The Things We Cannot Say

by Kelly Rimmer

  But I couldn’t look away, and it was Tikva I stared at as I walked. As I came closer, the stench of blood became overwhelming, and my stomach turned over again and again. I battled to clamp down the urge to retch, but I walked to Saul’s side, and I sat right beside him as Tomasz had done.

  “Hello, Saul, it’s Alina,” I said, very gently. “Tomasz is going to get you fresh clothes. I’m going to stay with you. You are not alone. We are here for you.”

  The man turned to me, and I could see him trying to focus his gaze.

  “Thank you for your kindness, Alina,” he choked out. I nodded once, and as I went to look away again, he blurted, “I don’t know if they caught Jan or if he turned us in. But he must have told them everything—everything—where we were hiding, how we were surviving. They wanted us to give Tomasz up, they told Eva they’d let her go if she told them where to find him but she was far too smart for that, my beautiful, brilliant wife. But then they took Tikva from Eva’s arms—”

  “You don’t have to tell me,” I whispered hastily, but he didn’t seem to hear me.

  “—and they put her on the ground and they shot her in the chest because they thought then we’d talk—but didn’t they realize? Once they shot her, we had nothing left to survive for anyway. And then my wife...”

  It occurred to me then that he wasn’t speaking for my benefit at all. This was a repeat of those moments with Emilia each Sunday, on my own front steps. Just like little Emilia, Saul just needed to tell someone what had happened to his family, and I happened to be the only bystander now that he was ready to talk.

  “Eva was hysterical, and the soldier who was holding her—he threw her against the wall and she went quiet and I could see her skull was... I tried but...it was...no... So I was hoping I’d be next and we could travel together to the afterlife but I didn’t flinch or try to fight to get away once the others were gone. The sergeant was so angry that I didn’t struggle...he said to leave me. He said it was a worse punishment to let me alone to die slowly.” Saul’s voice broke again. “I begged them to shoot me. I want to be with my family.” I didn’t know what to say to that, and all I could think was to do as Tomasz had done, and to slide my arm over Saul’s thin shoulders. He slumped forward again, utterly broken as he whispered, “How God must hate me...to leave me to suffer like this? Surely...”

  “Don’t you say that,” I said fiercely, and Saul startled, as if he’d only just noticed I was there. I was sorry to speak so harshly to him—but I knew all too well that the only way we’d survive the darkness was to hold on to a vestige of hope. There was nothing else I could do for Saul, except to keep my arm on his shoulder, and point him back to what he still had—and all that he had was his faith. “You must believe that if God allowed you to survive this far—there is a purpose to it. You must believe that there is work left for you to do on this Earth before you are released to peace. Hold tight to what you have left, Saul Weiss. And if all you have left is your faith, then you cling to it with every shred of strength you have left—do you hear me?”

  He blinked at me. For a minute, I thought I’d gone too far, and I was shaken by an intense regret. Who was I to speak so harshly to this Jewish man about his faith—in the very moment when he nursed the cooling bodies of his entire family? Saul’s shuddering breaths were coming harder and faster, but then he nodded sharply, and he turned his head toward the fields and he closed his eyes.

  The string of words that burst from his lips was a language I didn’t know, but our traditions were irrelevant in that moment—the depths of his loss transcended every one of our differences. We weren’t Jew and Catholic, we weren’t even man and woman—we were simply two human beings, grieving an inhuman act.

  I squeezed my eyes tightly closed so I didn’t accidentally look down at the face of the baby beside me, and I bowed my head while Saul and I prayed together.

  * * *

  Tomasz was very quiet when he returned, carrying two full pails of supplies, and with a set of clothing for Saul over his shoulders. He emptied the supplies onto the ground, then filled the pails at the well nearby. While I sat some distance away to give them privacy, my wonderful Tomasz helped Saul to clean the bodies, and finally, he helped Saul to bathe and dress himself.

