Gone to Soldiers by Marge Piercy Read Free Book Online Page B

consideration, it became her to keep her Sunday to herself.
    Abra’s first impression of Oscar Kahan was that he was smaller than she remembered from the conference, that he seemed to occupy more space than he did because of his energy. As he rose to shake her hand, his palm was firm and hot to the touch, his skin ruddy, hair curling on the back of his hands.
    â€œWe’re conducting a series of interviews with refugees who were active in the unions or active politically in Europe. Your German is adequate?”
    â€œAdequate is the word for it.”
    â€œWe’ll try it out. What I want is someone to interview the women. Some of the questions I’m interested in having answered are personal, and I suspect we’ll get further with a woman asking them.”
    â€œMay I ask why you aren’t hiring a refugee to do the interviews? Look, I’m delighted you’re willing to give me a try …”
    He gave much more impression of having a body than did her own Professor Blumenthal, tall, built like an umbrella bent at the end. Of medium height with a bit of a paunch, Oscar Kahan was broad shouldered. His hair was abundant, thick and curly, worn a little long. He grinned at her, shrewdly, she thought. “A good point. But any refugee who could interview them knowingly would also have a position. It’s an intricate situation politically, and I don’t want someone who thinks they know the answers asking the questions. I want a naive questioner—relatively, I mean. Innocent is perhaps more like it—innocent of activity and opinions in the maze of German parties before and after the onset of the Third Reich.”
    He wore a red tie pulled awry as if someone had begun strangling him with it. His jacket was good Irish tweed, but looked as if he were carrying half a library and his lunch in the pockets. She decided she would ask Djika for any gossip about her new employer. She found herself frankly curious, looking into the glittering dark eyes, even darker than the hair. “When shall I get started?”
    â€œNow. Today. What I want you to do is read through these notes on interviewing procedures, and then come back to me with your questions.” He pointed to his anteroom. “Read out there and bang on my door when you’re ready.”
    Two students were sitting outside, eager young men. They gave her the baleful glare of those kept waiting for the object of their desire. Through the door of his inner office she heard the brisk cadences of his voice, deep, clear, pushed a bit as he spoke with the first. The remaining student was joined by another. They eyed her jealously from time to time, because she looked as if she belonged. The door opened, the student inside was ushered out, flushed and still jabbering earnestly over his shoulder.
    As she read through the notes he had given her, clear, well organized, exciting even as guidelines to the interviews she would be doing, the students came and went, male and female, tall and short, well and poorly dressed, all passionate, avid for their hero’s time. On every one he focused that beam of attention momentarily, making them feel bright, fascinating. These were his regular office hours. He gave himself to each in turn and then thrust them out into the cold boring world. They stumbled away, still engrossed in the conversation that continued in their heads, where they captured his attention not for five minutes, not for ten, but permanently. Abra understood. She was intrigued herself. It would all be more amusing than she had suspected.

NAOMI 1
    Naomi/Nadine Is Only Half
    The boots hit the pavement in cadence. Maman held Rivka in the doorway against the wall, so that she could not see. When she started to protest, Maman shushed her harshly, holding her pressed to the cold stone. Through a grille a concierge stared at them with hostile beady eyes, a toad in a cage waiting to be fed flies. “Get out, you don’t