Let Me Tell You a Story Page 5

  I remembered my daily walks in the park, often with Cousin Zazula, and how we would laugh as we clutched my so-called treat. Poor Aunt Zuzia, she so loved taking me to the morning market and every time she would insist on buying me a special treat – a slice of melon.

  ‘It’ll make you grow into a big healthy girl,’ Aunt Zuzia always said.

  I loved my Aunt Zuzia but I hated melon. Every day, after my aunt had brought me home and said goodbye to Babcia, Marynia and I used to wrap up the offending slice and take it with us on our daily walk in the park. We buried every single piece in a flower bed beside the greenhouse.

  ‘Our little secret,’ Marynia would say, putting a finger to her lips and looking serious for a moment. ‘It will help the flowers grow.’

  We never told Aunt Zuzia what we did with the melon because Marynia said that she would be cross. Even though I never breathed a word about what we did, I still found it hard to imagine Aunt Zuzia being cross. Now I found my mouth watering at the thought of those juicy melon slices.

  Renata, aged one and a half, with Marynia in the park

  Babcia had told me that Marynia wasn’t a Jew and she didn’t have to live in the ghetto. New questions formed in my mind: Where was she now? Did she still think of me? Did she still love me?

  As the days turned into weeks, we continued to follow the same daily routine but, even though there were fewer people in our room now, there was still not enough food to go round. In turn the adults became less and less tolerant. Food was always the topic of conversation, especially when the weekly food delivery arrived for the soldiers inside the ghetto wall.

  ‘He came again today,’ Piotr snarled. ‘Him and his horse. They had eggs, fresh vegetables and meat. I saw him unloading it all. All bright and cheerful he was too as if he didn’t know what was going on here.’

  Once a week a cartload of provisions arrived in the ghetto, the cart pulled by an old grey mare and driven by a short, middle-aged Polish man. We all knew when it was delivery day, the sound of the horse’s hooves could be heard clip-clopping along the empty cobbled streets. The cart was loaded with luxuries for the Nazis but nothing for us. We were left to exist on the same black bread, watery cabbage soup and sometimes if we were lucky a bowl of coarse porridge.

  Nothing came or went through the ghetto gates without someone noticing and the word spreading. We were all thirsty for news, always wanting to hear even the smallest piece of information, but no one more so than me. I was the only one who never left the room and so I relied on the conversations of the other people to help relieve my boredom. Everyone was familiar with the routine: the cart would arrive at the entrance to the ghetto; the driver would produce his papers, exchange banter and conversation with the guard on duty who would open the gates and in he rode. The Pole would deliver the provisions to the appointed German officer and return the way he’d come. Jusiek drove the cart. He was popular with the Nazi guards and would cheerfully engage in friendly conversation, always ready for a laugh. Anyone passing would try their hardest to hear what he was saying.

  It was no secret that Jusiek was willing to do things for the soldiers, and in exchange for small amounts of money smuggle in extra bottles of alcohol and cigarettes. No one asked him where he managed to get these goods. No one wanted to know. He was so popular, in fact, that sometimes he brought his wife along for the ride, and she too was allowed through the gates of the ghetto to help him deliver and unload his goods.

  Janka said his wife was a large, round woman, brown-haired and, like her husband, smiley and cheerful. She wore big old-fashioned skirts and an apron tied around her large waist. She talked to everyone, even the Jewish women going to or from the factory. Since she was nothing other than cheerful, friendly and kind, people began to relax in her presence and talk more openly to her. In this way they were able to gather snippets of information from her about what was happening outside the ghetto. Snippets that would later pass through all the occupied rooms of the ghetto, repeated and reinterpreted every which way you like.

  It was late one afternoon and Janka and I were alone in the room. She had just returned from the factory and was sitting with her swollen feet in a bowl of water while I sat beside her with my fingers dabbling in the water. The door opened and a figure entered the room. On hearing the door I dived off the bed on to the floor. From my hiding place I recognised the bulk of the person standing in the doorway.

  ‘Marynia!’ I shrieked, rushing to the door and flinging myself into my nurse’s arms.

