“There’s more in my savings account,” he continued, and he opened the other bankbook. The amount was more than twenty thousand dollars, an incredible amount of money.
“My grandfather’s inheritance is in a trust for me,” he said. “A portion goes into this account every six months whether I need it or not, and probably will until I die, so you don’t need to worry about money. I put your name on the checking account. You won’t have any trouble getting to it. I’ve already taken out what I am going to need on my trip, so you don’t need to worry about that, either. Okay?”
I nodded, numb and unable to do anything but stare at the balance in the checkbook. Ralph seemed concerned about my reaction, and he took my hand in that affectionate way of his that I knew had more to do with friendship than with romance.
“Can I give you some advice?” he asked, his brow furrowed a bit.
“Of course.”
“Don’t let the money turn you into Irene or my mother. To them, money is like oxygen. And look what it’s done to them. I want you to remember that money and property and prestige are not the answer to anything. I know you need money right now to begin your new life here, but don’t forget that wealth won’t make you happy, okay? Only you can make you happy. Do you understand what I am saying?”
I nodded out of reflex. I understood what he was saying, but I wasn’t altogether sure if he did. I didn’t know what it was like to have too much; I only knew what it was like to have too little. I knew too well what it was like to be cold and afraid and homeless and hungry and to own nothing but the clothes on your back. Could having too much really be as bad as having too little? Ralph didn’t know what it was truly like to have too little. He liked to imagine that he knew what it was like to be the oppressed workingman denied the opportunities of the upper class, but what did he really know of that kind of life, sitting there in a lovely casita in Beverly Hills, his wallet full of money for an extended trip to faraway lands? His wealth was helping him to do exactly what he wanted, and it was helping me. Neither one of us could embark on the quests set before us without it, but he sure didn’t seem to see it this way.
“You won’t have to get a job,” Ralph continued, “but you will want to find something to do. Find something to do that matters, Elise. Find something that makes the world a better place. That is what I am doing.”
“By taking pictures?” I said, and I didn’t mean for it to sound like I doubted him. I just didn’t quite understand what he was truly hoping to accomplish. And what it was he was advising me against.
He let go of my hand and sat back in his chair. “I won’t be taking pictures for me,” he replied. “I’ll be taking pictures to be a part of changing what is broken in our world. The camera doesn’t lie. Do you understand?”
I nodded, even though I didn’t. He picked up the bankbooks and pushed the reading book in my direction.
“You can study this while I’m gone, and we can talk about it when I come home. I read this in college. A professor gave it to me.”
I looked at the title. Socialism: Utopian and Scientific, by Friedrich Engels.
Then Ralph showed me on a piece of paper where he planned to start his great adventure. He was going to fly to New York and then take a transatlantic flight to London. He would board a ferry at Felixstowe and sail across the North Sea to Belgium, where he would begin his trek east across Europe, by train mostly, but also on foot, when it suited him.
“How far east?” I asked. “Back into Germany? Really? You want to go back there?”
“There’s more happening in Germany than the little we saw in Stuttgart. A lot more. And not just in Germany.” He picked up the piece of paper and put it in his pants pocket.
“Like what?” I had no idea what he was talking about, not even with the copy of Engels’s book sitting right in front of me. I truly thought Ralph was going after photographs of life in postwar Europe for artistic reasons, not political.
“I’ll tell you after you read the book,” he said.
The next morning, a Saturday, Ralph and I ate our breakfast in the casita and went into the main house when it was more likely that Frances was awake and downstairs. Ralph wanted to tell his mother himself where he was going. As we stepped into the house, we heard the children shrieking as they played and Irene commanding them to be quiet because she had a headache.
When we neared the doorway to the kitchen, I saw that Hugh was pouring himself a cup of coffee from a percolator on the counter—Martha had been given the morning off for a family event—and Frances was coming in from the breakfast room, holding in one hand a plate on which rested a curl of a mostly eaten Danish and in the other an empty juice glass. Irene and the children were also making their way to the kitchen. Teddy had something that Pamela wanted and she was yelling, “Give it back!” Irene was counter-yelling at them to stop fighting, for the love of God. As we came fully into the room, so did the children and Irene. Everyone was there.
Ralph had his duffel and camera bags over one shoulder, and he lowered them to the kitchen floor, against a wall. He was wearing khaki pants, a black wool sweater, and a felt cap, clothes suitable for hiking—or traipsing about Europe taking photographs. I was wearing one of the few dresses I had brought with me from Germany, a dark blue challis peppered with tiny white triangles. Oma had brought it from Emilie’s closet. Definitely not hiking clothes.
Five sets of eyes watched Ralph put his bags on the floor.
“Where are you going today with that?” Frances said, frowning at the duffel bag.
“I’m going on a trip.” Ralph straightened and looked her square in the eye.
“You’re going on a trip?” his mother said. “Just you?”
“Just me.”
Hugh’s gaze darted from Ralph to me. He set his cup down on the counter.
“Can I go with you? I want to go,” Teddy said.
“No! Take me—I’m older!” Pamela whined.
“Irene, take the children upstairs, please,” Frances said, not taking her eyes off Ralph.
“What for?” Irene said, her tone curt.
“Because I need to speak to your brother.”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Irene muttered. “Of all the days you decide to give Martha the morning off, it had to be this one.” She moved forward, grabbed each child by the hand, and pulled them from the room as they protested and reiterated their desire to accompany Ralph on his trip. “Shut your mouths,” Irene growled at them. “You’re not going anywhere.”
Frances waited until Irene and the children were on the stairs and the noise level from the shouting had significantly decreased.
“What is going on?” Frances folded her arms across her chest. She was wearing a lavender blouse and gray skirt. The two shades were very pretty on her.
“I’m taking a trip,” Ralph said again. “That is what is going on. It’s just a trip to take some photographs. That’s all.”
“Photographs of what? Where are you going?” Frances eyed the bulging duffel bag.
“Back to Europe. There were many things I wanted to do while I was there and couldn’t. Now that I’m a civilian I don’t have those restrictions anymore.”
“Europe,” Hugh said, somewhat brusquely, his gaze now back on Ralph. “You’re going to Europe and you’re leaving your wife of less than a month here?”
“Who does that?” Frances chimed in, aghast.
Ralph put a hand loosely on my back. “Elise and I made this decision together. She knows how important this trip is to me. We’ve been talking about it for months. She wants me to go. She knows when you’ve seen what we’ve seen, you need to do whatever you must to rediscover your purpose in life.”
I looked at Ralph. He’d said a little too much. My heart skipped a beat.
“Seen what you’ve seen?” Frances echoed derisively, her brow line furrowed now. “What in the world are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about the war, Mother!” Ralph shot back.
“What in the world does Elise know about the war, for heaven’s sake? She wasn’t there for it.”
Ralph realized his mistake. His hand on my back wavered for just a second. “She saw plenty,” he said a second later. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter what the two of you think about this. I’m going on a trip and Elise is staying here and we’re both fine with it.” He turned to me. “Aren’t we?”
I smiled as genuinely as I could. “Yes. We are.”
“You’ve been married less than a month,” Hugh said, as though he’d not said pretty much the same thing only a moment earlier.
“And I’ll only be gone about the same, maybe a little longer. Elise is quite happy to be back in the States, for your information. So there’s really no reason for anyone to be upset when she’s not upset.”
“What exactly is she supposed to do while you’re gone?” Frances asked.
“She’s not supposed to do anything,” Ralph replied. “She will have the freedom to do whatever she likes.”
“And the money to do it with, I suppose.”
Ralph’s face darkened. “Don’t, Mother.”