Let Me Tell You a Story Page 17

  Frederika thought for a moment and then she began.

  ‘Once upon a time, not so very long ago, there was a beautiful little girl. She had golden hair, big blue eyes and a pretty little nose and lived with her mother and father and her grandmother in an old town nestled at the foothills of the mountains and on the banks of a large river . . .’

  Over the next few days she told me stories about my family and our life before the war. As she described what Mamusia looked like and how she acted, the memory of my mother began to stir inside my head.

  ‘Oh, your mother was such fun,’ Frederika said, ‘everyone loved her. And she loved music and dancing. She could dance so well. When she went to parties, and there were so many to go to before the war, she would wear her little dancing slippers . . .’

  At night, long after Frederika had gone, I lay in bed staring into the darkness as, gradually, I joined together, little by little, all the pieces of information that Frederika had given me. The image of Mamusia became less fuzzy until I could see her at last, right there before my eyes – my Mamusia clear for the first time. Her gorgeous wavy hair that she would flatten in curls around her ears, her dark eyes and the tiniest of gaps between her front two teeth. That night I slept more deeply than I had slept for a very long time.

  ‘I’m going to be a teacher like Mamusia,’ I told my cousin the following day after listening quietly to Frederika’s stories about my family.

  ‘That would be nice,’ she replied. ‘Your mother would be very pleased to know that.’

  ‘Will you help me to go to school and university like my parents did?’

  ‘Of course. But I expect your father will be back by then.’

  ‘I don’t ever want you to leave me.’

  ‘I don’t want to leave you, my darling.’ Frederika gathered me up in her arms and gave me a huge hug. ‘But you never know, your father might marry again and then you will have a new mother to take care of you.’

  ‘If he comes back, if he is alive, I shall tell him that he must marry you because I want you to be my mother,’ I declared, returning the hug.

  Frederika laughed.

  ‘Do you like Tatuś?’

  ‘Of course I do. We used to spend a lot of time together. We were a very close family.’

  ‘Tell me again, what is he like?’

  ‘He is tall and dark and has the kindest eyes and the gentlest smile. He was very quiet, not lively like your mother, but wise and very clever. She adored him. Everyone did, especially all his patients . . .’

  ‘What about my grandparents, his parents?’

  ‘I only met them a couple of times. They lived in the country. His father was in charge of a post office and his mother was called Johanna.’

  ‘Where are they now?’

  ‘We don’t know what happened to them. They disappeared at the start of the war. They have probably died . . .’

  ‘Like Mamusia?’

  ‘Yes, but darling, it’s not safe to talk about these things.’

  The big day finally arrived. Frederika had received all the signed papers from Dr Kempf that meant I could leave the orphanage. I wasn’t allowed to tell anyone that I was leaving and I couldn’t say goodbye. I would have liked so much to have given Basia and Cesia a hug and told them that there was such a thing as a happy-ever-after, you just had to keep hoping. But I never got the chance.

  We left the orphanage and made our way to the station, Frederika with her small suitcase and I with nothing other than the clothes I was wearing. It was early in the morning and I was surprised that we did not take the train heading south to Kraków as Frederika had told Mr Mackiewicz. We took one heading in the opposite direction, towards Warsaw. Only when we were on the train did I ask why.

  ‘I wasn’t going to tell them where we were going,’ said Frederika. ‘I bought two sets of tickets and only showed them the ones for Kraków. We don’t want them following us, now do we?’

  I laughed with her and clasped her hand.

  The journey was slow and I grew tired of standing and squatting, and once again I longed to be outside, where I could see the sun was shining through the slats in the wagon sides. Frederika realised I was getting restless and so she pulled me on to the suitcase next to her and whispered in my ear, ‘Shall I tell you another story?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ I said. ‘Tell me your story, Frederika.’

  And so to pass the time, in her soft voice interrupted only by the clanking of the wagon, Frederika told me the story of her life since I last saw her and how she had finally managed to rescue me from the orphanage.

  ‘I have been looking after my parents and Fredzio’s parents, your Great-aunt Zuzia and your Great-uncle Julek; you remember them, don’t you?’