  Saul insisted on digging the grave, but he was just too weak and eventually he had to accept help. He would labor with visible difficulty until he had to stop, then Tomasz would work furiously until Saul had rested and was ready to take another turn. There wasn’t time for depth or care—instead, they were seeking only to give Eva and baby Tikva the dignity of a resting place.

  Saul carried his wife into the grave first. He was almost calm in that moment, as he carefully set her down and spoke to her gently, then he kissed her forehead. The calmness disappeared when Tomasz handed him the body of his infant daughter. Saul began to wail again, loudly and inconsolably. He bent to place the baby on Eva’s chest, then he carefully wrapped her arms around their daughter. At the very last minute, Saul bent again and took one of the tiny leather shoes from Tikva’s feet. As I watched that man climb reluctantly away from the family he was leaving in the earth, I knew how desperately he wished to be staying with them.

  After Tomasz filled the grave, Saul dropped to his knees beside it, and he prayed aloud around shuddering sobs, clutching that tiny shoe against his chest.

  Tomasz wiped his eyes and jogged to my side. We embraced, and he whispered thickly, “We’re running out of time.”

  “I know,” I whispered back. “But...we can’t leave him here. Is there anyone else we can take him to?” Tomasz stepped away from me, and he stared at me then. “No,” I said automatically. “No, Tomasz. We can’t stay here! You said it yourself, if we stay—”

  “I have no intention of us staying,” he interrupted me. “It’s not safe for you—they know your name, they know what you look like—you cannot stay, Alina. There is no chance I am going to sit by and watch while—”

  “They know who you are too now,” I exclaimed. “Did you not hear what Saul said? This is exactly why we have to leave.”

  “They know who I am, which means it is only a matter of time before they figure out who Emilia is,” Tomasz said abruptly. I hadn’t thought of that, and as he said it, my stomach dropped. “I have to tell my other friends to flee. I have to warn your sister and get Emilia to safety. But...” He grabbed my upper arms in his palms and he held me tightly, his gaze hard on mine as he whispered, “Alina, you must go. We can’t miss this chance.”

  “What? No! I can’t go alone, Tomasz!” I cried in shock, and his beautiful green eyes pleaded with me as his voice broke on a sob.

  “I know. I know that is too much to ask, and yet, I am asking even more of you than that.”

  I stared at him blankly, and then his gaze tracked back to Saul, still sobbing on his knees by the grave.

  “Tomasz...”

  “He is weak. He is in shock. You are going to have to carry him, if not physically, then emotionally. But you’ll see, once he’s well. He is qualified—a fully equipped specialist with immense knowledge and skill...he can do so much good. He can help hundreds, maybe thousands of people. It would be unforgivable for me to go tonight when he could go in my place.”

  “No! Don’t ask this of me! I can’t—”

  “Please, moje wszystko.”

  “I can’t go without you.”

  “I’m begging you, Alina,” Tomasz said. He was still staring down at me with that same intense expression, but I heard the shift in his tone. He had made up his mind, and nothing I said was going to change it.

  “How would this even work? Does he even have identity papers? Won’t they be Jewish identity papers? Will they even admit him to the camp?”

  “We can’t risk it,” Tomasz murmured. He released me gently, and I opened my eyes to see him reach into the pocket of his trousers. He carefully withdrew a card, which he
opened to show me. Illuminated only by the moonlight, I saw his tattered passport. There was a tiny photo of him on the page, but the image was worn and so dark, even I might never have recognized him. “It is from before I even left for college, back when Father used to take me on vacations. Surely the camp will never know the difference. This photo looks nothing like either of us now that we both have beards. And his hair is darker, but the photo is so dark... I am sure he can pass. I am sure of it.”

  “I don’t want to do this,” I choked.

  “It’s not forever,” Tomasz said, then he stopped to draw in a desperate breath. “As soon as my other friends are safe—as soon as Emilia and your sister are safe—I will find a way to come after you. Henry will arrange to get me false papers, and we will meet up in Buzuluk.”

  By then, we were both sobbing—clutching at each other, each one of us desperate to change the other’s mind.

