’t she, that it vanished again? She should be thankful that it haunts the walls of some unsuspecting shlimazel with fifty dollars, who thought it matched the drapes.

Back at the apartment, she changes into her robe and sits on the bed, trying to distract herself until the Miltown can level her out. They have plans this evening, though nothing to look forward to. Dinner with Ezra and Daniela, oy gevalt, at Daniela’s favorite kosher place. So Rachel is smoking a cigarette before she has to change into a dress and paging through an art magazine from last month. If she can concentrate on normal things, then she can be normal. Or at least imitate normal. Isn’t that how it works?

She hears the front door open. “Halloo,” Aaron is calling. “King of the castle’s home.”

“I’m in the bedroom,” she calls back. According to ARTnews, David Glass, the princely scion of the House of Glass on Fifth Avenue, has brought Berlin to New York in a retrospective of Käthe Kollwitz.

We never cared for each other personally, her mother informs her. Kollwitz and myself. But I respected her work and she respected mine. This is said with stately certainty. She had hallucinations as a child, you know. She would see a house cat, apparently, but to her, it was the size of a panther. Or her mother would appear the size of a doll, poor woman. Eema is sporting a fashionable sable-­trimmed cloak but vanishes as footsteps approach. Aaron enters, tie loose, collar open, home after another day in the salt mines.

“So here’s the lady of leisure,” he declares pleasantly. “Scooch over,” he tells her and sits on the edge of the bed her mother had occupied a moment before. Yanking off his shoes, he tosses them with a breath of relief. Florsheim Imperials, walnut-­brown leather wing tips. $14.98 at Falk’s Sports Wear on Delancey. You Save Dollars! We Make Pennies! “Scooch over, will you,” Aaron repeats. “I own one side the bed, if you recall. It was in the fine print of the marriage contract.”

Stubbing out her cigarette in the bedside ashtray, she discards her magazine and scooches. “This isn’t Budapest,” she says. “We don’t have a marriage contract.”

But Aaron has already left the joke behind. Satisfied with his space, her husband unknots his tie and drops it. “Man, am I bushed,” he tells her. “Whattaya say we just dig in here tonight and relax? Order some Chinese or something.”

“Because we can’t.”

“No?” He has rolled his weight against her and begun to nuzzle her neck. “You sure?”

“I am. We have dinner with your cousin.”

Aaron groans. “Ah, jeez. Tell me that’s not really tonight, is it?”

“It is.”

“I thought it was next week.”

“No, this week. Tonight. So go. Get ready,” she instructs and interrupts his nuzzling by giving him a loud peck on the cheek before removing herself from the bed. “I need to change, and you could use a shower.”

10.

The Shield of David

As the war drags into another year, the Jews of Berlin are considered aliens in their own land. Since the police decree regarding the identifying emblem for Jews was issued last September, all Jews over the age of six must, by law, wear the Judenstern. The details were published in the SS-­controlled mouthpiece, the Jüdisches Nachrichtenblatt. “The Jewish Star,” it declared, “is a six-­pointed star, drawn in black lines made of yellow fabric, the size of the palm of a hand.” At the center, the word Juden is machine-­stitched in black, mock-­Hebraic lettering. Jews must display the star “visibly” on the left over the heart. No pinning of the star either. What a slippery Jewish trick that is! Slipping it on and off as it suits them? No! It must be sewn securely! The police will check.