  I nodded at the memory of my butterfly aunt who had changed into a moth and grumpy Uncle Julek.

  ‘Are they still alive?’ I whispered.

  ‘Oh yes,’ Frederika replied. ‘Your aunt and uncle managed to survive what happened in Przemyśl. They had connections and used them. They had to disappear of course but now they have different names and live in a small flat but are safe and well.’

  ‘And your parents?’

  ‘My parents went to live in the country. They had a friend, an artist, who owned a remote house outside Warsaw and they were able to go there. No one bothered them.’

  ‘Fredzio was killed, wasn’t he?’ I asked. ‘Marynia told me he was on his way to help people who had been hurt by a bomb.’

  ‘Yes,’ Frederika replied. ‘Fredzio is dead. He wanted to help everyone. It didn’t matter who they were or what they did. He only went because the hospital took a direct hit and he knew he was needed. I told him it was too dangerous, that he mustn’t go until his usual time at night but he wouldn’t take any notice. He was a doctor, you see. He said he would be all right but he never got further than the doorway of the house in which we were hiding, when he was shot by some Nazis who happened to be passing. They never stopped, just drove on. He never got there to help. Such a waste.’

  Frederika tried to laugh but the laugh got caught in her throat and she had to cough.

  I gave her hand a squeeze and tried to change the subject. ‘What did you do, then?’

  ‘It’s been tough,’ she said, ‘not as tough as it has been for you, of course,’ and she tousled my hair and put her arm round my shoulder. ‘But when the war started, I realised that I really couldn’t do anything. I had been to school, of course, and then on to study art in Vienna. But I hadn’t trained to do anything sensible. Not like your mother. She went to university and then went back to teach Polish literature there. But my summers were one long round of parties and fun, and in the winter I spent most of the time skiing in the Carpathian Mountains, or the Austrian Alps, depending on who was where. It all seemed so important then.’ This time Frederika did laugh. ‘That’s where I met Fredzio, you know, on the ski slopes. I didn’t have to worry about things like working,’ she said. ‘My father was a very wealthy man. He was a dentist in Lwów. After I was married we came to live in Przemyśl and we visited you often, although you were probably too small to remember.’

  ‘Did you have any children?’ I asked.

  ‘No, we didn’t, but we were young, we wanted to have fun and we had all the time in the world, so we didn’t think about it really. Of course we would have children in time, or so we thought. But then we just wanted to enjoy each other.

  ‘But without Fredzio and without my father, all the money disappeared like everything else. I had to start earning myself to look after you all so I made leather gloves and artificial flowers and sold them, to the Germans mainly. They could afford pretty, frivolous things. But then I managed to get a better paid job in Kraków. In fact that was where I was going when I decided to come and see you because Jadwiga had told me you were in the State Orphanage at Skierniewice so I knew you were safe and sent money for any needs you had. I was on my way to Kraków when the train just stopped in the middle of nowhere, or so I tho
ught. There were problems on the line on the other side of the station and they said there would be a considerable delay. No one could tell me for how long. After a couple of hours I became angry and frustrated. The job was important to me and so I asked an official how long we’d have to wait and how far we had come. He told me he couldn’t say how long the delay would be and that we were just outside a station called Skierniewice. I asked him to repeat the name to make sure I had heard him correctly – after all, there could only be one Skierniewice. So I decided that I would break my journey and come and visit you. I knew I had missed my appointment anyway and so another day wouldn’t make any difference.

  ‘I went to the station and asked how far it was to the State Orphanage and a very pleasant station master told me that it was in walking distance and offered to look after my case for me. I didn’t want to lug it down the streets and so I let him put it in his office. I was stopped twice on the way by German soldiers wanting to see my papers. I let them see my papers and was very nice to them, so of course they let me pass.

  ‘When I reached the orphanage,’ Frederika continued, ‘it was getting late and that ugly man who opens the door said that the Warden, what’s his name, could not be disturbed. Well I wasn’t going to let a man like him tell me what I could and couldn’t do, not without a fight anyway. So I told him I would stay until he did have time to see me because it was a matter of the utmost urgency. And it was, wasn’t it?’ She smiled.

