American Music - Jane Mendelsohn [13]
Will he be all right? Pearl asked, finding herself deeply concerned about this man she didn’t remember.
I don’t know.
Pearl followed the stranger, without thinking about it, she later realized, to the emergency hospital. On the way, Joe explained that Solomon had told him at dinner the night before about the letter and the plan to meet in front of the gate, and that when Joe had heard of the accident he thought it was only decent to find her, The Wardrobe Girl, and tell her what had happened. He said all this while rushing through the men’s half of the camp, nervously pulling her by the hand. The men’s and women’s camps were strictly separated because Mr. DeMille wanted absolutely no hanky-panky. There was even what was referred to as a Sex Squad on the location to scour the moonlit beaches at night. Mr. DeMille had seen affairs on set cause too many problems and he could not afford to have anything go wrong. Even the extras knew how far over budget this ambitious and difficult project was going, and rumors flew through the mess tent every night at dinner. It was said that just yesterday Mr. DeMille had been heard screaming into the telephone at one of the producers: “What do you think I’m making? ‘The Five Commandments’?”
Solomon was asleep in the infirmary. Joe told the nurses that Pearl was Mr. Eckstein’s beloved sister and so they let her in; skeptically, however, because Pearl did not look a thing like her brother. Solomon Eckstein was one of 225 Orthodox Jews that DeMille had insisted on casting for his epic. Advertisements had appeared in the daily press and a booth was set up in a vacant lot at the edge of downtown Los Angeles. In grave opposition to his parents’ wishes, Solomon had eagerly applied for the job. He had always dreamt of being in pictures. Even if it meant becoming one of Pharaoh’s slaves. Even if it meant shivering in the windy desert wearing nothing but a loincloth. Even if it meant being sprayed daily with gallons of glycerine to make it appear as if the Israelites were sweating. Each morning he submitted to being stripped and covered from head to foot in special oils which gave him the appearance of being almost black with sunburn.
And now here he was, passed out from a concussion. Pearl sat with him for over an hour, her hand resting on his. She talked to him about the infirmary. She told him that the nurses were taking good care of him. She brushed the hair out of his face.
That night, she went to hear Joe play saxophone with the thirty-piece Palm Court Orchestra of the Ritz-Carlton in New York. The band had been brought to the desert by DeMille for the purpose of inspiring the Israelites and the charioted army of Egypt during the Exodus. When it came time for the actual chase, a span of black thoroughbreds imported from Kansas City stampeded from the rear. Riderless horses headed for the band, which went on playing in evening dress until the moment they were ambushed, leaving broken instruments and shredded tuxedos scattered across the dunes. Sand swirled in the wreckage. Joe was unscathed, but Pearl always wondered if the same horse that had thrown Solomon had led the stampede. She never did get to see those green eyes.
Honor
You’re scaring me with those boots, she said.
He was wearing them every day now.
They’re just boots, Milo said.
Bloodstained boots, you said. The boots of a dead man. Two dead men.
He paused a moment.
I don’t believe you’re scared of anything, he said.
Honor was turning off the lights. She stopped, her hand on the switch.
What makes you say that?
Because you don’t flinch.
What are you talking about?
You know what I’m talking about.
She didn’t say anything.
Are you going to make me say it?
She couldn’t say anything.
His hands were clenched now. His eyes were shut.
No, she said. No I’m not.
She turned off the light.
1923
Joe was able to visit her by night. In the evenings, the school was converted into a location for vaudeville acts and jazz and after he finished his last set, he would pack up his saxophone and walk with Pearl down