The blighted son, p.3
The Blighted Son, page 3
‘Would it be at all possible to speak with Mr McCloud?’ he asked. ‘It’s Edwin Benn here from The Informer. You may know I was in theatre on the night of Mr Fisher’s transplant.’
‘He’s not here at the moment but I can ask him if he will call you. I am hoping he’ll be back within the hour,’ she said in a secretarial manner.
‘If you would, thanks. It is important.’
She was as good as her word. In little over half-an-hour the surgeon phoned.
‘How can I help you, Edwin?’ he asked.
‘A somewhat delicate matter… I’ve had a letter from a Mrs Leah Lieberman, telling me that she gave permission for her husband’s heart to be donated. She is asking me if I can confirm that it was the one given to Mr Fisher and if it might be possible for her to contact him in time.’
‘It would be best if she wrote a letter to the transplant coordinators, asking them to pass her letter on to Mr Fisher – going through the usual formal procedure. But I can tell you off the record that it was Marcus Lieberman’s heart that went to Mr Fisher.’
‘I appreciate that. Rest assured we are planning to interview Mr Fisher before he leaves hospital and will be carrying a straight feature with nothing remotely controversial. I’m sure you know something of Mr Fisher’s background.’
‘I do, yes. I realise that you could consider writing a very different type of article knowing something of his background, but whilst Fisher is still in hospital and one of our patients, you cannot do that. I know that you will honour that.’
‘We will, of course,’ Edwin assured the surgeon, before thanking him and ending the conversation.
*
One overriding thought occupied his mind as he placed the receiver on the hook: a white supremacist anti-Semitic racist had been given the heart of an Orthodox Jew. There were still a number of important issues to resolve, but Edwin instantly recognised the fact that he was now sitting on a big news story.
Who, he thought, would be more distressed, sickened, even angered: James Karl Fisher, after being made aware that his life had been saved by an Orthodox Jew, or widow Mrs Lieberman, knowing that her husband and the father of her children had “given” his heart to a man who had a hatred of Jews?
Edwin threw his ballpoint pen down onto the desktop, swivelled round on his chair and walked over to the news desk.
‘You’re not going to believe this,’ he told Ross.
‘What won’t I believe?’ Ross responded bluntly.
‘That our racist friend, James Fisher, who is now recovering in his hospital bed, received the heart of an Orthodox Jew – in fact, an officer at a synagogue.’
‘Christ, bloody hell.’ Ross blew another cloud of cigarette smoke into Edwin’s face.
‘Not Jesus Christ, but you’re not far wrong. The heart came from an Orthodox Jew called Marcus Lieberman who was a cantor at his synagogue.’
‘Can you be absolutely sure?’ asked Ross.
‘Absolutely, yes. The surgeon who carried out the op has just confirmed it off the record, and I also had a letter this morning from the donor’s widow explaining how, after her husband’s life support had been switched off, she had been counselled by their rabbi and he had advised her that donating the heart was the right thing to do. Then I managed to get hold of the surgeon and he confirmed that Marcus Lieberman was the donor.’
‘Good story, Edwin. Well, a potentially good story. I know we cannot use it whilst this Fisher is in hospital but I can see a time when we will. In the meantime, just play everything by the book… what happens now?’
‘Well, as soon as I get the nod from the hospital – and I am expecting that any day now – I’ll be going down for that bedside interview with Fisher for a straight human-interest piece. That is the deal I have with the hospital. I will obviously have to stick to that. I suspect, like most of the patients I’ve seen before, he’ll be asking me if I know the identity of the donor, but whilst he’s in hospital, I’ll just be advising him to go through the formal channels and write to the transplant coordinator’s office.’ Edwin paused. ‘In her letter, Mrs Lieberman also asks me if I can tell her the identity of the man who received her husband’s heart, so I am proposing to have a word with her rabbi and see what he suggests, bearing in mind how it could affect her. I am hoping that when Fisher is out of hospital, I can go along and see her at her home.’
