Three Rivers (13 page)

Kate Wells was born in a small town in the mountains of Massachusetts, the youngest of ten children. Their mother and father, Yarina and Sigmund Tannenbaum,
were a legend among the New Englanders within the fifty-mile radius of Stockbridge, where the Tannenbaums originally settled. There was not a small town or a village where they were not respected, admired and looked up to as the first foreign couple to make a home among these staid New Englanders.

The Tannenbaums settled in Massachusetts in 1896, strangers in a strange new world. Theirs was a true love story, one that never ended, even after their deaths. Not one of the ten children ever truly forgave them their love for one another. Least of all Kate.

Sigmund Tannenbaum was a six-foot-three-inch, devastatingly handsome man. It was his looks, charm and amazing sense of humor combined with his upper-middle-class family that gave him the privilege of being an officer in Emperor Franz Joseph’s private cavalry. He was the token Jew of the regiment.

The same qualities helped the dashing officer to resign his commission (not an easy task) a few years later. It was made quite clear to him that once that was done, he would have to leave Austria. He emigrated to America and a new life immediately after his resignation was accepted.

He landed in New York City along with hundreds of thousands of other immigrants. Being a token Jew in Franz Joseph’s private cavalry was a far cry from being an immigrant Jew, and he resented it. However, the small amount of money, the magnificently tailored wardrobe, his elegant manners and his ability to ride a horse did one thing for him: It distinguished him from all the other struggling immigrants, which pleased him.

He decided to learn a gentleman’s trade and leave the city as soon as possible. Since the only thing that he did know was how to wear a well-cut suit, he decided to become a master tailor. Every day in the city was a torture for him, but he struggled to learn his trade as quickly as possible. A chance meeting with an officer from the Hungarian Army who was in New York for a month made him his only friend.

Eight months after Sigmund’s arrival in America he went with his Hungarian-officer friend to a kaffeklatsch. The house-gathering took place on what was then upper Fifth Avenue. For the first time since Sigmund had been in America, he felt at home. The house, the people, the
atmosphere, were high with elegance, warmth, beauty and laughter. The host and hostess were the Hungarian ambassador and his wife. The tables were laden with coffee and bowls of heavy whipped cream; the cakes were a wonder to see and to taste. Every spoon, cup, saucer and napkin was of great charm and beauty. There were tinkles of laughter and chatter as the ladies rustled around the room in their silk taffeta. Sigmund almost wept with joy at finding the life he had lost.

Then, in the midst of all this, walking across the room towards him with his Hungarian hostess and his friend, was the most beautiful young girl he had ever seen. He fell in love at once. As for the young girl, from the moment he kissed her hand, she would never love anyone more than him until the day she died.

Yarina Gabor was sixteen years old when she fell passionately in love with Sigmund Tannenbaum. She had been in New York, staying with her aunt, for only five days when they met. She had not liked the city, it was too busy and crowded, and there were no great, green fields and trees. Her aunt, whom she had never met before her arrival, was kindness itself, but Yarina was very close to her father and missed him terribly.

Anton Gabor, her father, was a very great landowner in Hungary. An extraordinarily kind and sensitive man who fought for freedom among the people of his country, he was loved and respected by all. Their estate began about 150 miles outside Budapest and included the finest woodlands and sheep farms. A great advocate of the democratic system, he admired America from afar all his life. He had two sons. One died in a riding accident, the other entered the political life in Budapest with modest success. But it was Anton Gabor and the way he ran his estate and people who was an example for all the Hungarians. He was wealthy — very wealthy — but when there was unrest in the country it was never around him. His people supported him always.

Anton Gabor was half-Jewish. If he had not been, he might have been a minister of the country. He and his wife were not particularly religious and the family had a history of intermarriage with Catholics. His sister in New York had been converted to Catholicism but still was considered a Jewess. All the intermarriage in the family
only affected Yarina in one way — she knew that she was a Jewess but not what it meant to be Jewish.

