“I’m coming home on Thursday. I can’t take this anymore.”
“Thursday.” Sophia hesitated. She had to think fast. She wasn’t giving up Thursday with Dirk.
“All right. Sounds like a good idea. I’m spending the night at Sonya’s house. I’ll see you on Friday,” she said, trying to sound soothing.
“Who the hell is Sonya?” Barth raised his voice.
“I’ve mentioned her a million times. My favorite yoga teacher. The ballerina. That’s why her yoga instruction is so on point, so to speak. She commiserated, and we decided to have a girls’ night.” Sophia marveled at the ease of her spontaneous invention.
“What did you tell her?” he demanded.
“Just something general,” she replied.
“I need you with me,” he protested.
“You should have thought of that before you leaped into sex with Keith. Now you need me.”
“Touché. See you on Friday.”
She was just about to end the call when she heard Barth whisper urgently, “I love you dearly, and I miss you.”
Sophia didn’t say anything in reply but thought, as she ended the call, Yeah, now you need me all right.
Before she could obsess about Barth’s betrayal once again, she was saved by the bell. Lili was at the door looking radiant and striking in a purple, red, and lime-green concoction, an original she had whipped up. She sported a new chic close-cropped haircut.
“I’m so happy to see you. Especially looking so wonderful in every way. That color combination and cut is amazing. And your new haircut is flattering. You’ve shorn off all those locks!” Sophia wrapped Lili in her arms, breathing in her almond-scented hair with relief and gratitude.
“You know I saw that color combination in a Louis Vuitton luggage or bag ad or something. The model was draped around three old-fashioned cases—purple, red, and lime green. And I thought what gorgeous colors, and voila, here’s my creation,” she said. She spun around, twirling the long tri-colored, collarless jacket, which fell back into place smartly over the tight royal-purple ankle-hugging pants.
“What do you want to drink?” Sophia asked, bustling into the kitchen. “Coffee, tea?”
“Wine. White,” Lili said.
“I had the most delicious Chablis last night. Unfortunately, it’s all gone.” She recalled Dirk, a lusty shudder shaking her as her buttocks twinged.
“You drank a whole bottle of wine?” Lili asked.
“No, two. But I had company. That’s another story. Maybe for later. You’re here to talk about you,” Sophia emphasized.
“Let me get the wine. I’ll be right back.”
Sophia returned with a bottle of Viognier on ice and two glasses.
“I’m going to join you. Viognier is great for an afternoon tipple,” Sophia said, beaming at Lili.
She sat down on the buttery couch next to Lili, busying herself with pouring and serving the wine. “You know, the Honey Pot is a really nice place. I realized that once I got over the shock of my discovery and went through some mental adjustments. The bartender, Maria, was helpful too. Now I know you’re gay, and you’re either moving or going someplace for quite a while. Care to fill in the details?”
“Maria is a doll. I know, I know. It’s a lot to digest. I’m sorry I was such a withholding bitch. I’m completely in the wrong. You have every right to be peeved and not just a little bit,” she said.
“I forgive you from the bottom of my heart. I want to have a real relationship with you. I want to accept you as you are. But I can’t do any of that if you won’t let me in. I guess you haven’t let me in for a very long time. I feel we’re repeating my mother-daughter relationship. So it’s my fault, too,” Sophia continued. “I allowed the distance. I never spoke up when I felt you shutting me out. I allowed my narcissism to keep me at a distance as well. Also my fear of rocking the boat. I didn’t want to argue with you, so I kept quiet and didn’t ask any questions that might upset you. I was afraid I’d push you further away,” Sophia lamented.
“Morton taught me well. Dad was the master of secrets and lies. He was my role model for compartmentalizing my life. Keep separate little pockets of this and that, and don’t mix them up.” Lili said. “Dad would spend those nutty free-fall Morton weekends with me when I was a kid, taking me everywhere with him. Bars, cafés, women’s houses, even a strip club once. It was early, and he knew the owner, and he let him in with me. I was probably ten.”
