Keeping Secrets

by Bina Bernard

  Except for the prospect of seeing war movies, Hannah looked forward to their trips to Times Square. She liked the bright lights of Broadway and enjoyed watching the parade of people streaming in and out of arcades holding gigantic ice cream cones. But on the subway ride home her mood darkened. Besides war Hannah hated night.

  Once she no longer shared a bedroom with her parents, being alone in the dark before she fell asleep set off a sense of dread Hannah could not control. Almost like clockwork, as the sun went down, she complained of stomach cramps. As bedtime approached Hannah became more and more anxious. But she got no sympathy from her father.

  “There’s nothing wrong with you.” Dr. Stone stated coldly once he ascertained she had no medical issues. “You’re not a baby anymore. Stop behaving like one,” Harry chided a distraught Hannah.

  The nightly ritual was always the same. After Harry pronounced his daughter fit for bed, she dutifully brushed her teeth, and, fighting panic, hugged her mother good night. Harry usually turned in after studying his medical books. Molly did her best to mediate between stern father and scared daughter. Without openly going against her husband, she made excuses to stay up and keep the light on.

  Molly would tell Harry some version of, “I’ll be in soon. I just have to finish hemming Hannah’s skirt.” Then she’d settle in a chair in the living room where Hannah slept, until her daughter fell asleep. Some nights Molly stayed up pretending to be reading long after her eyes closed. When during the night, she heard Hannah scream, “No, No!” she’d rush in to quiet her before Harry woke up.

  “Dreams can’t hurt you,” Molly assured her daughter, and stroked her hair. With her mother sitting on her bed, Hannah usually fell into a dreamless sleep. She never discussed her recurring dream. By the time Hannah was twelve her fear of the dark miraculously stopped. But the dream continued.

  The possibility of war never totally went away for Hannah. Nor did her fear of being separated from her parents. As an adult watching President Kennedy address the nation on TV about the Cuban missile crisis, Hannah’s first thought was to reach her parents. If war broke out again, she wanted them at least to be together.

  Hannah often saw menace in behavior that others did not find threatening. At a peace demonstration in 1968 against the Vietnam War, near the United Nations, the crowd cheered each speaker, but particularly Bobby Kennedy. The rally started out peacefully, but soon the frenzy of the crowd increased. They began chanting, “Hell, no, we won’t go,” which led to repeated shouts of:

  “What do we want?”

  “Peace!”

  “When do we want it?”

  “Now!”

  Suddenly Hannah thought the angry crowd was no longer part of a peace demonstration. Yelling with one voice, clapping rhythmically, instead of goose-stepping, she felt her fellow demonstrators had turned into a mindless mob. She found the mob as scary as the war itself. Under the right leadership, Hannah thought, they could easily be shouting, “Sieg Heil!”

  CHAPTER

  4

  ON SUNDAY WHEN HANNAH walked through the cobblestone courtyard of her parents’ building it struck her how much it resembled the limestone apartment building in Warsaw where she had lived with Aunt Emma.

  “Amazing. In all the years I’ve walked here I’ve never noticed the similarity. I block a lot better than I realized,” Hannah chided herself. For a split second, she wondered if her parents had noticed the similarity. She laughed at her own blindness. Of course. That’s probably why they moved here!

  Waiting for the elevator, Hannah closed her eyes and made a wish. “Please God, let it be like it was yesterday.”

  When a smiling Molly greeted her daughter at the door, Hannah was convinced her wish had been granted.

  “Glad to see you in such good spirits, Mom,” Hannah said.

  “Did you finish all the work you had to do?” Molly asked, gently pulling her into the apartment.

  Hannah didn’t know what her mother was referring to, until she remembered her white lie. “Oh yes,” she answered, feeling a bit guilty.

  “Good. Now you can relax and enjoy today,” Molly said, cheerfully. Without complaining that her daughter had arrived too late to join them for lunch, she added, “We just finished eating. Would you like some blintzes?”

