from dancing before three, would be asleep for hours; Rossie and Humphrey had already left for the shop. Martha, the cheerful coloured cook, set the morning mail on the table.
Wyatt sharply slit open a creamy envelope, reading it, then silently handing Kathe the deckled stationery.
Dear Mr Kingsmith,
Would you and Fraulein Kingsmith give us the pleasure of your company for tea this afternoon, July the thirty-first, at half after four?
ELEANOR LEVENTHAL
“We aren’t busy,”
Kathe said.
“Are you nuts?”
He snatched the note from her fingers, ripping the heavy paper in half, then in quarters.
“You saw how clear they made it that I’m nothing to them. Well, as far as I’m concerned, they can go drown in their damn tea!”
I
73
Chapter Eleven
c O
The fringed brown velvet curtains in the Leventhals”
high-ceilinged living-room had been partially drawn against the brassy heat, thrusting deep shadows into the corners. The looming Italianate furniture was set formally apart; and Kathe, unable to reach any of the tables, balanced her half-empty cup and the plate with the remnants of a small pink-iced petit four on her lap. Wyatt, who had refused refreshments, sat in a stiff-looking sofa with his long legs thrust out. His face was expressionless except for a slight sardonic grin that Kathe knew by now hid his hurt and bitterness.
Mrs Leventhal, behind an antique Dresden coffee service, appeared yet frailer and older. On Fifth Avenue, her hat had hidden the sparseness of her neatly drawn back white hair, and her coat had disguised her spinal osteoporosis as well as how flat her chest was. The mournfully webbed wrinkles around her mouth looked like crumpled tissue paper.
The judge was winding up his opinions on the improved conditions in Germany.
“The Ruhr is producing at full blast.”
His earnestly sombre voice, although cadenced like a German’s, had no accent.
“Employment is at an all-time high. The currency is stable - quite a dramatic change for the better since I was last there, in nineteen twenty-nine. Though one can never be certain of the future, I personally find myself optimistic. There is every reason to believe that the … repressions … are at an end.”
He looked at Kathe for verification.
74
‘The Nazi Party’s in power,”
she said faintly. Not breaking into the judge’s optimistic monologue had made her feel uncomfortably as if she were agreeing with him. Yet she knew, had he spoken against the Reich, she would have felt equally awkward.
“Very much in power.”
Since the letter had arrived this morning she had been keyed up for some kind of rapprochement on the Leventhals”
part. She had decided that they had included her in the invitation to act as a buffer and make Wyatt less volatile, more amenable to the grandparental advances. How naively hopeful she had been. The old couple continued to call Wyatt
“Mr Kingsmith’, a form of address that Kathe - after all, a European and therefore accustomed to mandatory use of surnames - found grating and sad; this was America, and he, even though unacknowledged, their grandson. After the initial greetings, Mrs Leventhal had used her whispery voice only to enquire what they wished from the tea-cart. Judge Leventhal had dominated the conversation with his magisterial certitude about German politics. Wyatt hadn’t argued, but one glance at his set face and unpleasant little smile would have told anyone that he couldn’t have disagreed more.
“Precisely why the earlier toughness is no longer necessary,”
the judge responded.
“The country’s unified behind the government.”
“The opposition’s been stamped out,”
Kathe mumbled.
“Nobody says what they think any more. They’re afraid.”
“In any event, our newspapers haven’t reported any new … outbreaks.”
“And last summer, during the Games,”
murmured Mrs Leventhal,
“one read of politeness and
Wyatt sharply slit open a creamy envelope, reading it, then silently handing Kathe the deckled stationery.
Dear Mr Kingsmith,
Would you and Fraulein Kingsmith give us the pleasure of your company for tea this afternoon, July the thirty-first, at half after four?
ELEANOR LEVENTHAL
“We aren’t busy,”
Kathe said.
“Are you nuts?”
He snatched the note from her fingers, ripping the heavy paper in half, then in quarters.
“You saw how clear they made it that I’m nothing to them. Well, as far as I’m concerned, they can go drown in their damn tea!”
I
73
Chapter Eleven
c O
The fringed brown velvet curtains in the Leventhals”
high-ceilinged living-room had been partially drawn against the brassy heat, thrusting deep shadows into the corners. The looming Italianate furniture was set formally apart; and Kathe, unable to reach any of the tables, balanced her half-empty cup and the plate with the remnants of a small pink-iced petit four on her lap. Wyatt, who had refused refreshments, sat in a stiff-looking sofa with his long legs thrust out. His face was expressionless except for a slight sardonic grin that Kathe knew by now hid his hurt and bitterness.
Mrs Leventhal, behind an antique Dresden coffee service, appeared yet frailer and older. On Fifth Avenue, her hat had hidden the sparseness of her neatly drawn back white hair, and her coat had disguised her spinal osteoporosis as well as how flat her chest was. The mournfully webbed wrinkles around her mouth looked like crumpled tissue paper.
The judge was winding up his opinions on the improved conditions in Germany.
“The Ruhr is producing at full blast.”
His earnestly sombre voice, although cadenced like a German’s, had no accent.
“Employment is at an all-time high. The currency is stable - quite a dramatic change for the better since I was last there, in nineteen twenty-nine. Though one can never be certain of the future, I personally find myself optimistic. There is every reason to believe that the … repressions … are at an end.”
He looked at Kathe for verification.
74
‘The Nazi Party’s in power,”
she said faintly. Not breaking into the judge’s optimistic monologue had made her feel uncomfortably as if she were agreeing with him. Yet she knew, had he spoken against the Reich, she would have felt equally awkward.
“Very much in power.”
Since the letter had arrived this morning she had been keyed up for some kind of rapprochement on the Leventhals”
part. She had decided that they had included her in the invitation to act as a buffer and make Wyatt less volatile, more amenable to the grandparental advances. How naively hopeful she had been. The old couple continued to call Wyatt
“Mr Kingsmith’, a form of address that Kathe - after all, a European and therefore accustomed to mandatory use of surnames - found grating and sad; this was America, and he, even though unacknowledged, their grandson. After the initial greetings, Mrs Leventhal had used her whispery voice only to enquire what they wished from the tea-cart. Judge Leventhal had dominated the conversation with his magisterial certitude about German politics. Wyatt hadn’t argued, but one glance at his set face and unpleasant little smile would have told anyone that he couldn’t have disagreed more.
“Precisely why the earlier toughness is no longer necessary,”
the judge responded.
“The country’s unified behind the government.”
“The opposition’s been stamped out,”
Kathe mumbled.
“Nobody says what they think any more. They’re afraid.”
“In any event, our newspapers haven’t reported any new … outbreaks.”
“And last summer, during the Games,”
murmured Mrs Leventhal,
“one read of politeness and
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