Lili grimaced. “Once he took me to this crazy woman’s house. I was five or six. She had another crazy friend over there. They had tons of makeup on, very few clothes, and their cigarettes were stuck into long elegant cigarette holders. One was yellow, and one was red. I remember that vividly. And the three of them were getting drunk and smoking weed. They were falling all over each other. I already knew about weed at that age. And getting drunk. Isn’t that sick? He plopped me down in a corner with a sketchpad and expensive colored markers as if I were invisible and blind instead of just young, saying ‘Stay put, honey. Daddy has to take a nap. I’ll be right back.’ And the three of them left the room, loud and lascivious.”
“The bars were my favorite. He would settle me down with a Coke and chips while he did his thing. At least he stayed in the same room, and no one got too crazy, usually,” she said. “I never told anyone these things. Not even Chanel. It feels so good to be telling you at last.” Lili exhaled. “I felt embarrassed. As if I were Dad.”
“I’m so sorry. I let you go off with a monster. How could he expose you to all of that? I had no idea,” Sophia said, scalding tears streaming down her cheeks.
“How could you know? Who would conceive of it? That’s my point, though. That’s how I learned to keep big and little secrets. He never threatened me or anything like that. He was chummy. He just told me these outings were our secret and not to tell Ma ever about any of it, or you wouldn’t let me go out with him anymore. I felt terribly special and grown up. Even though I also felt scared and bewildered a lot of times. But the pull to be with him was strong. Like a current of electricity, quiet and powerful, always thrumming along. I felt a connection to him that ran deep, and I would do anything to keep that connection. I never put these feelings into words.” Lili marveled.
“Oh, Lili.” Sophia blew her nose, wiping her tears away. “I’m glad you wanted wine. We need it,” she said, refilling their glasses. “Your father could be an atrocious man. The events leading up to his murder smack of poetic justice. I hate to sound so vindictive, but he treated his daughter and his wife shabbily. Only thinking of his own good time. A Rabelaisian character. Larger than life, coarse, humorous, insatiable, impossible.
“Poetic justice. Let’s not talk about him anymore. That was horrible when you found him dead. Then when you ferreted out the whole truth, it was more horrible. I feel at peace right now after telling you about him. You’re a good listener, Ma. Oh, right, it’s your job.” She laughed.
“Who’s Chanel? You said you never told anyone, not even Chanel,” Sophia said.
“She’s my honey. I just proposed, and we’re getting married in New York right after the New Year. Then we’re moving to Rouen. We’re trying out a design business. Her aunt lives there. Oh, she’s French. From Paris. We met at Parsons Paris, and then she came back to New York with me. She’s wonderful. I can’t wait for you to meet her,” she said, the words spilling out helter-skelter.
“There’s so much. Chanel, marriage, the move. I’m bowled over. I don’t know when or what you were going to tell me.”
“Neither did I, believe it or not,” admitted Lili.
And they both laughed, embracing each other.
“Let me make us something to eat. Enough revelations for one day. There’s a reason a therapy session is only fifty minutes long. That’s the time limit for soul searching and disclosures. Keep me company while I make spinach-and-feta omelets, and then we’ll turn to happier, lighter topics. I‘ve had enough Morton for a lifetime.”
Sophia smiled. �
�Help me plan my UnChristmas with Jack. We’re eating Asian food and doing untraditional things. I’m dedicating it to Ma, who loved Christmas in spite of herself. I decided we would have a Holocaust film marathon on Christmas Eve, and on Christmas day, we’d watch the two versions of Happy New Year. The French version is playing at the Cinematheque, and I have the American one here. For the three Holocaust films, I thought we’d watch Everything is Illuminated, Defiance, and The Counterfeiters. No Steven Spielberg or soap-opera claptrap. The genuine articles,” Sophia said.
“Ma, you’re so inventive. It could become a twisted tradition. A Holocaust film marathon on Christmas Eve. How droll,” Lili said.
“I have a great idea,” Sophia said, cracking eggs into a bowl. “Why don’t you and Chanel join us? You love Jack. It would be perfect. That is, if you don’t have plans.”
“We don’t, and yes, it’s a great way for you to meet Chanel,” she said, kissing Sophia. “By the way, why are you celebrating here? Why aren’t you in Key West with Barth?”
