Page 95 of The Little Liar
Udo’s American wife, Pamela, had discussed starting a family once or twice, but Udo never considered a child with her. Her bloodline included a Lebanese father and a Serbian grandmother. He would not bring a mutt into this world.
He reached up and touched the white-haired wig that covered his head, and the hat sitting atop it. It was itchy and uncomfortable, but necessary, he told himself. He had been recognized twice by the Brother. Only a fool repeats his mistakes.
When they reached the train station, the marchers spread along the platform, awaiting the ceremony. Udo was surprised to see, fifty yards up the tracks, an original wooden cattle car, the kind the Nazis had used to transport Jews to the camps. It had a plaque on its side now, like a museum piece. As Udo stared he recalled its dimensions, how long, how wide, and how many Jews he had estimated to fit inside. Eighty-seven,if memory served, although he proudly crammed in over a hundred.
A microphone and a podium had been set up, and one of the organizers instructed those who were related to the Jewish victims to come forward one at a time, say the names of whom they’d lost, and lay a carnation on the tracks.
An old woman in a gray coat went first.
“On this platform, I lost my husband, Avram Djahon, forty years ago,” she said. “He’d sent me to Athens the week before, to protect me. The Nazis took him. I never saw him again. May God watch over his soul.”
She dropped a carnation onto the tracks and shuffled from the podium. Next came a thin middle-aged man with a neatly trimmed beard.
“On this platform, I lost my parents, Eliahou and Loucha Houli...”
Udo exhaled. Such melodrama. The shaky voices. The tears. Did they have any idea the planning and logistics that went into those trains? The sheer volume of paperwork and manpower?
“On this platform, I lost my great-grandfather...”
“On this platform, I lost my three aunts...”
Udo shook his head. Where these people saw mourning, he saw honor. Where they saw tragedy, he saw achievement. He was holding a balloon that read “Never again.” How ridiculous. He was planning exactly the opposite.
The line of mourners had fully formed, and Udo noted that the Hunter and the Brother had taken their places at the rear of it. When they reached the podium, he told himself, hewould kill the first with a shot to the head, then kill the other a few feet away. He slid his way through the crowd, until he found the best angle.
“On this platform, I lost my uncle Morris...”
“On this platform, I lost my sister, Vida...”
Keep on weeping, Jews, Udo said to himself. He fingered the pistol in his coat pocket. It felt good to touch steel. It felt good to be fighting back. After three years on the run from these Jewish rats, it felt good to be the one chasing.
The Tracks Remember
There are four directions in this world. And four seasons. There are four basic mathematical functions, and four subsystems of the planet. The Bible speaks of four rivers of paradise. Four winds of heaven. There are four suits in a deck of cards. Four wheels on a car. Four legs on a table.
Four is an underpinning. Four is a balance. Four is a complete circle of the bases, until you end where you began, at home.
It is time for us to come home.
Here, then, is the end of our four-cornered story.
Sebastian held a cluster of red carnations.
One flower each for his parents, grandparents, twin sisters, and uncle and aunt. As the line neared its conclusion, he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned to see Fannie and Tia. Fannie hugged him lightly and wiped a tear from her eye.
“I’m proud of you,” she said. “For doing this.”
“Me, too,” Tia said.
Sebastian felt a choke in his throat.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
Fannie held out a carnation. “For your brother.”
Sebastian hesitated, then took it.
“Your turn, Papa,” Tia said.
