Night Over Water - Ken Follett [117]
“Hush, not so loud,” Gabon said, and they lowered their voices.
In normal circumstances Margaret would have been interested in the argument: she had discussed it with Ian. Socialists were divided about Palestine. Some said it was an opportunity to create an ideal state; others that it belonged to the people who lived there and could not be “given” to the Jews any more than Ireland, or Hong Kong, or Texas. The fact that so many socialists were Jewish only complicated the issue.
However, now she just wished Gabon and Hartmann would calm down so that Father would not hear.
Unfortunately, it was not to be. They were arguing about something close to their hearts. Hartmann raised his voice again and said: “I don’t want to live in a racist state!”
Father said loudly: “I didn’t know we were traveling with a pack of Jews.”
“Oy vey,” said Percy.
Margaret looked at her father in dismay. There had been a time when his political philosophy had made a kind of sense. When millions of able-bodied men were unemployed and starving, it had seemed courageous to say that both capitalism and socialism had failed and that democracy did the ordinary man no good. There had been something appealing about the idea of an all-powerful State directing industry under the leadership of a benevolent dictator. But those high ideals and bold policies had now degenerated into this mindless bigotry. She had thought of Father when she found a copy of Hamlet in the library at home and read the line: “O, what a noble mind is here o’erthrown!”
She did not think the two men had heard Father’s crass remark, for he had his back to them, and they were absorbed in the debate. To get Father off the subject, she said brightly: “What time should we all go to bed?”
Percy said: “I’d like to go early.” That was unusual, but of course he was looking forward to the novelty of sleeping on a plane.
Mother said: “We’ll go at the usual time.”
“But in what time zone?” Percy said. “Shall I go at ten thirty British Summer Time, or ten thirty Newfoundland Daylight Saving Time?”
“America is racist!” Baron Gabon exclaimed. “So is France—England—the Soviet Union—all racist states!”
Father said: “For God’s sake!”
Margaret said: “Half past nine would suit me fine.”
Percy noticed the rhyme. “I’ll be more dead than alive by ten oh five,” he countered.
It was a game they had played as children. Mother joined in. “You won’t see me again after quarter to ten.”
“Show me your tattoo at a quarter to.”
“I’ll be the last at twenty past.”
“Your turn, Father,” said Percy.
There was a moment of silence. Father had played the game with them, in the old days, before he became bitter and disappointed. For an instant his face softened, and Margaret thought he would join in.
Then Carl Hartmann said: “So why set up yet another racist state?”
That did it. Father turned around, red-faced and spluttering. Before anybody could do anything to stop him he burst out: “You Jewboys had better keep your voices down.”
Hartmann and Gabon stared at him in astonishment.
Margaret felt her face flush bright red. Father had spoken loudly enough for everyone to hear, and the room had gone completely quiet. She wanted the floor to open up and swallow her. She was mortified that people should look at her and know she was the daughter of the coarse, drunken fool sitting opposite her. She caught Nicky’s eye, and saw by his face that he felt sorry for her, and that made her feel worse.
Baron Gabon turned pale. For a moment it seemed that he would say something in return, but then he changed his mind and looked away. Hartmann gave a twisted grin, and the thought flashed through Margaret’s mind that to him, coming from Nazi Germany, this sort of thing probably seemed mild.
Father had not finished. “This is a first-class compartment,” he added.
Margaret was watching Baron Gabon. In an attempt to ignore Father, he picked up his spoon, but his hand was