Charlotte

Oh Charlotte! My Charlotte! 

How beautiful you look! How lovely! How ethereal! You stand there like the dazzling sun. Like millions of His sunrays spreading across this courtyard. Your lovely hair streaming in the wind, blowing across your face. Your radiant smile. Your sparkling eyes. The rosebud mouth, always grinning with merriment and mirth. I will always remember you like this. 

I still remember that day when I first saw you and fell hopelessly and irrevocably in love. I don’t know how it happened. Me, a regular at the museum and you, bumping into me, quite by accident. Imagine - an Italian Signorina spending her vacation in this quaint Swiss village - and all because you thought there was a forgotten Renoir being discovered. How sweetly silly of you. And then I spoke about Renoir and Manet and Monet and you wanted to know more. And then we went to that coffee place. My heart was a-flutter and my speech was a-stutter and the world as I knew it, had ceased to be. And had suddenly become such a magical place. The croissants felt so crisp and buttery and lovely, how come I’d never appreciated them before? And when I spoke to you, I had felt that heart skip a beat. And you, you could have the pick of any strong, handsome Italian and Greek Gods. But you had found our conversation - what was the word you used? - Scintillating. Ah, surely you jest, I thought. I’m going balmy in my old age, eh? But no. You were there the next day and the day after that and then you walked with me along the pathways and once I walked you to your place. And in the evening, once, when the street lamp had suddenly fizzled up, you clutched my hand and refused to let go. And we had spoken for hours and days about so many things. About philosophy and love. And the philosophy of love. And how I preferred Beethoven over Mozart and you swore by Tchaikovsky. And we held forth our views on Dostoyevskiy - what a book, that! Crime and punishment! Your brains were much more attractive than your beauty. And you told me about your struggle, an impoverished girl from an Italian village, coming to town with nothing more than brains and a steely determination. And some savings from your Grandpa and some contacts from your parents who were so supportive and wanted you to follow your dreams. I was enraptured. The wristband your Grandpappy gave you - a symbol of his love. How quaint. That’s why you never ever take it off. The parents seemed even more charming than you, my child beauty. And who wouldn’t be? 

And so the hours transformed into days and days transformed into weeks and the weeks merged into months. And every day, after I gave my lecture at the local college, I looked forward to seeing your face, your warm, simple, dimply, mischievous smile. 

And I was hooked. A man in love. Head over heels over head over heels and doing cartwheels over and over and over. 

The infatuation had blossomed into genuine love and respect. 

And age had not mattered to you! You - a twenty something, and me, a codger in my sixties. Mama Mia! Talk about a liberated soul. My friends were jealous of course, the bastards. The pips on my uniform helped garnish my mustaches, but age, that punisher, had threatened to derail our friendship. Or so I thought. But no. For you, my sweet child, you persisted and you convinced me that love transcends everything. And I refused to believe. I felt you were too young. It was simply an infatuation. A ship passing through the night. But you persisted with your logic and with your arguments and of course I wanted to believe. And so I eventually ran out of arguments against everything. 

And your visit to my bungalow - your yelps of delight were those of a small child - full of wonderment. But there was no greed. No avarice. You were astonished at how much I had. And you teased me, saying that I had a side income. And that you’d have landed me in your hooks a lot faster had you known how rich I was. 

That was so funny. And so comforting in a way. For yes, it had taken months and I had only let on that I was comfortably well off, and kept it hidden that I was insufferably wealthy. 

And then meeting those parents - what a surprise that was. You just booked the tickets for a small holiday in Rome and there they were. As charming as I had imagined. I sensed your Mother wasn’t too comfortable with my age. Who could blame her. The father too was a little circumspect. But it was clear you had worked them over - how you managed it, I’ll never know. 

Maybe my not inconsiderable wealth tilted the scales - but no, that’s an uncharitable thought. You’re not like that at all, my sweet, innocent, impish little soul. 

Oh Charlotte. How you hung on my every word. On my valour in battle. And when the enemy was in hot pursuit, the escape, the sheer excitement of it all - the disguises, the false accents, the days spent hidden in the basement and finally the mad dash across the frontier and onwards to freedom - free from the grasping tentacles - from the desperate hordes, free to live my days in peace and freedom, enjoying wine and watching the sunsets, ah, those were the days. And then you came. 

And you approved. All my little foibles. My little irritating habits. You not only approved and tolerated. You found them funny. And endearing. And you sighed. And you moaned with ecstasy and purred with pleasure and I grinned, child, for you have been raised on history in a time of peace and studying the Renaissance masters and reading Shakespeare and dreaming of working in the Museum of Natural History. You did not judge. You wanted to do ten things and you dreamt of ten things more and I looked on indulgently. 

And when we spoke of our feelings, it was such a memorable night, that. Right on top of the Swiss Alps, where we’d gone for a small vacation - who wouldn’t resist such a setting. 

And finally this old man found solace. 

I never dreamt that I would be exchanging rings and vows again. But you - you wanted it all. And it was magical. Going to the south of France for the honeymoon. And the quays and gondolas of Venice. And then one morning you said you wanted to see the pyramids of Egypt. The symbols of love. Our true love. How could I resist. 

I don’t know what they served us during the flight to Egypt. I was violently sick. And groggy. But you - you took such good care of me, my love. It was all very blurry out there. But your voice - your soft, soothing, caring voice, that let me be at peace, that was all that mattered, my love. 

Getting off the airport, being checked by the doctor, all that time I was being held and murmured to, it really helped you know, you being there with me all the time. And my eyesight has improved, the fog has lifted. It was your tender nourishment and care, my darling.....

And now we are here in this courtyard - you brought me here to show - what, my darling? What is this place? Where are the pyramids? Ah, something written over here, which language is this? Oh yes, an English translation. 

What are these words - Ah - Mount of Olives. 

Mount of Olives??? 

What?? 

Charlotte! Have you gone mad? Or have I? 

Charlotte! 

This is not Egypt!

This is Israel, Charlotte! Israel! 

We need to run, Charlotte! 

There’s no time! There’s been a horrible mistake! 

Charlotte! Charlotte! 

Are you listening? 

They have me on a list, Charlotte! Their lists! 

I’ve served at Auschwitz, Charlotte! Auschwitz!

And Bergen Belsen! And Riga! 

I escaped the Nuremberg trials, Charlotte! 

I have loads and loads of wealth.

All yours, Charlotte! All yours! With this wealth, you can.....

Charlotte! That’s a gun! That - put it away, Charlotte! 

You love me, Charlotte! Look at me,

Look at - Oh! Charlotte! Your eyes! 

What’s happened to your eyes? They’re so bleak, so lifeless! 

And why are you taking off your wristband?? You never took it off before and now - Oh! 

Is that a tattoo? On your wrist! 

It’s - oh - it’s a number! 

Oh - Mein Gott! 

Charlotte! Charlotte!

Nein! Nein! Nein! 

Seig Heil! You filthy J.........

BANG! BANG!