  Marynia scooped me up and hugged and kissed me. Both she and I were laughing and crying, hugging and kissing.

  ‘Let me look at you, my sweetheart,’ Marynia said. ‘How pale and thin you are, you poor little crumb. But things will be better now, I promise. I will look after you. Don’t you worry.’

  By now Janka had taken her feet out of the bowl and had padded across the room leaving wet footprints behind in the dirt. She approached us, glaring at the stranger with suspicion and resentment.

  ‘Who are you and what are you doing here?’ she demanded, not recognising Jusiek’s wife.

  ‘My name is Marynia. I was Renata’s wet nurse before the war broke out, then her nanny. I’ve known her all her life,’ she said, smiling at me. She turned back to Janka. ‘As soon as I heard what had happened to her mother and grandmother, I decided I must do something to save my little one.’ She paused. ‘Who are you?’

  Janka looked down at me clinging to Marynia’s skirt.

  ‘I’m Janka. I have been caring for Renata since they took her mother away. I promised Tosia I would look after her and I will for as long as I survive.’

  ‘Thank God for you,’ said Marynia softly. ‘There can’t be many who would have taken such a risk for a small child.’ Marynia stopped and looked at Janka for a long time. ‘They would have shot you if they’d found her.’

  ‘They did find her,’ Janka replied. ‘But for some reason they have let her be – that golden hair and those blue eyes, no doubt.’

  Before Marynia could ask any further questions Janka started firing questions at Marynia.

  ‘You’re not Jewish? What are you doing here? What can you do to help?’

  Not listening to what was being said, I clung on to my beloved nanny. I knew that everything would be all right. Marynia had come to take me home. Perhaps Tatuś was waiting outside. Perhaps the people who told me I would never see Mamusia and Babcia again had been wrong. Perhaps, right now, they were at home sitting in the warm, cosy living room around the big table piled with food and all my toys on the floor just where I’d left them – even Rabbit.

  Then Marynia knelt down on the floor, so close to me that our faces were nearly touching. I could feel her breath and hear the urgency in her voice.

  ‘Listen, my precious,’ she said. ‘You must listen very carefully and do exactly what Janka and I tell you. This is not a game and if you don’t do exactly what we say things could go very wrong. Do you understand?’

  I looked at Janka. Her face, so worn and thin, was now smiling – I had never seen her smile like this, she looked so pretty. She nodded at me. I looked back into Marynia’s familiar face. Although her eyes were earnest, she was smiling too.

  ‘In a few minutes,’ Marynia explained slowly, ‘we’re going to play a game. We’re going to leave this room together. You and me. No one will see you because you will be hidden under my skirt. I am so fat now that no one will notice an extra bulge.’ Marynia made a face that made me want to giggle. ‘You won’t be able to see where you are going because it will be very dark under my skirt. But I will lead you. You just walk when I walk, and stop when I stop. Won’t that be fun?’

  ‘Are we playing blind man’s buff like we used to?’ I asked.

  ‘N . . . yes, sort of,’ Marynia agreed. ‘Only this really is a very important sort of blind man’s buff, with a bit of hide and seek as well,’ she added with a wink. ‘We won’t have far to walk until I stop and start climbing into a cart. And th
at will be the difficult bit. You must do exactly what I do. You mustn’t make the smallest sound, even if it hurts and even if you hear voices. We must make sure, you and I, that not one little bit of you sticks out from anywhere under my skirt. Everyone must think it’s just me climbing into that cart and making a real mess of it because I’m so big.’

  ‘Why are we getting in a cart?’

  ‘To get you out of the ghetto without anyone knowing. Do you remember Jusiek, my husband?’

  ‘Yes.’ But I wasn’t sure if I did.

  ‘Well, he’s going to drive us out of the ghetto. How would you like that?’

  ‘Oh, that sounds wonderful. Where will we drive? Are we going straight home?’

  Before Marynia could answer, Janka shook her head and said, ‘You’re crazy. You’ll never get away with it. The Germans are far too clever. They’ll see through your silly trick. You’re not taking the child and risking her life on a hare-brained scheme like that. She’s staying here with me. I promised her mother.’

