Chapter 17
Manhattan Weekend
Saturday, June 15, 1935 ─ They got off the Lehigh Valley train at Pennsylvania Station and took a cab to the apartment at 815 Park Avenue. There were three letters waiting for Ella in the pewter dish beside the door. The ones from her boyfriend and parents she read quickly. The third was addressed to “Miss Ella Kaufmann. C/O Mr. Rattigan,” but it bore no return address and was postmarked from the Bronx. She told Cindy she needed to freshen up, it had been a long, hot day on the train from Ithaca, and took the letters into her room.
Held before the bare bulb of the lamp on the side table the mystery envelope was opaque, nothing visible inside. There was no sign of staining, wrinkling or tearing. The handwritten address was unmarred. With a letter opener she sliced across the top, careful not to damage the contents. She removed a folded sheet. Holding it close to the lamp she examined the edges. There, across the open edge she found a single strand of fine white hair. The seal was intact. She unfolded the sheet and read,
Dear Ella,
Welcome back! Do you remember the diner at 9th and 57th? Coffee and cake.
C. H. F.
There was a diner at 9th Avenue and 57th Street but the rendezvous would be at another address. The alphabetical sequence of the initials could raise or lower the numbers. A middle initial gave a sign change or multiple, or at times something even simpler. It wasn’t precise, what with Manhattan’s complex street grid and multitude of eateries it wasn’t intended to be. Her tourist map was already starting to split at the folds, time for a new one. Ella tried a couple of code variations with no matches, then an obvious one. Kaffee und kuchen meant Sunday at 3. What did he want this time? It was summer break.
*
Sunday, June 16, 1935 ─ Ella didn’t get in until 3 a.m. from her date. Waking around ten, she opened the small gift box on the bedside table. Inside was a gold necklace. It gleamed in the sunlight. She removed her chemise and sat before the dressing table mirror, fastening the necklace so the pendent lay between her breasts. It burned into her skin. Ella took it off and replaced it with the hamsa.
Abby prepared a light brunch for Ella. Cindy was out on some errand. Daniel had gone to the office. Ella skimmed through the Herald Tribune for any news about home and found a report on the marvelous new Autobahnen. It was Father’s Day, had Cindy remembered? Perhaps they would all go out tonight.
Abby sat down beside her with a cup of mocha java. “I heard you come in last night. You know Ella, if you ever need someone to talk to about . . . you know, private matters, I’m here and can keep a secret.”
“I’m a big girl. I know how to take care of myself.”
“Just the same, accidents happen, particularly in this town. I’ve been around the block a few times. I know a thing or two . . . or three. Guys will say anything to get what they want, until they knock you up and then nothing. There’re a lotta bums like that. Listen Ella, if you ever need help, I’ve been there.”
“Just because I wear my hair like a school girl, I’m no ingénue. At least I know enough not to use Pepsi-Cola or Lysol, for goodness sake! You wouldn’t believe what the girls at college do.”
“Uh . . .”
“Abby, I’m sorry. I appreciate the offer. We’re friends, right?”
“Oh, sure. It’s just . . . so what do German girls use?”
*
About one o’clock Ella left the apartment. She looked chic in a white silk blouse, sleek khaki slacks, black patent leather belt, sandals, and sunglasses, hair coiled around her head in a milkmaid braid, partly concealed under a wide brimmed Panama. Her lips were crimsoned, and a glint of gold shown at her collar.
She took the Lexington Avenue Line down to Grand Central, then crosstown to Times Square. She circled the block twice, stopping at the Walgreen Drugstore, sipped a chocolate soda very carefully, and then doubled back to 2nd Avenue and the uptown El. She found a seat beside an open window and enjoyed the breeze. Along the way she exchanged looks with second floor apartment dwellers, many relaxing on their fire escapes.
She got off one stop past and strolled the six blocks back to East 86th, pausing frequently to window shop. Yorkville appeared so different in daytime. If not Munich then Stuttgart, she thought. So clean! Sidewalks and stoops washed, glass polished, even the gutters were swept. But the flower boxes! They were in nearly every window, geraniums and nasturtiums in bloom. She smiled thinking of the pride Mutti had in her flowers.
She arrived early. Just up the street a small crowd had gathered around a delicatessen entrance. Workmen were preparing to replace the storefront window. The people were staring at a Star of David and some words crudely scratched in the glass: Das ist ein Jude! An older couple stood back a little way, his arm tight around her waist. She was crying. A detective was taking their statements. Ella continued down the street, stopped before a closed store front and regarded her reflection in the glass. She put on the other necklace. The gold pendant glittered boldly. A slight adjustment of her blouse, a little more décolletage, just so.
