‘What sort of God, then?’
He rose with an effort to his feet. ‘I think of God as a stern country schoolmaster. He calls us one by one, to write something on the blackboard before he will let us go home. Some of us write beautiful things, some of us write nonsense, some make glaring errors. For some of us, the chalk snaps in our fingers before we can finish.’
Masha watched him walk slowly away, then she rose and went to the rail alone. The moon had not yet risen, there were no stars. The lights of the ship glimmered on the nearest waves, but beyond, all was blackness.
Masha leaned on the rail, thinking about the letter Rachel had received in Cobh, before the submarine. Did she feel any differently towards Rachel, since Rachel had revealed her inner self? She felt that she didn’t. She was too fond of her cousin to be disturbed in any way. She felt, more than anything else, compassion for the difficulties Rachel had faced in her life, pity for her isolation and her sorrows. But there was much that was strange about Rachel that had now been explained, and which she had begun to understand.
‘You are sad tonight.’
Masha turned. Arturo Toscanini had joined her at the rail, wrapped in a heavy coat and scarf against the cold. ‘It’s a sad world, maestro,’ she replied.
‘I feel it also.’ He struck his breast. ‘This is broken.’
‘I’m so sorry.’
He stood beside her, his face in shadow, the deck lights making a silvery halo of his sparse hair. ‘But you are too young to feel such things.’
‘I don’t think it matters how old one is.’
‘Perhaps that’s true. When I was young, I suffered from profound bouts of melancholy.’
‘I’m not normally a melancholy person,’ Masha replied with a catch in her voice. ‘But I’ve heard so much terrible news of late. Sometimes it overwhelms me.’
‘Poor little bird.’ He put his arm around her shoulders. Grateful for the fatherly reassurance, Masha laid her head on Toscanini’s shoulder.
‘You are so kind, maestro.’
‘It pains me to see you all alone in the world,’ he replied in a husky voice. ‘So young and so beautiful. I should like to help you.’
It was almost like having Papa back. She nestled into him. ‘Oh, maestro—’
But before she could finish her sentence, he was kissing her. She was astonished to feel his bristly moustache prickling against her nose, his lips sucking at hers. ‘So young,’ he repeated, munching greedily, enveloping her in a miasma of bad teeth, ‘so beautiful—’
‘Maestro!’ Masha exclaimed in horror.
‘Let me console you. I understand, I understand everything!’
‘Please, maestro!’ She struggled to get away from him.
His wiry arms were surprisingly strong, and he was very determined. ‘Don’t fight me. I can make you happy, piccolina.’
‘Let me go!’
‘Patatina, dai.’ He had lapsed into Italian, and was murmuring endearments to her as his whiskery kisses, like the attentions of an elderly terrier, planted themselves on her mouth, cheeks and eyes.
‘Maestro, stop!’
‘Carissima!’ The conductor’s nimble fingers were prying under her coat, searching for the curves of her breasts.
‘Say, what’s going on here?’ The interruption had come in the form of a burly young passenger in a checked jacket, his hair slicked back in the defiant quiff which was popular with young Americans these days. ‘Is everything okay?’
Toscanini appeared momentarily baffled, his tongue still protruding, his eyes rolling. However, his arms relaxed, and Masha extricated herself swiftly from his amorous grasp. ‘Thank you,’ she said breathlessly to the young American.
‘I’ll walk you to your cabin.’ The American offered his arm. She took it gratefully.
‘Carissima!’ Toscanini bleated in dismay as Masha and her rescuer made their escape down the deck.
‘Who’s that old billy goat?’ the American asked.
Masha took out her handkerchief and wiped the spittle off her face in disgust. ‘It’s Arturo Toscanini.’
‘The conductor?’
‘Yes.’
‘Gee. I hope I did the right thing. You looked kind of reluctant, so I thought I better say something.’
‘I think he got carried away.’
‘He’s old enough to be your grandfather.’
‘Yes. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.’
‘He ought to be ashamed of himself. My name’s Cubby Hubbard, by the way.’
‘I’m Masha Morgenstern.’ She glanced over her shoulder, anxious that Toscanini would follow her; but he had vanished. ‘I’m so glad you were there.’
‘No problem. I’ve seen you and your friend around the ship. I guess you’re getting away from Hitler?’
‘Yes. And you’re going home?’
The American’s pleasantly chubby face looked unhappy. ‘I’m going to enlist as soon as I get back.’
‘But America’s not in the war.’
‘Not yet. But I reckon we soon will be. I thought I’d get an early start. So when it happens, I already have some rank, you know what I mean?’
‘I suppose that’s one way of looking at it,’ Masha said uncertainly. ‘Do you come from a family of soldiers?’
‘No. Matter of fact, I’m a musician. But—’
‘But?’
‘Well, I’ve had a disappointment. I don’t feel the same way about things any more.’
‘A disappointment in love?’ Masha asked.
‘You could say that.’
‘Did she choose someone else?’
He sighed. ‘Other people chose for her.’
‘Oh. I’m sorry. I know how that feels,’ Masha said quietly.
‘You do? Well, I guess we’re in the same boat. The whole thing was just a dream.’
‘You mustn’t say that.’
‘I shouldn’t have tried to kid myself it could ever work. A couple of days ago an old lady – I think she was a witch – told me you should never mix dreams with reality.’
‘But you can’t live without your dreams,’ Masha said wistfully.
‘Well, that’s all I have now. I don’t see my future the way I did before. A few weeks ago, I was in Paris, listening to Django Reinhardt. I was kidding myself that one day I could be as good as that. But I just realised I’ll never be as good as that. No point in even trying. So it’s the Navy for me.’
Masha glanced at his face. Under the youthful plumpness there was a square, dogged strength. ‘I hope you go back to your music one day.’
‘You never know.’
‘No, you never know.’
He escorted her to her cabin, where she thanked him and disengaged her arm. She went through the door, half-giggling, half-tearful. ‘Oh, Rachel!’
‘What’s the matter?’ Rachel demanded.
‘Toscanini. He’s been trying to make love to me on the promenade deck.’
Rachel rose angrily. ‘What did he do, the wretch?’
‘Oh, it’s too absurd. He put his arm around me, and I thought he was just trying to be nice, but then he started kissing me and calling me piccolina and patatina—’
‘How disgusting.’
‘But such a nice young American came to my rescue. He told me he’s going to enlist. I feel so sad for him.’
‘Never mind him. Didn’t I warn you not to let Toscanini get you in some dark corner?’ Rachel said.
‘But he’s so old! I never imagined he could behave like that—’
‘We must complain to the Commodore.’
‘Oh, don’t be silly. Everybody will laugh at us.’
‘He’s a revolting creature. His wife is on board!’
Masha sat down and began to laugh breathlessly. ‘Well, at least I can tell my grandchildren I was kissed by Toscanini.’