Once We Were Brothers (33 page)

“As a Jew, did it trouble you to see Hannah dressed as a nun?”

“Hannah and Lucyna were dressed a postulants – they were young enough – my mother was dressed as a professed nun. And no, it didn’t trouble me at all; these people were saving our lives. I was concerned that the sisters would resent a non-Catholic wearing a holy habit: the veil, the white head-covering, the collar, the cord from the belt. These are all deeply religious symbols and it took great beneficence for these nuns not to consider the masquerade offensive. But, they were strongly supportive of Father Janofski and his work.”

Ben stood to stretch his legs. He walked to the fireplace, repositioned the logs and poked the embers. “During the day, I stayed in the cellar with my father, assisting him in whatever way I could, or I did odd jobs around the church. I longed for the masses and my brief moments with Hannah. Out of respect, Hannah would sit through the service, but during communion, when the other nuns were receiving the host, she’d slip into the corner of the transept, out of sight, where I’d kiss her a thousand times and tell her how much I loved her and how I wanted to be with her. She’d say, ‘Dance with me, Ben, like we did in Zamość,’ and for a few brief moments we’d waltz in the darkened recesses of the old church. We had only moments, the length of the communion, before she’d hurry back to her pew and file back into the convent.”

“Father Janofski had mentioned that he needed you to make contact with the resistance,” Catherine said. “Were you given those assignments?”

“Not initially. The man who made deliveries of milk and eggs twice a week was really a messenger for the resistance. He would pass along the information about persons needing forged papers, who they were and what sort of clothing they needed. A few days later we would covertly pass the forged papers and suits of clothes to him and he’d hide them in his wagon. In January 1943, he was randomly interrogated by the Gestapo. Although nothing came of it, he felt threatened and would no longer serve as an intermediary. Father Janofski then asked if I would transport documents and clothing, and my service as a resistance courier began.”

“You look tired, Ben. Do you want to stop for the day?”

He took a deep breath and nodded. “I think so. It’s been a long day. Shall I come tomorrow?”

Catherine walked Ben to the door. “Not tomorrow or Wednesday. I’ll be shopping and cooking – turkey, stuffing, sweet potatoes and pumpkin pie. I’ll see you Thanksgiving Day. Bring a big appetite.”

Chapter Thirty-four

Chicago, Illinois November 2004

Thanksgiving Day began with rain and wind. The temperature hung in the low forties and was forecast to drop throughout the afternoon with measurable snow toward evening. In contrast, Catherine’s home was warm and festive. Her china and crystal were set upon a lace tablecloth, embroidered in browns and oranges. A wicker centerpiece, shaped like a turkey, held cut flowers. A fire crackled and danced in the living room fireplace.

Catherine’s sister Deirdre and her husband Frank, Catherine’s Aunt Ethel, Ethel’s son Charles and his pregnant wife Jessica, Catherine’s brother Stephen and his second wife Jeanette, and Liam all mingled about in the living room enjoying cocktails and hors d’oeurves which were set about on Catherine’s antique rosewood chiffonier.

“Who’s the extra place setting for?” asked Frank, checking out the dining room. He was a stout man with a bald head, a double chin and a perpetual smile.

“It’s for Ben Solomon,” Catherine said. “He’s a client of mine, a sweet old man who doesn’t have a family, so I invited him to share our Thanksgiving.”

“That’s charitable of you,” Aunt Ethel said.

“It’s not charity. I’ve become very fond of him. He’s a remarkable man, although he does have some idiosyncrasies.”

“What kind of
idiot
-syncrasies?” Frank snickered. “What, does he drool or something?”

“Frank, I know you don’t mean any harm, but can I ask you not to tease Ben? You’d be doing me a favor,” Catherine said.

Deirdre added through clenched teeth, “Frank, for once, behave yourself.”

“Okay, okay,” he said with a chuckle. “Take it easy. I won’t tease the sweet old man. But tell me, what’s the idiosyncrasies?” he said, pouring himself another cocktail.