  “I’m not strong enough to do this. I’m not brave enough. I’m not clever—”

  “You are all of those things, Alina Dziak, and more,” Tomasz said fiercely. “You are the fire that keeps my heart beating and the fuel that has powered my dreams even through this war. You are my everything. I know you better than anyone else, and that’s the very reason I am trusting you and pleading with you to lead this man to safety tonight.”

  I couldn’t say no to him. I wanted desperately to—to refuse, to plead weakness, to plant my feet in the soil of my homeland and to cling tightly to Tomasz, even if it meant death.

  But I couldn’t let him down. I couldn’t disappoint him. And even at the time, I understood that this was something Tomasz needed to do. Before we could start our life afresh, he simply had to absolve himself of the guilt of his compliance with the Wehrmacht in Warsaw. Given the depth of his loss and the impossible circumstances Saul now faced, Tomasz would never be able to resist the opportunity to offer safe passage from Hell to the man who had once done the same for him.

  “Please, moje wszystko,” Tomasz whispered. “Please.” I caught his head in my hands and I kissed him then, and that kiss said everything there wasn’t time to say. “We will always find our way back to each other, Alina,” he breathed, when we broke apart. “Our love is bigger than this war—I promise you that.”

  CHAPTER 32

  Alice

  Babcia’s next address leads us to a medical clinic, situated in a huge historic building at the corner of two quiet streets. The building has been lovingly and lavishly restored—there’s a wheelchair ramp built at the front door, and an automatic sliding glass door. Zofia tells me the large sign above the door simply says Trzebinia Medical Clinic, and none of the physicians’ names listed on the sign end with “Slaski.”

  “That would have been a bit too easy,” Zofia laughs.

  But my eyes have fallen to a bronze plaque beside the front door, because although it’s in Polish, one word does indeed say Slaski.

  “Actually,” I say wryly, and I point to the plaque.

  Zofia’s eyes widen, then she reads quietly, “‘In memory of Dr. Aleksy Slaski. An example to all of leadership and courage, 1939.’” Zofia offers me a sad smile. “Hmm. Perhaps we are on the right track after all.”

  I take some photos of the plaque and the building, then I follow Zofia inside the door and survey the interior. It’s midafternoon, and there are only two people sitting in the patient chairs—but behind the reception desk, a young woman and man are seated. The young man is talking on the phone, but the woman sets her headset down as we enter the room, and she stares at me with an intensity that makes me quite uncomfortable. I wonder what it is about my appearance that gives away that I’m the outsider, not Zofia. As we approach the desk, Zofia greets the receptionists in Polish, then gestures to me and introduces me, but she flicks back to English as she says, “Alice is here from the United States researching her family history. We believe Aleksy Slaski may have been her great-grandfather.”

  “Actually, that’s not possible,” the young woman interrupts Zofia, and she gives us a polite but apologetic smile.

  “Why do you say that?” Zofia frowns.

  “Well, Aleksy Slaski was my great-grandfather, and my grandmother was his only child.”

  At first, I’m not sure whether I should be disappointed or confused, but I quickly settle on confused, and so I decide to clarify.

  “Was your grandmother Emilia?”

  The woman’s eyes widen, then she concedes carefully, “Yes, she is...?”

  “Well,” I say, and my heart starts racing as I realize we’ve stumbled upon a link to someone who’s actually on Babcia’s list. And the receptionist said is, not was, so... Emilia is alive! “That’s fantastic—I was really hoping we could track her down—”

  “Perhaps we should have a chat in private,” the woman murmurs. She rises and motions toward a hallway. “Please, follow me.”

  She closes the door behind us as we step into a small meeting room. The woman is still offering that same polite smile, but she’s crossed her arms over her chest and her gaze has narrowed just a little.

  “What exactly is it you want from Emilia?” she asks me directly. “Is it money?”

  “Oh no,” I say, shaking my head. “I don’t want anything from her, just to connect with her. Tomasz Slaski was her brother, and he was my grandfather.”