  Hannah shook her head. “I had a big breakfast.”

  When no badgering followed, the tension that usually resided at the back of her neck seemed to dissipate. “It’s a miracle!” she thought.

  Hannah held her breath as she walked toward the living room. Seeing Harry sitting in his favorite spot on the couch reading the Sunday papers, she exhaled into a smile. He looked healthier than he had the day before. It was shaping up to be a good day.

  She hugged each of her parents in turn, but the hug was not enough for her father. Reluctant to let go, Harry squeezed Hannah’s hand. His warm touch made her eyes well up. When he released her hand, she settled into a comfortable easy chair near him. She took a recent issue of New York magazine out of her bag and laid it on the coffee table.

  “When you’re finished with the papers, Dad, you might want to read the excerpt of the John Ehrlichman novel about Watergate,” Hannah said, pointing to the magazine. “I know it’s supposed to be fiction, but he was a special assistant to the President. Reading it might make you see Nixon differently.”

  “I’ll look at it,” Harry said from behind his paper.

  Not yet used to their non-combative status, Hannah had to force herself to stay relaxed. She took her copy of the Sunday New York Times Magazine and, pen in hand, started in on the crossword puzzle.

  “Have you followed the Patty Hearst trial?” Harry asked Hannah, after a few minutes of silence had passed.

  “Yeah. What about it?” Hannah felt her body tense up.

  “It’s amazing how people who have never been in such a harrowing situation are willing to condemn that poor child for doing whatever she could to survive. Do you think she should go to jail?”

  “No. She’s a perfect target for brainwashing. A malleable, privileged kid. If she’d been kidnapped by Martians, she’d have become a Martian.”

  “You never know what you’re capable of until you are tested,” Harry said, almost to himself. “People did things during the war they never thought they would do. Things they’d rather not remember.” This time Harry looked to Molly for agreement.

  But she didn’t respond.

  Molly was sitting on a side chair, a magazine resting on her lap, rubbing her hands as if she were massaging in hand cream, and periodically looked at her wristwatch.

  “Is it time for Dad’s medicine?” Hannah asked after she noticed her mother checking her watch for the fourth time.

  “No. Why do you ask?” Molly’s response was guarded.

  “You seemed to be watching the time,” Hannah replied.

  “A nervous habit.” Molly forced her cheeks into a half smile.

  “No reason why you can’t go play bridge,” Harry said. “Hannah’s here. I’ll be fine.”

  Having Harry’s permission, Molly sprang up. This time a genuine smile lit up her face. Hannah was right. He is different now that we’re in New York, Molly thought. Within five minutes she had changed her clothes, put on some lipstick and was gone.

  “So what are we going to do?” Hannah asked. “It’s too late to watch Meet the Press or Face the Nation, but there might be a movie on TV,” she offered, and reached for the TV listings in the paper. “If you’re up to it, we could go for a walk in the park. It’s really a beautiful day.”

  Harry shook his head. “No. Let’s sit here and talk.” He put down the paper and patted the cushion next to him. “Come sit here.”

  Hannah sank into the soft down of the sofa, but she felt her anxiety level rising. She hoped her father was not bracing for another tour down memory lane.

  “What should we talk about?” Hannah asked with trepidation.

  “I’m glad we can have this talk, just the two of us
!” Harry stroked Hannah’s hand.

  Every muscle in Hannah’s body tightened.

  Oblivious to her discomfort, Harry continued. “I know what I’m about to tell you will come as a shock. But . . .”

  “Stop! Please,” Hannah insisted. She didn’t want to kill the new good feelings between them, nor did she want to hear what her father was about to tell her. She wasn’t going to allow herself to be pulled into this quagmire no matter who was doing the pulling.

  “It’s between you and Mother, I don’t want to get in the middle of this!” She could not suppress a hint of anger in her voice.

  Harry was mystified. “What are you talking about?”

  “Look. I know. That’s all I’m going to say,” Hannah answered cryptically.

  “Really? Your mother talked to you about this?” Harry seemed surprised.

