The blighted son, p.14
The Blighted Son, page 14
She then called upon Magistrate Bernard Haworth to say a few words. As best man, he felt that it was obligatory and his duty to say something laddish and humorous.
‘As some of you will know, I have been teaching Jim to play chess for the past few months. So far, he hasn’t beaten me, although he’s getting better all the time and reckons it will not be too long now, because he says, “I think that’s checkmate”, but he’s already got his own back by capturing our very own queen, the lovely Sylvia. They make a super couple and, of course we are all really delighted for them.’
Celebrant Evangelista then continued with the service.
‘Bernard has just mentioned his local tavern which I believe is at Rossendale. Well, we all know that it can be pretty wet and cold in that part of the world in the winter, so I thought it might be appropriate if I read to you a popularised adaptation of a Native American, Apache, wedding blessing: Now you will feel no rain, for each of you will be shelter for the other. Now you will feel no cold, for each of you will be warmth to the other. I’m sure we all hope this blessing will apply to every aspect of your lives together – including the inclement weather!’
Jim and Sylvia, who had been holding hands as they listened to the celebrant, were then asked to exchange their “I do” vows, exchange rings and sign a certificate.
‘I now present you all with our newlyweds, James and Sylvia,’ she said joyously.
The couple kissed, prompting another wave of applause, before everyone was invited to move through to an adjacent room for a cold buffet lunch with the addition of two hot dishes – a chicken curry with rice and a hotpot with red cabbage and beetroot.
Edwin had the curry. Mike the hotpot. They consumed them quickly before excusing themselves from their ladies and slipping into work mode. Mike managed to set up a photograph of Jim shaking hands with Leah Lieberman, and Edwin interviewed several of the guests as well as the newlyweds themselves.
*
Just as it was beginning to get dark and some of the guests had already left for home, Jim and Sylvia decided that it was time that they, too, drove back to Rossendale, where they were planning to spend the night before setting off the following morning for a week’s honeymoon in Palma, Majorca.
‘Would you like one of our young men to bring your car to the door so that you and your bride can get in together and everyone can wave you off?’ asked the master of ceremonies.
‘Yes, thank you. That would be nice. Good idea,’ said Jim, taking the ignition key from his pocket and handing it to him. ‘I’m parked just on the left going to the main gate. It’s a silver Mercedes with a personal plate – my initials JKF.’
‘Are you ready to go now?’
‘Yes.’
A young man, who had been helping out behind the bar at the buffet, was handed the keys and dispatched to drive the car up to the front entrance.
He returned a few minutes later, clearly distressed and visibly shocked.
‘What’s the matter? Is something wrong?’
‘I’ve had to leave the car where it is. It’s been vandalised. Someone’s scrawled slogans all over it in white paint. I couldn’t see through the windscreen to drive it,’ said the young man.
The master of ceremonies went straight over to Jim Fisher and his bride and relayed the news.
‘Some bad news, Mr Fisher, I am afraid. The lad has just told me that someone has painted slogans on your car.’
‘Bloody hell. We could do without that sort of thing. Better go and see, I guess,’ he said striding out purposefully accompanied by Sylvia, the MC and the young man who still had the car keys. Edwin and Mike realised that there was some kind of problem and followed them.
What confronted them was worse than they had anticipated. Daubed across the windscreen were the words: “Turncoat – Jew lover” and along the whole of one side “Nigger lover”. There was also a swastika daubed on the bonnet and another on the rear window.
Mike reacted instinctively, taking photographs of the car and of the newlyweds, venue staff and other guests who had ambled over to see what was wrong. But Jim’s reaction was surprisingly unpredictable. The master of ceremonies said he would call the police immediately, but Jim told him that he did not want them involved.
‘Under different circumstances, I can see that would be the right thing to do. I’m pretty sure I know who has done this and I don’t want the police involved,’ he said. walking around the vandalised vehicle as he spoke.
‘What are you going to do then, Jim?’ asked his bride, who had a slight tremor in her voice and looked tearful.
‘I’m just going to ring my garage and arrange for them to come out, tow it in and get it all cleaned up. I know it’s going to cost me a bob or two but I’ve got my reasons for doing it that way,’ he said.
‘I’m not so sure that the garage would tow it through the street looking like that,’ said Sylvia.
‘You’re right, they probably wouldn’t. I’ll explain what the problem is and tell them they need to bring some sort of dust cover or sheeting,’ said Jim. Then, turning to Mike and Edwin, he asked, ‘Are you guys planning to report this in your paper? I know it’s newsworthy and I can’t stop you, but I’d rather you didn’t.’
Edwin had already given the matter some thought, although he had not had the time to discuss it with his colleague, Mike. A complex matrix of thoughts was swirling around in his head. The shiny Mercedes being daubed with racist slogans and swastikas was undeniably a news story, but was the story and photograph of ex-neo-Nazi Jim shaking hands with the widow of the Jew whose heart saved his life a better, stronger one? Certainly, it had more human-interest appeal.
Quite apart from that, any news coverage they gave to the daubing of Jim’s car along with an accompanying picture, would simply give oxygen to the racist perpetrators.
