Shall we dance?
e have been 6 weeks in Poland." said the attractive, elderly lady seated
on my right. Her European intonation sharpened her consonants, 'v's to
'f's, 'w's to 'v's. She was wearing an off-the-shoulder evening gown in a
filmy many-coloured material in which vermilion was the highlight. It was
old-fashioned and spectacular. She was not overweight, but she had that
softish, rounded, fleshy look that often goes with well-nourished older
age. Her face was smooth-planed, with high cheek-bones and expressive eyes.
Her hair was in an upswept style, assisted by a fashionable hairpiece whose
presence was detectable only by a faint, faint pinkish tinge not echoed in
her own hair with its definite iron-grey roots.
We were sitting at a group dinner table-table 31-with ten places. We were guests of our good friend Stephen, an identity in local circles and possessed of a wide circle of acquaintance. It was no surprise therefore, that apart from Stephen and his wife Merka, we had not met the three other couples to share the table. Stephen sat at the head of the table, and we three clustered around him.
Two couples arrived not long after us, and we were duly introduced. They all looked about forty-ish, nicely but plainly dressed. They sat at the opposite end of the table, leaving a gap. I looked across to catch Evelyn's eye. A slight movement of her eyebrow reassured me that I hadn't met and forgotten anyone. Natural absent-mindedness sometimes betrays me into potential discourtesy. Evelyn and I have been together long enough for us to look after each other in public. And to carry on an invisible communication to do it. After desultory polite murmurs, Ken, Denise, Bronwen and John faded unnoticed into the general background. I'm sure Evelyn will need to remind me of them if ever they pass again within my ambit.
Not so for the third couple. I had heard 'welcome back' and 'how nice to see you' noises when the older couple had arrived. Arthur's white smooth hair and black tuxedo set off the glamorous vision on his arm, aswirl in a superb light grey suede cape edged with fur.
Arthur's hearing, it was apparent, was suspect, so I was not unhappy that it was the vision sitting next to me. She complained of her fingers being cold, not unreasonably since the outside temperature was frosty. It turned out that she and Arthur had returned from the European summer only two days before.
I counted 47 tables of ten and a couple of larger tables, for the 'honoured guests' and for the debutantes and their partners. Around 500 people. Basing my arithmetic on the theory that we each radiate as much heat as an 60-watt light bulb, I noted that we had the equivalent of a 30,000-watt heater in the room. I took a conservative guess at a current temperature of 17 degrees, and looking around, quickly estimated the size of the ballroom at about 30X30 meters and at least a 40-foot ceiling, for a volume of around 10,000 cubic metres. I concluded that in a little while, we would all be warmer.
I asked her where they had been, and she told me Poland. It seemed she had not been back since Solidarnocz and the fall of the communists, but she was most unimpressed with the changes that had taken place. "Dreadful," she said, "It is dreadful. There is no law. Everyone cheats. My car was stolen. The police were not interested. Everyone is after money."
Her eyes flashed and clearly, we were on a subject dear to her. "It is not better now. The Government is just the Communists again, with a new name. Now there is not just one Government stealing off everybody. Now the Government steals and everybody else steals. That Walensa is a shit (excuse the language), and a pig and a liar. He made promises and not one does he keep."
I thought to myself that politicians and promises was not much of a basis on which to build a case of anarchy and corruption.
"Walensa has sold out to the banks. They are all in league with the banks." Now really warming to her theme. "You know," she went on in a lower voice, "there was a conspiracy. I believe a group of bankers-of Jewish extraction, of course-were able to take millions out of the country. It is a disgrace. Maybe the old days were better."
I wondered how well this idle chit-chat would proceed if I happened to mention that I was 'of Jewish extraction'. She was of Polish extraction (of course), so that little insight into her anti-Semitism was not much of a surprise. I toyed with the idea of injecting a few provocative remarks into the conversation, but in deference to our friends' comfort, I refrained. I was struck more by irritation than anything else. A couple of generations back, I too can claim Polish extraction, I thought. So I turned the other cheek, toward less objectionable company.
In a little while, dessert came. It was a fixed menu affair, and the two desserts were delivered alternately. Around the room, lengthy negotiations were in train. I exchanged my profiteroles for Steve's fruit salad because I knew his sweet tooth well. I declined Sophie's offer of exchange.
The vision looked at me and said, diffidently I thought, "I don't know why, but it is chilly in here again." I said I hadn't noticed. I raised an eyebrow in Evelyn's direction. I thought I had disengaged in a polite enough manner. I looked again. The vision had put back on her cape and was rubbing her hands gently together.
"Sweetheart," said Evelyn when we got up to dance, "if you're wondering why that poor woman is looking so uncomfortable, it's because you are radiating frost on all four cylinders." I have always admired Evelyn's special ability with metaphors.
"It wasn't intentional. I just didn't want to talk to her."
Still, I reflected, the poor woman was not solely responsible for the Holocaust or for the environment that generated her prejudices. And I don't suppose the apocryphal Jewish bankers conspiring with the hapless Walensa were affected at all.
It was after a break in the dancing, and we were seated again. Evelyn was talking to Merka. Steve, in his gregarious way, had wandered off to exchange greetings with as many acquaintances as possible. I heard in a lull in the general background noise a scrap of conversation that attracted my by now ethnically attuned antennae. I looked around.
At the adjoining table, number 47, sat a group of elderly people, all well and appropriately dressed. The men wore tuxedos, the woman, from what I could see, were wearing evening dresses. Two were wearing quite spectacular diamond rings. One was wearing a magnificent double-stranded pearl necklace. It was Pearl Necklace who was talking. She had been talking about 'goyim'. The tone had not been complimentary. A demurral from one of the tuxedos was shouted down by the others.
'Goyim' is an evocative word indeed. It brought back memories. It is a Hebrew word meaning 'strangers', but it is also a word in Yiddish, the argot of European Jews. In Yiddish, it takes on a derogatory, xenophobic tinge. It reminded me that prejudices and paranoia go all ways. Suddenly I remembered the voice of my grandmother, an emigree from Poland, imparting her own bitter lesson to my seven-year-old self, playing with other seven-year-olds of assorted origins in the streets of a northern English town.
"Never trust the goyim, Michael," she would say. "They'll be your best friends one day, but when the chips are down, they cross the road, and you will just be another bloody Jew to them."
I remembered comments about 'Pailisher chazarim' - Polish pigs - often accompanied by a simulated spitting out of the side of the mouth. I remembered my grandfather and his multiple passports - you can't trust the goyim.
I looked across at table 47 again. The conversation had moved on to safer ground. I realised that they were discussing a trip overseas. A diamond ring was saying "Oh we will spend some time in Israel, you know, but it isn't very safe, is it?"
Pearl Necklace said "Yes, Ettie, you are so right. Allan had the runs the whole time we were there last year."
Ettie, encouraged, went on, "Did you Allan? We try to drink only bottled water you know. Anyway, we thought we would maybe go on to Europe and look around. Now you can get into those Communist countries, we might take a look."
I looked at Evelyn. I could see that she did not think whatever was in my mind was likely to be a good idea. I looked at Sophie. I could not help myself.
"Look," I said, leaning over, "I couldn't help catching the end of your conversation. I hope you don't mind."
A shaking of heads. I touched Sophie on the arm, attracting her attention "You were thinking of going to Europe. My friend Sophie has just come back from Europe. I'm sure you'd be interested to hear of her experiences."
Evelyn was already standing as I turned to ask her to dance.
