Keeping Secrets

by Bina Bernard

  Time away from her parents brought some clarity, enough so that she realized she could not avoid dealing with them. She checked her watch. It was nine o’clock. Still she decided to go back uptown.

  “Oh, I’m so glad you’re here! Thank you. Thank you for coming back,” Molly said when she opened the door.

  Hannah sighed and without saying a word walked past her mother into the kitchen. She started to boil some water and selected an herbal tea bag from Molly’s collection.

  “I was afraid your father wouldn’t get through the night,” Molly said, trailing after Hannah. “Would you like something with the tea?”

  Hannah shook her head, still refusing to speak. But she knew she couldn’t keep the silent treatment going much longer.

  “How is he?” she finally asked.

  “He’s been napping fitfully. Waking up every few minutes asking for you,” Molly said in a whisper. “Now that you’re back, I know he’ll be better.” She nodded her head for emphasis.

  Hannah and Molly both heard Harry’s weak voice, calling out, “Hannah? Hannah, is that you?”

  Molly rushed into the bedroom. Hannah remained in the kitchen, sipping her cup of tea. She was not going to make anything easy for Harry. Not after all the misery he had put her through. She could hear her mother reassuring him, “Yes, Hannah is here.”

  Molly came back into the kitchen smiling.

  “He says he has to talk to you. I told him I wouldn’t let you see him until his heart is back to normal. He’s going to nap for a while. Your father hopes you’re not planning to leave again.”

  “I’m not the one who leaves,” Hannah said. She couldn’t resist the jab. But the time away from them served its purpose. She was in a more forgiving mood. But not toward herself.

  How could I have forgotten that I had a sister? she continued to question herself.

  “Why don’t I remember Lena, Mom?” Hannah asked. “I’ve only thought about her in my dream and that felt like a nightmare.”

  “Losing Lena was a nightmare,” Molly said. “I’m glad you didn’t remember her. You remember too much. This way you didn’t have to grieve all these years.”

  Molly went over and put her arms around her daughter. This time Hannah did not resist. She let herself be hugged, but she didn’t hug back.

  “We did get to keep you—that was a miracle,” Molly said, her tears soaking Hannah’s silk blouse. “Don’t be angry with your father,” her mother said, for once defending her husband to her daughter. “When he first told me he couldn’t get Lena back, I was furious. I thought there was no limit to what your father could do. I was devastated when he failed at something so important. We didn’t get Lena back because it was bashert, it was meant to be this way,” Molly said. “Your father has punished himself enough all these years.”

  “He punished me too, and I didn’t do anything,” Hannah said coldly. She was not ready to absolve Harry of his shortcomings as a father.

  Hannah went in when Molly decided Harry’s heart was finally beating normally. Seeing how frail he was, lying motionless on the bed, staring at the ceiling, shook Hannah. Now, not sure what she wanted to say to him, she walked slowly toward his bed. As he saw her approach, Harry tried to push himself up into a sitting position, but his arms couldn’t hold him and he fell back onto the pillow. Without saying a word, Hannah sat down on the chair next to his bed. He extended his shaky hand to touch her. She did not pull away, and Harry started to cry. He motioned for her to come closer. As she sat on the edge of his bed, and he stroked her hand, Hannah felt a bond between them that had seemed unlikely a few hours earlier.

  “I never realized how much I was hurting you,” Harry said, his breathing labored. “I don’t know why keeping my distance from you made not having Lena with us bearable.” He spoke in bursts, between heaving breaths. “I wish I could redo the last thirty years. I didn’t want to punish you for my mistake. Forgive me, please . . . I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he repeated over and over.

  “That may be true, but it still hurt. A lot, for a very long time,” Hannah said with some bite to her voice, but the anger was gone. When she had stormed out of the apartment, she had expected to hold onto that anger forever. Now, surprisingly, she no longer wanted to extract a pound of flesh from her father. She thought about how good she had felt on Saturday before he told her about Lena. Hannah wanted to believe there was still time for them to love each other, as they should have all these years.