  “Yes!” Hannah said forcefully. “Can’t we talk about something else, please?”

  But Harry wouldn’t be stopped. “You should have really said something. We could have talked about it.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it. It’s none of my damn business!” Hannah insisted.

  “How could that be? Exactly what did your mother tell you?”

  “You just won’t stop, will you? Okay. You win. She told me about your girlfriend in medical school. And I don’t want to hear any more about her!” Hannah stood her ground.

  Harry started laughing. “You think I want to talk to you about a girlfriend?”

  “I can put two and two together. I can figure things out,” Hannah said. “You want to talk to me about Lena. Right? Wasn’t she your girlfriend?”

  “Yes. I want to talk to you about Lena.” Harry was relieved that at last he had said Lena’s name out loud. “But no! She was not my girlfriend.”

  Hannah was surprised but now curious. “If she was not your girlfriend, who is she?”

  Harry took a frayed photograph out of his wallet and handed it to Hannah.

  “Oh, my God!” she cried out once she focused on the faded image of two little girls. Hannah immediately recognized herself as the child with dark hair. But the other one, a curly-haired blonde, she only knew as someone who for years had haunted her dreams.

  For a moment she was speechless.

  “That’s Lena?” Hannah finally asked, pointing to the blonde child in the photo.

  Harry nodded. He seemed to be having trouble breathing.

  Hannah still looked puzzled.

  “Do you remember her?” Harry asked.

  “I dream about her. Who is she?”

  “Your sister! She’s your sister.”

  “My what?”

  “Your older sister!”

  “Oh my God! She’s my sister! She’s my sister!” Hannah kept repeating. “My dream was real. I had a sister and I lost her!”

  Stunned and angry in equal proportion, Hannah watched Harry’s mouth moving, but his words receded into the background. Barely aware of his presence, she thought about the many plausible interpretations of her dream offered by Dr. Kahn. She wanted to scream at the good doctor, “My dream was a memory not a metaphor. Not a symbol. It was the simple truth. I had a sister and then she disappeared!”

  Harry reached for Hannah. He wanted to comfort her, and himself as well, but she stood up out of his reach, and paced around the room. Harry’s words were overshadowed by the thoughts spinning around in her head. Why don’t I remember her? Why didn’t I recognize her in my dream? How could I forget my own sister? I thought I remembered everything. Why did they keep Lena a secret?

  “Where is she? Where is Lena?” Hannah finally asked out loud. “Did I hurt her?” she asked, solemnly.

  “Of course you didn’t!” Harry said, shocked by Hannah’s question.

  “Tell me what happened to Lena,” she demanded, and distanced herself at the opposite end of the sofa.

  “Remember the day we sent you away, Mother dressed you in our bedroom instead of yours?”

  Hannah nodded.

  “That was because Lena was asleep in the next bed and we didn’t want to wake her,” Harry started to explain. “She’d been on a farm for a month recuperating from a bad case of whooping cough.”

  “I don’t remember that,” Hannah said under her breath. “After you sent me away, did Lena notice I was gone?” she asked.

  “Of course! She looked for you when she woke up. We told her you were visiting friends in Kielce.”

  “Why did I go to Kielce, not Lena?”

  “The couple chose you. You were healthier and younger. They thought you’d accept them as your parents more quickly.”

  Hannah rolled her eyes, remembering how relieved they were to be rid of her when Ela came to take her back.

  “What happened to Lena? Where is she?” Hannah asked again.

  Harry could barely speak. “We decided to send her to an orphanage outside of Radom, run by the Grey Ursuline Sisters. I figured, if we survived the war, we knew exactly where to go to get her back. Once she was completely well, I managed to get fake travel permits and took her to the nuns myself. On the train I explained the reason for our trip.”

  In an empty compartment he felt free to talk without being overheard.

  “You know there’s a war on?” he began. Lena nodded, her lips pursed, her blue eyes open wide. He kissed the top of her head.

