The Things We Cannot Say

by Kelly Rimmer

  “Could I call out for him, do you think?” I asked Mama. She shook her head.

  “I have something to show you. Come back to the house for a few hours and you can search for him later.”

  Father greeted us at the door to the house, concern in his gaze.

  “Where have you been all of this time?”

  Mama pushed past him, then she announced, “Alina needs that help we discussed. Watch the road and the woods—there have been soldiers about.”

  Father nodded curtly, then positioned himself at the window in the kitchen. Mama walked across the room and pushed our table back, off the heavy rug it rested upon. She lifted the rug and I gasped, because attached to the bottom of the rug was a hatch. As Mama folded the rug over itself, she opened a roughshod doorway in our floor and revealed the entrance to a space below our house.

  “Mama!” I choked.

  “Hush,” she said impatiently. “It is what it is.”

  It was a second cellar, apparently a smaller storage space than the large one we had beneath the barn. This was a cellar that I’d never known about, in all my years living in that very house. I suppose I’d have noticed some unevenness in the floor if I’d walked over the rug—but I never had, because for as long as I could remember, the table had been in that very spot, right atop it. I walked to the edge to stare down into the space.

  There was a ladder, and while I was curious about what could be down there, the darkness seemed utterly suffocating and I had no intention of climbing down to find out. Mama turned back to the kitchen and started the little oil lantern that was kept on the bench there, which she passed to me. I held it silently as she climbed down the ladder, then she reached up, indicating for me to pass it to her.

  “Come,” she said.

  “But...”

  She waved the light around herself, to show me the space was larger than it first appeared, and her gaze grew impatient.

  “Alina, the darkness still frightens you? Death at the hands of Nazis for helping your outlaw boyfriend barely makes you blink, but climbing down a ladder makes you tremble? What nonsense, child.”

  So I followed her down the ladder, descending into the darkness. The air down there seemed thick, even with the latch open, even with the lantern on. I wasn’t sure I could survive two minutes in that place, but as soon as my feet touched the floor, I saw the food. There were dozens of jars of preserves, and a stockpile of potatoes, plus several sacks of flour and sugar. A basket of eggs rested on the floor.

  It was more food than the three of us would eat in months at the rate we’d been dipping into it. Dozens and dozens of morsels hidden for our use—every single one of which would guarantee death to my parents if the Nazis found this space.

  “How did you hide this from us?” I asked her breathlessly.

  “We started stockpiling long before the war, at the first hint of trouble in the papers. We moved everything we had into this space the day the invaders killed the mayor and Aleksy, and ever since we’ve been adding to it when we could—just in case things got worse. We only ever come down here in the middle of the night when we’re sure you’re asleep,” she said, then she laughed a little. “This is how we caught you ‘praying’ through your window all of those months ago. Father was waiting to put some eggs down and to bring up a little more jam. That’s when he heard you talking.” She tilted her head at me. “You were talking to Tomasz that night, yes?”

  I nodded, sighing.

  “He had only just returned then.” I digested this, then looked around again. I glanced at Mama again uncertainly. “Why didn’t you ever tell me about this?”

  “It is the responsibility of parents to provide for their children, and we happened to have a way to do that,” she said simply. “You didn’t need to know. It wasn’t as though we hid the cellar on purpose—in the early years, we didn’t tell you this space was here because we knew you children would make mischief if you knew of it. And we never intended it to be used this way. It was luck, not strategy—simply a hangover from back before your grandfather built the bigger cellar with the new barn.” Mama rested her hand on my shoulder very gently. “Perhaps this can be of use to Tomasz. There is no heat, but it never gets as cold down here. We can furnish him with this lantern—we can’t spare much oil, mind, but perhaps enough for when it’s necessary. And I have been saving the food strictly until it must be used, but with the boys gone and it being so hard to get supplies over to Truda and Emilia now, I just don’t think we can use it all in time. To see food waste in such hard times is the real crime.” She paused, then she said with a shrug, “It will please Father and I greatly if Tomasz can distribute this food to his Jewish friends. We have been looking for a way to help.”

