Let Me Tell You a Story Page 8

  Marynia would chatter away, teasing some, speaking kindly to others and, all the while, making her notes on small pieces of paper that she kept in her apron pocket with her short stubby pencil. She promised to pass the messages on to Jusiek and the visitors would leave.

  Renata’s nanny, Marynia and Jusiek, Marynia’s husband

  When Jusiek came home she gave the list to him in silence, barely looking up from the task in hand. He shoved it in his jacket pocket with a sideways glance at me. We all knew that these lists were important and that both Jusiek and Marynia had to keep the soldiers on their side so they wouldn’t ask any awkward questions.

  With Jusiek at home, the mood in the house changed. He was kind enough but he wasn’t friendly and he never really spoke if I was around. He waited until Marynia had put me into bed, tucked me up, given me a big kiss and closed the door behind her. Then almost immediately, in his deep urgent voice, he talked to Marynia in the room next door, on and on, until it lulled me to sleep.

  In the beginning Marynia had been very forceful and spoken in a raised voice.

  ‘She’s here because she’s like my own,’ I heard her say repeatedly. ‘What if it had been . . .’

  ‘. . . of course she’s staying . . .’

  ‘. . . I owe it to her parents . . .’

  I felt safe hiding behind Marynia’s words. But as the days went by she said less and less until she stopped pleading altogether. I now tried even harder to please her so that she was happy to have me around. I tried to help her whenever I could but she would often smile at me in her gentle way and tell me to go and play. Sometimes she let me help her with the chores. I loved standing next to her peeling potatoes; I loved it when we stood side by side with our hands in soapy water doing the laundry, or when Marynia washed the dishes and I dried them, or simply when we swept the floor with our scratchy brooms. All I had to do was to point the broomstick skywards and jump on, and together we would fly into the endless blue and continue the search for my mother and father.

  I loved the thought of being able to do something. Sometimes I imagined I was Cinderella but in my story she was living with her fairy godmother and not the wicked stepmother. At other times I pretended I was the Sorcerer’s Apprentice fetching pail after pail of water.

  I felt safe and loved. Marynia told stories to keep me entertained: fairy tales, stories about my family, and stories about the life we had led in Jagiellońska Street. She would make me laugh by telling me things about when I was little, like how I would stand up in my cot and with both hands push the knob on the wall that was between my cot and the door to my parents’ room. She told me that I was very clever because I quickly worked out that whenever I pushed the bell it would ring at the front door. Once I knew this, I became mischievous, hiding in my cot, listening to my grandmother scurrying along the hallway in her slippers, murmuring under her breath, to open the door, only to find no one there. She would call out in surprise. I sent her again and again on this fruitless mission and most of the time she did it just to hear me crow with delight.

  Marynia also told me stories about my father and his parents. I learned that my grandfather, the chief postmaster in the village of Źurawice, just outside Przemyśl, loved reading. He loved books as much as I did. He read everything he could lay his hands on and decided that, because books made him so happy, his children should go to school so they could read books too. My father also liked books and he ended up reading so many that he knew enough to go to university to train to be a doctor. His sister, Aunt Lusia, also read a lot of books and she became a teacher.

  ‘Where is Aunt Lusia now?’ I asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Marynia replied. ‘We never saw much of her after she married. Your father was so upset. He adored his older sister and would have done anything for her. But she wouldn’t let him. Her husband even made her give up teaching.’

  ‘Did they have any children?’

  ‘No. It was a great pity, your father said, because she loved children so.’

  ‘Your father made your grandfather very proud,’ Marynia said. ‘Your mother used to say that the other children at school were unkind to your father because he was Jewish and even later the students at the university weren’t nice to him. Your grandfather was quite poor and it cost a lot of money to send your father to university, so to save money your father only ate black bread, day after day. Fancy that.’

  I thought back to the ghetto and how a piece of black bread every day would have seemed like luxury, but said nothing.

