Shadows of Berlin полностью

“No,” says Aaron leadenly. “Have you?”

“She’s not mad at you.”

“No? Well, that’s what she tells you, just to lure me into her trap. Then the next day, they find what’s left of me in the East River.”

“Tyrell seems like a very decent man. And I think they really care for one another.”

“Terrific,” he says. And then, “I’m only thinking of her, ya know. Naomi has lost her fucking mind with this guy? Okay, fine for now. But what’s gonna happen in the future? That’s all I’m saying. I’m trying to save her heartache is all. And him too,” he declares. “Him too. He even said that his family was against him dating a white girl.”

“Did he say that?”

“Sure. Weren’t you listening? About his sister?”

“His family must be fearful for him.”

“And they’ve a right to be, God bless ’em,” Aaron declares as if his point has finally been proven. “They’re fearful for him, just like I’m fearful for her.” He says this, then huffs out a breath. “Look, I don’t wanna talk about this right now, okay? You can berate me later. Right now, I gotta get to work before they let the salmon go bad.”

“I’m not berating you. Just stop being so judgmental for once.”

“For once. Great,” Aaron says. “Okay, so I’m the big problem here, huh?”

“You know that Jews are not always considered to be ‘white.’ And I don’t mean in the old country. I mean right here in America. Think about that.”

“All right—­you don’t need to explain to me what it means to be a Jew in this country. I think I know that by now. My question to you is: What if he was German?”

Rachel’s jawline tenses. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means: What if he was German? What if Naomi’s new boyfriend was named Wilhelm instead of Williams?”

Rachel steps back from her husband. “Aaron,” she murmurs, her expression darkening.

“I’m sorry. I know, I’m touching the taboo subject. I’m just the Jew from Flatbush, while you’re the one who lived through hell. I have no right, I know that. But I’m also not the one who can’t go down to the basement to ask the super to unclog the friggin’ pipes because he’s a goddamned Kraut.”

“Go to hell,” Rachel says flatly. And when Aaron realizes that maybe he’s gone too far and tries to retract, she pushes him away.

“Rachel, look…”

“I said, go to hell!” She shouts at him this time. “Go! Go make sure your precious salmon doesn’t go bad. Go!”

He gazes back at her, face pallid, then puffs a sigh. “Okay,” he says and wiggles his finger in his ear as his face bloats with a frown. “Okay. Look, I’m sorry. I overstepped. It was unkind.”

“Unkind?” Rachel turns back, her eyes hot and her face wet with tears. “You have no conception what it was like. You don’t know,” she blames him. “And once more, you don’t want to know. You think you’ve done your duty,” she cries, smearing away her tears. “You think you did your part. You married the poor refugee who’d escaped with her life and nothing more. And so that somehow absolves you from any guilt. Any guilt that while you were busy schtupping pretty shiksas in California, there were millions of Jews living in terror and despair! Millions shipped off in filthy boxcars like animals! Millions of Jews funneled into the gas chambers! Including my mother!”

Aaron stares at her, stunned. His face completely blank and devoid of color. But Rachel can do nothing but collapse into the chair and sob into her arms.

And then he is beside her. His voice is helpless, but his arms are there, enclosing her. “I’m a putz. I think we’ve established that. You married a putz, and I should be sorry for you. But never, Rachel. Please. Don’t ever think that I married you out of guilt. I married you because you are the woman I love, and that is the only reason.”

She turns her head and lets herself be enfolded by him, sobbing against his skinny polka-­dot tie, wetting his clean white shirt. The grief, the drowning, unfathomable grief is too much. The grief of a victim, the grief of a betrayer, the grief of one who has survived. She carries all three. The image of the schoolgirl is buried in the corner of her mind. Her braids. Her burgundy beret. A child innocent as rain.

But Aaron is there. A wall for her to wail against. Finally, she manages to tell him, “You married me because I was the only one who would have you.”

“That too,” Aaron agrees and kisses her softly on her head. “That too.”

“You should go,” she tells him, sniffing. “Your salmon.”

“The hell with the salmon,” he answers, rocking her lightly. “The salmon can turn to shit for all I care. Let ’em eat pollack.”

21.

Blitzkrieg in Washington Square

The day is not as chilly as it has been. A breeze blows the trash around Washington Square. The smell of dog poop scents the air, combining with the lightly vomitous perfume of the ginkgo trees. At the entrance to the South Square, the game tables are thickly settled by chess players huddling around their boards.