  “Mama,” I whispered. “They would kill you if they found this.”

  “Well, Alina,” she said matter-of-factly, “there is a good chance that if they find Tomasz and learn that you have supported him, they will kill you too. We all take the risks we can handle in war.”

  “What does Father know?” I asked, glancing nervously toward the hatch.

  “He knows the same as I do.”

  “Tomasz served with the Wehrmacht,” I blurted. “In Warsaw. Does that make any difference to you?”

  Mama blinked at me, then she sighed.

  “A fine young Polish man like Tomasz Slaski would never work with those bastards unless he had no choice. Am I correct?”

  “You are,” I whispered.

  “Then, no, it will make no difference.”

  “And Father will let Tomasz hide in here?”

  “He lets you visit with him alone in the woods each day, so this isn’t too much different,” Mama said wryly. I felt the flush creep up my cheeks, and she laughed softly. “Why do you think I follow you? It is not just the soldiers you could get yourself in trouble with, child.”

  “When can Tomasz come?”

  “Wait another hour or two, then go find him and tell him to come tonight when darkness falls.”

  CHAPTER 17

  Alina

  I waited almost two hours, then I walked toward the woods as calmly as I could. My thoughts were racing—I was still trying to wrap my mind around the reality that my parents knew and that Tomasz could soon be living under our roof. When I reached the top of the hill, I saw him slip down from a treetop to rush toward me.

  “I saw them coming, and I saw you coming, but they were right below me and I couldn’t do anything,” he choked, pulling me close. “My God, Alina, I’m so sorry—I—We can’t do this anymore. It’s too risky, it was so stupid of me to—”

  “My parents know,” I blurted, and he braced himself as if he was about to sprint away. “Wait—they know, but they want to help you.”

  “Help me?” he repeated. He seemed incredulous at this, as if I’d suggested something completely absurd, and that broke my heart just a little more.

  “I told you they had food somewhere? There is another cellar. The hatch is under the rug beneath the table in our house. They said you can hide there.”

  Tomasz blinked, then he caught my shoulders in his palms.

  “Alina,” he said flatly. “This is very kind of your parents and very kind of you, but I can’t accept that offer.”

  “But why not?” I asked desperately. “It’s not safe out here, Tomasz. I’m so scared for you.”

  By the time I’d finished speaking I was sobbing, and he pulled me hard against his torso again.

  “They would kill you if they found me there and I can’t...” He choked against my hair. “It’s selfish enough for me to see you like this, but I thought they’d only link us if they caught us together. But if you hide me in your house...”

  “That is not your concern,” I said.

  “You are my concern.”

  “If that is true then you will grant me one small mercy and let us
help you in this way. My parents have been trying to figure out how to get the food to those who need it, so perhaps you are the answer to their prayers.” When he remained stiff within my arms, I added softly, “Tomasz...can you imagine how much help that food will be to this young family you are caring for?”

  “I...”

  “And there are others too? Others in hiding? Mama has a whole sack of potatoes.”

  “Can you just give me the food, moje wszystko?” he pleaded. “I’ll get it to those who need it. I don’t have to stay in your home where the Nazis might find me. If I were to do as you ask, I’d have to come to and leave your house at least once a day. It is far too dangerous.”

  I rocked back on my heels and crossed my arms over my chest.

  “Remember when you said I was spoiled, Tomasz?”

  “I...do...”

  “Well, I am accustomed to getting my own way,” I said flatly. “And I am not above blackmailing you when I know it’s for your own good. So you will come stay with us, or I will find another way to get the food to those who need it.” He stared at me impassively, so I raised my eyebrows and added slowly, “Maybe I can visit Nadia Nowak? Perhaps she has some ideas how I could distribute this food myself.”

