by Kelly Rimmer
This voice was urgent—and alien. Saul was in the makeshift theater then, so I went out to see what the fuss was. I didn’t recognize this soldier’s uniform or the language he spoke. All I knew was that at the end of every sentence, he said a butchered version of the most beautiful words I knew.
“Thomas Slas-kee?” the man said, and I pointed toward the theater room, but the man pointed toward the administration block of the camp, and then he said, “British? Brytyjski? Thomas Slas-kee?”
Suddenly I understood—this man was British, and he had Tomasz. Clearly the delay in Tomasz’s arrival was because his plan had changed—he’d met up with the British somewhere else, and was finally back to get me! I squealed and I started to run to the administration block. I made plans as I ran. I would throw myself at him. I would smother him with kisses. The camp administrators would be confused because they thought I was married to someone else, but I couldn’t use restraint—I couldn’t. Once I saw Tomasz, I would never, ever let him go, not ever again.
There were more men in strange uniforms outside the admin block, and I approached one and asked desperately, “Tomasz Slaski?”
He looked at me blankly for a moment, then his eyes lit up, and he nodded and looked at me expectantly. And we stared at each other—each waiting for something. I quickly became impatient with him and moved on to another soldier, but got much the same result when I said Tomasz’s name.
“Hanna,” a deep voice said behind me, but it was Saul, not Tomasz, and I turned back to him frantically.
“They have Tomasz, Saul!”
“Hanna,” Saul said again very gently.
“Have you seen him? He’s here some—”
“Alina.” I froze, startled at Saul’s loud and unexpected use of my real name. His gaze softened. “These men are British—they are here delivering the uniforms, and they are looking for me. Do you understand? They have come to collect Tomasz, like we planned.”
I stared at him, trying to process the implications of this. Finally the terrible, terrible reality of my situation struck me.
Tomasz should have arrived by then.
Tomasz had not arrived, and we hadn’t made a contingency plan.
“I have to stay,” I blurted, shaking my head. “I can’t leave—he must still coming—he must be on his way—”
Saul caught my forearm and he pulled me into the administration block, and then into a room all on our own. He rested his hands on my shoulders, and he stared right into my eyes.
“You have to calm down and concentrate,” he whispered. “You have to think this through, very quickly. We’ve come so far with that film, Alina. That cast has been agonizing for months and you’ve endured it—for this moment. Tomasz is not here, but I am sure he’s still coming—he will not stop when he gets here and finds we’re gone. People at this camp will tell him where we went and he will find you. But... I can’t...” He broke off, suddenly frustrated. “Alina, if you stay here in these conditions, the chances of you and your baby surviving are slim to none, especially if I go with these soldiers—and I feel like I have to. How can I not tell someone about what is happening at home? How can I betray my wife and my baby and my people by wasting this chance to help?”
An hour later, I was sitting in the back of a transport with Saul, on our way to an airfield where I would board a plane for the very first time. We had no bags to take with us—the suitcase was long gone, and our only possessions in the world were the clothes we were wearing on our backs and the tiny leather shoe that Saul was still carrying absolutely everywhere he went, tucked into the waistband of his undergarments.
CHAPTER 38
Alice
Emilia Slaski is now Emilia Gorka. She’s retired from a very successful career as an artist, and she lives in a surprisingly luxurious apartment block with a view of Wawel Castle, just a half dozen blocks from my hotel. When I knock on the door to her apartment, my stomach is churning, and the anxiety only worsens when the door opens and Lia is there.
“I’m really sorry,” she says. “I was just trying to protect her.”
“Let them inside, Lia,” another woman chastises from deep within the apartment, and Lia steps aside. I suspected we shared a likeness from the thumbnail photos of her online, but there’s no question now that I’m related to Agnieszka Truchen. We share the same green eyes, and her hair is gray, but we have the same hairline, the familiar widow’s peak at the center. She approaches me and takes my hands between hers. She’s frowning, though, staring at me hard—and there’s an awkward moment where she just stares at me and doesn’t say anything, until she shakes herself and says, “It really is a pleasure to meet you.”
