Nathan sat opposite Deborah who studied his expression.
“Where were you, Nate?”
“It’s none of your business.”
“Come on, don’t be like that. Betcha you were in the museum again.”
Nathan nodded yes. “Don’t tell Mom!”
“I’m not going to squeal on you. Anything interesting happen?”
“Met a new friend.” Nathan put his head down and ate the baked chicken leg with his fingers.
“Is he good looking?”
“How do I know, Deb?” He finished off the leg and scooped the mashed potatoes into his mouth.
“Well, didn’t you spend time with him?” Nathan continued eating, thinking that his sister was more nosy than his parents, but he couldn’t imagine not having her around, even though she was a girl. He felt sorry that Nick didn’t have any siblings. “I mean, since you must’ve been with him awhile.”
“Yeah, I guess you would say he’s handsome. He’s Italian. No, actually Nick would say Sicilian.”
“How old is he?”
“He must be my age. What’s with all the questions?”
Deborah’s deep, blue eyes widened. “Nothing.” She moved her mashed potatoes in a circle until her brother got up with his empty plate and she followed him into the kitchen.
They each washed their plates in turn. When the front door lock sprung open, Rebecca met her husband as he rushed into the apartment.
“What’s wrong, Ernst? You don’t look so hot.”
“I didn’t want to miss the President’s broadcast.” He kissed Rebecca on the cheek and plopped into his chair without taking off his jacket.
“Aren’t you going to eat something?”
“I’ll eat later. I must tell you something.” He composed himself. “I picked up the San Francisco Examiner before I ate my lunch. There was this article about Peter Bergson. Ever heard of him?”
“Can’t say I have? Should I know him?”
“He’s a Zionist! Anyway, he gives these speeches in Union Square.” Rebecca looked distracted when her children ambled into the room. “In New York City. He’s been dishing out the truth about Hitler and what the Nazis have in store for us Jews.” Ernst raised his voice. “Thinks we should form our own Jewish army.”
“Ernst, please try to stay calm.” Her eyes motioned towards their children.
Nathan’s eyes were open with curiosity, while he noticed his sister was looking at the floor. His father didn’t usually get animated about things, except when it came to workers’ rights.
Rebecca raised both arms upward. “The whole world is going meshugganah! It’s not good for your system to have supper so late. Besides, I waited for you to eat.”
Nathan and Deborah had already stretched out on the floor in the living room near the radio listening to a swing band. After a quick meal in the dining room, their parents sat on two matching easy chairs in time for the Fireside Chat of President Roosevelt.
Nathan enjoyed his family tradition of gathering around their most valued possession, a mahogany, Capehart radio cabinet as big as a jukebox. They listened to the Fireside Chats on intermittent Sunday evenings ever since he was ten. They never missed one and hung on the President’s every word, especially his father who was one of the lucky Jews to get out of Germany. After graduating Fredrich Wilhelm University in Berlin, he had married Rebecca Moretto. Hyperinflation continued throughout 1923, so the Feins left on a ship from Bremen to New York City to meet up with a second cousin. They found their way to San Francisco where Ernst was offered a good job at a printer’s shop.
Father maintained a measure of German pride when it came to science and music but fretted about the value of a dollar wherever he lived. His concern about money disappeared overnight with the onset of Kristallnach, shattering all his delusions about missing Berlin. Even though the Feins were safe in America, Nathan worried what would happen to his parents’ relatives and friends in Germany and Italy. Just thinking about this rotten treatment unnerved Nathan and he couldn’t imagine what it was like for his parents, who could picture everything in their heads better than a movie.
When President Roosevelt concluded his talk, Ernst shouted at the radio: “President Roosevelt, you should bomb the railroad tracks leading out of Germany.” He shut the radio off. “The Nazis must be sending Jews and Socialists to hidden camps. I feel it in my bones.”
Nathan asked: “What can be done, Father?”
“Their only hope is to get to Italy.”
“What! That’s crazy—Mussolini is waiting there for them. You always carry on about the damn Fascists, too.”
“When I was at the University of Berlin, I spent a year at the Università di Bologna as an exchange student. That’s where I met your mother.” Rebecca smiled. “Experience tells me that the average Italian is not going to turn anybody in to the authorities, not even the Jews, especially if they’re Italian.” He turned to his wife. “Is that not true, Rebecca?”
“Yes, Italians don’t trust the government.”
“But how can you two be so sure?”
“Your mother’s cousins from Venice have been dropping Ladino clues in their letters to avoid detection from the censors.”
“What’s going to happen to our family over there?” asked Deborah.
“Nothing good, Deborah,” Ernst answered. “That you can be sure of.” Ernst looked at Nathan. “What do they teach you anyway in school these days?” Deborah sat up. “When things get bad, everyone always blames the Jews, and we Germans were too stupid to realize that.” Ernst stood up. “What’s going to happen to my mother? My brother, his wife and children?” Deborah started crying and Nathan hugged his sister.
“You’re making me have second thoughts about my family in Venice,” Rebecca added. “Maybe the Nazis will be too strong in Italy. Ernst, didn’t one of my cousins warn that a Shoah was coming? Or was it what’s his name?”
“Peter Bergson. He’s the one who said it. And Roosevelt’s got to do something now, before it’s too late.” Ernst slumped into his chair.