‘I’ll have to mention it to the news editor, Jim, but I’m pretty sure that I can persuade him that we won’t give it any coverage. If we have to do something at some later date for whatever reason, I’ll let you know.’
‘I appreciate that, Edwin,’ said Jim as he and his bride headed back into the venue.
‘I hope the desk agrees to that,’ said Mike.
‘I know there’s a risk they won’t and, of course, there’s also a risk that someone, perhaps even the perpetrators themselves, may tip off one of the other nationals but I think that’s unlikely. We’ll have to take a chance.’
It was the first time in his long journalistic career that he was proposing to suppress a news story, but he felt that it was both morally and journalistically justified. He could certainly not be accused of being pressurised or influenced by anyone else. He genuinely believed that it was the right thing to do.
*
A good hour later, a breakdown truck from the garage where Jim regularly had his car serviced pulled into the venue’s car park, its orange flashing lights attracting Jim’s attention. He went out alone to meet them and twenty minutes later after covering the car with a tarpaulin that hid the daubed slogans from view, they began towing the Mercedes back to the garage.
By this time, all the guests had departed except for the best man, Bernard, Sylvia’s matron of honour and Edwin and Mike, who felt that they should wait until the car had been removed.
‘You say you’re pretty sure you know who it was, Jim,’ asked Edwin boldly.
‘Yes, I think so. It’ll be one or more of the guys who used to follow me around in the old days, who used to come down to the gym and until we sort of fell out, used to come in the pub. Pardon my French, but they all got a bit pissed off when I told them I’d given up all the stuff I used to get up to in the old days on Merseyside.’
‘But why would they do such a thing, Jim?
‘Because that’s the sort of thing they do… the sort of thing they’ve always done… the sort of thing that I used to do myself at one time… so that’s why I don’t want the police involved. It could be any one of half a dozen people I know, but I’m not interested in knowing who exactly… it wouldn’t do any good… it won’t change them if they’re caught… in fact, it would probably just make them worse. I think we should have a drink and just try and forget about it.’
Hand in hand with Sylvia, Jim walked over to the bar and ordered himself a large brandy.
‘Sorry about all this, sweetheart. It’s not important and we’re not going to let it spoil our wedding day. What are you going to have to drink?’ he asked her.
‘Not for me, Jim. I’m just going to have another coffee. How are we going to get back home now?’
‘I’m sure that Bernard and his wife will take us. He’ll be going back that way. If not, we’ll just call a taxi. It’s no big deal, Syl.’
But in less time than it took the barman to serve the brandy and coffee, the problem resolved itself.
‘Whenever you guys are ready, I’ll run you back home,’ said the best man, Bernard, ambling over to the bar.
‘Are you sure? That’s very kind of you,’ said Sylvia.
Jim put his arm round Bernard’s shoulder and gave him a hug.
‘Thanks a lot, pal, appreciate it,’ said Jim.
Edwin and Mike realised it was high time they said their farewells and headed back to the office.
*
In the car park before picking up their cars and heading back towards Manchester, Mike posed the question, ‘D’you think that Ross will agree not to publish the car daubing story? As far as the pic goes, I’m not so sure that we’d carry one clearly showing those racist slogans anyway. It’s a difficult one.’
‘You’re right. It is.’
‘Of course, we could just not mention it at all.’
‘I thought of that, too. But we really don’t have much choice. If we don’t mention it and the story gets out somewhere else, we’ll be in big, big trouble. And that is a possibility, even though Jim has told people that he wants to keep a lid on it all, it could still leak out.’
‘Well, we’ll know soon enough.’
‘We will. See you tomorrow in the office,’ said Edwin, as he opened the passenger door of his car for his wife, moved round to the driver’s seat and headed out onto the road for the journey back.
*
In the office the following day, news editor Ross and the picture editor had an impromptu conference with the editor and, much to Edwin and Mike’s relief, they decided not to publish the car-daubing story on the basis that, as no other media were there, it would give oxygen to the perpetrators and possibly fuel other similar incidents, the photographs of the slogans on the car would have to be radically edited and it detracted from the human-interest story of a former neo-Nazi shaking hands with the Jewish widow of his Jewish heart donor.
‘Just keep your fingers crossed, Mike, that there is nothing in the other nationals tomorrow or even in the weeklies when they come out, for that matter,’ said the picture editor.
‘Someone would have to tip them off and I can’t see that happening, but only time will tell,’ said Mike.
‘My worry is that one of the culprits themselves will make an anonymous call to one of the papers, but that I reckon would alert the police and increase their risk of getting pulled in and charged,’ said Edwin.
*
Fortunately, there wasn’t a line about the wedding in any of the nationals the following morning.
‘Looks like we’re in the clear,’ said Edwin.
‘So far so good. Let’s hope it stays that way,’ replied Ross, as Edwin settled down at his computer to draft his report. ‘If we carry it tomorrow, will Fisher see it?’
‘I don’t think so. They are flying to Palma from Manchester early this evening, so I reckon they won’t see it until they come home next week, unless they pick up the English papers in Palma.’
