Lynda Plante - Entwined

Luis felt his blood grow cold, as he read the dates and was faced with the magnitude of the horror: May 1944, 360,000; June 1944, 512,000; July 1944, 442,000.

In her childish scrawl, Ruda had written on some of the articles: Josef Mengele, Papa .

Grimaldi refolded the scraps of newspaper. Some of the clippings described the diabolical experiments the Angel of Death had performed on small children, with or without anesthetic, depending on his mood or the availability of medication. Article after article described Mengele's passion for furthering the Aryan race. He had embraced cruelty beyond a sane person's credibility, he had been a madman. A piece of newspaper was wrapped around a small pebble, or stone, he couldn't tell; as he opened it, the cracks split the paper in two, as if this particular piece had been read and folded many times.

The article reported the alleged death of Dr. Josef Mengele. His body had been found on a beach in Brazil; the paper was dated 1976. The article discussed the possibility that the body found was not that of the real Josef Mengele; forensic scientists had left for Brazil to begin tests.

Luis began to restack the clippings the same way he had found them. He tied them with the worn ribbon. Ruda had kept them as carefully as treasured love letters. He replaced each item in the tin box, rescrewed the back, and put the box back in her wardrobe. As he stepped off the stool, he remembered things she had said to him in rage... how he would never know the pain she had suffered, that her worst scars were inside. He bowed his head and sighed. True, he had never even attempted to understand, but, he told himself, Ruda had always been very reluctant to talk about her past.

He looked around the kitchen to see what he could cook, wanting to do something special for her. He decided to go out and buy groceries from one of the all-night shops. He wanted to start afresh, a second chance. If she secured the Ringling contract, they could have a new life. He wouldn't fight her anymore, he would fight for her.

He passed the meat trailer. The lights were on, and he went inside.

"Mike? I'm going out for some groceries. If you see Ruda, tell her I won't be long!"

Mike grinned, said the word was already getting around, the Ringling Bros, scout was having talks with Ruda. Grimaldi winked, and told him not to count chickens before they were hatched. He looked out, the rain was still pouring. "You got a spare umbrella, Mike?"

"No, Boss — I dunno where they all disappear to, but I got a rain cape you can borrow!"

Grimaldi shook his head, pulling up his collar. Mike continued chopping and said that his hat was around someplace, in fact he had borrowed it.

Grimaldi held out his hand. "Okay, I'll take your hat, I'll give it back later."

Mike shook his head. "No, I said I used yours, that old black leather trilby. Ruda said she hated it, so she stashed it in here someplace. She caught me wearing it!"

Mike searched under the table. "I dunno where it is now. I tell you what. Wrap one of the rubber aprons around your head!"

Grimaldi laughed, hunching his shoulders. "I'll wrap it around yours, son. Never mind, I'll make a dash for it."

Grimaldi ran to their Jeep and started to drive out. He passed the lighted administration offices and slowed down to look in at the window. He could see Ruda with the boss and the Ringling scout. They were drinking champagne, talking, and the Russian was with them. He stared for a while. He couldn't help feeling hurt, even rejected, but then he punched the wheel. "Go get dinner, go cook for your woman... come on, get your fat ass into gear!"

He was about to drive off when Ruda shouted out to him. She ran from the administration office, leaping over the puddles like a young girl. She yanked open the passenger door.

"I did it, Luis!.. I did it!! They want me to go to New York straight after this contract ends...! "

She spun around, hands up, face tilted to the rain. " I did it ... I did it...!!!"

"And if you stay out there any longer you're gonna catch pneumonia... come on — get in the Jeep!"

She dived inside and slammed the door, flung her arms around him. "Luis, I did it... he loved the act, he thought it was great!"

Luis said he would drop her off at the trailer, and go on in to pick up groceries, maybe some champagne.

"I've had champagne... just take me to the cages!"

"But you're soaked."

"I don't care, I want to see my baby... I want to tell him!"

Grimaldi drove her to the animals' tent, and she was out before he'd even stopped the truck. "Get me chocolate... black chocolate!" She turned back as he started to roll up the window, and cupped his face in her hands. "I told you Mamon was a good guy, didn't I?"

He had thought she was going to kiss him, he'd hoped she would, but then she was off. Mamon bared his teeth as she pressed close to the bars. "Angel... Ma'angel — what's the matter, huh?"

His eyes ablaze, he ripped his meat apart, his whiskers and jaws bloody. She rubbed her arm, suddenly conscious of it. He had held too tightly; tomorrow they would have to rehearse again; she would rework him, remind him she was stronger than he was. She remembered Luis's instructions: Never let them know how strong they are, never let them know their own power. Ruda stared hard at Mamon. "Until tomorrow, My Angel."

Vebekka's attack was unlike any Dr. Franks had witnessed. He was convinced it was not an epileptic seizure. He looked through her files and saw a report from a doctor dated 1979: "Periods of loss of consciousness... with serious convulsions. Epilepsy brain scan negative." Franks rechecked: The date of the attack coincided with the newspaper incident. He called Helen Masters.

She informed him that the newspapers were still in the package that had just arrived. Franks asked her to read the papers and look for clues, and call him first thing in the morning. Helen replaced the phone. Seeing Vebekka taken away looking so defenseless had upset her more than she liked to acknowledge, and yet she couldn't talk to Louis, he had asked her to leave him alone. The newspapers were in Louis's room; she would have to wait until morning.

She sat for a long time deep in thought, going over the meeting with Frau Klapps, and then she shook her head and went to her desk. Neatly written side by side on a piece of paper were Ulrich Goldberg's number in Philadelphia and Frau Klapps's office number in Berlin. Though it was very late, Helen Masters decided to dispense with proprieties and call Lena Klapps. The phone rang four times but no one answered. Helen decided that it would be best if she were to wait until morning.

She waited up, pacing the room and reading, until two o'clock in the morning. She decided then that the time difference would allow her to catch Ulrich Goldberg early in the evening. She excused herself for intruding, but explained that the baroness, Rebecca, his cousin's daughter, was very ill, and they needed to know as much about her background as possible to help her recover. Ulrich hesitated; he did not understand what assistance he could give.

"My cousin and I were not on friendly terms. It is a personal matter that I would rather not speak of with a stranger."

"Rebecca is very ill, Mr. Goldberg."

There was a long silence; then he told Helen that the rift was over religion. His cousin's wife, Rosa, had never converted to Judaism, and the couple made no attempt to bring up Rebecca as a Jew. This became a matter of bitter contention. Also, David Goldberg had achieved financial success, whereas Ulrich had failed. When he had asked David for help, it was offered only on condition that they accept Rosa into the family.

"Most likely you cannot understand what this would have meant, to me, to my wife and my sons. My wife is the daughter of a rabbi, and one of my sons was to be ordained. My cousin left me no option but to sever ties. It was a sad day..."