  His eyes widened.

  “Alina Dziak,” he said incredulously. “That is...”

  “That is the deal.” I shrugged. “Take it, or leave it.”

  “You leave me no choice.”

  “That’s exactly what I was intending,” I said. He shook his head at me, clearly frustrated. “I have more tricks up my sleeve, Tomasz. Don’t make me use them.”

  “What are these tricks?” he asked, frowning harder now.

  I leaned forward and brushed my lips against his.

  “I will save them for the next time you underestimate me,” I said softly, then I brushed the hair back from his eyes. He was still frowning at me, so I kissed him again, then turned away to return to the house, calling softly over my shoulder, “Come once it’s dark. We’ll be ready for you.”

  CHAPTER 18

  Alice

  I go through the motions at home. Wade is working late, making up lost time for yesterday—he has some plastics project on that’s been causing him grief so I’m not surprised. As soon as the kids are in bed, I pour myself a glass of wine, put some music on and sink into the sofa.

  Alice plane Poland.

  It’s an absurd request. Completely unreasonable. Totally impractical.

  I just have no idea how I can ever decline it. If Babcia asked for the moon right now, I’d have to try to find a way to get it for her. And I think all she’s asking me to do is get on a plane, take some photos and come home. How quickly could I go? How quickly could I come back? I don’t even know where Trzebinia is. All I really know about the geography of Poland is that it’s in Europe, and Warsaw is the capital.

  I could look it all up on Wade’s laptop. It’s just within my reach, resting on the coffee table in front of me. I don’t reach for it. Instead, I listen to the music, and I wait until I hear Wade pulling into the garage.

  We haven’t spoken a word to each other since the argument last night, but even so, I know he’s going to bring flowers home with him tonight and he’ll be desperate to earn my forgiveness. Right on cue, he walks into the house carrying a bouquet of long-stemmed red roses and wearing a contrite expression. I set the wineglass next to the laptop as I stand, take the roses and accept the kiss he offers.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

  “Me too,” I whisper back.

  “How are the kids? How is Babcia? How are you doing?” Wade asks.

  “Why don’t you go get your dinner and I’ll fill you in while you eat?”

  * * *

  “...even if I wanted to go, it would be impossible.”

  Tonight, Wade has been listening in silence while I talk, and it kind of reminds me of our earlier years, when I was the chatty one and he was the calm, scientific one. It used to astound me that someone so brilliant seemed to have endless interest in whatever I had to say—in the early months of our relationship, we talked until the sunrise more than once, and I’d never felt so important before. We’re a long way from that place these days, but for a moment, it actually feels nice to remember that’s the kind of people we used to be together—almost like we’ve taken a brief vacation back to a special place we used to visit.

  Wade’s gaze is expressionless as he asks, “Do you want to go?”

  “It doesn’t matter what I want,” I say stiffly. “How could I possibly leave the kids?”

  He’s back in my good graces well and truly after listening to me prattle on and on about this for the last forty-five minutes, but in one fell swoop, he’s right back into my bad books.

  “Jesus, Alice,” Wade says. His exasperation is immediately on full display. “Give me at least a little credit. I have a PhD, for God’s sake. I can handle a few days on my own with two kids.”

  Red rage rushes in at me, so vivid and sudden that I can’t actually see past it. I’m a boiling, seething pile of fury and I have no idea what I’m supposed to do with all of this anger, so I just stare at him, my jaw hanging loose.

  “Really?” I say when my rage fades enough that I can bring myself to speak again. “It’s as simple as that, is it?”

  “Yes, it is that simple,” my husband says flatly. He leans back in the chair and crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m not saying I’d do everything your way, but we’d get by.”

  It’s my turn to lean back in my chair, and I exactly mirror his stance—crossing my arms over my chest and jutting my chin up a little.

  “And what would that look like, Wade? What would you do with Eddie, for example?”

