It took his death to get to know him. I’m not sure why that’s such a big surprise. Do we ever truly know someone? I say I “know him” because when it was over, after he’d taken his last breath, I read the words he couldn’t speak.
Steven died on Sunday morning after a six month battle with pancreatic cancer; ironic because it’s the only cancer I fear. I had recently found out he was sick by accident. I was on line at Walmart and a mutual friend told me. He apparently kept his illness to himself; Steven was always very private and he despised people who shared private matters publicly. Out of respect for Steven, I waited.
I received a call from his family’s attorney on Wednesday, after Steven was cremated. Tyler asked that I stop by his office at my earliest convenience. I was eager to know what it was all about, but I knew Steven had no money and no other assets. Maybe there were diamonds in a vault somewhere. I had been Steven’s partner for over ten years, so if he owned anything, I would have known. We stayed in touch after we split and there was never talk of money under the mattress; Steven was a civil servant.
In truth, Steven and I didn’t talk. We chatted about this and that, we kidded one another about every imperfection, we talked over one another, and we argued, but we didn’t talk. I recall this one time when I thought we’d had a breakthrough. Steven came home from work, took a shower, spent some time at his desk and finally ended up in the kitchen. He was more quiet than usual, so I asked him if everything was okay. Whenever I would inquire he’d just shrug his shoulders and grunt. But this time he looked right at me and told me that his father died that afternoon.
“Oh Steven, I’m so sorry, what happened?”
Steven looked down and said, “I don’t know and I don’t care.”
When I tried to continue the conversation in bed, he turned away. I knew from experience not to prod. I thought we’d be attending his father’s funeral and that perhaps I’d be meeting his family, but none of that happened. His father never came up again. And this was the way we communicated for ten years.
I was anxious about the visit with his attorney. Was Steven leaving me the task of clearing up his hospital bills? Did he have a child I didn’t know about? It could be anything and a part of me did not want to get involved. But curiosity was getting the better of me, so a 2:00 p.m. appointment that day was scheduled.
It was a few hours until my meeting with Tyler. I had time to kill, so I decided to take a walk downtown to see if the loft Steven rented was empty. I arrived at his building, checked the front door, found it open and climbed the four flights of stairs to his apartment. The entrance was taped off with police tape. I was confused and concerned. I knew Steven died in hospital from cancer. I assume someone would have told me if there had been foul play.
I tried his neighbors, but no one would answer the door. Feeling frustrated and anxious, I went downstairs to a coffee shop a few doors away. I ordered a coffee, sat for a bit and then decided to ask the guy behind the counter if he knew anything.
“Hi. I have a friend who lived in a loft a couple of doors down. His name was Steven and he used to come here for coffee. I’m pretty sure he sometimes also used your internet. If I show a photo can you tell me if you know him?”
“I think I know who you’re talking about. Yes, he came here quite a bit. I hear he died a few days ago. I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you. I went up to his apartment and it was taped off with police tape. Have you heard anything about it?”
“Only neighborhood gossip. I’m not sure if what I heard is true, only that it happened in the middle of the night; sorry.”
“Wow. Do you know anyone around here who may be able to give me more information?”
“I don’t know man, you might want to go to the police.”
At that point I was even more anxious than I had been earlier. What the hell. Steven was quiet, but I cannot imagine him mixed up in anything illegal. It was getting close to my meeting with Tyler, his attorney, I figured I’d learn more then.
Tyler was a one person operation; no secretary, no assistant, no colleagues. He shook my hand and asked me to have a seat. I told him that I was surprised by his call. He told me that this sort of thing happened fairly often; the living are reluctant to share certain aspects of their will for fear of a negative reaction. I shared my experience at Steven’s apartment prior to meeting with him; I watched for a reaction, but Tyler had none.
“You’ll soon learn why Steven wanted you to come and see me.”
The silence although only seconds seemed like an eternity. Tyler then slid an envelope across his desk and asked me read the contents. He left his office to give me privacy.
Dear Jake,
If you’re reading this letter, I have passed. I apologize that I did not tell you about my illness. As you know, I have never been able to communicate my feelings very well. Rather than make a big mess of the whole thing, I figured it would be better for you to discover who I was, after I died.
I didn’t ever expect for the two of us to become serious. I tried to push you away; I hoped you’d walk away, but now matter how horrible I was, you stuck with me and endured the torture. I’m sorry for what I put you through. I’m not sure I ever had the capacity to be a good partner. I did have tremendous respect for you and no doubt a strong attraction.
Things happened before we met that I was not able to speak to you about; circumstances I was born into and did not choose. Nonetheless, I was forced to deal with it in my own way and now I have to pass it along to you.