‘Sounds like a plan. I’ll leave it to you to make contact. Just keep me posted.’
‘Rest assured, I will,’ said Edwin, realising, as he spoke, that it was the Jewish sabbath and that the rabbi was very unlikely to answer the phone.
Edwin checked out the synagogue’s telephone number and decided that he would call the rabbi on Sunday morning from home. As a matter of courtesy, he thought that he needed to give Mrs Lieberman an answer as soon as possible.
He left the office at the end of his shift, satisfied that he had done all that he could.
Chapter 2
It was only just getting light on a typically dreary Sunday morning at the end of January, when Edwin’s wife, Marion, who was always an early riser, called him from the foot of the stairs to tell him that she had made a cup of tea, signalling that it was time for him to get up.
Five minutes later, Edwin, who was not a good verbal communicator until he had showered and dressed, plodded his way zombie-fashion downstairs in a velour dressing gown and gave a mumbled good morning as he slumped onto the sofa. As usual, they sat silently watching the morning television news on the BBC until they had finished their tea and single digestive biscuit.
‘Do you want a cooked bacon and egg breakfast today for a change?’ Marion asked.
Normally they had cereal with raisins, followed by a round of toast with Marmite, but at the weekend, they would occasionally ring the changes, alternating between smoked salmon and scrambled eggs and traditional bacon and eggs.
Edwin gave her a thumbs-up sign and managed to utter the words, ‘That would be nice’. Then, uncharacteristically, he added a whole sentence, ‘Shouldn’t really though; I’ve got to call that rabbi this morning so I shouldn’t really be eating bacon sandwiches, being half Jewish.’
‘You’re being silly – it’s too early in the day for that.’
‘I’m only joking. Anyway, you know what I always say – I’ll only eat half the sausages or bacon because I am only half Jewish.’
Marion seemed mildly irritated by the banal conversation so early in the day. ‘You go and shower and get dressed, then after breakfast you can phone him. It’s Sunday, you shouldn’t be working on a Sunday anyway.’
‘This is important and it won’t take long. I couldn’t phone him from the office. Right, I’m off for a shower.’
*
When he and Marion first met in their late 30s, Edwin’s appearance was unmistakably Jewish. Despite this, on business trips to Lebanon, Kuwait and the United Arab Emirates, he had frequently been taken for an Arab. In those days, he sported a neatly trimmed black beard and thick, jet-black hair. But now, in his mid-50s, his hair had greyed, his facial features and his body shape had changed, and all the distinctive hallmarks of his Jewishness inherited from his late Jewish father, had all but disappeared.
For Edwin, it made little or no difference. Genealogically, he had always had a fascination with his Jewish ancestry, which he believed had its roots in Lodz in Poland, but at no time in his life had his Jewishness had any significant impact or influence. He hardly ever gave it any thought and he could never recall a time when anyone had made reference to it.
In fact, when he was asked to state his religion on official forms, he would say to Marion: “do you think I could put ‘devout journalist’?”.
Certainly, he knew it would not be an issue when he conducted the bedside interview with James Karl Fisher, apart from the fact that it would augment his distaste for the man and his past activities.
*
After a stimulating hot shower and a streaky bacon sandwich with the bonus of some fried button mushrooms, Edwin sat down at his desk and phoned Rabbi Goldbladt.
‘Good morning. Am I through to the synagogue’s office?’ he asked formally.
‘You are, yes. How may I help you?’ said a woman with a distinctly Eastern European accent.
‘Thank you. Would it be possible to speak with Rabbi Goldbladt? My name is Edwin Benn. I am the health and medical correspondent of The Informer.’
‘Could you tell me what you want to speak to him about?’
‘I can, most certainly. I have received a letter from Mrs Lieberman, the widow of your late cantor who tragically died following his road accident. You may know that Mrs Lieberman and her family gave permission for her husband’s heart to be used in a transplant operation, and she has written to ask me if I am able to put her in touch with the recipient’s family.’