  ‘So, your father trained to be a doctor and when he’d finished his training he worked in a hospital before coming to Przemyśl where he met your mother and lived happily ever after.’

  Although Marynia always spoke as if everyone were still alive, I had begun to realise that, along with my mother and my grandmother, I probably wouldn’t see my Aunt Adela or Zazula again. With each day that passed, with little to think about, I began to miss them more and more and to dread the thought of being left an orphan. Above all else I did not want to be an orphan. Being an orphan, I knew from the stories, was by far the most awful thing that could happen to a child.

  At night, I would lie awake and stare into the darkness, listening to the heated exchanges between my nanny and her husband, thinking about my family and trying to remember their faces. I could see my aunt and Zazula clearly but it was more difficult to see Babcia and Mamusia. I would concentrate my thoughts on the last time I saw them; how my mother had given me the chunk of sausage and how wonderful it had tasted. I would lie and imagine what it would be like if I was to go back to my home in Jagiellońska Street and walk up the road, climb the stone stairs, open the front door and call out to Mamusia to tell her I was home.

  In my thoughts, I could see her running into the hall and gathering me up in her arms, burying my head in her shoulder and covering me with kisses. I could see Babcia following closely behind, in her slippers, arms outstretched and the wrinkles smooth on her face. Big fat tears would roll down her cheeks, as she too would hug me over and over again. Then the memories would fade, leaving me alone in the darkness.

  I think Marynia could see into my mind because no matter how busy she was, she could always spare a few minutes to tell me about my mother and father. One time she said, laughing, ‘Oh, your mother is one in a million. Kind as the day is long. And she is funny, she would have us in stitches for hours. Full of life, she is, always the life and soul of any party.’ She stopped and her voice sounded more serious. ‘My word though, she can be stubborn when she wants to be. Sometimes I think your father finds her a little difficult to live with but he knew what he was taking on when he married her. Your Babcia told me that your mother had many admirers. Lots of young men all wanting to marry her and everyone was so surprised when she decided – I told you, she’s stubborn! – that she was going to marry a serious young doctor from the country. Well, everyone said that it would never last. He was nice enough, they said, but in time she would find him too boring and get tired of him. This was before I knew them of course, so I can only tell you what your grandmother told me. But they were all wrong. Your parents adored each other and because they were so different it made them love each other all the more.’

  ‘What did my mother do?’ I asked, eager to know more. ‘I can’t remember her being with me all the time.’

  ‘No, that’s right. She worked,’ Marynia replied. ‘She was a teacher at the university. She taught Polish literature. That’s why they asked me to come and look after you when you were just this small.’ She held up her hands to show me how small I had been, the size of Baby Doll. ‘After you came along your mother had to go back to work and so she asked me to come and give you my mother’s milk and take care of you. Oh, your parents adored you with your little pink feet, your golden curls and your baby-blue eyes. They didn’t understand how you could look like that when they both had dark hair and dark eyes, and your grandparents too. They used to laugh about it and say that they had the
most perfect angel child.’

  At other times she used to tell me about Babcia and how fond she was of her, how gracious she was – a real lady.

  ‘She was always helping others. Never a sour word crossed her lips, at least not when I was around. Her life hadn’t been easy. Your mother’s father – your other grandfather – won a lot of money on the lottery before the Great War in 1914. Can you imagine? They were immensely wealthy but then he went and lost all that money. I don’t know what he did with it.’

  How careless, I thought. ‘Was Babcia very angry?’ I said.

  ‘Not for long. He went and died. Of pneumonia, I think she said. He was only thirty-five. Then she had a problem, what with no money, no husband and two young children, your mother and your Uncle Cesio, to bring up on her own.’ Marynia paused for a moment. ‘So, she ran a place where people could come and stay, a boarding house. She bought it eventually. But she also loved books and so when your mother and Uncle Cesio were old enough, with all her saved pennies she sent them to university. Just like your father’s father sent his children. So it’s no real surprise that you love stories. I just wish we had some books about this house.’