  ‘How long will it be before there’s another purge and they take you away?’ Marynia looked at her. ‘What will become of the child then? Do you think I would risk her life? She’s like my own. I only wish I could help you too, but we would never get away with it. It’s the only chance she has and we have to try.’

  Janka nodded slowly. ‘I will pack her things.’

  ‘Forget about her things.’

  ‘Baby Doll?’ I cried.

  ‘Remember what I told you,’ Marynia said sternly. ‘There’s no room for Baby Doll under my skirt. She will have to stay behind to look after Janka and I will try to get you another one when we get out of here.’

  Marynia stretched out her hand to Janka who had begun to cry. Tears rolled down her cheeks.

  ‘You are a good woman, Marynia,’ she said, wiping her eyes on the corner of her skirt. ‘Thank you for everything you’ve done and may you both get out safely. God bless you.’

  Janka bent down to kiss me for the last time. She hugged me tight and then stood up, put on her shoes and walked out of the room and into the fading afternoon light without another word or a backward glance.

  I never saw or heard of Janka again.

  ‘Right,’ said Marynia, hoisting up her thick serge skirt. ‘In you go, just between my legs, and when I move, you move. We’re doing a kind of dance. Ready? Now remember, not a sound, whatever happens, until I tell you that you can speak. This is the biggest game of our life and we’re going to win.’

  It was dark and hot and smelly under those heavy skirts, but because I had lived in the ghetto it didn’t worry me. I knew that I must obey Marynia. Marynia was always right. It felt good to be with her again, safe and secure. I stood between her legs and held on to her, ready to move when she was.

  I felt Marynia step slowly forward and I moved too. It was hard but I concentrated with all my might on moving my feet when she did. We walked and moved, out into the street. Then I heard the deep, muffled voice of a German soldier.

  ‘Well, if it isn’t the good Jusiek’s comely wife. What have you brought us today to ease our lot?’

  Marynia’s feet stopped.

  ‘I’ve left the deliveries over there, like they told me to, and anyway there’s nothing wrong with your lot,’ she replied, laughing. ‘You lead the life of princes.’

  ‘Well, we need to, dealing with these dirty Jewish pigs – may they rot in hell.’

  ‘May they indeed,’ Marynia agreed and began to move slowly forward.

  ‘Without being too personal, you’ve put on some weight since I saw you last,’ said the German soldier as we waddled past. ‘We obviously pay you too much and you live too well. I shall have a word with the Kommandant.’

  ‘If you do, no more vodka.’ Marynia laughed, putting her hands on her stomach – the top of my head. ‘I must be on my way to help Jusiek unload. See you next time.’

  We continued walking, passing several German soldiers who all knew her and obviously liked her. To each and every one she paused to chat and, every so often, she would pat the front of her bulging dress as if to smooth it down. These pats reassured me and in spite of everything I felt safe.

  At last Marynia stopped.

  ‘So, here we are,’ she said very loudly. ‘I don’t feel well, Jusiek. You’re going to have to help me climb into the back of the cart where there’s room to lie down. I can hardly lift my legs today.’

  ‘You’re too fat,’ Jusiek grumbled. ‘I’ve done enough lifting for one day without having to heave you on board as well.’ I could hear his footsteps coming round the side of the cart. ‘Come on then. One two three – up you go!’ he instructed as he pushed Marynia up the steps and into the back of the cart.

  Somehow we both managed the climb without any bit of me peeping out from under her skirt. Marynia spread her skirts around her and perched on a bale of straw in the bottom of the cart. She then clutched her stomach and bent over.

  ‘Slip under the straw,’ she hissed. ‘I will cover you over and sit beside you. Remember, don’t move an inch.’

  I wriggled down and lay in a little bundle on the floor and Marynia covered me with straw. Jusiek clambered into the driving seat, flicked his whip and the ancient horse set off for home at its usual slow plod.

  As always the cart had to stop at the exit. Jusiek showed their papers and exchanged friendly banter with the guards.

