A Twist in the Tale (25 page)

Quickly she knelt down and, staring up,
gave me a look of such hatred that no words
could have matched it. Once I was sure Greg
wasn’t going to get up, I
walled
slowly back
on to the track as the last of the
runners
were coming round the final
bend.

“Last again, Jew boy,” I heard her shout
as I jogged down the home straight, so far
behind the others that they didn’t even bother to record my time.

How often since have you quoted me those
words: “Still have I borne it with a patient
shrug, for sufferance is the badge of all our
tribe”
.
Of course you were right, but I was
only seventeen then, and even after I had
learned the truth about Christina’s
father I
still couldn’t understand
how anyone who
had come from a
defeated Germany, a Germany condemned by the rest of the world
for its treatment of the Jews, could still
be-have in such a manner. And in those days I
really believed her
family were
Nazis, but I
remember you patiently explaining to me
that her father had been an admiral in
the
German navy, and had won an Iron
Cross
for sinking Allied ships. Do
you remember
me asking how could you
tolerate such a
man, let alone allow
him to settle down in
our county?

You went on to assure me that Admiral
non
Braumer
, who came from an old Roman
Catholic family and probably despised
the
Nazis as much as we did, had acquitted
himself
honourably
as an of officer and a
gentleman throughout his life as a German
sailor. But I still couldn’t accept your
attitude, or didn’t want to.

It didn’t help,
Father, that
you always saw
the other man’s point of view, and even
though Mother had died prematurely
because of those bastards you could still find it
in you to forgive.

If you had been born a Christian, you
would have been a saint.

The rabbi put
the letter down and rubbed his tired eyes before he turned over another page
written in that fine script that he had taught his only son so many years
before.

Benjamin had
always learned quickly, everything from the Hebrew
scriptures
to a complicated algebraic equation. The old man had even begun to hope the boy
might become a rabbi.

Do you remember my asking you that evening why people couldn’t
understand that the
world had
changed? Didn’t the girl
realise
that she was no better than we were? I shall
never forget your reply. She is, you
said, far
better than us, if the only
way you can
prove your superiority is
to punch her
friend in the face.

I returned to my room angered by your
weakness. It was to be many years before I
understood your strength.

When I wasn’t pounding round that track I
rarely had time for anything other than
working for a scholarship to McGill, so it
came as a surprise that her path crossed
mine again so soon.

It must have been about a week later that I
saw her at the local swimming pool. She
was standing at the deep end, just under the
diving board, when I came in. Her long fair
hair was dancing on her shoulders, her
bright eyes eagerly taking in everything going on around her. Greg was
by her side. I
was pleased to notice
a deep purple patch
remained under
his left eye for all to sec. I
also
remember chuckling to myself because
she
really did have the flattest chest I had
doer seen on a sixteen-year-old girl, though
I have to confess she had fantastic legs. Perhaps she’s a freak, I
thought. I turned to go
in to the
changing room – a split second before I hit the water. When I came up for
breath there was no sign of who had pushed
me in, just a group of grinning but
innocent
faces. I didn’t need a law
degree to work out
who it must have
been, but as you constantly reminded me, Father, without evidence there is no
proof...? wouldn’t have
minded that
much about being pushed into
the pool
if I hadn’t been wearing my best
suit
– in truth, my only suit with long
trousers,
the one I wore on days I was going
to
the synagogue.

I climbed out of the water but didn’t waste
any time looking round for him. I knew
Greg would be a long way off by then. I
walked home through the back streets,
avoiding taking the bus in case someone
saw me and told you what a state I was in.

As soon as I got home I crept past your
study and on upstairs to my room, changing before you had the chance to
discover
what had taken place.

Old Isaac Cohen gave me a disapproving
look when I turned up at the synagogue an
hour later wearing a blazer and jeans.

I took the suit to the cleaners the next
morning. It cost me three weeks’ pocket
money to be sure that you were never
aware of what had happened at the swimming pool that day.

The rabbi
picked up the picture of his seventeen year-old son in that synagogue suit. He
well remembered Benjamin turning up to his service in a blazer and jeans and
Isaac Cohen’s outspoken reprimand. The rabbi was thankful that Mr. Atkins, the
swimming instructor, had phoned to warn him of what had taken place that
afternoon so at least he didn’t add to Mr. Cohen’s harsh words. He continued
gazing at the photo-graph for a long time before he returned to the letter.

The next occasion l saw Christina – by now I
had found out her name – was at the end-of-term dance held in the
school gymnasium. I
thought I
looted
pretty cool in my neatly
pressed suit until I saw Greg standing by
her side in a smart new dinner jacket. I remember wondering at the time
if I would
ever be able to afford a
dinner jacket. Greg
had been offered
a place at McGill and was
announcing
the fact to anyone who cared to
listen,
which made me all the more determined to win a scholarship there the following
year.

I stared at Christina. She was wearing a
long red dress that completely covered those
beautiful legs. A thin gold belt emphasized
her tiny waist and the only
jewellery
she
wore was a simple gold necklace. I knew
if I
waited a moment longer I
wouldn’t have the
courage to go
through with it. I clenched my
fists,
walled over to where they were sitting,
and
as you had always taught me, Father,
bowed
slightly before I asked, “May I have
the
pleasure of this dance?”