  “I was afraid I’d lost you, too,” Harry whispered.

  “I’m not that easy to lose,” Hannah shot back.

  “I wanted us to be close, a loving family,” Harry said. “But Lena was always there separating you and me.”

  “It would have hurt less if I knew the reason for our screwed-up relationship,” Hannah said.

  “I’m so sorry. We should have talked about Lena.”

  It was clear both father and daughter wanted to repair their relationship. With Lena out in the open, they now had a chance to make up for the past. Hannah could stop being the mirror for Harry’s guilt.

  “Things may be different now,” she told her father. But while Hannah seemed ready to accept his heartfelt apology, she wasn’t ready to pardon herself. “I don’t understand how I could have forgotten that I had a sister,” she said, giving voice to her own guilt. “You don’t forget something like that!”

  “You were a child,” Harry said. “Besides, your mind can do strange things to protect you, to help you survive. Sometimes that price is too high,” he added almost inaudibly. Hannah knew Harry was thinking about leaving Poland without Lena.

  “Instead of torturing yourself and hurting me all these years you should have been furious with the nuns and the Catholic Church for not helping you find her!” Hannah said trying to numb his guilt. “Think about it. What was your mistake? You sent Lena away to save her life. And when you went back to get her, as you promised, she wasn’t there.”

  But his guilt was all Harry had left of Lena. He couldn’t let it go so easily.

  “Before I die, I must know if she’s alive,” Harry said, hoping God could hear him.

  “She’s alive. I know she’s alive,” Molly said, standing in the doorway to the bedroom. “I left Poland without her because I knew we did what God wanted us to do. We saved her life by sending her to the nuns. If we were meant to get her back, we would have. God had a different plan. She’s alive and she’s had a good life. I feel it in my heart,” Molly said.

  “That’s not enough for me,” Harry insisted. “I want her to know I tried to get her back. I kept my promise! Losing Lena was unimaginable, not knowing what happened to her is even worse. I know you can find her, Hannah. You’ll think of a way. Please, please try,” Harry begged.

  This time when Harry asked Hannah to find her sister, instead of rage, she felt pride and terror in equal measure. Knowing that her father thought her capable of such a feat somehow softened his years of criticism and rejection. Hannah knew the task was next to impossible. But failing was not an option.

  “After all this time, where do I start looking?” she said, mostly to herself. But as she spoke the words, the reporter in her kicked in. Pretend it’s a story, she told herself. If Lena is alive, there has to be a way to find her. Begin with what you know and see where it leads! Hannah hoped to keep the knot in her stomach from growing larger.

  “You’ll find a way,” Harry said wistfully.

  Hannah watched the color return to his sunken cheeks. “I’ll do my best,” she said, praying it would be enough.

  “I love you,” Harry said. “Please don’t ever doubt that.”

  “I love you, too,” Hannah said and rested her head on her father’s bony chest.

  Free of the anger that had fueled her day, Hannah remained at Harry’s bedside for a time, holding his almost skeletal hand. His rhythmic breathing reassured her he was alive. Silently, she vowed to do everything she could to make sure he stayed that way. First find the right do
ctor! Then figure out how to find Lena. If she’s still alive . . .

  Harry reached over to stroke Hannah’s hair. The prospect of seeing Lena again not only lifted his spirits, but also seemed to improve his physical well-being. He closed his eyes and fell into a restful sleep for the first time in months. In his sleep, he rocked forward and back as if he were praying in a synagogue. The man who in the past refused to talk to God now was asking for His help. “I have to know what happened to her.”

  PART II

  CHAPTER

  6

  Poland, May 1976

  AT THE GRAVESITE, holding onto her son Stefan’s hand, Lena stood ramrod straight. It was cold for May. The wind was blowing with such force through the weeping willow near the open grave she could feel the low branches lash her back with every gust. Her black suit jacket was appropriate for the occasion but not warm enough to stop her shivering. As she stoically watched two men lowering the casket into the ground, Lena wished she had the power to stop them and bring Stefan Jankowski back to life. He had been her loving father for all but her first four years and she longed to see his cheerful face again. The idea that in a month she would celebrate her thirty-ninth birthday without him was unbearable.