  ‘Auf Wiedersehen. See you next week,’ Jusiek and Marynia called out as the cart jolted forward and the sound of the horse’s hooves on the cobbles rang out once more.

  We moved slowly through the gates, back into the world beyond the ghetto.

  It wasn’t until the cart pulled into the yard that Marynia bent down again and whispered, ‘There, Renata, you are safe. You can come out now, but be very quiet. We don’t want the neighbours to know you are here. You have been such a good girl.’

  But I didn’t stir and in a panic Marynia pulled aside the straw. There she found me curled up, fast asleep, sleeping like a baby.

  Later that night after I had been tucked up in bed under a feather quilt I could hear Jusiek and Marynia arguing next door.

  ‘I had to rescue Renata. I had to get her out of there. You know I did . . .’

  ‘You are so bloody stupid,’ Jusiek replied. ‘So am I for going along with it. I must be mad. You’re risking our necks for a Jew child.’

  ‘It isn’t any Jew child,’ she cried. ‘It is my little Renata. She’s like my own. Just think if it had been – but Jusiek cut her off.

  ‘Now that you’ve got her here, what exactly do you propose to do with her?’

  ‘She can stay – for a bit.’

  ‘She can stay here until tomorrow morning and not a minute longer. I’m not going to endanger my job and our lives for some Jew child. I’ve given in to you this far, but no further. Your stupid sentimentality will get us both into trouble and even if you think you have some sort of debt to pay, just you remember that I haven’t. I always said you were daft over that child. You always put your job and that child before me. Well, now you haven’t got a job and if you want me to stick around, you’ll do as I say. I’m making good money and you’re not going to spoil it. D’you understand?’

  ‘Perfectly,’ Marynia responded in an icy voice.

  Chapter Four

  October 1943. Somewhere in Przemyśl

  To my relief I didn’t leave Marynia’s house the following day. I was used to amusing myself. Now I did it in the hope that Jusiek would change his mind and let me stay. But my relief was short-lived. It was early one morning soon after I had arrived when Marynia came into the sitting room where I was playing with my new doll. Marynia had kept her promise and given me a small, rosy-cheeked rag doll dressed in a brown cotton dress and a white apron to replace Baby Doll. She had given it to me at breakfast.

  Marynia sat beside me on the floor and told me of the surprise she had arranged. ‘We are going to visit your Aunt Adela and your cousin Zazula,’ she said,
her eyes shining.

  I couldn’t believe it.

  It had been such a long time since I had last seen Zazula and I never imagined she was so near by. I was so excited (and a little nervous) to think that I would see her again, especially as I now had my new doll to show her.

  Zazula was my favourite cousin. She was four years older than me, the sister I never had. We used to play with our dolls, either at her house or mine, share treats and outings, go on visits together to the country to visit Tatuś’s relatives. We loved chasing each other across the lawns of the town’s parks with Marynia in tow, sharing our secret of buried watermelon slices and competing to finish our ice creams first. The age difference had never bothered us – she was the boss on account of her years and I was quite happy (most of the time) to agree to her plans, whether it be the day for a dolls’ tea party or time to draw pictures or read a book. Being older, Zazula usually got her own way so it was easier to agree with her but sometimes it had made me cry from frustration.

  ‘Yesterday I visited your aunt. She told me that she made a promise to your mother,’ Marynia continued. ‘If something ever happened to your mother, Aunt Adela would look after you and likewise your mother would look after Zazula if something happened to Aunt Adela.’

  ‘What’s happened to Mamusia?’ I heard myself asking. ‘Won’t she come back and get me?’

  ‘No, darling,’ Marynia said. ‘She won’t be coming back, but your father will. You just have to be patient.’

  So old Piotr had been right after all. I had secretly hoped that he had said such hateful things because he was angry and cruel, just like Cinderella’s stepmother, but now that Marynia had said I would never see Mamusia again I felt sick and dizzy. I pushed the feelings of misery back down inside me. I couldn’t let Marynia see how upset I was because I was sure that Jusiek would want to send me away even sooner. So instead I asked, ‘Where is Zazula? Is she far from here?’