She stared into my eyes. I swear if she had
told me to go out and kill a thousand men
before I dared ask her again I would inane
done it.

She didn’t even speak, but Greg leaned
over her shoulder and said, “Why don’t you
go and .find yourself a nice Jewish girl?” I
thought I saw her scowl at his remark, but I
only blushed like someone who’s been
caught with their hands in the cookie jar. I
didn’t dance with anyone that night. I
walled
straight out of the gymnasium and
ran home.

I was convinced then that I hated her.

That last week of term I broke the school record for the mile. You were
there to watch
me but, thank heavens,
she wasn’t. That was
the holiday we
drone over to Ottawa to
steed our summer
vacation with Aunt Rebecca. I was told by a school friend that
Christina had spent hers in Vancouver with
a German family. At least Greg had not
gone with her, the friend assured me.

You went on reminding me of the import-
ance
of a good education, but you didn’t
need
to, because every time I saw Greg it
made
me more determined to win that
scholarship.

I worked even harder in the summer of ‘65
when you explained that, for a Canadian, a
place at McGill was like going to Harvard
or Oxford and would clear a path for the
rest of my days.

For the first time in my life running took.
second
place.

Although I didn’t see much of Christina
that term she was often in my mind. A class-mate told me that she and
Greg were no
longer seeing each
other, but could give me
no reason
for this sudden change of heart.

At the time I had a so-called girlfriend who
always sat on the other side of the synagogue – Naomi
Goldblatz
, you remember
her – but it was she who dated me.

As my exams drew nearer, I was grateful
that you always found time to go over my
essays and tests after I had finished them.

What you couldn’t know was that I inevitably returned to my own room to
do them a
third time. Often I would
fall asleep at my
desk. When I woke I
would turn over the
page and read on.

Even you, Father, who have not an ounce
of vanity in you, found it hard to disguise
from your congregation the pride you took
in my eight straight “A ‘s” and the award of
a top scholarship to McGill. I wondered if
Christina was aware of it.
She
mast have
been. My name was painted up on the
Honours
Board in fresh gold leaf the following
week, so someone would have told her.

* * *

It must have been three months later I was
in my first term at McGill that I saw her
next. Do you remember taking me to St
Joan at the Centaur Theatre? There she
was, seated a few rows in front of us with
her parents and a sophomore called Bob
Richards. The admiral and his wife looked
strait-laced and very stern but not unsympathetic. In the interval I
watched her
laughing and joking with
them: she had
obviously enjoyed
herself. I hardly saw St
Joan, and
although I couldn’t take my eyes
off
Christina she Ricer ones noticed mc. I
just
wanted to be on the stage playing the
Dauphin
so she would have to look up at
mc.

When the curtain came down she and Bob
Richards left her parents and
hcaded
for the
exit. If allowed the two of them out of
the
foyer and into the car park, and
watched
them get into a Thunderbird.
A Thunderbird! I remember thinking I might one day
he able to afford a dinner jacket, but never a
Thunderbird.

From that moment she was in my thoughts
whenever I trained, wherever I worded and
corn when I slept. I found out everything I
could about Bob Richards and discovered
that he was liked by all who knew him.

For the first time in my life I hated being a
Jew.

When I next saw Christina I dreaded what
might happen. It was the start of the mile
against the University of Vancouver and as
a freshman I had been lucky to be selected
for McGill. When I came out on to the track
to warm up I saw her sitting in the third
row of the stand alongside Richards. They
were holding hands.

I was last off when the starter’s gun fired
but as we went into the back straight mooed
up into fifth position. It was the largest
crowd I had hoer run in front of, and when I
reached the home straight I waited for the
chant ‘Jew boy! Jew boy! Jew boy!” but
nothing happened. I wondered if she had
failed to notice that I was in the race. But
she had noticed because as I came round
the bend I could hear her mice clearly.

“Come on, Benjamin, you’ve got to win!” she
shouted.

I wanted to look back to make sure it was
Christina who had called those words; it
would be another quarter of a mile before I
could pass her again. By the time I did so I
had
mooed
up into third place, and I could
hear her clearly: “Come on, Benjamin, you
can do it!”

I immediately took the lead because all I
wanted to do was get back to her. I charged
on without thought of who was behind me,
and by the time I passed her the third time I
was several yards ahead of they’ll “You ‘re
going to win!” she shouted as I ran on to
reach the bell in three minutes eight
seconds, eleven seconds faster than I had
ever done before. 1
remember
thinking that
they ought to put something in those training
manuals about lone being worth two to
three
seconds a lap.

I watched her all the way down the back
straight and when I came into the final bend
for the last time the crowd rose to their feet.

I turned to search for her. She was jumping
up and down shouting, “Look out! Look
out!” which I didn’t understand until I was
overtaken on the inside by the Vancouver
Number One string who the coach had
warned me was renowned for his strong
finish. I staggered over the line a few yards
behind him in second place but went on running until I was safely
inside the changing
room. I sat alone
by my locker. Four
minutes seventeen,
someone told me: six
seconds faster
than I had ever run before. It
didn’t
help. I stood in the shower for a long
time,
tying to work out what could possibly
have
changed her attitude.