If you recall, when my father passed I was unable to speak about him. My father was a Nazi war criminal. He hated Jews and homosexuals. You being both, made it especially difficult to discuss. I hated my father, I hated his ideology and I hated the pain he’d put others through. I’d always considered my mother was complicit, as she knew of his crimes and stayed silent.
My father was on trial in Nuremberg, however, they were unable to prove his guilt. I did not learn of any of this until I was in my 20s. A first cousin currently living in Berlin made me aware of his atrocities. Marie shared things with me that I knew I had to take to my grave. He was a horrible human being with no redeeming qualities. This is where you come in Jake.
In addition to being a murderer, my father had the habit of boasting about anything and everything. He had a friend who would come to the house when I was a teenager. My father was not aware that I was listening. Even though I had no idea what his words meant, I heard them and they remained with me. My father spoke of having a ring and a necklace in his possession. He said the ring was from a woman by the name of Rachel Schwartz and the necklace was taken from Esther Roseman. He joked about how no one could have possibly known that he had the jewelry; he also said that they were probably both dead anyway. I had not even thought about what he’d said until I was informed of his death. He didn’t have much money when he died, but he had a safe deposit box at a bank in Cleveland where he lived prior to his death.
I lied to you and told you that I was going to Cleveland for work. I apologize for lying, but again, I couldn’t speak of my father. In the safe deposit box were three things, the two pieces of jewelry and a letter my mother had written to him, blaming my father for all of the bad things they experienced in their marriage. She said that it had all to do with his devotion to Hitler. My mother said that she’d hoped he would have been convicted of war crimes. She further regretted not testifying against him. It brought me some comfort and closure, at least when it came to my mother.
Finding the jewelry reminded me of the stories he repeated to his friend. I can hear my father bragging as the names of those women were stamped in my brain. I can’t imagine that these two Jewish women could still be alive, but I’m certain they have family somewhere. I’m hoping you can find the rightful owners of these pieces. My father often spoke of a small town outside of Frankfurt where he’d spent most of his time serving in the German army. The name of the town is Rüdesheim. I hope you will be able to find their families or someone who knows them.
I know this is a lot to take in. I’m hoping you understand why these memories couldn’t cross my lips. I didn’t want to lose you Jake. I suspect my father’s friend shared that my father possessed the jewelry; these meaningful pieces in the wrong hands would not allow us to make this right. My attorney has the two pieces for you when and if you are ready to find their rightful owners. If for some reason you cannot do this, Tyler will donate the jewelry to the Jewish Museum in Berlin.
I loved you Jake; I know not the way you would have chosen to be loved, but I loved you the only way I knew how.
Yours,
Steven
I sat holding Steven’s letter for a long time. Tyler stayed away from his office to give me time to take it in. I thought about all of the moments I was furious with Steven for his silence and avoidance. I felt his love, trust, and absolute kindness; it filled me with hope. I would do what Steven asked of me without hesitation.
When Tyler returned he told me about the break-in at Steven’s apartment the day he died in hospital. He assured me that no one else knew where the pieces were. He brought them out to show them to me. It was obvious that they were beautifully crafted, fine and valuable pieces. I held them and asked Tyler to keep them safe until I could locate their owners.
There will be a Part II to this story . . .
State-of-Mind
I have recently been to the pyramids, satisfying a lifelong desire. It’s a strange feeling. On one hand you’re glad you did it, but on the other, you feel a little let down. Don’t get me wrong it was a surreal and extremely rewarding adventure. It was the hours and hours it took to get to Cairo and what I went through to make it happen.
The most notable of all obstacles was strep throat. Two days before arriving in Egypt my throat was so sore I was fairly certain Cairo and the pyramids were not in the cards. A major mind fuck and disappointment. A member of the ship’s crew told me about an English speaking Egyptian doctor I could see in Alexandria. I was achy and drained of all energy, but the pyramids were only hours away. The doctor diagnosed strep throat right away, prescribed antibiotics and he told me they’d start working quickly; indeed they did. The treatment cost me less than two American dollars. Grateful, surprised, and relieved, I had a 13 hour hazy experience in Cairo I’ll never forget. One day earlier and it would not have happened . . . probably ever. Life is a strange and glorious proposition.
I visited many other places on this trip (mostly documented on Facebook and Instagram).
Not looking for sympathy, that’s not my style. I think there are times in life we are afraid to share our feelings for fear that others will judge us. Judge me if you wish, I’m finally getting to the point where I don’t care. It’s amazing how much happier you can be when you decide what matters and what doesn’t.
“Nobody can hurt me without my permission.”
— Mahatma Gandhi
Papagni Pages 