“Maybe we should listen to some music,” Nathan offered. He stepped over to the Capehart and turned the dial like he was cracking a safe to look for something that he knew his parents would love—a rebroadcast from the San Francisco Opera. “Father, listen! It’s The Barber of Seville.” It was one opera that could cheer Nathan up, even if he found it corny compared to jazz.
One day on a late Sunday afternoon in early March, Nathan and Nick met in Golden Gate Park to play a game of catch. Paul was supposed to meet up with them. The two had become fast friends and were at it for an hour, when they noticed a bunch of high school kids approaching. Nick thought they looked like a gang of Irish kids who could have been stand-in actors in the film series, Dead End Kids—several with cocked hats, others with mops of tousled hair, cigarettes dangling on their lips, all moving in a shifty pack. Nate had caught sight of them when he turned to see what Nick was staring at. He nonchalantly tossed the ball to Nick as if the approaching pack were looking for a picnic spot. He figured they came from the Sunset District but wasn’t going to let them intimidate him. Everything was going fine as the pack passed and continued on their way, until the ball went over Nick’s head and rolled near the ringleader who picked it up.
Nick turned his head and called out. “Throw it here, will ya!”
The ringleader laughed. “Thanks.” He threw the ball to one of his stooges.
“Hey, that’s my friend’s ball. Come on, stop playing around.”
“Who axed you anyway?”
The ringleader sent several of his boys over. The one with the ball walked up to Nathan. “Take it from me.”
“Look, we’re not looking for any trouble. Just give up the ball.” Nick went to Nathan’s side as the boys circled them.
“Yeah, just be a sport and return the ball,” Nick said.
The boy with the ball shouted to the ringleader: “Hey Paddy, I think one of them is a kike.” He pointed at Nick. “And this one here is definitely a dago.” As soon as the boy turned around, Nathan pummeled his face, while Nick tackled another one to the ground. The big mouth was bleeding from his lips, lying dazed on the ground. Nick had a lock hold around the guy’s neck, his legs twitching. In the meantime, the third guy began punching Nick in the back. Nathan pulled the guy away from Nick and when the kid turned around, Nathan left-jabbed him in the solar plexus and a right to the face. Down he went with the wind knocked out of him. The ringleader came running with his remaining friend. Nick released the guy who was gasping for breath and stood up to face the last two with Nathan.
Paul had taken in the action as he hiked out of an overgrown trail. He flew over to the scene, curve punched the ringleader on the side of his head and watched him tumble to the ground. His sidekick picked up the ringleader and they both ran away, the rest of the gang following, while the trio watched their every move as they fled. When they all caught up with the ringleader, he yelled from a safe distance: “Youse guys are goin’ to get it later.” They trotted back in the direction they came from. Nathan grabbed his glove and ball off the ground, tossed the ball up high and held his glove out until it popped in.
Nick shook his head. “Where the hell did you learn to box like that, Nate?”
“Right in the kisser!” Paul added, as he mimicked a crouched boxer.
“My track coach taught me after I took a licking from some punks. You guys weren’t so bad either.”
“Oh, this is my cuginu, Paul,” Nick said, as they shook hands.
“Heard all about you.”
“Hope it was somethin’ good.”
“Nick said you’re a sharp guy.” Paul eyed his cousin.
“What you say we scram,” Nick advised. “I’ve seen these mugs before. Better believe they’ll be back like a vendetta.”
“My cuginu’s right,” Paul said. “We were lucky this time.”
“I know a fast way out of the park. We can hop a bus there before those palookas find us,” Nathan said.
When they got on the bus, they stood in the back hanging onto the leather straps and remained quiet along the circuitous route until Nathan said: “Want to listen to some jazz at my house? We’re almost there.”
“I’m headin’ back to the guys on the corner,” Paul answered.
“What about you, Nick?”
“I don’t know.”
“My mom is a great baker.”
“Okay, you won me over.”
When they got to the house, Nathan’s parents had already gone out for a walk. They sat around the kitchen table munching hunks of chocolate, blackout cake with glasses of milk. Deborah joined them but sat quietly. Nathan noticed his sister staring at Nick, who was busy eating.
“This cake is really good.”
“I told you she could bake.”
“It’s true what my brother says.”
“Oh Nick, this is my kid sister, Deborah.” Nick stopped eating to look at her.
“I told my mom she should open a store. But she just laughs. Says working as a dressmaker suits her fine.”
“Let’s listen to my favorite jazz records before my parents get home. They get annoyed when I play the music loud.” Nathan brought Nick into his room to show his collection, while Deborah leaned against the door.
“Wow, you have a lot of 78s!”
“Can I stay and listen, too?”
“Sure, Sis, but don’t be a pest?” Deborah wrinkled her face at Nathan.
“Nick, how about Benny Goodman’s ‘Sing, Sing, Sing’?”
“Swing away, Nate.”
At dusk the door lock snapped open and Nathan lowered the volume before his parents entered.
“Father! Mother! Meet my friend Nick. You know, the one I told you about from the museum.” His parents shook hands with him.
“Would you like to stay for supper, young man?”
“No thanks, Mrs. Fein, my mother is expecting me home. I’m not allowed to miss meals with my family, unless it’s some kind of emergency.”
“Another time.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
When the door closed, Ernst said: “Nice Italian boy. It’s good for you to have friends who are not Jewish. But never drop your guard, Nathan.”
“Father, he’s my friend.”
“Yes and he’s a dreamboat.” Ernst stared at his daughter but said nothing.