Margot: A Novel (23 page)

BOOK: Margot: A Novel
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Not only is he editor of my sister’s famous book, but also
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now he is husband to a woman named Fritzi Markovits. He
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is owner of a new life, lover of a new woman, holder of an
21
indelible legacy.
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Sometimes I imagine what might happen should I even
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find myself standing on
his
doorstep, ringing his bell.
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I would not be disguised then in a nun’s habit, my hair
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short and shorn, my flesh falling across my bones. Now I am
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still thinner than I was before the war, older, but all in all, I
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look very much the same girl who hid there on the Prinsen
S28
gracht.
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But even if I went to Switzerland now, found him now,
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even if he opened the door and his eyes shone with recogni
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tion, I know the first thing he would ask me: how did I get
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away from the Nazis, and why did I stay hidden so long. And
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then, he would turn his brown eyes toward me, ripe with
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disappointment, or even disgust.
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Where is your sister? How could you come back here with-
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out your sister?
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If I made it past that, and I was still breathing, then I
10
might say,
Where is my diary? Why is my sister’s book, filled
11
with stories, the one the world knows? Why have you always
12
loved her more than me, even in death?
But, most likely, I
13
would not say any of this. I would only stare at him, loving
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him and feeling angry with him. Wanting to hug him tightly
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to me and wanting to run.
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Who is it?
Fritzi might call from somewhere behind him,
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inside the house.
Who’s at the door, Otto?
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No one, dear,
he would answer her.
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Then he would shake his head, and he would whisper to
20
me,
You killed her. And I am the one keeping her alive.
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C
hap
ter
Thirty-one
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Early Friday morning before Shelby has arrived,
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Joshua buzzes me into his office. I wonder if he has come to
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work today just to talk to me, and the thought thrills me a
16
little. “Well,” he says, motioning me to have a seat. “How did
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it go with the rabbi?”
18
I hear Rabbi Epstein’s words in my head again:
God knows
19
who is a Jew and who is not,
but Joshua, he does not. He has
20
no idea. “Fine,” I tell Joshua. “Rabbi Epstein will pass out the
21
flyers tomorrow at the services.”
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“All right,” Joshua says, smiling at me. “Very good, Margie.
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Let’s see if you get some more calls next week, and we’ll go
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from there.” He pauses. “Mr. Bakerfield is coming in at ten,
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and then I’m off to Margate for the weekend. Hold all my
26
calls, and leave the messages on my desk. Send Mr. Baker
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field back when he arrives.”
S28
“Of course,” I say, standing, walking to the door.
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01
“Anything else, Mr. Rosenstein?” I want him to say there is,
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that there is something. What, I’m not sure. But something.
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But all he says is this: “That’ll be all for now, Margie.”
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05
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At precisely 10 a.m., Charles Bakerfield steps off the elevator.
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He tips his hat, nods in my direction. “You can go ahead
08
back,” I tell him. “Mr. Rosenstein is expecting you.”
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He stares at me for another moment. Then he smiles and
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walks into Joshua’s office and shuts the door behind him.
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“Now, that one,” Shelby whispers across the desks, “gives
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me the willies.” I do not really know the details of Charles
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Bakerfield’s case, except what I have gleaned from typing
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some of Joshua’s notes and from what I recall from reading
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the stories in the
Inquirer
last year, after it happened. His
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wife was found strangled in her bed, but according to Joshua’s
17
notes, Charles claims it was an accident. “What a creeper,”
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Shelby says.
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“Shhh,” I whisper to Shelby now. “He might hear you.”
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She shrugs. “What’s he going to do?” she asks. “Kill me?”
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It is such an American thing, to talk of death as if they are
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so far from its reach. Perhaps it is their inability to understand
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that murder, it is easy for some people. These people, they
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will kill, and they will kill again, and it will mean nothing.
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26
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I was familiar with trials, even before I came to America and
28S
began working for Joshua. In Frankfurt, Eduard and I, we’d
29N
sit on the sofa in his parlor drinking tea and listening to the
voices stretching out on his radio, recounting the events. In
01
Nuremberg, in Luneberg, in Kraków, Hamburg. The men,
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the Nazis, they were found guilty, and condemned to die by
03
hanging. I wanted to watch them hang, watch them struggle
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to breathe, with the ropes tightening around their necks. But
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even if I could have, Eduard never would have let me.
