In Search of Love and Beauty Read Free Page B

Kellermann: as though all that fighting and treachery, endurance and thrift had led up to the high tide of history that was the Academy of Potential Development. She was as proud as he—of all this and of him—and they wandered together through his domain without quarreling once, which was an absolute record for them; so that it was not only a high tide of history but also of their relationship—by this time itself a piece of history or even, so primeval was it, of archaeology.
    Natasha’s first visit to the Academy was nowhere near as enjoyable. She wasn’t, of course, a guest of honor—in fact, Leo took very little notice of her. He never did have much time for Natasha, seemed hardly ever to see her, and maybe he didn’t—it would have been quite natural, for he was physically very large and she very small.
    Poor Natasha! Her presence among them was a result of Marietta’s search for identity; or rather, Marietta’s rejection of her husband’s identity. Tim’s family was as American as one could get—they had come, on his mother’s side, from Scotland, on his father’s, from Ireland—and when, after lessthan a year of marrige, Marietta became disillusioned with Tim, this feeling extended itself to his family, and from them, to their entire race and nation. Then she wanted to get back to her own roots, though she had to disentangle them first, since Louise, her mother, was a German Protestant, and Bruno, her father, a German Jew. Marietta decided on this latter part of her heritage: and when, in one of the spurts of energy with which she followed herself through, she decided to adopt a sister for Mark, she set about finding a one-hundred-percent-guaranteed Jewish child. This Natasha turned out to be. But Marietta had tended to mix up Jewish and Russian, and when she thought of a Jewish girl, it might have been more a Russian one that she had in mind: a Turgenev or Chekhov heroine, an embodiment of music, moonlight, and poetic feeling. Natasha, however, was short and thin, with thin dark hair and hair on her upper lip that had to be taken care of; her nose was curved and so, on account of bad posture, was her spine. She had absolutely no idea of how to dress. But her eyes were truly one-hundred-percent-guaranteed Jewish: shortsighted, inward-looking, liquid mirrors of her soul.
    Growing up, Natasha had problems—as was to be expected of a young girl; what was unexpected was the nature of her problems, for they were entirely different from those either Louise or Marietta had known when they were her age. At twenty-four, Natasha had never had a boyfriend, or any other friends either; she had got into college and got out of it again without distinction; she appeared to have no inclination or aptitude for any kind of career.She didn’t need to have; she could live with Louise or with Marietta, and she was happy to do that: they, and Mark, were her home, her life, everything she knew and cherished. And yet, every now and again, she deliberately drove herself out and away from them and made herself do things for which she had no aptitude.
    She did not look for dreadful sights, but saw them everywhere. It had started when she was a small child. One day Louise had found her lying facedown on her bed, in tears. It took some time to persuade her to come out with what had happened, and then all she could stammer was, “There’s a man—”
    â€œWhat? Where?”
    â€œAt the corner, sitting on the trash can.”
    Sobs tore Natasha apart, and she could say no more. An awful suspicion dawned on Louise: “What did he do? . . . No, you must answer: what did he do to you? Tell Grandma, tell Grandma!” Snatching Natasha to her bosom, she cried out in fear. “Oh God!” she implored, as was her habit, to someone she didn’t at all believe in. She became somewhat hysterical herself, so that Natasha, forgetting her own feelings, had to