The next morning the telegram came from Moses’s mother and he immediately booked the first available flight to Montreal.
Four
“Not that I have anything to hide, but does my brother know that you’re here?”
“When I asked if I could see you I had no idea that it was necessary to clear my visit with Mr. Bernard.”
“Nonsense necessary. I’m not Bernard’s keeper and he’s not mine. I was curious, that’s all. Are you parked outside?”
“I walked.”
“From which direction?”
“Downtown.”
“Good for you. It’s such a lovely day it makes a man grateful to be alive,” he said, drawing the blinds. “Oh, forgive me. What a thing to say to a young man in mourning. My brother was in tears. Such a loss to the community and of course to you and your mother it goes without saying. How long will you be in Montreal?”
“I’m flying back to London the day after tomorrow.”
“You think I don’t remember what a nice boy you are? Something to drink maybe?”
“Coffee, if it’s not too much trouble?”
“You’re not living up to your reputation. But I’m relieved to see that. Moderation in all things, that’s the ticket. Hey, if I’m smiling like an idiot it’s because I look at you and what do I see? L.B. as a young man.”
“Maybe I’ll have a Scotch after all.”
“My pleasure. You know, before you were born even I attended one of his readings.”
“Not many people did.”
“Let me tell you something, as if you didn’t know. You were blessed with a great man for a father. And you think we weren’t aware how much he suffered in private, never able to take your poor mother anywhere.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Oy vey, have I let the cat out of the bag? Please, it’s not something he talked about, a man of his natural dignity, but it slipped out, you know, when my brother asked how come L.B. never brought his wife to dinner. You’re upset. I can see that. Listen here, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. Look at Solomon’s widow. What’s the mind? A muscle. Doctors will tell you it’s an illness like any other. But who will take care of your mother now that L.B.’s gone? Don’t tell me. I know. You are as devoted to her as he ever was.”
“Would you mind if I topped up my glass?”
“Isn’t there more where that came from?”
“Thank you.”
“I want to tell you that when your father came here to dinner with us and sat in this very room it was a real honour for Ida and me. Such a goldener yid. A true idealist. But, please, don’t get me wrong. A great artist dies and suddenly everyone who shook hands with him once is his best friend. Unfortunately I wasn’t close to him like Bernard. I’m not the reader in the family with the big library.”
“I’m told it was Solomon who was the prodigious reader.”
“You know what I wish? I wish I had your education. But your father, may he rest in peace, my, my, was there a book he hadn’t read? In his presence I was tongue-tied. Once, you know, he came to tea with one of his admirers. What was her name, that sweet young girl?”
Moses reached for the bottle again.
“Peterson. Marion Peterson. He wanted her to see my brother’s paintings, but he wasn’t home. So they came here, he was kind enough to inscribe his books for me, every one of them, and to this day they rest in that glass bookcase over there.”
There was also a concert piano that had once belonged to Solomon in the living room. The surface was covered end to end with photographs of Barney and Charna mounted in sterling silver frames. Barney and Charna, still toddlers, romping on the grass in Ste.-Adèle. Barney on horseback, a beaming Mr. Morrie holding the reins. Charna in her white Sweet Sixteen gown. Barney raking the barley floor in the Loch Edmond’s Mist distillery in Skye.
“Now tell me what it is I can do for you,” Mr. Morrie said.
“Actually I’m here because of Lucy. She was only two years old when Solomon died and she’d like to know more about him.”
“A little birdy told me that you and Lucy are living together in London.”
“Lucy is convinced that you’ve got her father’s journals and she would be grateful if she could have them.”
“How did you meet? Come on. Spill the beans. You’re looking at a real sucker for a love story.”
“We knew each other as children, as you know, and Henry and I have been friends for years.”
“Does he still stutter so bad that poor boy?”
“No.”
“I’m glad. Now tell me how you met Lucy after so many years.”
“At a dinner party at Sir Hyman Kaplansky’s.”
“I’ll bet if Canadians were still allowed to accept titles my brother would be number one on the list.”