“Likewise,” I say, and she smiles. “And this is my guide, Zofia.” The woman nods toward Zofia, but then we fall into a lengthy silence again. Agnieszka is staring at me, but now she looks quite stricken. I’m confronted by our likeness too, but I don’t understand this prolonged awkwardness at all. “You must be Agnieszka?” I prompt.
“Yes, I’m Agnieszka Gorka-Truchen. I’m sorry,” she laughs softly. “I just didn’t expect you to look...” She trails off, then glances at me again, her eyes widening all over again, as if she can’t believe what she’s seeing. “Lia,” she scolds. “I can’t believe you ever doubted her.”
“I could see she was related,” Lia mutters. “But I told you, I thought she was here looking for money, and then I really didn’t want to upset...” She trails off, and they’re both staring at me, until I start to feel incredibly self-conscious. I gently pull my hands back and smooth my hair down. Agnieszka clears her throat, then explains, “Forgive us, Alice. Lia just didn’t explain that you’re so familiar, that’s all. Please—come through to the sitting area. Mama is so very anxious to meet you.”
Zofia and I follow her through to a large sitting area, lined with bookshelves and furnished with heavy, antique furniture. Seated in one of the deep leather chairs is a tiny elderly woman. Her hair is carefully set; she’s wearing heavy makeup and a set of ornate jewelry that’s almost as big as she is. She gasps when I step into the room, and I smile at her, but I kind of want to gasp too, because I actually look more like this stranger than I do my own grandmother.
I kind of figured I might share some physical features with my distant relatives here in Poland—but in this case, it’s so much more than a passing resemblance, and Agnieszka’s odd reaction when she saw me is starting to make sense, because I’m staring hard at Emilia like Agnieszka stared at me. Emilia stares right back, shock in her eyes—those eyes that are so uniquely colored, the same striking green that Eddie and I share.
Emilia reaches out her hands to me, and I see that they are shaking. I approach her hastily, and then because she’s sitting so low, I have to crouch to let her take my hands. Her skin is soft and wrinkled, just like Babcia’s, and she stares up at me in wonder—then her hands lift, until she’s cupped my face in hers. Soon, she’s crying—two heavy tears roll from her eyes and into the lined skin of her cheeks and onward, down toward her neck. She starts to speak in Polish—rapid-fire words loaded with those sounds that still seem so alien to my ears—and I’m not even sure who she’s speaking to or if she’s expressing happiness or sadness.
“Is she okay?” I ask Agnieszka, who has taken the seat beside her. Agnieksa’s eyes have filled with tears and she nods.
“She is overwhelmed. She’s not sure how this is possible. You are obviously my uncle’s grandchild. Tomasz,” Agnieszka murmurs. “Mama is saying that you could be her twin when she was younger. But—Tomasz died in 1942, before he could marry Alina, so we’re not really sure how she came to be pregnant by him.”
“Oh,” I say, and I frown and shake my head. I feel so awkward, because I can’t imagine it’s going to be easy for Emilia to hear the news that her brother did not, in fact, die during the war. But it needs to be done, so I draw in a deep breath and say, “I’m really
sorry but that’s just not right. Tomasz—my Pa—only died last year. He had a very long, very happy life in America.”
There’s suddenly a flurry of rapid-fire Polish—Agnieszka, Emilia, Lia and Zofia all taking turns firing speech at one another, while I stare back at Emilia as she cries and strokes my face. As the conversation progresses, they each raise their voices a little—and to my ears it sounds like an argument. They all fall silent abruptly, and Zofia touches my arm and says gently, “Alice, could we video chat to your grandmother, do you think? Emilia would like to see her.”
“Did you explain that she will be able to understand their Polish, but can’t speak back to them?” I say, pulling gently away from Emilia’s hands to glance at her. Zofia nods.
“I explained that. Emilia said she’d hop on a plane and go to America now if doctors weren’t all idiots, including her daughter. She’s not allowed to travel because of her health,” Zofia murmurs softly. I flash Emilia a smile, because that sounds exactly like something my grandmother would say, then I withdraw my mobile phone from my pocket.