  Trembling, Lena mouthed the words to the 23rd Psalm along with all the other mourners, but her mind wandered back to another, much warmer, May day when she saw Stefan Jankowski for the first time.

  Lena had been at the orphanage for some months when, as usual, Sister Janina found her charge alone in her room.

  “I don’t know why you would rather be off by yourself than playing with the other children,” Sister Janina said with mock anger in her voice.

  Lena shrugged. She preferred watching the magpies out of her window perched on the edge of the water fountain in the courtyard. Lena amused herself by translating their chatter into conversation.

  Sister Janina shook her head and sighed. “But never mind, child. It’s not important now. Put on your best dress, Lena,” she said. “There’s someone special waiting to see you downstairs.”

  My father must have come back to get me, Lena thought. She took her favorite dress out of the chest where she kept the few things she’d brought with her. Lena had worn that navy-blue velvet dress, with a white lace collar and smocking around the capped sleeves, the day she’d arrived. When she finished dressing, Sister Janina said, “Let me see now, we need something to dress up your lovely curls,” and she pinned a big navy taffeta bow in her hair. “Now you’re ready,” the Sister said and led her charge to a part of the convent where children were never allowed uninvited.

  Sister Janina pushed open the heavy carved wooden door to the visitors’ room, and Lena followed a few steps behind.

  Almost as imposing as the chapel where they recited morning prayers, the room was bathed in sunlight streaming in through the large stained glass window. It took Lena a few seconds to adjust her eyes. Many paintings adorned the walls, but the biggest was of the Madonna, her golden halo shimmering in the sun. Lena had to stretch her neck back, until it hurt, to see the ornate chandelier in the center of the high ceiling.

  The rhythmic sound of their footsteps on the highly polished wooden floor was muffled once Lena and Sister Janina reached the Persian rug that covered most of the room. Lena heard her heart thumping. She wondered if Sister Janina could hear it, too. The Sister steered her toward a man and a woman sitting on a bench at the far end of the room. The woman’s straw hat, slightly askew, over her blonde curls, and her bright yellow sundress, were a sharp contrast to the nun’s dark habit. As she sat very straight, her legs crossed at the ankle, she seemed to be studying her painted fingernails. The man was throwing his hat in the air with one hand and catching it with the other. As they approached, Lena could hear him whistling softly.

  Who are these people, Lena wondered. Why did Sister Janina think they were special? They did not look familiar. Disappointed at first, Lena consoled herself. They must be here to take me to my family?

  The man stood and rushed toward them before Sister Janina and Lena reached the bench. He bent down so his eyes and Lena’s were almost at the same level.

  “You look like a little princess,” he said. “Are you a real princess?”

  “I don’t think so,” she said, and stepped closer to Sister Janina, trying to hide in the folds of her black habit.

  “I can still call you Princess,” he said, trying to tease her into a smile.

  Lena shook her head. “No. My name is Lena,” she told him emphatically.

  “So glad to meet you, Lena,” the man said and stuck out his hand for her to shake. Reluctantly, she took it after Sister Janina nudged her with her elbow.

  “Lena, this is Mr. Stefan Jankowski. He and his wife, Helga, would like you to go home with them. They want you to be their little girl,” Sister Janina announced cheerfully. By then Helga had come over and she offered her hand as well.

  “No! I can’t go with them,” Lena whispered to Sister Janina, shaking her head frantically. She wanted to remain at the orphanage until her father came back for her. “I must stay here. I have to wait for my family,” Lena insisted.

  “I’m afraid that’s not possible, dear.” Sister Janina was firm. “All the children are being moved. Mr. and Mrs. Jankowski have a place for you in their home.”

  “No! Please, no!” Lena argued, still in a whisper. “I have to stay here so my family will know where to find me.”