“Solomon’s journals would mean a good deal to Lucy.”
“Poor Lucy. Poor Henry. Poor Barney. It’s a shame that their generation had to be caught up in family fights over what? Money. Position. Power. I’m not surprised that Lucy became an actress. She’ll be a star. I’d bet money on it.”
“Why are you not surprised she wants to act?”
“Because it’s in her blood, it’s got to be. That’s what Solomon really should have been. A stage actor. When we were kids he was always dressing up, writing little plays for us to perform. He could do accents. It was amazing. Later, you know, we had our first hotel already, the bar is filled with girls of a certain type; what were we supposed to do? Throw them out into the snow? Bernard was never a pimp, and if anybody ever says that, I’m just a little fella, I’ll still punch him in the nose. Anyway Solomon comes back from the war, a flier yet, and he phones Bernard at the hotel and pretends to be the RCMP. He was letter perfect, let me tell you. Cruel too, of course, but we’re talking Solomon here. He did a Chinaman, he even walked like one. The German butcher. The blacksmith, a Polack. He could do anybody. He also had a gift for languages, but I suppose he inherited that from my grandfather.” Mr. Morrie leaped up. “I think I heard a car. Bernard must be home. You walked here you say?”
“From downtown.”
“Was my sister-in-law in the garden?”
“No.”
“Libby’s a wonderful wonderful woman. You know when Bernard married her, she was considered the catch. Her father was president of the shul and the Beneficial Loan Society. Nobody suspected him.”
“Of what?”
“Listen here, I’m not one to carry tales. He was unlucky in the market, but he meant to return every penny and it’s no reflection on Libby. She presides over so many charities because she has a heart bigger than the St. Lawrence River and you could open the books on any one of them and I’ll bet they would balance perfectly. Libby isn’t trying to prove anything.”
“Did you know that your grandfather is mentioned several times in Lady Jane Franklin’s letters?”
“You don’t say? Hey, I’m sitting with a scholar from the scholars. Why I’ll bet even Bernard doesn’t know that.”
“Twice in letters to Elizabeth Fry and once in a letter to Dr. Arnold of Rugby.”
“To think that rascal couldn’t have been more than sixteen years old at the time and still he caught that good lady’s eye.”
“It started with the snakes, you know. Van Diemen’s Land was infested with snakes, which appalled her. So she offered convicts a shilling a head for them and he came up with so many the first day she just couldn’t stop laughing.”
“Some kid he must have been. But, if you don’t mind my asking, what is your interest in our family history?”
“Lucy.”
“Ah. I was worried maybe you were thinking of writing something. Bernard wouldn’t like that. And digging up the past would be painful to Lionel, God bless him, who is striving so hard to make his way in society. So just between you, me, and the lamp-post, what are you up to, Moses?”
Moses reached for the bottle.
“Don’t worry. It doesn’t st
ain. Just pour yourself another.”
“Didn’t Ephraim ever tell you anything about his stay in Van Diemen’s Land?”
“Let’s be frank. If he talked to anybody in those days it was Solomon. Once he kidnapped him, you know. What was that?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Sh.” Mr. Morrie went to the window and peeked out from behind the blind. “Bernard and Libby are going out. That’s odd.”
“Is it?”
“‘Dragnet’s’ on tonight. Oh, I get it. He must have got them to send him a copy of the film in advance. Once, you know, he couldn’t wait to see how a Dick Tracy turned out, it was killing him, and so Harvey Schwartz had to fly down to see the people at King Features and bring back the comics before they were even printed in the newspapers. Oh you should have seen Bernie after Harvey came back with the goods, nobody the wiser. We were in the middle of a board meeting. Should we buy this vineyard just outside of Beaune for X million or should we build the office tower in Houston for Y million? Everybody’s making their pitch, quoting facts and figures, watching Bernard’s face. ‘Hey,’ he says, suddenly perking up, ‘I’ve got a hunch how Dick Tracy bails out of his latest jam and about exactly what happens to Pruneface. I could be right, I could be wrong. But I’m willing to bet a ten spot on it. Who’s coming in?’ Well, naturally, everybody forks out their ten bucks, not because they’re afraid of my brother, that’s nonsense, but because they adore him. And then Harvey, that little devil, he says, ‘I raise you twenty, Mr. Bernard.’ So everybody digs into their pocket again. I suppose you know Harvey Schwartz?”