Then Yarina met Sigmund and her passion for the former Austrian officer could not be held in check. The aunt was aghast when they announced they would marry as soon as possible. She forbade it, and so one afternoon they ran away and were married, returning only to announce their good news. They hated New York and the coarse life they would have to live, but felt they could wait until Yarina’s dowry arrived from her beloved father. Then they would decide what to do with their lives and where they would go. Finally word came: Her brother had been sent to take her back to her father, and the marriage would be annulled, otherwise her father would disown her completely. He never relented, and died leaving everything to Yarina’s brother, but that was years after Yarina and Sigmund left New York, never to return.

They had heard of the green hills of Massachusetts. After purchasing a horse and wagon and loading it with all their worldly possessions, the young couple, with $540 in cash and a young Irish immigrant hired for his food and lodgings, struck out to make a life for themselves.

Yarina made the transition from a child into a beautiful young mother. She remained all of her life a great beauty who ran her home, no matter how humble, with great elegance and total love for Sigmund. Giving birth to ten children, she saw each of them, one more handsome than the last, leave home and make their way in the world.

Good-looking, amusing, intelligent Sigmund, adored by his wife and every friend and stranger who ever crossed his path, was unloved by his children. He ruled his home and his wife as if he were still an officer in Franz Joseph’s cavalry — demanding complete obedience from everyone. Not one of his children was spared the cruelty of his outrageous temper.

He supported his family by becoming not a gentleman’s tailor, but an extraordinarily fine ladies’ tailor. His little shop would bring people from miles around. The Tannenbaums were never rich, but they were always comfortable.

Kate Tannenbaum was no different from any of her brothers or sisters. When the first opportunity to leave home came her way she was off, even if it meant marrying
a man for whom she had no love. She did as millions of other women did — made the best she could of a life with a stranger.

When she went into her marriage she brought with her all the beauty, gentility, polish, refinement, taste and gracefulness that were bred in her at home.

This is what Constantine knew of Kate’s background. What he could not know about his friend Kate was that the years with Sam Wells and the children were spent creating, living, teaching — the same beautiful traits that Yarina had taught her. But what went wrong was that Yarina happily let her children go; she had her passionate love for Sigmund. Kate could not release her children, for she had no passionate love for Sam, only for her first child, Isabel, whom she saw as an extension of herself.

When Isabel finally escaped, there was nothing left for Kate but her husband. Slowly this elegant woman and mother — who as a young matron had tried to force Yarina’s way of life on Sam — finally buckled under the effort. Kate needed more than giving lovelessly, she needed a response from Sam, and there was none.

She became coarse, almost common. She no longer read books, went to the theater, saw those friends who were intelligent, amusing, refined. She looked for lower-class friends. Suddenly, inexplicably, she was very Jewish; there was not a sentence now that did not have a Yiddish word in it, an impossible thing when she first married Sam. Even her clothes became dowdy. Kate had given up. Sam, who now wore Brooks Brothers suits and button-down shirts, had at last taken over Kate’s life.

Kate now had a kind of bitterness, though sugar-coated on the outside, towards everyone and everything. It would never be possible for Constantine to know this bitterness, for Kate was a master at hiding it from everyone, including herself.

It would take some odd little incident to set her off. Any sort of disapproval and something would snap. After her tirade, she would stop, usually with, “Why am I getting myself upset?” Seconds later all would be sugar sweet as she pulled herself back into control.

Sam had been dead for five years now. Kate had sold the house that he had bought so many years ago, but kept on with her little dress shop in order to make an independent life for herself. She became more aggressive as
the years went on and more bitter. Certainly more bitchy.

But she was not happy. She decided to travel and then set up her home in Greece, where she had a daughter and son-in-law. Everything was sold or given away; she would show them all and begin again.

That had been years ago. The Kate that Constantine knew was far better now. The coarseness and bitterness had slowly begun to disappear. She dressed well again and forgot many Yiddish words. Kate was better, even on the verge of happiness, and certainly putting on a good show for the neighbors. But Kate was erratic. She was just as much on the verge of being unhappy as well.

Today, for instance, she was unhappy.