“We had a falling out. He went early. I stayed. I’ll tell you about it some other time. Just like we’ll reserve the conversation about your coming out for some other time. All in good time. Rome wasn’t built in a day. I’m delighted we’ll be together, Lili. That’s what matters.
“Now let me finish these omelets so we can eat and plan our celebration.”
CHAPTER 20
The next morning, Sophia awoke feeling happy and hopeful. The time with Lili had turned out well. Christmas Eve and Christmas Day would be better with Lili and her fiancée there. And Thursday with Dirk. She couldn’t wait.
Maybe everything did happen for a reason. Barth’s transgression had opened up a whole new world for her. She never would have met with Dirk otherwise. She wouldn’t have snooped around Lili’s place.
The hallucinatory experiences were nagging at her. She needed to see that horny toad Dr. Clyde again. She was avoiding it.
Sophia wandered into her walk-in closet and took down the death book and one of the boxes filled with her mother’s things. She overlooked the death book in favor of a silver-and-ivory brush, comb, and mirror set. With Dirk in my life, I don’t need the death book. The thought popped, unbidden, into her head.
Sophia sat on her stool, mindlessly stroking the soft, ineffectual blond bristles of the brush, then turning the brush over to stroke the ornate, heavy back, almost in a trance. When the phone rang, Sophia jumped up, startled, dropping the brush and jarring loose the backing, which slid sideways.
It was Lili’s ringtone.
“Good morning, darling,” she said.
“Good morning, Ma. Good news. Chanel would be glad to meet you. She’s relieved that we are now an open book.”
“Great. Can you come over a few hours early? Maybe we can talk some more about you. I’m hungry for everything now.”
“Yes. That’s exactly what I had in mind. That’s what I want.”
“I’ll see you at three? Chanel can come at five or so to help with last-minute things before Jack shows up at six.”
“When is Barth returning? I want her to meet him too.”
“He’s coming home on Thursday. You two will be sailing off into the sunset soon. We can’t make up for lost time, but we can set a precedent. From now on, we’re a communicating family. We’ll lift the Werniczewski Holocaust curse. No more hiding in dark corners, fearful of discovery,” Sophia said.
After they ended the call, Sophia felt like a hypocrite. She didn’t want to tell Lili about Barth or Dirk. Here she was triumphantly raising the banner of truth and nakedness while wanting to stay cloaked in mystery.
We’ll see. It’s a work in progress. If one person changes, the whole family system will inevitably change. She knew this from her training as well as from her experience.
Sophia returned to the closet. Sitting back down on the stool where she had left the dropped brush, she noticed a corner of the distinctive lightweight translucent onionskin paper her parents used to write their airmail letters, poking out of the side of the disturbed brush backing. There also was the yellowed scalloped edge of a photograph revealed with the stationery.
As she bent down to pull out these finds, the air filled with a strong smell of garlic accompanied by a familiar charred odor. Sophia straightened up, the brush and its hidden treasures forgotten. The brush slid out of her fingers, the air thickening, descending like a heavy blanket on her shoulders, smothering present time.
The watery wonderland produced by the intersection of the Narew and Biebrza Rivers, overflowing in spring, fostering lush vegetation, teeming swamps, and a myriad of majestic waterfowl, all manner of ducks, geese, swans, herons, egrets spread out before her hallucinating eyes. Ancient silt, stone, and ever-rushing water filled the hot summer air with tangy mineral scents. The breathtaking tranquility of this Garden of Eden merged into ugly crude wooden structures as the town of Jedwabne appeared.
A scorching day, July 10, 1941, in Northeast Poland. On Przystrzelska Street, the Poles welcomed the Nazis to their town. A triumphal arch festooned with swastikas and a portrait of Hitler, flew a red banner, proclaiming, “Long live the German army, which liberated us from the horrible grip of the Judeo-commune.”
A band of angry townspeople wielding axes, wooden clubs studded with nails, and szabla, herded scores of Jewish men down the street, forcing them to pick up an enormous stone statue of Lenin and carry it to a large hole they had dug.