“Yes.”
“Such a brilliant boy. Loyalty should be his middle name. I can’t tell you how lucky we are to have him here. And devoted to his lovely talented wife? You better believe it. You know she couldn’t get her book published at first. So Harvey goes to Toronto, meets with the number-one publisher there, invests in the company out of his own pocket, and that beautiful book comes out. Hugs, Pain, and Chocolate Chip Cookies. But Ogilvy’s book department here orders only four copies. Becky’s in tears. She’s got cramps. Her period is late. Harvey gets on the phone rat-tat-tat to the chairman of Ogilvy’s board and he says ahem ahem this is Harvey Schwartz speaking. I’m in charge of special projects for Jewel Investment Trust, and my boss Mr. Bernard Gursky just asked me how come your book department has taken only four copies of my wife’s book? Bing bango bongo. They order another four hundred and display them in the window. I understand that in the end they had to burn just about all of them, but I don’t have to tell L.B.’s son that art isn’t the fastest moving commodity in this country. Don’t worry. It doesn’t stain. Just pour yourself another.”
“Did you say Ephraim once kidnapped Solomon?”
“He sure did. Solomon is only nine years old and Bernie and I get out of school just in time to see Ephraim riding off on his sled with him. Okay, why not? Only now it’s seven o’clock at night, we are sitting down to supper, there’s a blizzard blowing out there, and where are they? God forbid an accident. Finally a messenger comes from this Indian fella, George Two Axe, saying Ephraim said to tell us Solomon is spending the night with the Davidsons. Fishy. Very fishy. Because only an hour earlier the Mounties have paid us one of their friendly visits. There’s been trouble out on the reservation where Ephraim is shacked up with this young Copper Indian woman. Let me tell you she was something to look at. Anyway Lena has been stabbed and somebody has shot André Clear Sky’s father dead. Have we seen or heard from Ephraim, the corporal wants to know. Why? Just asking, he says. Yeah, sure. The next question is does Ephraim have any friends in Montana? How in the hell would we know? To make a long story short, my grandfather has taken the boy all the way back to his old haunts in the Arctic with him. They are gone for months, and that’s where Solomon learned how to speak Eskimo and hunt caribou and God knows what else. And that was the last we ever saw of my grandfather, aged ninety-one, buried out there somewhere, according to Solomon, who also expects us to believe he made his way home all alone. From the Polar Sea? Tell me another one, my father says. Well, Solomon says, he had a map with him and he had marked a tree with a gash in each of their camps on the way out. Sure, my father says, and what about before you reached the tree line? A raven led the way, Solomon says with a straight face. Ask a foolish question, my father says, and what did you eat all that time? I hunted and I fished and, besides, Ephraim had left food caches for me underneath each of my marked trees, and before we parted he gave me this. Ephraim’s gold pocket watch. Tell me if I’m boring you. Ida says that once I get started I’m worse than a broken record.”
“Did Solomon ever mention anything in his journals about that first trip north?”
“Boy, speak of the third degree. You know, you could tell me something. What’s poor Henry doing out there?”
“Poor Henry is happier than you know.”
“My mother used to say that there’s nothing like a religious education, but Henry, my God.” Mr. Morrie sighed. “The children, the children. We made all that money, more than you can spend in three lifetimes, and my Barney just can’t settle down and my Charna now lives in a commune with a bunch of nut-cases and calls herself Sunflower Dark-Crystal.”
“I suppose control of McTavish will eventually fall into Lionel’s hot hands.”
