“My father had no profession,” I said, deciding to ignore the other part. That was between Joe and his parents. “Not as you know it. He served in the war—the first war—as an aviator, but was badly wounded.”
“Goodness,” Mrs. Stark said. “How did your family manage? And how would they have sent you to college? Was your mother the baker, then?”
I couldn’t help it. I laughed. She looked rather offended, so I settled my expression and said, “My father was a landowner. My mother as well, for she brought property with her to the marriage. In—in our sort of family, that was done, you see; women receiving, uh … I don’t have the word for this. Money and property that one’s family gives upon marriage?”
“A dowry?” Mrs. Stark said.
“Settlements,” Joe said. “At least that’s what it was called inBrideshead Revisited.”He grinned. “The source of most of my knowledge of things like that, I’m afraid. Money settled on the wife by her father, and sometimes by the husband, too.”
“Oh, yes,” I said. “That is what it’s called in the books of Jane Austen also. Thank you. Yes, settlements. My mother had property settled on her upon her marriage. That was long before Hitler, and of course before the Red Army came to Saxony. I imagine all of it will have been taken by the state now. The Russian state, probably.” I ducked my head and concentrated very hard upon cutting a piece of fish, trying not to think of theGrünes Gewölbe,the Green Vault that had been my family’s museum and treasure-house. Did it even still exist, in all its marble and gold-leafed glory, its many gold-framed mirrors and beautifully painted ceilings, or was it all burned to ash? And what of its thousands of precious objects, which had been stored for safekeeping during the war in the fortress at Königstein, high in the mountains near the Czechborder? Had the Soviets found those, too? And why did the thought hurt so much, if I wasn’t going back?
Joe had stopped eating. That was because he’d taken my hand under the table.
“Brideshead Revisited,”Mr. Stark said, his dark eyes as keen as Joe’s. “That’s about the British aristocracy, isn’t it? I haven’t read it—well, I tried, but?—”
“Oh, yes,” I cried in relief. “It’s a most tedious book, isn’t it? I finished it, but only by giving myself a stern talking-to. We were discussing it, Joe and I and our friend Dr. Müller, and he would have known if I’d shirked, for he’d been a professor at the university and knew all the tricks of students.”
“I enjoyed it very much,” Mrs. Stark said. Another strike against me. “It paints a clear picture of the lives of such people. It should probably have been titled, “The Decline and Fall of the British Empire.”
“Oh, like the books by Edward Gibbon!” I said. “That’s very clever of you. Those were rather anti-Catholic as well, weren’t they? Imagine thinking that Rome fell because it became too Christian. I expect Joehastold you I’m a Catholic. I hope not the kind inBrideshead Revisited,though. You’re right; it was a verydecliningbook.”
Mr. Stark said, “He did mention it. We assume you’ll be converting.”
“Uh …” I blinked. “Converting?”
“To Judaism,” Mr. Stark said. “I’ve had a talk with Rabbi Goldstein already. It takes quite a bit of study—a year or more—but Joe says you’re very bright. You’re certainly well-read, and you speak some other languages, I understand.”
“Well, yes,” I said, not sure which item to address first. “French, of course, and a smattering of Italian. And Latin, naturally, and some Greek, too. Perhaps you feel that a girl doesn’t need so much education as that, but I was my parents’ only surviving child, you see, and my father was rather old-fashioned in this way. He said that a—that a person in our position must know the classical world. He believed that the Greek virtues especially were necessary to lead a morally, uh, a morally …”
“Morally upright?” Joe suggested.
“Yes. That is the word I want.” I’d forgotten all about my fish, but then, I’d eaten more already today than I had during any three days in Germany. “A morally upright life. Wisdom, justice, fortitude, temperance, and striving for excellence in all one does. Charity and honesty, too. I believe I’ve remembered them all, but it was a very long time ago.”
“All great qualities,” Joe said, “if you can manage them. There’s many a slip, and so forth.”
“Oh, Robert Burns!” I said. “That’s very good. Those same virtues became, after all, the basis of our Christian notions as well, through St. Augustine and so forth. Those, and the teachings of Judaism, for I learned about that also. Not at school—that would never have happened—but earlier, from my governess and tutors, and more lately from Dr. Müller, who was both learned and wise. Although, really, what religion doesnotrequire those virtues?”
“Yes, what else would a religion teach you?” Joe said. “To do whatever you can get away with, because getting ahead’s what counts? There’s probably a religion like that somewhere, but it hasn’t come my way. Most of us need to have those ideas hammered home, it seems to me, if there’s any hope at all for the world. If Hitler was taught about them, he sure did forget the lesson.”
I’d say that silence fell over the table at that, but it wasn’t silent. The train, which was called “The Twentieth Century Limited” and was designed, from the locomotive to the ceiling trim and light fixtures, in a rather fabulous Art Deco style, like a fairy tale illustrated by Maxfield Parrish, was rattling along as trains do, though rather faster than I was accustomed to. Aspy would have an excellent opportunity to converse in secret here, covered by the noise. But then, he wouldn’t be able to overhear anything, so perhaps not.
The waiter came and took our plates, and Joe said, “Coffee, Marguerite?”
“Oh, yes,” I said. “Coffee would be lovely. There is as yet no real coffee in Germany,” I told the others. “There hasn’t been since the war began. There’s a blockade, you know, which is sad, for Germans love coffee as the British love their tea. I must see, if one can indeed get butter and eggs and flour and milk here simply by purchasing them—it seems almost too fantastic to be true—whether I can bake GermanKuchen,for there’s nothing as wonderful asKaffee und Kuchenin the afternoon.I may even find recipes for some of the many sorts of torte, although I believe I must start more simply. The tortes can be a true work of art, and I’ll be a poor apprentice at best. Buttermilk, now … do they have buttermilk here also?”
Mr. Stark said, “We can discuss that some other time. Right now, I’d like to hear more about why you won’t be converting to Judaism. If you didn’t realize that, Joe, or worse, if you didn’t realize that it mattered, I don’t know quite what to say.”
“Oh, I expect you do,” Joe said. “Probably that I should get rid of my wife.” His father was studiously calm, and so was Joe, but I could practically see the waters roiling underneath. “Sorry, Dad. That’s not going to happen. And yes, I knew. I know pretty much everything about Marguerite, and she knows pretty much everything about me. And we got married anyway.”
7
DANCING AT THE OPERA
Joe said, when his father would have answered, “But let’s talk about this after dinner. You can come to our compartment.”
His father raised his eyebrows. “I’d say better now. Or in the club car, over a drink.”
“They’ll be clearing us out for the next seating in a few minutes,” Joe said, “and I don’t much want to holler about the merits of Judaism versus Catholicism at the top of my voice in the club car.” The waiter set a slice of cherry pie with whipped cream before him—Joe hadn’t been joking, for this was his second piece of pie today—and offered me a bit of Liederkranz cheese with rye crackers. That had sounded so good when I’d marked my menu, but didn’t appeal nearly as much after all the other food. I wanted to wrap the cheese in my napkin for later, but I tried to imagine a guest at my parents’ table doing such a thing and failed utterly. I would have to dust off my manners, which I’m afraid had fallen by the wayside a bit while I’d been focused on survival. So I cut a slice, placed it carefully on a cracker with knife and fork, and took a nibble—oh, yes, that was lovely; creamy and sharp at the same time—felt guilty about the many people who’d begoing to bed hungry tonight, and told myself,Tomorrow, order only what you know you can eat.