At precisely three o’clock she stood outside the Café Hindenburg at 220 East 86th Street. A notice was pasted to the door: Der Hitlergruß, bitte! Inside, the café’s walls were decorated with tourist posters of the Rhine, the Alps, the Brandenburg Gate, ample Bürgermeisters with raised steins, clean limbed Nordic youth in lederhosen and dirndls, the recumbent Graf Zeppelin lazing above Lady Liberty, and glamorous, impossibly slender ocean liners.
Centered high on the wall behind the bar, the Stars and Stripes hung from a short staff. It was flanked by two other flags mounted flat: the red, white and black German Imperial Tricolor and the Nazi Party Swastika. Below this patriotic display were two large framed photographs. There was the old Generalfeldmarschall himself in full regalia, still draped in black crepe. Beside it was one of the Führer, in heroic pose, wreathed in fresh flowers.
On a small stage near the bar three musicians performed on accordion, tuba and clarinet. The song they played was new to Ella. It was catchy and, on the chorus, everyone joined in: In München steht ein Hofbräuhaus: Eins, zwei, g'suffa!
The café was filled with happy couples, entire families, grandparents to babies, all very gemutlich. Several merchant marine sailors had pushed two tables together in the center of the room. They were enjoying themselves hugely, downing drafts in time with the song. Their apparent leader wore a steward’s uniform. He was the only mildly sober one. The sailors noticed her too and were interested, ogling her and exchanging ribald comments.
In a booth facing the door, a pudgy, balding man wearing round tortoise-shell glasses stood up. In a dark wool suit, vest, wing collar and silk necktie, he motioned to the bench seat opposite his. “My, you are looking fit! Please take a seat.” His eyes fixed on her necklace. He smiled. “Excellent! Where did you . . .?”
“It’s a gift, Iggy. You’re not the only Nazi I know. I thought it would fit in here.” She sat.
“Yes, indeed. You’re a very good fit. The käsekuchen here is also very good. May I order you some?”
“No, thank you. Just tea, please.”
“A small bite, then. You could change your mind. They make it different.” He neatly sliced off a piece from the untouched side and using a clean fork held it out to her. “Go on, it’s really delicious.” She leaned forward and took it off the fork with her teeth.
Geshmeckt?”
“A bit too rich.”
“Perhaps something else? Oh, I am sorry for disturbing your vacation but you have an urgent assignment.”
“I have a job.”
“You’re not doing it now. Besides you are uniquely qualified for this one. Shouldn’t take you long, just a change of accessories my little chameleon.”
“What is it?”
“That’s better. What would you like, then?”
“The apple pie and tea.”
“Waitress! Could you please bring an apple pie and tea for the young lady? With a scoop of vanilla ice cream.”
“You can have the ice cream.”
“We can share if you like. What you will do is give me a name. Simple, yes? He’s a seaman on the SS Manhattan. He’s been smuggling seditious rubbish into Hamburg.”
“I made the crossing on the Manhattan last year.”
“I know. It may help. He’s a Red, natürlich.”
“How long do I have?”
“She sails on the 19th from Pier 61 on West 20th Street.”
“That’s Wednesday. It arrives when?
“The 27th, there’s a bonus for early delivery.”
“Expenses?”
He removed an envelope from the inside pocket of his jacket and slid it across the table to her. “That should cover everything, plus cab fare.”
She slipped it into her purse. “What will they do with him?”
“Ella! What happens to Communists in the Reich?”
“But he’s an American, right?”
“They will not protest too much.”
Her order arrived. She nibbled on the pie. “You’re right, of course. They value good relations with the New Germany. What’s some radical?”
“Precisely! Morgen die ganze Welt.” He reached across and took a spoonful of ice cream. “And perhaps a different coiffure for this assignment? You do have a certain look.”
She removed her hat. “More or less Aryan? Should I go blonde?”
“Oh, no! Keep it dark. It becomes you. Can you imagine Him blonde? Hah!”
“And the drop?”
“We needn’t be so melodramatic.” He passed her a matchbook from the café. “Call this number, Regent 4-9258. Ask for Mr. Irwin Jones.”
“Is that all?”
“This assignment may require some intimacy . . . I am a doctor of women’s medicine, you may recall.”
“So?”
“If you should find yourself in need of any feminine hygiene services, I would be pleased to provide them, gratis.”
“I’m sure you would. But you see, I have no need. I must be going.”
