And Désirée…
She hadn’t even wanted to come along at first. When Mimi insisted she gave in, but explained that she wouldn’t dance, not so much as a step. As long as she was parted from Alfred, it would have seemed as inappropriate as going to an operetta in the ‘terrible days’ between New Year and the Day of Atonement. Then she also refused to put on a ball-gown, even though, much to Lea and Rachel’s envy, she had two in her wardrobe. Now she sat with the others at the table in a plain linden-green dress, drawing attention by being so conspicuously inconspicuous.
The last chair was meant for Arthur, but for the moment he had no time to sit down. The children he had trained for the flag ceremony came charging at him from all directions, and their parents seemed to be waiting even more excitedly for the great moment. He had to repeat over and over again that they still had plenty of time, first there would be the prologue and all the gymnastic demonstrations, and then, at nine o’clock at the earliest…
Someone tapped him on the shoulder, and it wasn’t the next impatient father, but Joni.
Joni.
Joni, who gave him a smile, half public and half private, and said, ‘I’ve been looking for you.’
His dark blue suit was slightly too small for him, and it made his upper arms look particularly powerful. Since meeting Arthur for the first time he had grown a vain moustache that sat on his upper lip like a stuck-on little brush. His face had the puffy look that athletes often get when they stop training. He wasn’t, if you took a proper look, an extraordinarily attractive man, but Arthur saw only Joni, his Joni, and had to take off his glasses and rub the bridge of his nose before he could say, ‘Nice of you to come.’ His voice barely quavered.
‘You have to do something for me,’ said Joni.
‘Yes?’ The question was over-eager and far too quick. ‘I’m not a waiter fighting for a tip,’ Arthur thought irritably, and felt the heat rising into his face.
‘This Désirée Pomeranz,’ said Joni. ‘She’s something like mishpocha of yours. Can’t you give me an official introduction?’
Luckily they were joined at that moment by Sally Steigrad, who needed Arthur very urgently. The stage manager was causing problems about the torches that they’d planned to use for the big pyramid in the finale, something to do with safety regulations and permissions. ‘Deal with it,’ said Sally, who had recently adopted a Napoleonic tone, so Arthur was able to escape behind the stage with an apologetic gesture.
The flag consecration, or at least the first part of it, was a complete success.
Sally had written a prologue in verse, in which he rhymed ‘high aspirations’ with ‘gymnastic sensations’ and ‘mighty hand’ with ‘fatherland’, thus reaping enthusiastic applause. Then he announced the gymnastic work — among athletes it was customary in this context only ever to speak of work — and the men’s squad began their free exercises. Sally had had the idea, or had taken it from a report in the gymnastics newspaper, of having the rhythmical elements accompanied by the band, and the old conductor Fleur-Vallée had arranged a pot-pourri of well-known and well-loved melodies especially for the occasion. At particularly daring transitions, as when the folk-song ‘Ramseiers wei go grase’ suddenly modulated into a nigun from the Simchat Torah liturgy, a murmur went around the hall. Apart from that, Sally noted with satisfaction from behind the scenes, the beat of the music effectively covered up the inevitable little slips made by the gymnasts.
The bar and stretching exercises were rather tedious, but were still loudly applauded, as is customary at family occasions. The appearance of the newly-founded ladies’ squad even prompted actual cheering, although some guests from the Orthodox religious society shook their heads disapprovingly over their skimpy costumes.
Then at last it was the turn of the children.
Monsieur Fleur-Vallée, who was becoming more and more modern with increasing age, had had the impudence to rearrange ‘Entrance of the Gladiators’ into a solemnly synagogical minor key, and when the boys and girls marched in, not from behind the scenes, as expected, but through the doors from the foyer, a general ‘Ah!’ ran through the hall. They were all wearing white shirts or blouses, and had knotted a scarf in the blue-and-white colours of the association and the city around their necks. The display that Arthur had rehearsed with them over four evenings in the gym hall did not create its full intended effect for want of space; the additional tables had made the dance floor shrink considerably. But that did nothing to dampen the general enthusiasm. In the finale, when the children, to the notes of the Hatikvah, formed a Star of David, Pinchas recorded for his report in the ‘Blättchen’ that the cries of bravo sounded as if they were never going to end.
A break followed, during which the children had another important task to perform: they had to sell the lottery tickets, without which no association event could cover its costs. After long consultation, Sally Steigrad had set the prices very high: one ticket for twenty rappen, six for a franc. ‘They all know each other,’ was his argument, ‘so no one can afford to be stingy.’
Only now, in the break, did Arthur manage to greet his parents. Although a major argument in favour of selling the shops had been that they would have more time for their children and grandchildren, Chanele and Janki had not been in Zurich for ages. Instead they hid themselves away in their flat in Baden, which was far too big for them, and Janki for one didn’t seem particularly pleased if one paid them a visit there. He was finding it increasingly difficult to walk; the war wound that he had never had was now very painful, just as a bad dream can pursue one into real life. Chanele, one could tell by many little gestures, had grown into the role of nurse, and if she considerately adjusted Janki’s sash or encouragingly handed him a handkerchief, there was always something triumphant about it, a collector unnecessarily straightening a valuable item that he has at last acquired after a great struggle, to confirm to himself that it now really belongs to him.
Arthur noticed that his father was repeatedly clutching the left side of his chest, and the doctor in him was already looking for the illness to match this symptom. But in fact Janki was only reaching for the manuscript of his speech as flag sponsor. ‘Just don’t talk too much about the Battle of Sedan,’ Arthur said as a joke. His father looked at him severely and replied: ‘I wasn’t even at Sedan.’
The old Kahns, Mina’s parents, came by and congratulated Arthur with pointed cordiality on his production of the children’s display. They ignored Janki and Chanele, the parents of a son-in-law who had had himself geshmat, equally pointedly. Mina herself, of course, hadn’t come.
When Arthur had finally fought his way through to the family table, his seat was already occupied. On the last chair, right next to Désirée, sat Joni Leibowitz.
‘I have taken the liberty of introducing myself,’ he said. ‘I’ve already told Fräulein Pomeranz that we are very good friends. We are friends, aren’t we?’ The threat in his voice could not be ignored.
‘Of course,’ said Arthur. What else was he supposed to say?
‘Then I’m sure you won’t mind if I occupy your seat for a little longer.’ Joni stroked his young moustache, took a drag on a cigarette and smiled at Désirée from behind the smoke with slightly narrowed eyes, just as the lovers did in the picture house. ‘One seldom encounters such charming company.’