“He has very intense memories and sometimes he sort of zones out. His eyes’ll glaze over and… I think he experiences scenes from earlier times in his life. And he’ll talk to his deceased wife.”

“So what you’re telling me is…he’s daffy.”

“Frank, stop!” Deirdre said.

“No,” Catherine said quietly. “I’m telling you to be nice. He lost his whole family in World War II. If he wants to talk to them, it’s his business.”

The doorbell rang. “That’ll be him. Be nice, Frank.”

Catherine opened the door and greeted Ben, who stood on the stoop in a raincoat, folding his umbrella.

“I brought this,” he said, handing her a box of Frango Mints.

“Why thank you, Ben, you didn’t have to do that.”

As she helped him with his coat, he held out a CD, wrapped in striped paper. “And this is specially for you.”

“How thoughtful. Thank you so much. Should I open it now?”

“Sure. With all the time we’ve spent talking about Poland the last few weeks, I thought you should experience some of her more noble aspects. It’s Chopin’s Krakowiak. The pianist is Bella Davidovich.”

“Terrific. I’ll put it on later,” she said. “Come with me and I’ll introduce you to everyone.”

She took Ben’s arm and led him into the living room where she made the introductions. Frank, a multi-colored wool sweater covering his paunch, walked over with a smile and stuck out his large hand. “Frank Gordon. Nice to meet you. Lemme get you cocktail.” Walking to the chiffonier, he said, “Whadya drink?”

“A glass of that red wine would be just fine, thank you.”

Frank turned and winked playfully at Deirdre.

Twilight brought freezing rain which changed to snow by dinner, but the townhome was cozy and the turkey was plump and golden brown. Frank had refilled his cocktail glass several times before the group took their places around the table.

Aunt Ethel, the family matriarch, said grace and mentioned in her prayer how grateful she was for health and family.

“Amen,” Frank said, glancing at Ben who seemed disengaged, staring at the centerpiece, moving his lips.

“It’s been a tradition in our family,” Ethel pronounced, “to go around the table and for each of us to share something that we’re thankful for in the past year. Liam and Ben, you’re certainly welcome to participate if you like, but it’s not a requirement. You’ll still get your turkey.”

One by one, the guests offered a short recitation, often about companionship, good health or business success. When it came to be Catherine’s turn, she said, “I’m thankful that everyone has come to help me celebrate the holiday.”

“Hear, hear,” the group echoed, toasting their hostess.

“I’m also thankful for my new friend, Ben, and for his helping me to realize that practicing law can have a humanitarian component, one of principle and moral significance. And that once again I can be passionate about my work.”

“Whoo,” whistled Frank. “That’s deep stuff.”

“Clam up, Frank,” snapped Deirdre.

“How about you, Ben?” Frank said. “Do you want to tell us what you give thanks for?”

“Frank, if you don’t shut up, I’m taking you home,” Deirdre said.

“It’s okay,” Ben said. “I have a lot to be thankful for. Catherine, for one. She’s a strong, intelligent woman and I could not have found a better attorney or a better listener. In many ways she reminds me of my wife, Hannah.”

“Is that who you were talking to a few minutes ago?” Frank said with a grin.

“That’s it!” Deirdre said. “Get your coat, you buffoon.”

“Honey, I didn’t do anything.”

Deirdre stood and put her napkin on her plate, but Ben said, “Please Deirdre, sit down. I’ll answer his question. Frank, did you ever hear a song on the radio and it brought back vivid memories of something, maybe high school or a summer romance?”

“Of course. Everybody has.”

“And you could feel something in your senses, couldn’t you, Frank? It was more than just pinging a memory, wasn’t it? It was like you could once again experience a piece of the past – feel a summer breeze, smell a fragrance in the air, a drive with your friends, maybe feel an emotion like joy, sadness or affection. Didn’t it feel like part of you was going back in time a little bit to when the song was popular?”

Frank nodded. “Yep.”

“A few days ago, Liam stood in this room and said he could taste the Thanksgiving turkey already. Did you ever have that sensation – where you could taste something just by thinking about it?”