  I’ve broken the unspoken rule of our family life: one does not draw attention to the elephant in the room. Wade’s lack of a relationship with Eddie is a ghostly specter we can all see, but we never directly address. The flush on my husband’s cheeks suggests he’s embarrassed by the question, but the impatience doesn’t fade from his glare.

  “He’d go to school. Like a normal kid.”

  “He can’t handle full-time school, Wade,” I say pointedly. “Even his teachers agree.”

  “Well, he’d deal with it for one week. Maybe it’s time we push him a bit more.”

  “Push him a bit more?” I repeat the words blankly, but I can feel my eyebrows drawing down as my face shifts into a derisive scowl.

  “Yes, Alice,” Wade says impatiently. He pauses, then he says carefully, “It’s just that sometimes, maybe, you coddle him a little—”

  “Coddle him?” I gasp, and that’s it—I am done. I slam my hands onto the table, ready to stand, but we’ve been married for ten years—Wade really does know me too well.

  “Don’t you dare storm off,” he groans. “You asked what I’d do, and I’m telling you. You have no right to cut me off just because you don’t like my answer.”

  “Do you have any idea how difficult it would be for Eddie if you just threw him into full-time school without planning or explanation?”

  “Maybe if you give the kid a chance, he could surprise you.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means that you were convinced something was seriously wrong with Eddie from the time he was a baby, and you’ve never given him a chance to prove you wrong.”

  “Oh sure, Wade. This is all me, isn’t it? The doctors and teachers and therapists are all wrong—”

  “I’m not saying he’s a typical kid. He’s clearly autistic, Alice. I’m not blind. I just think that maybe—” Wade starts out fiercely, but then the sound of that harsh tone echoing all around our kitchen must have bounced back into his ears because he winces and he pauses. When he speaks again, he pulls the aggression right back, until he’s speaking almost too gently. “I’m scared we under
estimate him, honey. That’s all. I’m just saying that maybe if you spent as much time challenging him as you do protecting him, maybe your life would look different. And if you’d just loosen the goddamned reins for just a little bit, then maybe I could—”

  I stand so fast and so hard that I tip the chair over and it crashes to the tiles. The sound is loud and it echoes all around us. Wade falls silent, but his determination to hold the line is evident. This argument is overdue. Maybe by weeks, maybe by years. Apparently we’ve both been looking for a reason to dump our cards on the table, and that time has now arrived.

  I don’t want to fight with him. I don’t want to hurt him. But I have to make him understand, and the only way I can do that is to be honest.

  “You couldn’t cope, Wade,” I blurt. He raises his eyebrows at me.

  “Are you kidding me? I’m responsible for three hundred people at work, Alice. I can deal with our kids for a few days. Christ, it would be a fucking holiday.”

  There’s an odd sensation within my chest—the splintering and shattering of something precious that had been straining under pressure for years. Truths unspoken are falling out all over the place today, and it turns out there is a straw that’s just too heavy for this old camel to carry.

  I spin on my heel and walk toward the family room. I slam the door behind me, and then I return to my armchair. I down the last of my wine in one gulp, then I reach for the laptop. I open the photo I snapped of Babcia’s notes, and I start rapid-fire Googling. It takes about two minutes to confirm some of the entries are addresses—and Google maps them easily, so I take that as some kind of cosmic confirmation and it amplifies my determination to help her. Next, I search for the names. I get a lot of pages—mostly social media pages for young people with the same arrangement of names, but then I find a Wikipedia page for Henry Adamcwiz.

  Henry Adamcwiz (1890-1944) was an American photographer known for his coverage of Nazi-occupied countries during World War II. He was part of an early but unsuccessful effort to alert American and British governments about increasing Nazi brutality toward the Polish Jewish population, working with the Zegota Council to arrange for couriers to smuggle film and documentation out of occupied Poland. He was executed by Nazi forces during the Warsaw Uprising in 1944...