“So soon? I thought we could chat a while about college life. How are things with your jüdischer Physiker?”
“It’s all in my report.”
“I read it. Quite comprehensive I believe, but don’t understand a word of it. Perhaps your information was not garnered solely from his classroom lectures? And unmarried, I understand.”
“I have to get back to the apartment, I cannot stay, I must be going.” She stood.
“Well, then.” He got up reluctantly, took her hand and kissed it. “À bientôt ma chérie.”
She straightened, raised her right arm stiffly and angled above eye level, hand extended. “Heil Hitler!” She spoke perhaps too loudly. Heads turned. There were smiles and nods.
Iggy snapped to attention, clicking his heels, “Sieg Heil, Fraulein!”
As Ella strode by, the sailors came unsteadily to their feet and saluted her with their own sloppy Heils! She didn’t stop or turn but marched to the door, back straight, shoulders back, eyes front, chin up, her right arm raised, bent back at the elbow, palm up and level over the shoulder. The recognition was immediate and for a moment everyone stared in disbelief. Her imitation of the Führer came dangerously close to mockery, but then the laughter began, timidly at first as if seeking affirmation then erupting across the café. Even the sailors joined in. It died out, however, when the steward began to sing in a strong clear baritone, “Die Fahne hoch! Die Reihen fest geschlossen! SA marschiert mit ruhig festem Schritt!” The musicians picked up the tune. There was no hesitation this time, even those who didn’t know the words joined in with whatever sounded close. They sang nearly through the second verse before the sailors began reaching for their seidels.
*
Doctor Ignatz Griebl, former president of the Friends of the New Germany, removed his glasses and cleaned the lenses with a handkerchief. He shook his head. Just a year in the States. A pretty girl can get away with a lot. There is no doubt she’ll deliver that name on time. Imagine if I were her target! Is there a secret I would not betray?
Glancing at his pocket watch he grunted, 40 minutes until his next agent arrived. He wound the stem. Willy is such a bore. He pulled the dish of apple pie to his side of the table.
*
Walking back up East 86th Ella paused to remove her necklace. In Times Square she bought copies of the Daily Worker, and the Sunday Post to wrap the Worker in. One more stop before returning to the apartment. It was on 5th Avenue. She hailed a taxi.
The cab stopped outside Mr. Julian’s Salon. She paused for a moment on the sidewalk and fingered her hair. Finally, she sighed and walked inside. It was crowded. Several ladies were having their hair done by girls in white smocks. A slender, pomaded man with a William Powell mustache, wearing a white dinner jacket, black flamenco trousers, a pink carnation and lavender ascot was acting out some story. “So, he runs home, goes right to the bedroom, throws open the door, takes one look inside and says, Oh, you nasty man! Hyuck, hyuck, hyuck!” Everyone laughed hilariously except Ella. He noticed and studied her with the shrewd gaze of a casting director. “Should I tell it again?” he inquired pleasantly.
Ella smiled shyly. “I’m so sorry I missed it.”
He nodded. “Remove your hat, my dear.” She did so. He circled Ella like some feral cat, and then stood still for a moment, regarding her with his chin between thumb and forefinger. “Very . . . quaint. So how may I help you?”
“I’d like my hair cut like Lulu.”
He frowned, “Lulu?”
Ella looked around. On the wall was a collection of celebrity photographs. She pointed to one.
“Ah, the Louise! It’s been years. May I?” Ella nodded. He unpinned her braids; they uncoiled down to her waist. He felt her hair, and considered. Suddenly he clapped his hands. Startled, everyone in the salon looked up. “Yes,” he exclaimed, “Mr. Julian will do this! Himself!”
He seated Ella in the one vacant chair, in the center of the salon. “You’ve made a very smart choice, young lady.” Mr. Julian spoke in a voice loud enough for all to hear. Everyone was very attentive. He began combing out her hair. “To be truly chic a woman must have a chic hairstyle, so even totally nude she will still be chic. N'est-ce pas?” He gave a knowing wink. His audience tittered. “Most American bobs lack refinement,” he explained making his first cut. One of Ella’s long tresses fell to the floor. A matron festooned with curlers brought her hand to her mouth and gasped, “Dear me!”