Kate had given up long ago trying to work out the whys and wherefores of her moods. She merely looked upon her unhappiness with anger born of a simple view. She was a senior citizen, over sixty-five years old, and had worked enough, suffered enough and been courageous enough. The world owed her happiness. It was that simple. The United States owed and should support her for all the income tax her husband had paid. Medicare owed her and must now pay. Every young person alive owed her because she had lived and cared for the young. Her sisters and brothers owed her because they had not cared enough for her all through the years. Her children owed her because she had given them birth. Her friends owed her because she was a better friend than any of them had ever been. And, most of all, she owed herself a life of comfort, security and admiration. And she was determined to get it before she left this world.

There was only one debt that she would never collect on! Isabel. Isabel owed her more than any of them and both she and Isabel knew that the debt was so high it would never be paid off. Kate was making sure that there would never be the possibility of it. Kate, in fact, worked constantly in building that debt. All three women — Kate, Isabel and Ava — knew that Isabel had long ago given up trying to pay off her obligation for being born and leaving her mother. Kate thrived on it, Isabel was guilt-ridden about it, and Ava resented it.

If Kate tortured herself with what various people must do to
pay
their debt to her, she tortured herself even more on how to
keep
Isabel in debt to her. Kate had become
extremely clever about this and was able to use Ava and Isabel admirably by keeping them divided.

Yet today Kate was very unhappy.

The day had started with the call from Cairo. The line was filled with crackles and static. Isabel sounded very happy and told her that she was looking over the possibility of a job, giving vague answers to Kate’s questions. She would not allow Kate to join her, and wiggled out of it by saying that even if Kate did arrive and did find a hotel room, which was almost completely impossible in Cairo, Isabel would not even have the time to see her. Some feeble excuse about a client.

Isabel’s lack of interest in Kate’s health problems was what really rankled. Kate knew how angry Isabel became when she went on about her health and wanted to upset Isabel, so she kept at it until finally Isabel said she was sorry for poor Kate, but please, write it all down and drop it for the moment.

Kate was her mother, and she could put Isabel in her place. She did so by telling her she would pay for the phone call. No expensive gestures were welcome from Isabel, and Isabel better know it.

Kate was enraged by the telephone call. She wanted to be with Isabel, to travel, to have a holiday, to meet new people. Why was Isabel such a bitch? Had not Kate proved to her through the years that she was not a burden, that she was sought out by people because she was amusing and interesting? Well, she would see Egypt without Isabel. Who needs her? Kate drove herself and her rage on until she sat down and wrote the letter to Isabel. That seemed to calm her a little.

She dressed and went to the post office. It was a lovely day, the weather was perfect, just the way she liked it. The sky sparkled a vibrant blue, and billowy white clouds raced high over Athens.

The post office was filled with loud-mouthed locals who used their elbows like machetes to cut their way through the tourists sending postcards of Delphi, the Acropolis, the Forum, or their letters about the wonders of Ancient Greece and the beauty and magic of the country. Kate was bruised and bumped, just like all the other foreigners who had closed their eyes to the fact that the Greece of their fantasies had been dead for two thousand years.

Another elbow, another push, another queue-jumper
and that did it. Kate used her senior citizen routine: a touch of the vapors along with her own elbow and she finally mailed her letter.

Her little act of aggression and scar-winning performance gave her a small pick-me-up. She was energized and ready for Act Two: lunch at the Byzantium with Constantine, and then Act Three: coffee with Ava and Alfred.

Ava, so secretive. Ava, with all her little hobbies and projects. Pretty little Ava, so hard and tough with herself and everyone around her. Ava the flirt, who made up to anything, from the barrow boy to Constantine. She had that superior attitude that looked down on everyone and everything unless created, produced and executed by Ava or Alfred. Ava was stubborn and determined to do only what she or Alfred wanted to do. Ava was generous and good to Kate with money and attention, to inflate her own importance. Kate understood this about Ava, and even respected, accepted and was proud of it. There was only one thing that Kate asked of Ava — that she and Isabel never be united.