  I smiled back, nodding in agreement.

  ‘Well, he slammed the door in my face and left me there in the fading light and I didn’t know what to do, I didn’t know whether he was going to come back, or whether I would have to sleep right there on the steps. But he did come back, eventually, and told me that a Mr Mackiewicz would see me and led me to his office.

  ‘Isn’t he a horrid little man?’ Frederika exclaimed. ‘He was sitting behind his desk and didn’t even bother to look up when I came in. So I didn’t wait for him. “Mr Mackiewicz?” I said, “I have come for Renata.” He looked up then all right with his little piggy eyes and that slimy smile.’

  I giggled at Frederika’s description of the man who had scared us witless with his black book and array of canes and straps laid out on Punishment Day.

  ‘Of course, he said that it was impossible. “I don’t think so,” I said, “I am her cousin. I wish to take her away with me now that I have found her.” “You’re her cousin?” he said. “We were told she was an orphan. Do you have the papers?” “Not with me,” I said, “but I can arrange for them to be sent.” I didn’t have any papers for you but I wasn’t going to tell him that, now was I? “Mr Mackiewicz,” I said, “I have travelled a long way to see Renata and I would like to see her.” I wasn’t rude, only firm and polite. Then he said, “I am very sorry, but I am afraid that it is impossible.” “Impossible?” I said, “but why?” “Well, my dear,” he said, his eyes looking me up and down making my skin crawl and my toes curl, “little Renata is leaving us, tomorrow morning.” That shook me,’ Frederika said. ‘I didn’t know what to say or do. I thought you might be dead or dying or terribly ill, but I tried not to let that toad see that I was concerned, so I asked him why. He said that this was your last night and you were already in bed and that tomorrow you would be leaving for Germany to start a new life with a new family where you would be looked after and loved. Well, I have heard about these new lives in Germany –’ Frederika began but at that moment the train jolted and I was thrown headlong onto the floor of the carriage. Frederika pulled me back towards her.

  ‘Go on, Frederika,’ I said. ‘What happened next, what did he say?’

  ‘Well, Mr Mackiewicz said that you were one of the “lucky ones”. You had been selected by the Director, Dr Kempf himself, for the very great privilege of becoming one of “our beloved Führer’s founder members of the Great Master Race of truly pure Aryans. You have all the required attributes . . . “to perfection”.’ Frederika stopped and looked at me.

  ‘What does that mean?’ I asked.

  ‘It means that you have golden hair and blue eyes, and look like a little angel, just like your mother and father used to say you were, do you remember? Well what could I say? I had to think fast so I said what a wonderful honour and how delighted I was and that of course I wouldn’t stand in your way but I would like to see you before you go. Perhaps I could come back tomorrow. The toad was unsure. He would have to consult his superiors, he said. So I said that I was sure a man in such an influential position as his could find a way for me to say goodbye. Even if it was only to tell me which train you would be travelling on, so I could wave you off from the platform. He obviously liked to think he was that important and was more obliging after that and said that he would see what he could do. I gave him one of my biggest smiles and left the room.’

  ‘Oh Frederika, you are brave,’ I whispered and Frederika laughed. ‘But that wasn’t the end of the story?’

  ‘Oh no,’ Frederika said. ‘Mr Mackiewicz didn’t have any control, of course, he couldn’t help me, he is just a puppet. Only the Warden’s deputy. I had to go and see the Director himself.’

  ‘The Director? But how did you find him?’ I asked. ‘I’ve been to his house and it was a long way from the orphanage.’

  ‘It was a long way, you’re right,’ Frederika confirmed, ‘but Skierniewice is only a small place and I thought everyone was sure to know where the Director of the orphanage was living. So I returned to the town and asked the first person I saw. He was obviously unsure as to why anyone would be asking for the Director of the orphanage at that time of night, but thankfully he pointed me in the right direction and I found the house quite easily and rang the bell. Almost immediately a man answered the door and when I asked to see the Director of the State Orphanage he told me that Dr Kempf was unavailable and that I must make an appointment the next day. I told him that I must see the Director as it was a matter of urgency. The man hesitated but then agreed to go and speak to Dr Kempf. But he left the front door open and so I walked in. It was a beautiful house, so very different from the place you were in, wasn’t it?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Well, I could hear voices behind one of the closed doors and so I knocked twice and walked straight in.’

