“No,” Joe said, in his calmest voice. “If one of us goes, we both go. Hear her out, Dad.”
“It’s very difficult,” I said, “to get a job when one is of German birth. I confess I didn’t realize how difficult it would be. I’ve had to find another way, and when I thought of this plan, it made perfect sense. Once I’ve sold the necklace, Joe and I will buy land, and also perhaps houses.”
“Real estate,” Joe said.
“Yes,” I said. “Real estate. If we buy land now, we’ll be able to sell it later to a builder for much more. The building is already happening, and the buying is happening, too, so one must be quick. And for an apartment house, you know, or a … a house with two homes in it?—”
“A duplex,” Joe said. “Very common in Palo Alto.”
“Yes,” I said. “A duplex. In such a case, money will come from the rents, and Joe won’t have to wash dishes or carry boxes, but can concentrate on his studies. This is very important for Jewish people, I believe, to study.”
“But you know nothing about real estate,” Mr. Stark said, “or finance, or any of the rest of it. You’re a … anineteen-year-old girl with no training at all.”
I would not respond with emotion. I was a rational being, and I would be rational now. “I’ve mentioned, I believe, that my parents were landowners. My father has discussed these things with me in the past. And one can always find others to ask. Several others, to make sure one understands all there is to know, and that the first person’s answers were correct. How else would one learn? Joe and I made this decision weeks ago, and since then, I’ve been calling on real-estate brokers, who handle such sales. I’ve made a plan in my notebook, you see, with figures—” I opened it to the page and turned it around on the desk so he could see the items, written in my neatest script—“and have discussed it with Joe and made many corrections and estimations. We’ve both learned a great deal. Of course, there’s still much more to know, but this too we can learn. A mix of properties; this I believe is key. Somecloser to the city, and some farther away. These last will be cheaper, but this great change will continue, I think, and one can simply await one’s moment. Joe and I wish to seize our opportunity now, while it offers itself.”
“And if you lose it all?” Mr. Stark said. “If your investment turns out to be swampland?”
“If that happens,” I said, “it will be a lesson. We must endeavor to make wise decisions, and this I believe we can do, by consulting each other and being very clear-eyed and unsentimental. So. Can you help me—willyou help me—to find an auction house for the necklace? I’ve written down all the dates and personages I know, so you can explain.” I passed across a separate piece of paper. “The provenance, this is called. I learned this in my investigations. This is most important, for if the necklace can be proven to have been given by Napoleon to Josephine—there’s a painting, I believe, showing her wearing all the pieces of the emerald parure—it will of course have much more value. Not so much value as the jewels of Marie Antoinette, but,na ja,royalty and tragedy are a great attraction to many people. But, of course, the necklace’s last owner died most tragically as well.”
“What?” Mr. Stark said.
“My mother.” I looked at him very steadily. “I’m not the daughter-in-law you would have wished. In fact, you and Mrs. Stark would wish me far away. I know this. I would only wish you to believe that I love Joe as my parents loved each other, with all my heart, and I’ll help him and work for him and do everything I can to ensure his happiness, all the days of my life. This I’ve vowed before God, and this I promise now to you.”
“Ditto,” Joe said.
I was so surprised, I laughed.
26
GENTLEMAN CALLER
On a hot Friday afternoon in mid-July, flowers bloomed and bees bumbled along in sleepy fashion—Californians were very great gardeners, although their gardens were rather wilder than the tidy beds of my childhood—and children rode bicycles on the sidewalk in bare feet. The house next door had what was called a “sprinkler” working; this was a very clever automated device that attached to a garden hose and oscillated—a new word for me—so as to allow droplets of water to reach all parts of the garden. This was necessary, as Palo Alto was a much drier place than Dresden, particularly in summer, and one couldn’t rely on rain to water the flowers and trees and acres of lush grass.
How Americans loved their living space, and their lawns! Every house, however small, had these, both in front and back. Just as the soldiers had sprawled while driving too fast in their Jeeps, with an arm out the window and only the tips of their fingers on the wheel, the houses sprawled across the so-abundant land.
Today, on the lawn next door, half a dozen children in bathing costumes ran through the sprinkler, shriekinghappily, until a certain tinkling melody was heard. At this, they instantly dashed for various front doors, crying, “The popsicle truck! The popsicle truck is here!,” emerging just in time to rush toward the white van, which slowed to a stop as the music played on. It sounded exactly like a louder version of the music-box in which I’d kept my treasures as a child—mine had had a boy, a girl, and a little black-and-white dog on his hind legs, all of whom had rotated together as the box played “Für Elise.” I had never been allowed bare feet, though, and as for “running through the sprinklers” in a bathing costume—it made me laugh to imagine Lippert, dressed in her eternal black, finding me in this way. Her utter shock! Her titanic levels of disapproval! My English nanny would have scolded, but would have laughed about it later with the servants. This I knew from my own perching.
I leaned in through the cellar door and called to Joe, “Do you want an ice cream?”
A sound of banging; a curse. “What?”
“An ice cream,” I said again. “The truck is here.”
“Iwant an ice cream.” That was Fred, who was helping. “Well, I will. At the moment, it’s not too appetizing.”
“Nobody wants an ice cream, Marguerite,” Joe said.
“Oh. Are you sure you don’t need me?”
“I’m”—grunt—“positive.”
From behind me, then. “Marguerite?”
I turned.
It was my father-in-law. And my mother-in-law. And a handsome and very dapper gentleman in a gray suit, who removed his soft gray hat to reveal a fine head of dark hair, touched with gray at the temples in most distinguished fashion.
“Hello,” I said. “How nice to see you.” As usual, I had my hand out before thinking better. Mr. Stark introduced the gentleman, but I didn’t hear, for Joe yelled something justthen. I turned toward the sound, but when it wasn’t repeated, turned back and said, “It’s lovely to meet you.” He said, “How do you do,” and I realized he was British, which was odd.