  Although Marynia’s house was empty of books, she had somehow managed to find another doll for me. It was a pathetic little doll with stringy hair and a raggedy dress, but I loved her and talked to her for hours every day, repeating the stories that Marynia had told me and making up more of my own.

  One afternoon Marynia came into the room with a sombre expression on her face. She sat in her usual seat by the window and took me on to her lap. We sat quietly together for some time, my head leaning against her chest. I watched the dust dance in the sunlight, soothed by the rise and fall of her soft, comfortable bosom as she breathed. The constant rhythmic sound of her beating heart had always comforted me whenever I felt sad and unhappy, or when she gently rocked me if I couldn’t sleep. My head was beginning to clear and I felt peaceful again. I wished that we could stay like this for ever. Living here with Marynia, who knew me so well, I felt safe.

  I felt Marynia take a deep breath and I knew she wanted to say something.

  ‘What is it, Marynia?’ I asked, not raising my head, still watching the dust making circles before me.

  Whatever she said, I’d do. I had promised myself this so that I would never have to leave, and there would be no reason for her to leave me. I would never put her in any danger. With bad things lurking round every corner, I felt at last that I understood what was expected of me; I wasn’t going to make any mistakes again. Then Marynia began to speak. At first I couldn’t take in what she was saying. The soothing beat of her heart was drowned out by the thudding in my ears. Bright lights flashed in front of my eyes.

  ‘What did you say?’ I asked, hoping that I had misheard her.

  ‘I said, my darling, that you can’t stay here.’

  ‘But why not?’ I asked, panic setting in and closing its cold fingers tightly round my heart.

  ‘I don’t have anywhere safe to hide you,’ Marynia replied. ‘Jusiek and I don’t know who is watching the house and if the Gestapo come here and look around there is nowhere to hide you.’

  Panic fixed its grip and began its familiar squeeze on my chest as my head began to spin.

  ‘But why can’t I just stop hiding? I don’t understand. What have I done? I have tried my best to be good and I know I argued with Zazula and that I didn’t always do as I was told when I lived at home but I have tried to be good, I really have. And I have promised that I will always do what you tell me and never disobey you. Please, Marynia, you can’t send me away. You can’t!’

  I was sobbing now. I felt the tears in my eyes running down my cheeks, wetting Marynia’s blouse where moments earlier I had happily laid my head.

  ‘Darling, it’s not because you’ve been naughty. You are such a good girl.’ Marynia took my face in her hands. ‘It’s just a wicked, wicked world and it’s because you are Jewish.’

  ‘Because I’m Jewish?’ I was so surprised that I stopped crying. ‘What do you mean because I’m Jewish?’ Zazula had said something about this too but I wasn’t sure what she meant and it seemed so long ago now. ‘Is being Jewish wicked? Is that why Mamusia and Babcia were taken away – because they were wicked?’

  ‘No, there is nothing wrong with being Jewish. You must never, ever think that,’ Marynia said sternly. ‘There is nothing wrong with being Jewish,’ she repeated. ‘It’s just that . . . just that . . . well, the Nazi soldiers don’t like people who are Jewish and they want to get rid of them.’

  This made no sense to me at all. What was she talking about? I was a good girl but the soldiers wanted to get rid of me. Nothing made sense and I felt that I was sinking deeper and deeper into a black hole and I couldn’t find a way out. I couldn’t stop myself falling. I couldn’t save myself. My mind was working fast. No Mamusia. No Babcia. No Aunt Adela. No Cousin Zazula and now no Marynia. This couldn’t be happening again.

  I thought for a moment and then blurted out, ‘I can stop being Jewish if you like. If I stop being Jewish can I stay with you?’

  ‘It’s not that simple,’ said Marynia, hugging me closer as she went on speaking. ‘To be honest, Renata, I really don’t understand it either. They don’t like Jews because they have dark hair and eyes and they say they have big noses.’