  I could see her, head up, sweeping into Dr Kempf’s room, the one where I had been only a few weeks before.

  ‘There he was, Dr Kempf, sitting in the armchair with a newspaper on his lap. I apologised and excused my entrance but said I needed to speak with him as a matter of urgency. He looked at me for a moment and then waved his hand to dismiss his butler and we were left alone. I then began to explain as briefly as I could that there had been a terrible misunderstanding, that you weren’t an orphan at all, that you had a loving family waiting for you to be returned to them and I had been sent to collect you. He seemed convinced. I told him that I hadn’t got your papers as they were being prepared and that I had been sent to make sure that you were still in the State Orphanage and to check that you were well and happy. Still he sat there, his chin resting on his fingers, and then he said to me, “Is Renata of pure blood?”’

  ‘What does that mean?’ I asked, thinking my blood was red, the same as everyone else’s.

  ‘He wanted to know whether you had any other blood. I was so surprised I didn’t know what to say because you don’t look Jewish or like a gypsy and no one would know you were not a Catholic Pole unless they knew your family. Did you say anything to him, Renata? Did you say anything about your mother or your father?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so,’ I replied. ‘The soldiers asked me where my father was and I said he was away with the Army. Then they asked where Mamusia was.’

  ‘And what did you say?’ Frederika asked.

  ‘I said she was dead. I don’t think I said anything else. No, wait. When I put my coat on Dr Kempf asked if I knew where my mother was and I said she had been taken away by the soldiers with Babcia. Was that the wrong thing to say?’

&n
bsp; ‘Well, if he thought you did have some other blood then maybe he was worried. After all, he had let you into the orphanage which was supposed to be for Roman Catholics only. If someone had said anything about him having a non-Catholic with dubious parentage in the orphanage then I can’t imagine he would have been in his position for long. Perhaps that was why he didn’t put up too much of a fuss when I asked if I could take you away with me.’

  ‘But what did you tell him, Frederika? Did you tell him I was a Jew?’

  ‘Of course not, my sweetheart. I didn’t need to tell him anything.’

  ‘But, Frederika,’ I said in a low voice, making sure no one was listening to our conversation. ‘You’re a Jew, aren’t you? Why don’t you have to hide?’

  Frederika leant closer and whispered in my ear, ‘You just have to have courage and confidence.’

  I beamed at her.

  ‘So what did you do next?’ I asked.

  ‘There’s not much else to tell. I asked for your release papers and said that I would come and visit you every day whilst I waited for them. I couldn’t take you without them, it would have aroused suspicion, and I had to make sure that they didn’t send you away without telling me. I then said that we would be going to Kraków and of course he wanted to see the tickets. I suppose the sooner he got rid of us the better for him in the end.’

  ‘If we are not going to Kraków, then where are we going?’

  ‘Because I missed the appointment, I couldn’t take up the job in Kraków. I will have to find other work so I have decided that we will go back to Warsaw and stay with my parents, Hania and Leon. But you can call them “Grandma” Hania and “Grandpa” Leon if you like. They are so looking forward to seeing you.’

  ‘Frederika?’

  ‘Yes, my love.’

  ‘Promise me that you will never leave me.’

  ‘I promise my darling, I promise.’

  We arrived in Warsaw around midday and made our way to the small apartment where Frederika’s parents were now staying in Saska Kȩpa. It was on the third floor of a house in what had once obviously been a very smart part of the city. Frederika’s mother, Hania, met us at the door of the apartment and swept me up into her arms. After a flurry of hugs and kisses she held me at arm’s length and looked me up and down. She was small with a velvety pink complexion, soft wavy white hair and the sweetest of expressions. Her appearance matched her character; she was one of the loveliest people I had ever met. After feasting her eyes on me, ‘Grandma’ Hania spoke for the first time.