The men staggered, trembling under its weight, bore the statue to its prepared grave. They were forced to sing Dabrowski’s Mazurka while bearing Lenin’s impossible monumental weight. The Poles indiscriminately lit some of the men’s long black beards on fire, causing the day to heat up even more as the air filled with the unsettling acrid smell of burning hair and flesh, which mingled with the sharp onion odor of sweat.
After their burden was dropped into the earth’s depths, the killing began in earnest. “Every Jew must die,” they shouted over the enforced singing. Guns appeared amid the medieval weapons, and scores of humiliated Jewish men, some singing, some burning, some fainting, some screaming, were shot and killed, joining Lenin in his grave. More Jews were forced to cover the mass grave.
Those Jews, shuddering, bewildered, were forced to dig their own graves before being killed and replaced by another group. The angry mob tired of this systematic murder. They began to improvise and branch out. One furious man decapitated the baker’s beautiful daughter and several Poles tossed the head about, bloody and warm, as if it were a soccer ball.
The angry mob was stoning, clubbing, sabering, drowning, raping. It had become a killing frenzy, bloodlust unleashed at full throttle. They were like a school of frenzied insatiable piranha, who, once the blood is let, hungered for more and more.
Now they came together as if they shared one thought, one purpose. They shouted rabidly, “Blood for blood. You kill our innocent babies for matzo blood. You must all be punished. Christ killers!”
As if they had planned it, the crowd herded hundreds of Jews into Sleszynski’s capacious wooden barn, the wood dry as tinder in the relentless summer heat, for their murder. Some played their musical instruments in a cacophonous attempt to drown out the screams and cries.
Then the gut wrenching, sickening stench of burning human flesh grew stronger and stronger, transforming the air into a foul fetor.
And still this was not enough for the rabid mob, lusting for complete carnage. They sent several of their number to round up the elderly, sick, and very young souls who were not present to be fodder for the flames. Every Jew must die. The old and infirm were dragged or carried into the flames while the babes were pitchforked right through and flung onto the fires.
While the Jedwabne natives did their worst, the Germans, cool and collected, impeccable record-keepers that they were, meticulously photographed the massacre.
The aftermath was so abhorrently repellant that many Poles refused to bury the dead. They were sickened by the sight
of a top layer of charred bodies, blackened, shrunken down to stick figures, giving way to asphyxiated corpses underneath that became inextricably intertwined with one another. An incoherent, flattened mass of indistinguishable melded flesh and bone. They did pillage, taking what they could. Gold teeth. Whatever.
“Cry for us for we cannot cry for ourselves. Cry for us. Cry for us for we cannot cry for ourselves.” The song rung out like a Greek chorus commenting on the sidelines. The phrase echoed in her head.
Sophia came back to the present to find herself still on her closet stool, her face slick with silent tears, her eyes raw. She was utterly overwhelmed and crawled into bed, weakened, where she welcomed a comatose sleep.
She awoke several hours later feeling as if she were surfacing laboriously from a deep body of water that was still pulling her down. She broke through the surface, gasping for air, heavy, weighed down. She felt an undertow. She fell back on the pillows, exhausted.
She checked the time, realizing she had to shake this off. It was time to get dressed for Lili’s arrival.
She had to see Clyde. These passages into the brutal past were wearing her down. Usually, when she read true Holocaust accounts, she skipped over the truly heinous stuff, unable to bear the details. These hallucinations smacked her in the face. There was no hiding or skimming.
A shower and coffee were the answers, she decided, determined to break free from the aftereffects of this vision. Starbucks therapy, she thought.
She dressed all in black, which fitted her mood. She remembered the shifted brush backing and the edge of onionskin paper and the photo peeking out of the corner. It would have to wait. Her mother must have stashed them there for some reason. Perhaps a detail or two of her mother’s life would emerge from the shrouded silence both she and her father maintained.
Sophia resisted the pull of the closet. She tidied up a bit, and there was Lili at the door.
“Lili, darling!” Sophia greeted her with a kiss before grasping her hand and pulling her into the living room. “I’m having some coffee. I just discovered that the soy creamer comes in a new flavor. Hazelnut. Delicious. Do you want coffee or wine?” she asked.
Time's Hostage: The dangers of love, loss, and lus (Time Series Book 1) Page 14