Page 67 of The Immortalists

Mira puts her silverware down. “Excuse me?”

For the first time since his arrival, Raj’s confidence slips back like a hood.

“I don’t have to tell you that Israel is a strategic ally, or that the invasion of Baghdad aimed to strengthen their regional security as much as our own,” he says, quietly. “That’s all I meant.”

“Is it?” Mira’s shoulders are angular, her voice constricted. “Frankly, Raj, it sounded more like the scapegoating of the Jews.”

“But the Jews are no longer the underdog. They’re one of America’s most important constituencies. The Arab world opposes an American war in Iraq, but American Arabs will never have the power of American Jews.” Raj pauses. He must know the entire table is against him. But because he is threatened or because he has decided not to be, he advances. “Meanwhile, the Jews act as though they’re still the victims of terrible oppression. It’s a mind-set that comes in handy when they want to oppress others.”

“That’s enough,” says Gertie.

She has dressed up for this dinner: a maroon shift dress with pantyhose and leather mules. A glass brooch from Saul is pinned to her breast. It pains Daniel to see the grief on her face. Even worse is the look on Ruby’s. Daniel’s niece is facing her plate, scraped empty of food. Even in the candlelight, he can see that her eyes are beginning to smart.

Raj looks at his daughter. For a moment, he looks stricken, almost confused. Then he pushes his chair back with a screech.

“Daniel,” he says. “Let’s take a walk.”

• • •

Raj leads Daniel past the first line of maples—flaming weeks ago, now bare—to the clearing beyond: a pond rimmed by cattails and birch trees. He’s shorter than Daniel, perhaps five nine to Daniel’s six feet, but Daniel is struck by Raj’s confidence—how he strode out of the house and into the clearing, as if he’s as comfortable on Daniel’s property as he is at home. It’s enough to make Daniel strike first.

“You talk about the war like you know just who to blame, but it’s damn easy to make allegations when you’re sitting in a gated mansion doing coin tricks. Maybe you should try doing something that matters.” Where has he heard the phrase before? From Ruby. I want to go to college, she told him. I want to be a real person. I want to do something that matters. Daniel can feel the heat in his cheeks, feel his pulse in his throat, and suddenly, he knows exactly what will hurt Raj most. “Even your own daughter thinks you’re nothing but a Vegas showman. She told me she wants to be a doctor.”

The pond reflects the light of the moon, and Raj’s face tightens like a fist. Daniel sees Raj’s weakness as surely as he knows his own: Raj is afraid of losing Ruby. He’s kept her from the Golds not just because he doesn’t like them, but because of the threat they pose. An alternate family—an alternate life.

But Raj holds Daniel’s gaze. “You’re right. I’m not a doctor. I don’t have a college degree, and I wasn’t born in New York. But I raised an incredible kid. I have a successful career.”

Daniel fumbles, for suddenly, he sees Colonel Bertram’s face. You must think you’re a special fucking snowflake, the colonel said, his grin looming over the wreathed pin. A real American hero.

“No,” he says. “You stole one. You stole Klara’s act.” He has wanted to make this allegation for years, and it revives him to finally say it.

Raj’s voice becomes lower, slower. “I was her partner,” he says, the effect not of calm but terrible restraint.

“Bullshit. You were cocky. You cared more about the show than you did about her.”

With each word, Daniel feels a rush of conviction, and of something initially hazy before it grows clearer in shape: the echo of another story—the story of Bruna Costello.

“Klara trusted you,” Daniel says. “And you took advantage of her.”

“Are you kidding me, man?” Raj tips his head back a fraction of an inch, and the whites of his eyes flash with moonlight. In them, Daniel sees possessiveness, yearning, and something else: love. “I took care of her. Do you know how fucked up she was? Did any of you know? She blacked out. Her memory was in pieces. She wouldn’t have gotten dressed in the morning if it wasn’t for me. Besides, she was your sister. What did you do to help her? You met Ruby once? You talked on Hanukkah?”

Daniel’s stomach rises and turns. “You should have told us.”

“I barely knew you. No one in your family had welcomed me. You treated me like I was trespassing, like I’d never be good enough for Klara. For the Golds—the precious, entitled, long-suffering Golds.”

The scorn in Raj’s voice stuns Daniel, and for a moment, he cannot speak. “You know nothing about what we’ve been through,” he says, finally.

“That!” says Raj, pointing, and his eyes are so alive, his arm so electric, that Daniel has the impression—absurd—that Raj is about to do a magic trick. “That is exactly the problem. So you’ve been through tragedy. No one’s denying it. But that is not the life you’re living now. The aura is stale. The story, Daniel, is stale. You can’t let go of it, because if you did, you wouldn’t be a victim anymore. But there are millions of people still living in oppression. I come from them. And those people can’t live in the past. They can’t live in their heads. They don’t have the luxury.”

Daniel recedes, stepping into the dark of the trees as if for cover. Raj doesn’t wait for his reply: he turns and walks back around the pond. But he pauses at the path to the house.

“One more thing.” Raj’s voice carries easily, but his body is shadowed. “You claim you’re doing something important. Something that matters. But you’re deceiving yourself. All you do is watch other people do your dirty work from thousands of miles away. You’re a cog, an enabler. And my God, you’re afraid. You’re afraid that you could never do what your sister did—stand onstage by yourself, night after night, and bare your fucking soul without knowing whether you’ll be applauded or booed. Klara may have killed herself. But she was still braver than you.”

26.

Raj and Ruby leave before eight in the morning. It rained overnight, and their rental car sits in the driveway, wet. Raj and Daniel load the trunk without speaking. Drizzle clings to the yellow velour of Ruby’s latest sweat suit. She hugs Daniel stiffly. She’s just as frosty with Raj, but Raj is Ruby’s father: she’ll have to forgive him eventually. Not so with Daniel, who feels a visceral despair as Ruby climbs into the passenger seat and shuts the door. When they reverse out of the driveway, he waves, but Ruby has already ducked her head to look at her phone, and all he sees is a mass of hair.

• • •