  “If . . . when your family comes, we’ll know where to send them,” Sister Janina assured the child.

  “Do I really have to go with these people?” Lena was close to tears.

  “It would be for the best,” Sister Janina said solemnly.

  Sister Janina was right. It was for the best. I could not have picked a better father for myself than Stefan Jankowski, Lena thought as she watched his coffin being covered with clumps of earth.

  Stefan had been totally devoted to her. Helga, however, was another story. At the gravesite service, she had to be restrained by her son Rudi from throwing herself onto her husband’s casket. A gesture the handful of mourners accepted as an expression of true grief, a sharp contrast to Lena’s restraint, which she suspected they saw as unfeeling. She thought Helga’s gravesite behavior was a performance. Today, Helga, the widow, was center stage, and determined to make the most of that role.

  Lena felt estranged from the other mourners. Although she had known them most of her life, once she’d gone away to university, everything had changed. Being a doctor in Warsaw put more than geographical distance between them. Lena hoped Stefan would forgive her for feeling so removed from his friends and neighbors. It wasn’t that she felt superior to them, that would have been out of character. But whatever they had had in common evaporated over the years of her absence. There was a chasm between them that Lena had no desire to fill. And she thought they now saw her as a curiosity.

  “How are you doing in the big city?” Mr. Kukolowicz, the stationmaster, asked Lena whenever she visited Sandomierz.

  “Fine,” was all she could offer. Lena hoped she didn’t seem standoffish but she didn’t feel comfortable sharing her life story with someone who was essentially a stranger.

  “I’m sorry about your father. We all are,” he said when she came back to Sandomierz for the funeral.

  His concern seemed genuine. Lena was touched. “Thank you. Thank you,” she said appreciatively. “Please give my best to your wife and to Janka. I hope they are both well.” Lena and Janka had been schoolmates years ago. But time and the distance between Sandomierz and Warsaw separated her from the whole Kukolowicz family.

  After the Mass, Lena had warmly greeted the people who’d come to pay their respects to her father. She was glad for Rudi and Helga that so many of their neighbors were there, but their presence was of no comfort to her. With Stefan’s death her center was hollow. How will I recover from this loss? First no Ryszard, now no Stefan.

  Lena had had almost eight years to adjust to her widow
hood, but she was unable to shed her grief. It seemed like only yesterday that the policeman had brought her the shattering news.

  She remembered that young officer clutching his hat as he told her, “Dr. Malińska, there’s been a terrible accident. Your husband was shot.”

  “Oh, my God!” Lena crossed herself. “How did it happen?”

  “There was a student demonstration that seemed to be on the verge of violence. To stop the advancing students, one of the policemen aimed his weapon. He tripped, the gun went off. The bullet hit your husband.”

  “My husband was in a demonstration? That’s not possible. There must be some mistake. Ryszard is not political. He cares about equations, not politics. He wouldn’t be in a demonstration!”

  “No. He wasn’t one of the demonstrators. The bullet went wild. Your husband was just walking in the street, reading a book. They told me it was a book about mathematics. He didn’t seem to be paying attention to the crowd growing around him.”

  “How could such a thing happen?” Lena screamed. “Where is he? What hospital? I must go to him.”

  “I’m afraid he’s not in the hospital.” The policeman cleared his throat. “He’s dead.”

  Lena slipped to the floor. The next thing she knew she was lying on the couch, the policeman bending over her.

  “Are you part of a bad dream?” she asked.

  “I’m afraid not.”

  After the others had left the cemetery, Lena and her son lingered. He watched as she walked closer to the pit to say a private goodbye to her loving father. Still shivering from the cold, Lena crossed herself, and threw a single purple-and-white iris onto the dirt-covered casket, finally letting her tears flow unabated.

  “I love you, Tata. My life will be impossible without you,” Lena whispered. She knew he was proud that she had become a doctor, but what was the point of having a daughter who was a doctor if you didn’t even tell her your symptoms and you didn’t listen to her advice? Why in heaven’s name did you ignore my warnings?