Florence Adler Swims Forever(41)

“Oh, I don’t—”

Joseph interrupted. “She’s a very smart girl. Her parents just asked me to do what I could.”

“You wouldn’t have thought I was so smart if you’d seen me in Berlin. I was denied admission to every single university I applied to.”

“I have to assume it had nothing to do with your grades,” said Mr. Hirsch.

Anna could feel her face go crimson.

“The university admissions committees are controlled by the Nazis. You didn’t consider going to school in France? Or Belgium?”

“I don’t speak French. Just German, Hungarian, English, and a little Yiddish.” She looked over at Joseph. “My father studied English literature at the University of Vienna, and my mother knew Mr. Adler, so—”

The waiter returned, placing an amber-colored cocktail, garnished with a bright red cherry, in front of Anna. She took a small sip and tried not to wince as the whiskey hit the back of her throat.

“And your parents’ visa application was denied?”

“Yes,” said Anna. “Recently.”

“And the reason they cited?”

Anna glanced at Joseph, unsure how much of the talking he wanted her to do. He seemed far away, and she wondered, yet again, if it’d been a good idea to let him make the lunch date. After all, Florence had been dead less than three weeks.

“That Mr. Adler wasn’t an immediate relative,” she finally said.

“I assume your affidavit said that you’d provide them with an income?” Mr. Hirsch said, speaking to Joseph directly.

“Forty dollars a week.”

“But you didn’t promise a job?”

“Aaron Wexler told me that can make things worse.”

“He’s right,” said Mr. Hirsch, taking a swallow from his glass. “It’s a mess. The consul doesn’t want to let anyone in who might become a drain on society, but God forbid you tell them you plan on working. They don’t want to see Americans forfeit a single precious job.”

“It’s hard to prove you won’t be a drain on society if you’re not meant to work,” Joseph agreed.

Mr. Hirsch ordered the lobster salad, and Anna told the waiter she’d have the same thing. She had never had the sweet meat and had to refrain from scraping her plate clean. The drink, combined with the food, left her feeling bolder.

“We were hoping you’d be able to advise us on our next steps,” she said to Mr. Hirsch as she put down her fork.

“The way I see it, you’ve got a few options,” he said, wiping his mouth with his napkin. “You can submit more reference letters, or even try to find a second sponsor who will provide an affidavit of his own—anything to try to make up for the fact that Joseph is not a relative. Or you might try to establish a bank account in your parents’ name and deposit enough money into it to prove they won’t become public charges.”

Anna thought about the fifty precious dollars she kept hidden inside her copy of Thomas Mann’s The Magic Mountain, which she’d brought from home. Her parents had warned her that the money needed to last, that they didn’t know when or if they’d be able to send more.

“How much money is enough?” said Joseph. He’d barely touched the trout on his plate.

“That, my friend, is the riddle. A thousand? Maybe more? Does it need to be enough to help them land on their feet or live indefinitely? No one is getting a straight answer.”

Anna made a quick grab for her drink and held it up to her lips only to realize it was empty. She had the same nervous feeling, listening to these two men discuss her parents’ future, that she’d had when she got off the SS New York at Ellis Island. She was young and healthy and had all the right paperwork but she couldn’t help feeling as if the immigrant inspectors and medical officers were looking for reasons to turn people away. That if she dragged or coughed or said the wrong thing, she’d dash her parents’ dreams and ruin her only chance at an education.

“Should we do both?” Joseph asked. “Send more reference letters and establish a bank account?”

“It certainly couldn’t hurt but perhaps try the letters first. If their application is denied, you’ll just lose a few months.”

Anna’s heart sank. It had already been three months since she’d seen her mother.

“I’m more than happy for the committee to write a letter,” said Mr. Hirsch. “With the amount of money we’ve raised in the past year, one would hope the consul general is beginning to take us seriously.”

“I appreciate it,” said Joseph, glancing at Anna.

“And I think we could swing a letter from Congressman Bacharach, attesting to your ability to support the Epsteins. Two more letters ought to be enough to get them through. Particularly if one’s from a congressman.” Mr. Hirsch beckoned to the waiter, indicating that he’d take the check.

“I know Ike Bacharach but I’m not particularly close with him,” said Joseph. “You think he’d really be willing to write a letter?”

“He owes me a favor. I’ll arrange it if you send me the particulars.”

“It’s the first thing I’ll do when I’m back at the office.”

Anna thought of Joseph’s office, of the forlorn beach chair she’d seen in front of the fireplace on her last visit. It was hard for her to tell if he considered Mr. Hirsch’s request a welcome distraction from his grief or an unwanted interference. Maybe it was both.