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After a while he would switch the radio off. “This isn’t
07
healthy, Margot,” he would say to me. And my ears would
08
yearn for more, for something. I’d have to bite back the urge
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to push Eduard away, to turn the radio back on. But Eduard
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was filled with kindness, and I never wanted to do anything
11
that might cause him sorrow.
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Sometimes when he was at work, though, I would come in
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from the garden and switch the radio on and listen without
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him. Sometimes, if I moved the antenna just right, I could get
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the American station and then I would listen to the smooth
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voice of Mr. Walter Cronkite recounting the events of the
17
day. He was the one who told me that the men, the Nazis, in
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Nuremberg, they were to be hanged. Eduard told me too,
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later that same day. But Walter Cronkite, of course, said it
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better, with just the right amount of anger, defiance, and dis
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gust. In Eduard’s voice, I heard only sadness.
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“There will be some justice,” Eduard told me, but I did not
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think he really believed it, that any justice could actually be
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served.
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I shook my head. “Hanging a few Nazis is nothing,” I said.
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“Margot,” Eduard said again. “Turn the radio off. It’s not
27
healthy.”
S28
There was controversy after Nuremberg over whether
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the ropes used to hang the Nazis were too long on purpose.
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If the ropes were too long, Walter Cronkite reported, it meant
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the men struggled and died slow and painful deaths, whereas
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if the ropes were shorter, their necks would’ve snapped imme
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diately, quickly.
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The executioner denied the claims, saying the ropes were
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just the right length. But I suspected he was lying, and that
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was something for which I was glad.
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I know Charles Bakerfield, he is not a Nazi. But still, I
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agree with Shelby that he is, as she calls him, a creeper. Most
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likely, he is also a murderer, and it pains me that if he is set
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free, if he is not to be hanged for his crimes, that it will be
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Joshua’s doing. That Joshua is the one who will help him get
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away with murder.
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Charles Bakerfield walks out of Joshua’s office just before
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lunchtime. He tips his hat at me and holds his wild green
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eyes on my face for maybe a moment too long. “Have a nice
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weekend,” he says to me, smiling wide enough to reveal a
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golden tooth on the right side of his mouth.
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Shelby is on the phone, but she shakes her head at me
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after the elevator doors shut. I shrug and continue with my
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typing, glancing out of the corner of my eye through the glass
25
window as Joshua readies his desk and gathers his things for
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the weekend.
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He walks out of his office and stops in front of my desk. I
28S
look up and he smiles at me, gray-green eyes dancing. “Well,
29N
I’m off to Margate,” he says.
I nod, because he has already told me this earlier, and it
01
feels like there is something else he wants to say but maybe
02
not in front of Shelby.
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“Have a nice time,” I tell him. “Enjoy the sea.”
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He smiles again, and his face softens. “Have you ever been
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there, Margie?”
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“To the sea?” I ask, and I am suddenly filled with sadness
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as I think of Peter’s eyes, the way they held me, on the divan.
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“No.” He laughs. “To Margate.”
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“No,” I say. “I have never been to the New Jersey sea.”
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“Well,” he says, “it’s really something. You’ll have to go
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sometime.”
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He is just being nice, making conversation, I know that.
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But still, I can’t help but think it sounds almost like an invita
14
tion. “Yes,” I murmur. “Maybe sometime.”
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“See you Monday morning,” he says, tapping on the side
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of my desk, and then I watch him walk lightly to the elevator.
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“Don’t you just love it?” Shelby shakes her head after the
18
elevator doors shut behind him. “Our bosses out on the beach
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while we’re stuck here.” She wags her forefinger across the
20
desk at me. “We’re leaving early today, Margie, and I’m not
21
taking no for an answer.”
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She switches on her radio, and I hear the soft strains of
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“Lonely Boy” drifting across the desks. Suddenly it is as if Mr.
24
Paul Anka, he is singing directly to me.
“All I want is someone
25
to love . . .”
I think about Joshua leaving for Margate, where
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he will probably spend the weekend with Penny, again. And
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then I think about the pink Cadillac. What if it was a mis
S28
take? A visiting friend? Or Peter’s car? What if the American
N29
01
Pete wants to emulate Elvis Presley?
Greatness is in bravery,
02
Joshua said.
03
“I’m actually going to leave right now,” I tell Shelby, and I
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stand up and gather my things to put into my satchel.
05
She glances up from her typing and raises her eyebrows.

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