  Now, the hint of suspicion in the woman’s gaze becomes more pronounced.

  “I’m really sorry, that’s not possible.”

  I give her a confused smile and start to counter with, “It’s definitely—”

  “I don’t know where you are getting your information from, but Tomasz Slaski died in 1942,” she interrupts me gently. I share a confused glance with Zofia. “I’m quite certain about this. I visit his grave with my grandmother sometimes.”

  “But...” Memories rise to the forefront of my mind. I think about my grandfather’s gentle hugs and the way his rare bursts of laughter could light up a room. He was more alive than just about anyone I know, purely because of the way he threw his arms around life, as if he was constantly searching for an opportunity to make a difference or to give love. But this young woman doesn’t know that, and she’s looking at me with overt sympathy now.

  “Tomasz is not an uncommon name in Poland, nor is Slaski. I think you have the wrong family.”

  “But your great-grandmother was Julita, yes?” Zofia prompts.

  “Yes, but...”

  “I’m not sure what the confusion is, but I know we have our facts straight,” Zofia says. “I did the family history research myself. Aleksy and Julita Slaski were definitely the parents of Tomasz Slaski, born in 1920, and he is Alice’s grandfather.”

  “Well, I’m sorry,” the woman says, and she’s just a little defensive now, “but I’m not mistaken, either—not about this.”

  I’m getting a little desperate here, so I try a different tack.

  “What’s your name?”

  “I am Lia Truchen.”

  “It’s really nice to meet you, Lia,” I say quietly, hoping to get the conversation back onto a warm footing and disperse this odd tension that’s starting to rise. “The thing is...my grandmother is ninety-five now and she’s quite unwell. She left Poland during the war and wasn’t ever able to return. My mother thinks that my grandmother used to send letters to Emilia, maybe even hundreds of letters over the years, trying to get back in touch once the war was ended. We’re not sure exactly what she wanted, but it seemed to be very important to her.”

  “Emilia is also very old, and she’s also quite unwell,” Lia says quietly. “I’m sure you understand why I don’t want to upset her. If she didn’t reply to your grandmother’s letters, there must be a reason.”

  Lia is trying very hard not to be rude—if anything, her gaze is pleading with me for understanding. And I do understand her wanting to protect her grandmother—probably better
than most, but that doesn’t mean I can let this go.

  “Perhaps they could just talk on the phone—”

  “Emilia is very frail...” Lia says, a little firmer now.

  “Maybe...” I feel this moment slipping away from me, so I fumble to get Lia back on side. “I don’t want to upset your grandmother, either—that would be terrible. But perhaps if you could tell her about my grandmother, perhaps she might be interested—”

  “Who is your grandmother?”

  “My grandmother is Hanna Slaski—” I say automatically.

  But Zofia says at the same time, “She was Alina Dziak before her marriage.”

  “Alina or Hanna?” Lia looks at us, her suspicion no longer hidden at all.

  “It’s complicated,” I sigh, then I briefly explain the morning’s events. “But the point is, Emilia might know her as Hanna or Alina. But she’s definitely Slaski. The surname we’re sure of, because she took it when she married my Pa.”

  “Well, she’d be Alina Slaksa if she’d married a Polish man,” Lia points out. I look at Zofia in confusion, and she nods.

  “Well, yes. It is Polish convention to change some suffixes to denote gender—a female would generally be ‘Slaksa’ rather than ‘Slaski.’ But I see this all the time with American clients—the convention generally does not persist after immigration.”

  “It doesn’t matter anyway—I don’t know her by either name. I’m sure my grandmother has never mentioned her.” Lia sighs. “I still think you’ve got the wrong family, or perhaps the wrong town.”

  “No, my grandmother definitely said Trzebinia, and we even found her childhood home. Besides, all of the other details line up,” I say. I look to Zofia, then double-check, “Am I missing something here?”

  “Everything lines up,” Zofia says, frowning at Lia now. “Alice and I are quite sure of our facts. Are you sure the disconnect isn’t at your end?”