“Yep.”

“Senses are funny that way, aren’t they Frank? It’s not entirely cognitive, it’s more than that. Something we can’t really explain. And how about dreams? Did you ever have a dream about someone, maybe even someone close to you who had passed on, and it was intensely real for you, as though you had actually been with them? Even after you woke up, did you still have that feeling?”

Frank’s expression turned serious. “Yes.”

“I’m sorry, I just struck a chord didn’t I?” Ben said.

Frank nodded.

“Frank’s mother,” Deirdre said. “She died last year.”

“I’m very sorry for your loss,” Ben said. “I don’t know the extent of your religious beliefs, Frank. Are you a religious man?”

“Well, I go to church.”

“Right,” said Deirdre, “maybe twice a year.”

Frank shrugged.

Ben continued. “Do you accept the church’s concept of the human soul? For example, do you believe that the soul is a portion of the living God, that it has a spark of divinity?”

Frank swallowed. “Um, yeah...I guess I do.” He looked around the table, but no one was bailing him out.

“Can I ask you then, what is your concept of the relationship between the body and the soul? And I’ll tell you in a minute why I’m asking that question.”

He shrugged and looked at Deirdre. “Answer him, Frank,” she said.

“Well, I don’t know. I guess I think that the soul is eternal and it’s in your body and when you die, I don’t know, I guess that maybe it returns to God.”

“That’s what I believe, too,” Ben said. “The Book of Genesis tells us that God blew the breath of life into Adam and many scholars believe that to be a metaphor for Adam’s eternal soul. It’s spiritual, isn’t it Frank? It’s not tangible, not physical, maybe not even logical, but you believe it’s there, don’t you?”

Frank nodded and took a sip of his drink.

“Some feelings, some visions come to me. There is no rational explanation. When you saw me moving my lips, I was talking to my Hannah. She was there for me. I believe her soul is eternal and as vibrant today as it was sixty years ago. In fact, I am certain of it. Do you think that makes me crazy? Maybe just a little strange?” Ben smiled.

“No, I don’t,” he said softly, looking around the table. Everyone was quite still and a few moments passed with only the sweet strains of the Krakowiak on the stereo. Finally, Frank said timidly, “Can I ask you a question, Ben? These visions that you have, do you think they come from the afterlife? Is there a life after we die?”

Ben raised his eyebrows. “That’s the jackpot question, isn’t it? I guess we won’t know for sure until we’re dead. I have my beliefs and to some extent they’re based upon my studies – the Bible, the Talmud. The Bible tells us that Abraham went to rest with his father. Each time one of the Patriarchs dies – Isaac, Jacob, Aaron and Moses – the Bible recites, ‘he was gathered to his people.’ Those passages say to me that the essence of our loved ones still exist and when we die we’ll be gathered to them. The Mishnah says the world is like a lobby before the Olam Ha-ba – the world to come – and one prepares himself during life in the lobby so that he may enter the banquet hall.”

“Is that just in your religion? Your people?”

“No,” Ben said with a smile. “Maimonides taught that the righteous of all nations have a share in the Olam Ha-ba. And the Zohar tells us all that our ancestors are watching over us.”

“And my mother and father? Are they…?”

“I believe they’re waiting for you Frank. In the Olam Ha-ba, watching over you right now.”

“How do I…?”

“Open your heart.”

Frank sat still for a moment, then looked at Catherine, flipped his thumb in Ben’s direction and said, “He’s a pretty smart guy.”

She laughed. “Liam, it’s time to carve the turkey.”

* * *

After dinner, while the guests were enjoying coffee in the living room, Ben called Liam over to the window.

“I don’t want to disturb anyone,” he said softly, “but do you see that gray Camry across the street.”

“Yes,” Liam said. “The motor’s running and there are two people in the front seat.”

“It was there when I arrived. Same two guys sitting in the car. And I think I’ve seen that car on the block before, maybe Monday.”

Liam nodded. “Stefan Dubrovnik said he was driven in a gray Camry.” He motioned for Catherine to join him in the kitchen.