“Are you going to FaceTime her?” Lia asks me, and I nod. She seems desperate to please now—a complete 180 degree turn from yesterday at the clinic. “Then let me get the big MacBook. Her eyesight isn’t the best. The bigger screen will help Babcia see.”
At first, I think she’s talking about my Babcia—but then I realize she’s talking about her own—and of course that makes sense, but it’s also kind of shocking after a lifetime of being the only person I know who has a grandmother called “Babcia” instead of “Grandma” or even “Nanna.” I place a quick voice call back to Mom. She’s at her chambers, but she agrees to go to Babcia immediately.
“Who is this we’re speaking to?” Mom asks me, somewhat suspiciously.
“We got through to the mysterious Emilia Slaski,” I tell her. “Pa’s sister.”
“I thought you said it was a dead end,” Mom says.
“It was,” I say. “The dead end opened up again.”
“Are you sure it’s the right person?”
I laugh weakly as I stare at Emilia.
“You’ll understand when you see her.”
While we wait for Mom to drive to the hospital, Emilia touches up her lipstick—her hand shaking as she raises it to her lips, but stilling as she uses it, and then she orders Agnieszka and Lia into the kitchen, where they prepare tea and a light supper for Zofia and I.
And the whole time, between ordering her family around in a matriarchal way I know all too well from my own Babcia and preening herself for a decades overdue reunion, Emilia stares at me. At one point, she reaches out and touches my forearm, then recalls her hand and shakes her head, as if she can’t quite believe what she’s seeing.
“She doesn’t seem upset to find out her brother was alive for all of that time,” I whisper to Zofia, who winces and says, “She doesn’t believe he was. Hopefully this call will straighten things out.”
Then the text comes from Mom.
I’m with Babcia now. She’s very alert today and I think she understands what’s happening. I’ll answer when the FaceTime call comes in, so go ahead whenever you’re ready.
“Ready?” I ask Lia, who speaks to Emilia in Polish. I pass the laptop to Lia, and we hear the familiar sound of the call connecting. Lia lines the camera up on the lap-table so that her great-grandmother’s face fills the screen. When the call collects, Emilia gives a gasp of recognition and delight, and then on a slight delay, a mirrored gasp travels over the line from Florida.
“Alina! Duz˙a siostra!” Emilia cries, and she reaches for the laptop and holds the screen between her palms. Her eyes fill with tears, and I shift so that I can see the screen. Babcia is propped up in bed, the stark white of the hospital pillow behind her, but she leans toward the camera on the iPad. There’s no mistaking the unadulterated joy on her face.
“She called her ‘big sister,’” Zofia whispers to me.
Emilia starts to speak in Polish but she’s speaking incredibly quickly. I look to Lia in alarm.
“I’m not sure my babcia is going to be able to keep up with her,” I whisper. Lia says a few hesitant words to Emilia, who rolls her eyes and says something to Babcia. Babcia rolls her eyes too, then gives an exasperated nod.
Zofia stifles a giggle.
“Emilia just told your grandmother that the young people assume they are stupid because they are old, and asked her if she can understand.”
Emilia speaks again, with much less force behind the words now—her tone is so gentle she could have been speaking to a sick child. Even so, the words flow in a steady and determined stream, and I wait for her to pause so I can ask Zofia for a translation, but no pause comes. After a while, I realize that I’m the only person in the room here in Krakow who isn’t struggling to hold back tears.
“Zofia?” I whisper urgently. Zofia shuffles to sit on the armrest of my chair, so she can whisper in my ear.
“So—firstly, Emilia’s adoptive parents were Alina’s sister and her husband—Truda and Mateusz. She says Alina saved her life, then found her a loving family that gave her a better life than she could have hoped for. She tells Alina that Truda and Mateusz survived the war and lived to a happy, fulfilled old age. Now Emilia is thanking her, and oh, that’s lovely...she’s exceedingly grateful to your grandmother, and she’s thanking the Blessed Mother for this chance to say thank you. It’s just beautiful.”