“Listen here, I love Barney. I understand what a blow it was to him that McTavish would never be his to run. So I forgive him his mistakes. He walks in here right now I’d hug him. Wait till you’re a father. But, let’s face it, Lionel is the only one of his generation with a touch of Bernard’s genius and I don’t blame him he doesn’t trust anybody. The thing very few people appreciate is the rich have their problems too. You come from our kind of money you’re a marked man. If Lionel hadn’t had Fenella followed how could he have known that she was having an affair with a schwartze yet, which must have been very humiliating for such a proud fella. And have you any idea what that marriage cost him, it didn’t even last a year? The alimony. The diamonds. The sables he never got back. Some people say it’s bad taste, but I don’t blame him for one minute that he now has each new wife sign a divorce settlement before he marries her. All that gossip about receipts for gifts, however, is highly exaggerated. I can assure you Melody doesn’t have to sign a return-on-demand voucher for anything valued under one hundred thousand dollars. But that’s not why she insisted on the cheaper tiara at Winston’s. She did that because it’s not in her nature to be a grabber. Now tell me something. Is it true that Henry has some meshuggena theory about a new ice age, a punishment for the Jews?”
“Certainly not,” Moses said.
“To be orphaned so young. Oy vey. You know it breaks my heart to this day that Solomon died in the prime of his life in that frightful plane crash. I still suffer from the nightmare. I dream of that Gypsy Moth exploding, Solomon’s body blown to bits, the white wolves of the Arctic carrying off his bones.”
“What if he wasn’t blown to bits, but parachuted out before the explosion and walked out of the barrens?”
“What are you talking?”
“He’d walked out of the barrens once before, hadn’t he?”
“Oh come on. Please.”
“And I’m told he had to parachute twice out of his Sopwith Camel during the First World War.”
“So where has he been all these years?”
“Damned if I know.”
“His bank accounts were never touched, not a penny withdrawn. I’m surprised to hear you talk such foolishness. Listen!” Mr. Morrie leaped up and peeked out from behind the blinds again. “The car’s back. They’re going to watch ‘Dragnet’ after all. I think I’d better switch it on. Moses, I’ve been keeping you too long. I’m sure you have more important people to see.”
“What do I tell Lucy about Solomon’s journals?”
“If I had them,” Mr. Morrie said, “it would be my sincere pleasure to pass them on to her. Tell her that and give her a big kiss for me.”
&nb
sp; “What do you think happened to the journals?”
“God knows. But I’ll tell you the best thing that could have happened is that they were burnt in the plane crash. I got a peek at some pages once and boy oh boy Solomon could tell some real whoppers in his day. If those journals, should they still exist, ever fell in the wrong hands they could be dynamite. Do you mind if I turn on the TV?”
“No.”
“Bless you. And now I’m going to ask you a favour. May I?”
“Of course.”
“My Barney, he has had such bad luck in so many of his ventures, poor boy, has decided to become a writer and has written a book. But nobody in New York will print it for him. Do I have to explain to L.B.’s son how difficult such things are?”
“Certainly not.”
“It’s a detective story, maybe a little too sexy for my taste, but what do I know? Barney’s in Mexico now, partners with this doctor in some kind of cancer clinic, and he has asked me to try the manuscript on publishers in Toronto. But first, what I’d really appreciate is somebody of your education, not to mention the literary background, to read it and tell me what you honestly think.”
“I’d have to take it with me to London.”
“I knew I could count on you. Now come down to the garage, I’ll give you the manuscript, and my driver will take you back to your hotel.”
“I can walk.”
“No, it’s my pleasure. Ida will be jealous that she missed you. L.B.’s son in our house. You know what they say, don’t you?”
“The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
“Such a nice boy. To be your uncle one day would be a genuine honour for me. Don’t stand in front of the lamp, please. It casts a shadow on the blind. Come, Moses, and let me hear from you soon.”
Five
It was sort of Friday afternoon, late, time to close down the office. Send Myrna home. Pile into my heap and tool down to Nick’s Bar & Grill on the main stem for a quick snort. Nick and I have been through hell and back again together. Sweeping Normandy clean of Nazi punks.