The cold is oppressive. He wants to sink into the taxi and tell the driver just to keep on going instead of getting out into the street where the wind will tear him to pieces. He wonders why he decided that this was nicer than just letting standard operating procedure handle the uncomfortable nature of what he's about to do. Smithson Utivitch is about to tell the Donowitz residence of the death of the Bear Jew.
There seemed something right about the last surviving Basterd doing them this justice, even Aldo agreed. Something had seemed right when he had volunteered at the de-briefing and somehow, the Army agreed. Maybe they despised sending out the people from the war department to tell mothers and wives that their men were never coming back. Or maybe they were killing a few birds with one stone. Or they didn't care. Whatever the reasoning, Utivitch did not want to deliver this news.
Donny Donowitz had been charismatic and near brilliant, but he was also darn near insane too and while Utivitch could never reveal specific details of that last mission, he had to say something about what kind of hero Donny was. He was a nightmare to the Nazis and that wasn't a story that Utivitch really wanted to keep to himself until the end of his days.
Other people should know about the Bear Jew. Even if they never knew it was Donny Donowitz.
And yet he doesn't want to get out of the taxi because he's afraid to go upstairs and have to break someone's heart. But then again, he had never wanted to really scalp Nazis, but that had gotten easier after the first one.
He pays the driver, gets out of the cab, and stares up at the brownstone building. It's neutral. He expected it to be a den of Donowitzs the way that Donny always talked about it but in this twilight, the orange glow from inside the windows looks too normal to be either threatening or inviting. The building just is and he should really stop thinking about it. He tightens his grip on the baseball bat and walks up to the front door.
Mrs. Elaine Donowitz invites him in and starts making tea before he can really introduce himself. She's a tall dark-haired woman who has the same nose as Donny. Pictures on the wall show George Donowitz is where Donny got his large dark eyes and his stocky build. The bear references keep coming to mind as he looks at pictures of five furry looking family members around a campfire. Even Donny's sister looks kind of like a bear.
She assumes he's a friend of Donny's and makes small talk and he thinks that she knows why he's here and is just delaying the inevitable when the doorbell rings. She asks him to get it because she's getting out the cookies he didn't really ask for and he does.
And then at the door is the girl from the snapshot. Lisabet. She ducks quickly inside with a brisk greeting and bustles off to the kitchen, where he can hear her crow happily at Mrs. Donowitz. She can over to get back the casserole dish from the squash thing she made last week and the two women are so caught up in their ridiculous conversation that neither of them see Utivitch sink back onto the couch and pick up the baseball bat. Lisabet looks exactly the same, light eyes and frizzy dark hair and a wine stain birthmark next to her left eye. She's even got the same crooked smile plastered on her face.
He realizes when they move the hustle and chatter into the living room and takes out the letter from his jacket. Lisabet's letter to Donny, that Smithson re-read twelve times before coming here.
He accepts the tea with thanks but before he can start his planned speech, Lisabet drawls, "We haven't been introduced yet, handsome."
"Smithson Utivitch," he says and his mouth has gone dry. He can't do this. He can't.
"Lisabet, let the poor boy speak," Mrs. Donowitz chides with a kind smile. "Litsa likes to throw people off."
Lisa's smile does not reach her eyes. "But it's good war-time fun and free!"
He swallows and blurts out, "Mrs. Donowitz, I served with your son," and then the air goes out of the room. He puts the letter on the coffee table, next to his untouched mug of tea and pulls out a few more things from his jacket. Like the official telegram from the war department. And the box containing all sorts of meaningless military decorations that nobody ever cares about. And the slightly bigger box containing the medal that still weighs a little heavy on him personally. And next to all of it, he sets The Baseball Bat. Which means more than any medal ever would to Donny. He contemplates how strange it is to be putting a bat that was usually covered with blood and bones and gray matter on Mrs. Donowitz's nice coffee table when he looks up again.
Mrs. Donowitz is gripping her mug with such intensity that he can't believe it. And Lisabet is holding her breath. He can actually see her turning a little purple. So he blurts out, "I served with your son and I'm here to let you know that he's dead."
There's no point sugar-coating it. He's a Basterd.
Still, he wishes he could do something Lisabet explodes into tears. She's buried her head in her lap and is sobbing in big nasty gulps. Mrs. Donowitz carefully sets her mug on the table next to his and wipes away the tears that are slowly streaming down her face. Her eyes glisten and then Utivitch sees Donny in her. That intensity, that almost calm.
She picks up the telegram and reads it calmly, Lisabet still a blubbering mess beside her. Still the silent tears.
She picks up the box with all the ribbons that would go on her dead son's uniform had he not blown himself up in a theatre in Paris 3 months ago. Still the silent tears, though she has no son to hold or bury in the proper way.
Mrs. Donowitz picks up the little box and opens it to see the Medal of Honor and she drops it on the carpet like a hot coal.
She picks up the bat, turning it over and over again in her hands, reading and re-reading the names. She examines the stains and the chips and the scars, like this baseball bat will answer her questions.
Utivitch picks up the love letter and walks over to Lisabet. She's shaking, though the sobs have stopped. He touches her hand carefully and when she looks up, he sees eyes rimmed in pink and red and she's a splotchy mess. She dares a glance at Mrs. Donowitz, who is still turning the bat over in her hands.
When she looks back at Utivitch, he hands over the letter that stayed next to Donny's heart until the last possible second. She takes it and stares at him, that pervasive look begging for something more.
"Donny loved you too."
And when he says it, the floodgates open and Mrs. Donowitz starts sobbing and holding onto the girl that she thought might be her daughter in law someday. He says it and Lisabet repeats it over and over again, like a prayer.
The war would not have ended without Donny Donowitz, but as he leaves the little brownstone in Boston, Smithson Utivitch wishes that he has something more to give back than just a love letter.
It's just a coda, as the story before was complete without, but this just kept a hold of me and needed to be told.