  This is what Zazula had said too. I felt as though a lifeline had been thrown into my dark pit – I could begin my escape. I was delighted and exclaimed, ‘But then I don’t need to hide because my eyes are blue and my hair is yellow and my nose isn’t big at all. So the Germans can’t know that I am Jewish. And anyway, how do you know that I am, Marynia?’

  ‘I know because your mummy has beautiful dark hair and very soft brown eyes.’ I tried to picture my mother’s face but it was fuzzy and kept floating away. I was beginning to forget what she looked like.

  ‘I can’t remember. Does she have a big nose?’

  ‘Well, maybe a little bigger than mine, but I wouldn’t have said it was big,’ replied Marynia.

  ‘And do you hate her?’

  ‘No, my love, I adore your mother. She is the most wonderful person. And you’re going to grow up just like her.’

  ‘I wish I could see her,’ I said, desperately trying to remember what she looked like. ‘When I’m grown-up, I’m going to be a teacher like her.’ I felt pleased that I had remembered something about her.

  ‘Now that’s a good idea,’ said Marynia. ‘She would like that, but you’re going to have to go to school and work very hard. She was very clever, you know.’

  ‘I’m going to be clever too. When can I go to school?’

  ‘Not just yet,’ said Marynia. ‘But soon, I promise. You’re not quite old enough and besides there are no schools open these days.’ She paused. ‘Now, Renata, I want you to be a good girl and I will tell you about the nice people you’re going to live with from . . . tonight.’

  ‘Tonight? But who are they?’ I asked. ‘What are their names?’

  I suddenly felt extremely tired. The thought of going to live somewhere else and this time with strangers was too much to bear. I started thinking about Mamusia again.

  ‘Renata, you’re not listening,’ I heard Marynia say.

  ‘No. I was thinking about Mamusia and Babcia.’

  ‘Well, listen carefully. The people you are going to are called Maciej and Hanka. They are very nice and they have a room where they can look after you. You are not going to be alone because there will also be a little boy about the same age as you, called Jan. It will be nice for you to have a playmate again. I have told them that you are very, very good and will do everything they say.’

  As much as I hated the idea of leaving Marynia, I did like the thought of having someone to play with again.

  ‘Who is Jan? Is he Jewish like me?’

  ‘Yes. He’s a nice boy. His mother has to work so she is paying Maciej to look after him.’

  ‘Do you have to pay for me?
’ I asked.

  ‘Renata, you ask too many questions. Yes, we do have to pay for you. No one does anything for nothing in this world any more. But we are happy to pay for you. Jusiek is earning well and we can afford to look after you. Now let’s pack your things, we must go this evening.’

  Chapter Seven

  November 1943

  It was nearly dusk when we set off. As we came out of the house, Marynia drew her shawl up over her head and held my hand tightly. She said nothing as she pulled me along the deserted streets until we reached a dark alleyway. With a quick glance over her shoulder, she turned into the narrow alley, dragging me behind her. After a few minutes she stopped outside a wooden front door. She knocked quickly and waited, gripping my hand even more tightly. Eventually the door opened to reveal a tall, thin man with a mop of blond hair who was dressed in brown trousers and a thick sweater of the same colour.

  ‘Hello, Maciej. I’ve brought Renata,’ Marynia said, gently pushing me forward, her hands planted firmly on my shoulders.

  ‘Hello,’ I said politely.

  The man looked down at me and smiled. I looked into his unshaven face. His eyes seemed kind – I thought I would like him – and I smiled back. He turned and beckoned us in. We followed him along the hall and up several flights of stairs. When we reached the landing the man pushed a partly open door and stood back to let us enter. The room was large and crowded with furniture. An old sofa covered in blankets stood in the middle of the room and to the side of it a rectangular wooden table with four chairs neatly tucked underneath, two on each side. Two mattresses lay on the floor against one wall and another two against the opposite wall. All were covered with grey blankets. Through another door in the third wall I spied a small lavatory. There was no kitchen, but a sink and a small stove stood in the corner nearest the window. The window was covered in black material. The room smelt of stale cigarettes.