“Bless me, Little Father,” Anna murmured to Herbert. She hadn’t slept all that night. Now, still in her best dress, her temples throbbing, she stood at the threshold. She handed him a cup, his morning tea, milky and sweet. In her other hand was a crumpled wad of papers.
“Perhaps you would like to come with me today,” Herbert suggested. He was going to the Automat. His normal routine. He found Anna’s mouse-fur coat and put it around her.
Maria, waking lazily on her side of the small cot, lying in the still-warm imprint of the Rat, watched sleepily. What were they whispering about, those two old people? She stretched, sighing, the length of her body falling back into sleep like the scent of apples. In that sleep, she felt kisses on her face, like apple blossoms. “Sleep, my little girl,” the Rat whispered. And she bent also to kiss Philip.
Herbert waited, watching. They walked outside, and the fresh morning air hit them, waking Anna and soothing her headache. Anna turned to him. “You know what I am going to say to you,” she began. “It is my time.” She looked at him deeply. “I am ready. Thank you for saving my life,” she continued, looking at him firmly. Herbert tried to avoid her gaze, but met it finally. “Yes, you saved my life,” repeated Anna. “But now it is enough.”
She turned to him, unable to say more. Her velvet gaze looked long and deeply into his rheumy eyes. “Here, my oldest, dearest friend,” she said. “This is for you.” And she handed him the packet of papers, the scratchy marks on yellow lined paper, the codes and false names and numbers she had stolen back from Felix, who had taken them from under Herbert’s mattress long ago. “Here, this will tell you everything. It is my last gift to you. Act quickly.”
“My dear little Rat,” Herbert said, pocketing the papers immediately. And he knew he must let her go. He recognized her desperation, had seen such cases before. People, rescued from the jaws of death, so to speak, rescued from the most horrible suffering, would, after a time, find it unbearable to live in a halfway normal manner again. Survival affected particularly the women. They would manage heroically, despite all loss and deprivation. The men might perish right away. But the women, living on, were broken forever. No matter what might happen. They could not later survive the ordeals they had undergone in a numbed dream.
“Can you not at least wait a little bit longer?” Herbert asked mildly, taking her arm as the two rounded a corner. The wind shook them and they staggered toward each other. “Can you not wait just a bit more?” Anna looked at her friend but did not answer. There was no need. In her eyes he already saw resolve and clarity.
“I understand,” said Herbert. And that was all. The Rat released her cramped breath with gratitude. She squeezed Herbert’s arm, “I won’t ask any questions,” he said. The two old friends walked in companionable silence.
“And Adeline? How is she?” asked the Rat finally.
“Improving,” replied Herbert without much conviction. Adeline had refused to see anyone not of the immediate family. Would the Rat’s visit help her at all? Herbert doubted it. “She thinks now only of her music.”
The Rat drew in a breath. “But that is good.”
“That I cannot say,” Herbert confessed. “She is determined to play again with the Tolstoi Quartet. And unfortunately, I was stupid enough to promise her a concert in Carnegie Hall if she recovers quickly.”
“Oh, I see,” Anna said thoughtfully. “But that is marvelous. And the Tolstoi Quartet?” she inquired.
“Yes,” Herbert said. “They are here.”
“Here? In New York?”
Herbert nodded again.
Anna said nothing to this news, though she began to turn it over in her mind. But of course. Why not? Why shouldn’t the Tolstoi Quartet be here in New York under the aegis of Herbert? “All of them?” she asked. “All four?”
“Well,” said Herbert, “Not quite all of them. You see, my dear Countess, something is missing, it appears.” He took her arm firmly, steering her toward the doorway of the Automat. When they were both seated, watery coffee in front of each, he leaned forward and explained the situation.
“The little fingers of each of them?” The Rat pondered this. “I see.”
“Yes,” said Herbert, sinking deeper into his chair. “They are here in New York. And the fingers, it appears, are also here somewhere in New York.” His eyes hooded over and he appeared to be staring not at the Rat but through her into faraway scenes. Then he came to himself. “You see, my dearest Anna, this time I am truly worried. This time I cannot work the miracle. My power is leaving me.”
“Power?” asked Anna.
Herbert did not answer for a long time. Finally he said, “Countess, this is my curse. I can help everybody. But I cannot help my own family.”
“It is often so,” agreed the Rat, touching his hand gently. “It is usually that way, my friend.”
Herbert looked away. “Yes, it is often so.”
Anna touched his tattered coat sleeve. “My cousin, do you not know how we all love you? Do you think that we do not see what you do? Who you are?”
“Aah.” Herbert sighed, a groan from his oak depths.
The procession of those he had not been able to save marched across a background. Herbert thought of Manfred, the Romany king, and of his failure to help there as well. He saw the Romany, their sad, wild eyes, their quick, dark bodies caged by the closing doors of railroad cars. “I can do nothing,” he said. “Forgive me, Your Highness. I have tried.”
