Jeffrey Archer - A Twist in the Tale

I tried to put them both out of my mind as I moved into the second lap. I had dreamed for years of winning the mile in the West Mount High School championships, and I was determined not to let them be responsible for stopping me.

As I came into the back straight a second time I took a more careful look at her. She was standing amid a cluster of friends who were wearing the scarves of Marianapolis Convent. She must have been about sixteen, and as slim as a willow. I wonder if you would have chastised me had I only shouted, ‘No breasts, no breasts, no breasts,’ in the hope it might at least provoke the boy standing next to her into a fight. Then I would have been able to tell you truthfully that he had thrown the first punch but the moment you had learned that it was Greg Reynolds you would have realized how little provocation I needed.

As I reached the back straight I once again prepared myself for the chants. Chanting at track meetings had become fashionable in the late 1950s when ‘Zat-o-pek, Zat-o-pek, Zat-o-pek’ had been roared in adulation across running stadiums around the world for the great Czech champion. Not for me was there to be the shout of ‘Ros-en-thal, Ros-en-thal, Ros-en-thal’ as I came into earshot.

‘Jew boy! Jew boy! Jew boy!’ she said, sounding like a Gramophone record when the needle has got stuck. Her friend Greg, who would nowadays be described as a preppie, began laughing. I knew he had put her up to it, and how I would like to have removed that smug grin from his face. I reached the half-mile mark in two minutes seventeen seconds, comfortably inside the pace necessary to break the West Mount High School record, and I felt that was the best way to put the taunting girl and that fascist Greg Reynolds in their place. I couldn’t help thinking later bow unfair it all was. I was a real Canadian, born and bred in this country, while she was just an immigrant. After all, you, Father, had escaped from Hamburg in 1937 and started with nothing. Her parents did not land on these shores until 1949, by which time you were a respected figure in the community.

I gritted my teeth and tried to concentrate. Zatopek had written in his autobiography that no runner can afford to lose his concentration during a race. When I reached the penultimate bend the inevitable chanting began again, but this time it only made me speed up and even more determined to break that record. Once I was back in the safety of the home straight I could hear some of my friends roaring, ‘Come on, Benjamin, you can do it,’ and the timekeeper called out, ‘Three twenty-three, three twenty-four, three twenty-five’ as I passed the bell to begin the last lap.

I knew that the record — four thirty-two — was now well within my grasp and all those dark nights of winter training suddenly seemed worthwhile. As I reached the back straight I took the lead, and even felt that I could face the girl again. I summoned up my strength for one last effort. A quick glance over my shoulder confirmed I was already yards in front of any of my rivals, so it was only me against the clock. Then I heard the chanting, but this time it was even louder than before, ‘Jew boy! Jew boy! Jew boy!’ It was louder because the two of them were now working in unison, and just as I came round the bend Reynolds raised his arm in a defiant Nazi salute.

If I had only carried on for another twenty yards I would have reached the safety of the home straight and the cheers of my friends, the cup and the record. But they had made me so angry that I could no longer control myself.

I shot off the track and ran across the grass over the long-jump pit and straight toward them. At least my crazy decision stopped their chanting because Reynolds lowered his arm and just stood there staring pathetically at me from behind the small railing that surrounded the outer perimeter of the track. I leaped right over it and landed in front of my adversary. With all the energy I had saved for the final straight I took an almighty swing at him. My fist landed an inch below his left eye and he buckled and fell to the ground by her side. Quickly she knelt down and staring up, gave me a look of such hatred that no words could have matched it. Once I was sure Greg wasn’t going to get up, I walked slowly back onto the track as the last of the runners were coming round the final bend.

‘Last again, Jew boy,’ I heard her shout as I jogged down the home straight, so far behind the others that they didn’t even bother to record my time.

How often since have you quoted me those words: ‘Still have I borne it with a patient shrug, for sufferance is the badge of all our tribe.’

Of course you were right, but I was only seventeen then, and even after I had learned who he was I still couldn’t understand how anyone who had come from a defeated Germany, a Germany condemned by the rest of the world for its treatment of the Jews, could still behave in such a manner. And in those days I really believed her family were Nazis, but I remember you patiently explaining to me that her father had been an admiral in the German navy, and had won an Iron Cross for sinking Allied ships. Do you remember me asking how you could tolerate such a man, let alone allow him to settle peacefully in our country?

You went on to assure me that Admiral von Braumer, who came from an old Roman Catholic family and probably despised the Nazis as much as we did, had acquitted himself honorably as an officer and a gentleman throughout his life as a German sailor. But I still couldn’t accept your attitude, or didn’t want to.

It didn’t help, Father, that you always saw the other man’s point of view, and even though Mother had died prematurely because of those bastards you could still find it in you to forgive.

If you had been born a Christian, you would have been a saint.

The rabbi put the letter down and rubbed his tired eyes before he turned over another page written in that fine script that he had taught his only son so many years before. Benjamin had always learned quickly, everything from the Hebrew scriptures to a complicated algebraic equation. The old man had even begun to hope the boy might become a rabbi.

Do you remember my asking you that evening why people couldn’t understand that the world had changed? Didn’t the girl realize that she was no better than we were? I shall never forget your reply. She is, you said, far better than us, if the only way you can prove your superiority is to punch her friend in the face.

I returned to my room angered by your weakness. It was to be many years before I understood your strength.

When I wasn’t pounding round that track I rarely had time for anything other than working for a scholarship to McGill, so it came as a surprise that our paths crossed again so soon.

It must have been about a week later that I saw her at the local swimming pool. She was standing in the deep end, just under the diving board, when I came in. Her long fair hair was dancing on her shoulders, her bright eyes eagerly taking in everything going on around her. Greg was by her side. I was pleased to notice a deep purple patch remained under his left eye for all to see. I also remember chuckling to myself because she really did have the flattest chest I had ever seen on a sixteen-year-old girl, though I have to confess she had fantastic legs. Perhaps she’s a freak, I thought. I turned to go into the changing room — a split second before I hit the water. When I came up for breath there was no sign of who had pushed me in, just a group of grinning but innocent faces. I didn’t need a law degree to work out who it must have been, but as you constantly reminded me, Father, without evidence there is no proof.... I wouldn’t have minded that much about being pushed into the pool if I hadn’t been wearing my best suit — in truth, my only suit with long trousers, the one I wore on days I was going to the synagogue.