“In the hands of a lesser coiffeur a vulgar, heavy look results, like a steel helmet! Boyish yet ineffably feminine is the goal, neither Buster Brown nor Jeanne d’Arc. The true artiste must work a cinematic collaboration: Moore in front, Negri on the sides, Vidor in the back.” He trimmed her bangs to a line above her eyebrows, shaped the sides in points at the cheekbones, cut it short in back and trimmed the neckline into a delicate fringe. It was marvelous. Mr. Julian kissed her cheek when he finished and presented her, “The Louise Brooks!” The clients and staff applauded. He bowed. She curtsied. “And mademoiselle, please, no hat for the season. It would be un grand dommage to conceal such artistry.” Before permitting her to leave he extracted a promise to return every two weeks for a trim. “It won’t be just you traipsing around Manhattan, but also the reputation of Mr. Julian! That will be six dollars with the 15% discount.”
When Ella returned to the apartment, Cindy was in the parlor reading a magazine. “I have a little surprise.”
Cindy looked up, her eyes went wide, and screamed, “Oh my God!”
“Watch this!” Ella spun around quicky. Her hair flew all over. But the instant she stopped every strand fell back perfectly in place.
Cindy took both her hands and gushed. “Gosh, you’re beautiful!”
Ella tilted her head and winked, “Boop-boop-be-doop!”
*
Daniel Rattigan’s gaze kept returning to Ella during dinner. Finally, he laughed. “I considered asking Louise to join us tonight . . .” He let it hang there for a moment. Abby, Ella and Cindy giggled. “I’m sure she would have been flattered. When I see her again, I’ll ask where she gets her hair done. Ella, do you think that would be too personal a question?”
“Of course not, ladies ask each other that all the time. It’s taken as a compliment. Now if a handsome gentleman asks, she’ll likely swoon.”
“Swoon, is it? Well, I’ll just have to give it a go then. But what will your parents say? They sent me a school girl in braids and now you’re a flapper.”
“Mother will love it, she’s a big fan of Miss Brooks. Father . . . I don’t know. He still thinks of me as his little girl.”
Daniel smiled. “Oh, he’ll come around. I know him pretty well.” He took a drink of wine, emptying his glass. He poured himself another and cleared his throat. “Did your father ever tell you how we met?”
“No, not much . . . during the war, wasn’t it? He never talks about the war.”
“Neither do you, Daddy.”
“Things happened that I’d rather not remember.” He turned to Ella, “Imagine your father feels the same. The day we met, November 11th, he saved a life, an American’s life. I thanked him.”
Abby’s eyes glistened. “Tell me.”
He took Abby’s hand and squeezed it. “It was the day I received the telegram about Emmeline. It broke me. What monstrous joke would take her life and leave me untouched at the front where millions died? I had the crazy idea that somehow my death would reset the account, and bring my darling back. I resolved to die somehow that morning. Jack, my Sergeant Major, had read the telegram. He knew what I was thinking. Jack reminded me that I still had my son and daughter, and that I could not make them orphans. He said when a mother passes, the father must love his children twice as much. It was my duty to live for them. I owe Jack my life.”
The girls sat very still.
“But men did die that day, all my boys. None of them should have died. It was just a raid, reconnoiter the German positions opposite us, and quickly return to our lines. But a raid is still war, men die. I sent 20 brave young Americans across the river, and 12 were killed before the ceasefire at 11 o’clock. I went to every one of them, knelt and begged their forgiveness. And the other 8 were all wounded. One had made it all the way into the German trenches. He was bleeding badly, his leg broken but he still took out a machine gun nest, single-handed. Then he passed out. The Germans were about to bayonet him when their captain arrived. He stopped them.”
“I went to the sector where it happened. An officer was talking with his soldiers. It seemed outlandish that they were standing atop the parapet in full view. Two hours before they all would have been shot dead standing like that. I shouted and waved my arms at the officer. He came over and saluted. He said he’d already told everything to the American captain. His English was better than my German. Yes, I replied, but why did you do it?”
“He told me the American was deaf, hadn’t heard the cease fire whistles, that too many men had already died and this one was just a boy. ‘My orders were to observe the ceasefire, regardless,’ he said. Josef was happy the war was over, so now he could see his wife and baby daughter. He had missed your first birthday, Ella. I told him about you, Cindy. He said our daughters must meet and become best friends. We shook on it. He asked about my wife. I just stood there. He put his hand on my shoulder and said quietly, ‘I understand, Kamerade.’ ”
Now everyone was crying. Abby held Daniel’s hand, Cindy got up and hugged him. Ella sobbed, “Papi never told me!”
Daniel dried his eyes with a napkin. “I think we should raise a glass to a mensch this Father’s Day, Josef Kaufmann.”
They all stood and drank a toast.
“And what became of the soldier?” Abby asked.
“He came home.”