There’s more Polish now, but this time, Emilia is directing it at Lia and Agnieszka and Zofia.
“Okay,” Zofia says, softly. “Now she says that Tomasz had been working with the Zegota Council...” At my blank look, she explains, “The Polish government in exile set up a group to assist Jewish people during the occupation. Tomasz had been helping several groups in hiding, including a young doctor and his family... Emilia thinks the doctor’s name was Saul.”
“Saul Weiss?”
“I think we can assume so,” Zofia says absentmindedly, because she’s focusing hard on Emilia. “Right, so Tomasz had organized a way out of Poland for himself and for Alina, but when the day came for them to go, Saul and his family were discovered by the Nazis. It seems they had been hiding with a farmer, and the farmer had betrayed them all, Tomasz included.” Emilia begins to speak again, and I have to watch my grandmother’s heartbreak right there on the laptop screen, almost as if it’s a slow-motion stream. She’s not wailing, she’s not sobbing, but her face has crumpled and her tears flow as constantly as Emilia’s words do. Zofia sighs sadly. “Saul’s wife and baby had been killed...”
“Eva and Tikva...” I whisper.
Emilia is quietly crying now as she speaks, looking into the camera toward my grandmother.
“Tomasz had already planned an escape—he had agreed to act as a courier, to take a canister of film across the border and to meet up with some English soldiers. Alina was to travel with him, but Tomasz refused to leave once the Nazis learned his identity. He was concerned for Emilia and her adoptive parents, because at that time, the Nazis had been executing the entire families of those who aided the Jews. This meant that Alina had to go without him, and to take the film herself.”
“Wow,” I say. I glance back at the screen, and see my grandmother is still silently crying.
“Emilia says she was not at all surprised when Tomasz told her what Alina was doing, because Alina Dziak was the bravest girl she knew.” Zofia speaks to Emilia for a moment, then tells me, “It is like I told you at the grave—it was almost impossible to leave during the occupation. Alina had to be smuggled out of the Third Reich, across the Eastern Front and into Soviet territory, and then somehow she made it all the way to America.”
“She’s a tough lady,” I whisper. “Even so...that’s amazing. What was on the film?”
“Tomasz didn’t tell her, but Emilia figured it out much later. She thinks it was photos from Aus
chwitz.” Zofia pauses, listening a moment as Emilia begins to speak again. “Ah...so then they decided that Saul would go with Alina. Emilia...ah...she thinks that Saul probably took Tomasz’s identity papers too...”
It takes me a moment to process the implications of this. But then it hits me like a punch to the stomach, and the shock is so intense that I can’t even breathe. But there’s no time for me to linger in my panic, because Emilia is still talking and Zofia is still translating. I have to immediately refocus my attention on the conversation at hand.
“After Alina and Saul had left, Tomasz came to Emilia’s home early in the morning and he woke her family up. She says he was very distressed and in a desperate hurry. He gave Emilia a message for Alina, then he told her adoptive parents to flee immediately. After that, he ran to turn himself in.”
“Why would he do that?” I whisper. Zofia and Emilia talk for a moment, then Zofia turns to me again.
“Tomasz knew so much about the Jews in hiding in the area. He knew the Nazis would be determined to find him, and inevitably, that would mean checkpoints on the roads.” Zofia’s eyes flick from Emilia’s face to mine. “Emilia says he was quite frantic—he’d tried desperately to think of an alternative, but the only way to be sure the Nazis wouldn’t search Alina’s truck as it left the district was to end the manhunt...and there was only one way he could do that...” I bite my lip, glancing hesitantly at Babcia. She is sobbing, and my mother is hovering helplessly beside her. Emilia continues in a hoarse whisper, and Zofia translates, “Emilia says now that it is an honor to finally deliver her brother’s message...that he’d be waiting for Alina on the other side because, even in death, he would keep his promise that they would be reunited.”
I look at the MacBook screen. My grandmother’s jaw hangs loose, and she lets out a moan of sheer grief that makes me sick to my stomach.