“What about your brother?” Polaner asked, turning to Andras. “Can he help?”
Tibor was coming to visit in three weeks; he would spend his winter holiday in Paris. He and Andras had been saving the money for months. Even Klara had contributed to Tibor’s ticket; she’d insisted that as Andras’s fiancée she had a right to do so. “I won’t let him give up his ticket,” Andras said. “Not even for Ben Yakov’s fiancée.”
“He wouldn’t have to give it up,” Rosen said. “Ben Yakov can afford to buy her ticket if he doesn’t have to get one of his own. And then Tibor could escort her. He would just have to get to Florence, that’s all.”
Ben Yakov rose from his chair. He put his hands to his head. “That’s brilliant,” he said. “My God. We could do it. It can’t cost much to get from Modena to Florence.”
“Wait a minute,” Andras said. “Tibor hasn’t agreed, and neither have I. How is this meant to work? He goes to Florence, and elopes with her in your place?”
“He’ll meet her at the train station and they’ll leave together,” Rosen said. “Isn’t that right, Ben Yakov? He would have to do nothing but show up in Florence.”
“But what about when she gets here?” Andras said. “She can’t just step off a train and marry you at once. Where will she stay before the wedding?”
Ben Yakov stared. “She’ll stay at my apartment, of course.”
“She’s an Orthodox girl, remember.”
“I’ll give her my room. I’ll come stay with one of you.”
“Not with me,” Rosen said, glancing sideways at Shalhevet.
“If Shalhevet is staying with you,” Ben Yakov said, “let Ilana stay at her place.”
“You can’t leave her all alone in a dormitory,” Shalhevet said. “She’ll be miserable.”
“Well, what am I supposed to do?” Ben Yakov said.
“What about Klara?” Polaner asked. “Could Ilana stay with her?”
Andras set his chin on his hand. “I don’t know,” he said. “She’s preparing her students for their winter recital. It’s the busiest time of year.” And, though he didn’t say it aloud, there were aspects of the situation he knew Klara wouldn’t like. What business did they have importing a bride for Ben Yakov, their notorious scoundrel? The girl was running away from home to come to Paris; she had grown up in a close-knit Sephardic community in Florence, and was only nineteen years old. It was one thing to involve Tibor, but quite another to ask Klara to be an accomplice.
Polaner looked at Andras with concern. “What’s the matter?” he said.
“I’m not sure. Suddenly I find I’ve got doubts about all of this.”
“Please,” Ben Yakov said, putting a hand on Andras’s shoulder. “I’m begging you. Of all people, you have to understand my situation. You’ve struggled for the past year, and you’re happy now. Can’t you help me? I know I haven’t always acted like a gentleman, but you know how hard I’ve worked since I came back from Florence. I’ve done everything in my power to get that girl here.”
Andras gave a sigh and put a hand on Ben Yakov’s hand. “All right,” he said. “I’ll write to Tibor. And I’ll talk to Klara.”
…
12 December 1938
Modena, Italy
Andráska,
I consider it an honor to be asked to conduct the future Madame Ben Yakov to Paris. I’m glad to be of help to any friend of yours. I do feel for the girl’s parents, though. What will they think when they learn she’s gone? I hope Ben Yakov will reconcile with them as soon as he can. He may be just charming enough to pull it off. Please have him wire me Signorina di Sabato’s train information and I will meet her at the station in Firenze.
As for me, I’m more than ready to spend a few indolent weeks with you in your self-loving city. I’m exhausted. No one warns medical students that the course of study itself may produce any number of the diseases studied. I hope I may cure myself with sleep, wine, and your company.
Madame Morgenstern’s book of anatomy continues to serve me well. I’ll always be in debt to her for that gift. But please tell her not to make me any more such presents in the future! When my friends see that I own such a fine book, they overestimate my wealth and expect me to buy them dinner. At this rate I will soon be ruined entirely. In the meantime, I remain
your merely impoverished brother,
TIBOR
Andras brought the letter to Klara and asked for her help. Accompanying him was François Ben Yakov; it was the first time he had made Klara’s acquaintance. He had dressed for the occasion in a jacket of fine black wool and a red tie figured with barley-sized fleurs-de-lis. As Ben Yakov held Klara’s hands in his own and begged her understanding, meeting her gaze with his dark film-star eyes, Andras half-wondered if Klara might fall under the spell Ben Yakov seemed to cast upon every woman he met. She was enchanted enough to agree to help, at least; she allowed Ben Yakov to kiss her hand and to call her an angel. Once Ben Yakov had gone, leaving Andras and Klara alone, she laughed and said she could see why he caused such trouble among the young ladies of his acquaintance.
“I hope you won’t elope with him before the bride arrives,” Andras said. He pulled a chair close to the fire for her and they sat down to watch the coals burn low.
“Not a chance,” Klara said, and smiled. But then her expression grew serious, and she crossed her arms over her chest. “I share your brother’s reservation, though. I wish the girl didn’t have to run away. Would it really have been impossible for Ben Yakov to approach her father?”
“Would you allow your daughter to marry François Ben Yakov? Particularly if you’d raised her as an observant Jew? I’m afraid Ben Yakov was right when he came to the conclusion that they had to do it in secret.”
Klara sighed. “What will my own daughter think?”
“She’ll think she has a compassionate and understanding mother.”
“I understand too well,” Klara said. “So will Elisabet. This Florentine girl is restless, most likely. She wants a way out of the fate her parents have chosen for her. So she imagines herself to be in love with your friend. She must be very strong-willed if she’s ready to leave her family behind for his sake.”
“Strong-willed, indeed,” Andras said. “And in love. To hear him tell it, she wants to come more than anything. And he wants it too.”
“Do you think he can make her happy?”
Andras looked into the fire, at the heat swimming up through the coals. “He’ll do his best. He’s a good man.”
“I hope he does,” she said. “I hope he is.”
On the night of Tibor and Ilana’s arrival they all went to the station to meet the train. They stood in a group on the platform, Andras and Klara and Polaner, Rosen and Shalhevet, while Ben Yakov paced the platform a little distance away; in one clenched hand he held a nosegay of pansies for Signorina di Sabato. Pansies were a terrible extravagance in winter, but he’d insisted upon buying them. They were the flowers he’d given her when they first met.
It was Shalhevet who spotted the train, the speck of light far off down the line. They heard the throaty alto notes of the whistle; their group pressed forward with the rest of the Parisians who’d come to meet their holiday visitors. The train pulled in, letting off a skirt of steam, and the waiting crowd surged closer still as it came to a stop. After a maddeningly long time, the doors opened with their metallic clack and the gold-epauletted conductors jumped down onto the platform. Everyone took half a step back and waited.
Tibor was among the first to appear. Andras saw him at the door of one of the third-class cars, his expression anxious and weary; he held a pale green bandbox and a lady’s fancy umbrella. He moved aside to make way for a young girl with a long dark braid, who paused on the top step to cast a searching look over the crowd.