‘Oh, I see. But why would she be writing to you?’
‘Because I was invited by the hospital to be in the theatre to witness the operation, and she has read my report of the transplant in the newspaper in which we give the name of the recipient, a Mr James Karl Fisher,’ he explained.
‘I see.’
‘Perhaps I could explain further. The reason I feel it is important for me to speak with your rabbi is because we have been made aware of the fact that Mr Fisher is a man with well-documented racist, anti-Semitic views and it could be very upsetting for Mrs Lieberman if I simply to put her in touch with him. It is obviously a very delicate situation and we would greatly welcome the rabbi’s advice.’
‘Yes, indeed, I can see that,’ she said, adding, ‘Unfortunately, Rabbi Goldbladt is not here at the moment but I am very happy to speak to him and ask him if he will contact you.’
‘That would be most kind of you. Very helpful, thank you.’
‘Leave it with me, Mr Benn. I hope to see him very shortly and I will ask him.’
‘Much appreciated. Thank you,’ said Edwin, ending the call.
*
Within the hour, the rabbi called Edwin back just before he and his wife, Betty, were about to take a walk along their local canal and surrounding countryside.
‘Mr Benn, Nathan Goldbladt here. I gather you want to speak to me about Marcus Lieberman. You’ve had a letter from his wife, I understand,’ said the rabbi. His voice was gentle, cultured.
‘Yes, I do, thank you. It’s very good of you to call me back so promptly.’
‘Of course. I will help if I can.’
Edwin spent the next couple of minutes explaining his reason for seeking his advice, stressing that the decision to donate her husband’s heart had clearly been difficult for Mrs Lieberman and it was important to ensure she was not distressed by learning that it had gone to a racist with a long history of anti-Semitism.
Rabbi Goldbladt asked bluntly, ‘How can you be so sure that this man is what you say?’
‘There’s little doubt, I am sorry to say, Rabbi. The surgeon at the hospital told me that he and his colleagues suspected that he held these radical, racist views because of the way he treated the nursing staff and had specifically asked for his transplant to be carried out by one of the White surgeons. But since I wrote my report about the operation, I have spent a good deal of time going through the newspaper archives in our cuttings library, and there are countless articles about his neo-Nazi activities when he lived in Liverpool and his several court appearances and jail sentence. My overriding worry is just how she will react if and when we tell her the unvarnished truth about Mr Fisher and whether she will want him to know that he received Mr Lieberman’s heart.’
Rabbi Goldbladt felt he needed time to absorb the information and took several seconds to respond.
‘I can see why not knowing Leah Lieberman you would be concerned and I thank you for seeking my advice, Mr Benn,’ he said. ‘She is a sensible, level-headed lady and my first thought is that she should be told about this Mr Fisher, but that it would be entirely up to her whether she wanted him to know that her husband, a devout Jew, was the man who saved his life. My personal view is that she would want this Mr Fisher to know even though it is very likely that his first reaction is going to be one of disbelief, followed by real anger and outrage – we can only guess how illogically he might react.’
‘Yes, I am sure you are right.’
‘God, of course, works in mysterious ways and, through Mrs Lieberman, He may feel there is a real opportunity over time for Mr Fisher to undergo some psychological change of heart and come to realise that there is no good reason for him to hate Jews or Black people, or indeed any other minority group. She may feel that if Marcus could play a small part in helping to eradicate anti-Semitism even in just one person, it will all be worthwhile.’
Edwin concurred. ‘That would most certainly be my view… but when I respond to Mrs Lieberman, I feel that I should tell her that I would like to give her the information in person and I am wondering if you would be prepared to be there at the time? I could simply pass on your view, but if you felt able to be there in person, I am sure that it would carry more impact.’