‘Have you thought that the same villains who daubed the car may also read the piece and start calling the newsroom saying God knows what?’
‘It had crossed my mind, but I think it’s unlikely, to be honest, Ross. If we ask them who is calling and say we would need to have their full names and addresses, they would probably just ring off.’
‘Just put them through to me, if there’s any kind of problem or unpleasantness.’
‘Thanks, Ross. I’m sure it won’t be necessary.’
*
Three cups of coffee later, Edwin was satisfied that he had struck just the right emotional note with his interpretation of Jim and Sylvia’s wedding, and with one click of a button on his PC, he sent his piece electronically to the news desk.
‘Nice piece, Edwin,’ said Ross as he skimmed through it quickly before ambling over to the picture desk to take a look at the photographs that had been selected to marry up with it. There were three: the handshake, the bride and groom exchanging their vows and one of them sharing a kiss afterwards, which was decided to be used as an inset.
The following day, the article occupied the whole of page three of the tabloid under the heading: “THE HANDSHAKE THAT SAID: I’M NO LONGER A RACIST”.
Back at home that evening, Edwin and his wife decided to go out to their local Italian restaurant for their evening meal. Edwin knew he would have the spaghetti carbonara and Marion the crab ravioli, accompanied by two glasses of Chianti. It was a modest, unpretentious bistro they had visited on countless occasions but where they always had an enjoyable meal.
Edwin felt the need for some relaxation and he knew of no better way to do so than at one of his favourite eateries in the company of his wife.
‘Looks like I might have a Jim Fisher-free week next week,’ he said, taking a sip of Chianti.
‘What’s next then?’ asked Marion.
‘The report from the genealogist. Exactly what that will reveal, I have no idea. I just hope that it produces something interesting.’
‘It will. I’m sure.’
‘I hope you’re right. It’s cost the paper a fair old sum of money.’
Chapter 7
Edwin’s hopes of a week-long respite from the ongoing James Karl Fisher saga, in fact, only lasted three days. Whilst Jim and his bride were presumably still enjoying the winter warmth of the Balearics, Edwin returned from a sandwich lunch to find a large brown envelope lying on his desk.
‘It just arrived in the second delivery, Mr Benn,’ said one of the teenage messenger boys.
‘Thanks,’ said Edwin, as he began to open it and remove the contents.
His suspicions were right. It was from Dr Jäger, the genealogist whom he had commissioned to see if he could throw any light on the dim and dark areas of Jim’s family history.
Ever since he had enlisted his professional help, Edwin had been concerned that it would not reveal anything of any great significance and that he would be unable to justify to the news desk the three thousand pounds-plus they had spent on Dr Jäger’s services.
But he need not have worried.
The package contained a brief covering letter, a one A4-page summary and a longer, more detailed report that itemised all the new and incontrovertible hard facts in bold type and also what Dr Jäger called “reasonable assumptions and suppositions” in italics.
Edwin glanced at the summary and immediately one line jumped off the page and hit him between the eyes. He had to read it a second time just to make sure that he had not misread the first.
It referred to Jim’s mother and read:
His mother was Zuzanna Perla Zederbaum, born in Lodz, Poland, in 1959, and died in Vienna, Austria, in 2010. Both her parents were Jewish. She became a celebrated pianist and composer.
Edwin had expected the research could produce some fascinating and surprising results, but nothing on this seismic scale. It took him a little time to appreciate the full, almost unbelievable implications: that James Karl Fisher, the former neo-Nazi who desecrated Jewish graves and synagogues and who denied that the Holocaust ever happened, was, in fact, a Jew.
He had a Jewish mother – a famous one to boot – and in the Jewish faith, this made him irrevocably Jewish. Surely, thought Edwin, he could never have known he was Jewish. And if he did, why did he harbour such hate in his old heart for his fellow Jews? Why was he indoctrinated by his father and grandfather to believe that Jews were a cancer to be excised when his father had married a Jewish woman? Did his father know that the woman he married was Jewish? When he had recovered his composure, he settled down to read the report in full in the hope that it would answer the many questions that were racing through his mind.
Slowly, a clearer picture began to emerge. Two key facts in Jäger’s report were especially significant and answered some of Edwin’s most perplexing and pressing questions. The first was that Zuzanna Zederbaum’s mother, Ida Rachela Bermann, who was born in Lodz in 1915, had died in childbirth in 1939 and Zuzanna, whose father, Hans Zederbaum, had died in an accident when Ida was pregnant, had been taken in and brought up by nuns who ran a former Catholic children’s home in a rural area about an hour’s drive from the city.
Jäger added a note to the effect that the home had been closed for almost twenty years but his research to date suggested that the building was still standing and had been converted into a residential care home for the elderly.
The other most telling fact was that Jim’s father, Herman Fischer, who was born in Ulm in Germany in 1929, was divorced from Zuzanna in 1965, approximately one year after Jim – then Karl Fischer – was born in 1964. Dr Jäger added that he could only presume that Fischer had not known that Zuzanna was Jewish when they married in 1958 and divorced her when he discovered, after Jim’s birth, that she was.