Manfred, hawklike, proud, and silent, did not answer. His imperious gaze held Herbert’s in its own, challenging.
“The President has refused,” said Herbert in self-justification. “What else can I do?”
“Yes,” answered Manfred’s gaze. “But it is my peoples who will be exterminated. You have not done enough, my friend.”
“Forgive me,” said Herbert, closing his eyes.
“Father, I forgive you,” whispered the wraith of Michael from the shadows. His cavernous eyes watched his father with dispassion. Michael at least was calm now. Or was he?
“Forgive me,” Herbert sighed to Anna, who stroked his hand.
“Shh, Little Father.”
The guards closed the doors of the railroad cars, beating back the prisoners who pressed their emaciated bodies against the aperture for a last desperate attempt at freedom. “Father, help me!” cried Michael. Where were they taking him?
“You, with all your connections. You could have done something!” Adeline’s silence reproached Herbert.
“I have tried everything.” But it was too late. Herbert was doomed to live forever now with these memories. Why had it not been he who had been chosen? The “Chosen People.” Yes, he had been chosen to live the hardest life of all: that of the survivor, the savior. Who could not save those whom he loved most.
“It was Michael whom I loved most,” Adeline cried silently to Herbert. “It was never you!”
For this, Herbert was condemned for the rest of his life. Condemned to hear the petitions of others, to ransom everything—his remaining family, his health, his life—to assist others in escaping their fates. Only in this way could Herbert expiate his own sense of helplessness. And he had connections—that, too. He had been accustomed to power: the manipulation of it. But even power had its limits. There were others more powerful. “Bless your people,” Herbert said to Manfred silently. “I pray for them.”
Manfred regarded his old friend with scorn. “You are worthless in this, Herr Hofrat. Worthless. I believed when I came to you.”
“What?” cried Herbert. “What did you believe?”
“In you, in your philosophy.”
“In my philosophy?”
“The Romany knows only his horses. But the Jew seeks to question further.”
“Better to stick with the horses.”
“Ah yes, there you are right.” And a glint of humor flashed in the king’s steely eyes. “But the Romany believes in more than just the horses. The Romany believes in freedom. Must have it. Will die without it.”
“Freedom. The right to sleep under the open sky.”
“You, with your ideals. Your Esperanto. What have you accomplished?” challenged Manfred.
Tired of being chided like a child, Herbert gathered himself together. “I have helped many. And there many more yet who will be helped.”
“But not my own,” replied Manfred sadly. “And not your own, either, old man.”
Herbert bowed his head under the burden.
“And I also,” said Manfred more softly. “I also am unable to save, even with all my connections. I am also now a useless old man, do you not see?”
Herbert saw the eyes of the Romany king regarding his steadily. Within the dark wild pupils he saw terror and sadness. “How can we live with this knowledge?” Herbert murmured sadly. The Gypsy was silent, contained in his own grief.
To Anna now, Herbert said softly, “How can we live with this knowledge?” She pressed her benefactor’s hand. “Tell me, my dearest Countess, how can we support such sadness?”
“I do not want to add to your burden of grief.”
Herbert raised Anna’s hand to his lips. “My dearest Countess, it was always you I loved,” he whispered to her. “Forgive me! It was always you. I should have married you; I always loved you.”
“Don’t say such things,” Anna soothed. From the darkly circled eyes, from their furrows, arose the slight faint odor of brimstone. The after-scent of ashes. “We have suffered enough.”
“Yes, it is true, it was always you whom I loved.” Herbert sighed. The two old friends regarded each other. Was this true? “You are the only one I could ever write to,” said Herbert. “The only one who was interested in Esperanto.”
“It is true,” whispered Anna, and she laughed.
Herbert, too, began to smile. “Is this not true?”
“Yes.” The Rat nodded.
“That cursed Esperanto,” said Herbert. “It never did a goddamn thing.” His smile broadened. “And worst of all, it never got me the girl.”
“Of course it got you the girl,” whispered the little Rat. “I am here now, aren’t I?”
“Yes, but not for long.” Herbert sighed.
“But here I am just the same.”
“It is Felix who has the fingers,” Herbert burst out suddenly. Now, gathering himself together, he leaned forward across the table, grasping her two hands in his. “I know you have seen him. Has he told you anything?”
“Felix?” Anna asked, brought sharply out of her gentle, foggy, romantic moment.
“Yes, the Tolstoi Quartet. Their fingers. I am sure of it now,” Herbert said, his eyes focusing away from his own concerns to the job at hand.
“But…” Anna was confused. She would have much preferred to continue on, the two of them, in their nostalgic daze, the love not shared, the romance not expressed, and so forth.
“David told me. And I see now that he is right. Has to be right. There is only one person in New York. As far as we know…” Herbert paused, looking thoughtful.
“Felix?” repeated Anna stupidly.
“Yes. Now I see. We want you to help us.”
“You can ask anything of me. You saved my life. Ask anything, my cousin. It is yours. What is it you want me to do?” The queen, protecting the king.