  “I am taking you someplace very special where there are other children for you to play with. You will be safe there. We are sending you away to protect you, because we love you so much,” he continued.

  Lena tried to understand.

  “But you cannot tell anyone anything about your life before today. Nobody can know that I am your father. That has to be a secret.”

  Four-year-old Lena was puzzled by what she was hearing but she knew she could keep a secret if her father wanted her to.

  “Do you understand what I am telling you?”

  Lena shrugged. When he hugged her she tried to smile, and wrapped her small hand around his thumb.

  “I know your mother and I taught you not to lie. So I want you to hide all your memories deep in your mind where nobody will know about them. Just for a while forget about us. I promise I will come back to get you once it is safe.”

  As he told Hannah about their train ride, Harry relived every agonizing moment. Occasionally, he paused to wipe his glasses that were fogged up by his tears.

  “I wasn’t sure she understood my explanation but little Lena was such an obedient child, I was confident she would do what I told her. When we sent you to Kielce we didn’t know how you would take it.” Harry sighed and moved closer to Hannah. As he reached out to touch her, she jumped up again and started pacing. He followed her with his eyes as he continued his painful story.

  “Lena held my thumb so tightly it nearly went numb. At the convent, I told the Mother Superior she was the daughter of one of my patients. That before the mother had died, she made me promise to find a home for her child, until her husband, who was in the Underground, made other arrangements. I made up the part about the father being in the Underground. I was carefully laying the groundwork for getting Lena back. I thought I’d made it clear I was arranging for the nuns to care for Lena until someone from her family came to get her. I thought my scheme was foolproof. I never told the Mother Superior Lena was Jewish. She never asked. If she had wanted some documents, like a birth certificate, I could have gotten a false one and sent it to her. But Lena’s blonde hair and blue eyes were enough for her to pass easily as a Gentile child. I was sure I’d thought of everything!” Harry winced at his own hubris. “I even gave the Mother Superior a box with some money and a few family mementos, as a way to identify Lena later when we came back for her. I had promised her I’d be back. I’m sure Lena believed me,” he said, almost talking to himself.

  She could see her father was in pain, but Hannah was not interested in comforting him. She said nothing. Stone-faced, she sat down again at the far end of the sofa, and turned Harry’s wor
ds into pictures in her head. Hannah thought about the years of pain that dream had wrought.

  Harry paused only to catch his breath. He continued filling the silence, hoping to make Hannah grasp the extent of his agony.

  “Your mother and I used to say that Lena was so eager to please she would follow anyone who took her hand. The last time I saw my little Lena one of the young Sisters was leading her into the garden to join the other children. Lena looked back at me and waved goodbye. I relive that moment every single day of my life.” Harry’s tears fell unabated.

  “All this time, I’ve wondered what Lena remembered of her first four years. I hoped she could forgive me for abandoning her,” Harry whispered.

  Suddenly Hannah yelled, “You abandoned her? You didn’t go back after the war to get her as you had promised?”

  “Of course I went back. But she wasn’t there.” Harry said, almost inaudibly.

  “What do you mean she wasn’t there? Where was she?” With each question her voice grew more strident.

  “I don’t know.”

  “You went to the orphanage and there was no Lena?”

  “That’s right. I went back but she wasn’t there,” Harry repeated and sighed. He groped for the right words to make Hannah understand what happened. “Remember when I found you in Koslow, after the Russians came?”

  Hannah remembered that day vividly.

  The war was supposedly over. The Germans were gone. Still the deception continued. No one suspected Zofia Nowakowska and Marta Wilakowa were Jews. Only Aunt Emma, an authentic Christian, was who she really was. They were viewed as Polish heroines, having been banished from Warsaw by the Germans.

  The sunlight streaming in through the window gave the farmhouse kitchen an amber glow. When he came through the back door, she thought he was a mirage. She dropped the dish she was wiping as their eyes met. Throwing herself at him, she was careful not to call him Tata. She remembered. Nobody was to know he was her father.