The rabbi’s response was quite spontaneous. ‘Yes, I would be more than happy to do that. If I can leave you to make contact and fix a date with her, that would be just fine by me.’
‘I feel that she would take your advice, Rabbi, just as she did by donating her husband’s heart in the first place. I will call her and see if I can arrange a meeting to see her, ideally after I have conducted a bedside interview with Mr Fisher for a follow-up article, as arranged with the hospital.’
‘Just let me know the date and time.’
*
By the time he had finished his call, it was well after midday and Marion was keen to head off on their walk, starting from a country inn in Dunham village, a short drive from their Victorian home in Altrincham.
‘Are you ready to go now, Edwin? If we leave it much later it’ll be dark before we get back home. And it’s looking like it’s going to rain, too.’
‘Would you mind if I just made one more quick call?’ Edwin asked. ‘I promise it shouldn’t take more than a couple of minutes.’
‘OK, I’ll make us a coffee. Just make it quick.’
Edwin called Mrs Lieberman and, as luck had it, she answered almost immediately.
‘Sorry to trouble you at the weekend, Mrs Lieberman. It’s Edwin Benn here from The Informer. I’ve received your letter and would like to fix a time and date when I could come over and discuss it with you. It’s better that we meet face-to-face rather than chat over the phone.’
‘That would be fine, Mr Benn. You want to come here rather than discuss it over the phone?’
‘If that’s all right with you. It’s just not quite straightforward. It’s a little delicate and, if possible, I’d like Rabbi Goldbladt to come with me. I’ve already had a word with him.’
‘Is there a major problem, Mr Benn? Has something happened to Mr Fisher?’ she asked.
‘No, nothing like that. As far as I know, Mr Fisher is doing well. It’s just that there are certain things you should know and it would be preferable to see you in person.’
‘That’s just fine. When would you like to come? I’m a little busy next week, but the week after would suit very well.’
They compared their calendars and arranged to meet in another ten days in the late morning. By that time, Edwin was optimistic that he would have conducted his bedside interview with Fisher and that his follow-up feature article would have been published. It was even possible, he thought, that Fisher could be discharged and allowed to return home by the time he and the rabbi met Leah Lieberman. As the go-between, Edwin felt that chronologically this was the most satisfactory arrangement.
Content that he had everything tied up in a neat parcel, he drank his cup of coffee – by then only lukewarm – donned his red waterproof jacket, picked up his rucksack and headed off with Marion for their country walk. He looked forward to erasing all thoughts of Mr Fisher’s heart transplant from his mind for the next three or four hours.
*
In the office the following morning, Edwin updated his news editor, checked his post, then settled down at his desk to make two important calls: the first to advise Rabbi Goldbladt of the time and date of their meeting with Mrs Lieberman and then to check with the transplant centre when Fisher was likely to be discharged.
Edwin called the centre’s direct line and was put through to the coordinator, Anna Dickson, a slim woman in her late thirties, with a neat, boyish haircut. They knew each other well and he had always found her most helpful.
‘Anna, good morning. Edwin Benn here. Just wondering if you know when Mr Fisher is likely to be going home. As you may know, I have arranged with Mr B to come down to interview him for a follow-up feature article.’
‘He’s being seen by Mr B and the team later this morning and, as far as I know, they are optimistic that he’ll be allowed to go home in a couple of days. When I last heard, he was doing very well,’ she replied.
‘Excellent. That being the case, could I arrange with you to come with our photographer tomorrow to see him at any time that is convenient for the hospital and Mr Fisher himself? We’d probably need to be with him for around an hour, possibly a little less.’
Anna Dickson paused briefly before responding. ‘I am sure that would be fine, probably sometime after lunch when Mr B and the team have done their ward round. Come around two o’clock on Tuesday, I suggest. If anything changes I will let you know, Edwin.’
‘That’s just perfect. We’ll come along to your office and you could perhaps take us through and introduce us to Mr Fisher on the ward.’
