Quiet now, and dark. He can feel his heart flapping like a trapped, dying bird in his chest. The lights come up and a couple take the
stage. The man wears a three- piece suit in mustard with red
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windowpane checks that match his red beard, and a bowler hat
which he tips off and replaces with deft dandiness. The woman is
silent and superior, a sardonic smirk on her face, in a black evening gown and diamonds. It’s Konrad and Renate Taub, the famous
comedians!
‘Well,’ says Konrad, beaming, sweat mingling with greasepaint as
it drips from his forehead in the footlight glare, once the audience has finished its introductory tittering. ‘Well. Did you hear the one about the German lad who sold his good old mum and dad down
the river? Ah, never mind. Thick bastards.’
Tomatoes and eggs rain on to the stage and they shield them-
selves with their arms. A noose descends from above. The light is
cut and again it is silent.
The lights come up more gradually the second time and it is
darker. Smoke, delicious smoke whorls around the seedy cabaret
club. The announcer takes the stage, his fixed grin flashing malevolence to all corners.
‘And now, gentlemen,’ he says in German, ‘you’ve met her sisters,
all three of them. You’ve even met her mother. She’s young but
she’ll knock you off your feet –’
‘Get on with it, Weber. And get orf the stage.’
Weber pauses and sweats and shines that spotlight white- toothed
beam again.
‘Gentlemen, for your very great pleasure. May I present? The one
and only. Lili Schröder.’
He dances to the wings and there is a hush. She approaches from
the rear of the stage, at first in outline, then clearer. She is wrinkled and disorientated. Crimson silken tassels hang from tired old tits.
Her knickers slip off her bony hips. She opens her mouth. He is terrified, sweating ice. He can see the outlines of the chimneys behind her, pumping out that gorgeous smoke. There is muted applause.
‘Lili,’ he cries plangently, though no one can hear him. ‘You’re
just a child. My little Lili. I never meant . . .’
He has missed the act. Somewhere along the way he must have
dropped off. Weber is noting, with approval, the honourable lady’s
speech. As she leaves the chamber she passes the newly ennobled
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Martin in his ermine, who taps her arm and says, ‘Always did have a nice pair on you, Maureen. Should have been with me, not that
nobody Roy.’
And dark again, and silent. And now so very cold. The English,
they never heat their stately homes. He looks across. There she
is, Marlene or whatever she wants to call herself, in a nurse’s uniform, giving him an eyeful of that soft peach silk. Must get back on that train, though. Bleeding freezing. Time to go. Everybody gets it in the end. No use crying over spilt blood. Get on with it. Not a propitious time for weakness. His fingers are numb. He can’t light his fag. Come on, Bob. Just fucking get on with it. Sylvia’s waiting. Yeah, the ice maiden. No wonder Tommy plays for the other team. He
shivers, and sniffs his fingers. A play. That’s what Lili called it. And she was right. Time now for the final play. One last hustle. Our
Father, Who art in Heaven, Hallowed be Thy Name . . . how does it
go again?
Lili
Mother
Father
So cold. So frightened. Forgive me.
Ich . . .
If anyone had been there to hold Hans Taub’s hand and to witness
his passing, they would have reflected that he died peacefully in his sleep with a smile on his face. As it was, there was a minor crisis in the ward at the time and it was not until twenty minutes later that it was discovered that the nice old man in the corner bed away from the window was no longer with them.
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1
Elisabeth’s family are by her bedside. At first Stephen feels like an intruder.
She is in a single room, tastefully furnished in modern light
wood. She is connected to various pieces of equipment by means of
cables and tubes. Flowers in vases all around the room imbue it
with a cloying sweetness, but he knows how much she loves fresh
flowers so it must be to her taste.
She is conscious and seemingly alert. Her children, their partners
and her grandchildren turn to him and he introduces himself.
Andrew knows him, of course.
‘Now then,’ she says brightly enough, though without her nor-
mal vivacity. ‘Would you kindly allow me a few private minutes
with this handsome young man?’
They obey without a word and pass him with expressions that
vacillate between weary anticipatory grief and welcoming, down-
cast smiles. They look bewildered. She beckons him forward and he
sits at the chair beside the bed. He takes her hand and she smiles.
‘Sweet Stephen,’ she says.
‘Are you in pain?’ he asks.
‘A little. But I’ve asked them not to dope me up with morphine.
I’ve managed to keep my marbles until now, so why should I choose
to lose them in my final few days?’
He smiles.
‘There’s no need for you to cry,’ she says. ‘On my account at least.
For yourself, perhaps. But I died during the war. All those things
that happened to me. I became indifferent. Their prophecy had
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come true. I had become subhuman. I was dead. Then, when I left
the camps, I lived again. I’ve had a marvellous life. Death, then
rebirth. That’s what my life has been. And who knows, I may yet
live again, in another unknown dimension. I doubt it somehow,’ she
adds quietly, as if considering a conundrum. ‘And Hans is definitely gone?’
She knows, but requires confirmation.
‘Hans died more than eighteen months ago,’ he reassures her.
‘Yes, of course. It’s difficult to believe, isn’t it?’ she says in apparent puzzlement.
‘What is?’
‘That there are people like him in the world. But there are. So
many of them. So unhappy. Just be glad you’re not one of them.’
They talk for a few minutes longer and he realizes it is time for
him to go. If she is to belong to anyone, he thinks, it should be her family.
As he stands, she says, ‘Platitudes are best at such moments. Let’s not go searching for profundity. It’s been lovely to see you again, Stephen. You look so well.’
She nods at him, prompting.
‘And you too, Elisabeth,’ he lies obediently. ‘Goodbye.’
‘Goodbye,’ she says, and he turns decisively towards the door.
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