by Bina Bernard
In those early months with the nuns, thinking about anything related to her life before, left Lena sobbing. To stem the tears she buried her memories, and focused on the day when her father would come back for her. She held on to that hope for some time, but gradually gave up all expectation of ever being reunited with her family once she went to live with Stefan and Helga.
Unfortunately, because of what Stefan told Sister Marianna, Lena knew that they were no longer looking for her. It’s up to me to search for them. But first I have to find out who they are. When she saw the name of the photographer and his Krakow address stamped on the back of both pictures, Lena thought optimistically, I have a place to start looking!
She rubbed the face of the woman in the picture. “Mama,” she said. “At least I know what you looked like.” She looked exactly like Lena.
It was windy and getting colder, but Lena seemed oblivious to the dropping temperature. If anything, the chill felt good. She wasn’t ready to go home and started walking aimlessly towards the center of town. Along Żeromskiego Street Lena found herself searching for signs that Jews existed in Sandomierz. She suspected her roots were elsewhere. But suddenly Lena felt part of a group that had been invisible. She needed to affirm their existence.
There were few people along Opatowska Street. But as she passed through the gate to the town square she joined an overflowing crowd of shoppers at the farmer’s market. In a dreamlike state, Lena made her way around the stalls and headed for the small museum on the ground floor of Town Hall devoted to the history of Sandomierz. She had not visited the museum for years, but thought she might find some mention of Jews in the area. Inside, she found nothing, and asked the guard, “Have there been any exhibits about Jews living in Sandomierz? Where they worked?”
“Not that I’ve seen,” he said, genuinely apologetic.
Lena felt foolish and headed for the door.
“Wait a minute,” the guard yelled after her. “Guess they did live here once. When I worked in the registry office on Żydowska Street, someone mentioned the building used to be a synagogue. Isn’t that a Jewish church?”
“I think it is, thank you,” Lena said and waved goodbye. The registry wasn’t far. Even though it no longer functioned as a synagogue, Lena decided to take a look. She briskly made her way back through the stalls, and turned left onto Oleśnickich Street. On Żydowska, clutching Stefan’s letter and the two pictures, Lena stood in front of the imposing red brick 18th-century structure that once housed a synagogue, and tried to conjure up Jews walking into worship. Sadly, she could not summon any Jewish faces.
When she got back to the house, her son and his uncle Rudi were playing cards at the kitchen table. Lena went over to kiss Stefan, but he pushed her away, embarrassed.
“You can kiss me,” Rudi said.
“Where’s your mother?” Lena asked as she hugged her brother, and kissed the top of his head. Rudi pointed to the bedroom. Lena put the precious envelope she’d been holding into her purse, and knocked on Helga’s door.
“Can I come in for a minute?” Lena said through the door.
“If you want,” Helga answered guardedly.
Lena entered the room and closed the door behind her. She leaned against it, reluctant to invade Helga’s space.
“Are you feeling okay?” she asked.
“I’ll manage. I always have,” Helga said, resting on her bed, still dressed in her widow’s weeds.
Lena’s eyes wandered around the room, and settled on the inlaid box her father mentioned in his letter. It was on top of Helga’s chest of drawers. As Lena started to walk toward it, Helga jumped off the bed and picked up the box.
“So that’s what he wrote about to you in that letter he gave Father Tadeusz,” Helga said. “Well, I deserved the jewelry. It’s all I ever got for taking you in. I suppose you want it back?”
“No. I don’t. The jewelry is yours,” Lena said without any rancor. “But I would like to look at it and the box.”
Helga grudgingly handed the box to Lena. Although she had seen it many times before, this time Lena looked at it differently. She tenderly stroked the box. As she touched it, she felt as if she were connecting with her real mother.
CHAPTER
9
AS THE TRAIN PULLED into the Amagansett station, Hannah spotted Robert off in the distance. With his hands jammed into his jean pockets, his blue work-shirt collar sticking out of a bulky Irish knit sweater, he looked as if he’d stepped out of an L. L. Bean catalogue. The gray flecks in his hair shimmered blond in the sunlight.
Fooled by the cloudless blue sky she saw through the train window, Hannah expected to be embraced by a warm breeze. Wearing only a khaki safari jacket over her poor-boy turtleneck and her bell bottoms, the cool air surprised her as she stepped off the train in her signature three-inch platform shoes, which raised her to the desired five-foot-seven height. Robert’s quick embrace shielded Hannah from the unexpected chill.
She felt warm and welcomed, until he said, “I see you brought your work with you!” as he carried her heavy tote to his car. Hannah wanted to shout, “No! I didn’t bring any work!” The mountain of research she had stuffed into her bag was there to ease her guilt for not staying at her desk and furthering her search for Lena. Instead she let out a nervous giggle. Some residual guilt washed over Hannah. It wasn’t true this day, but she remembered other times when her work did take over their time together. No squabbling, she told herself. Nothing is going to spoil this weekend. I won’t let it.
On the short drive to the farmer’s market along Montauk Highway, Hannah relaxed as she let her body sink into the familiar soft-leather front seat of Robert’s 1963 turquoise Rambler. Long ago Hannah had christened his station wagon “The Rust Bucket.”
“Call it anything you like, for me it’s perfect. Starts right away, and gets me where I want to go. It’s transportation,” he countered every time Hannah suggested it was necessary for them to think about an upgrade.
At the market Robert quickly went about filling his wire basket with edible delights for the meal he’d promised her. The smell of fresh bread made Hannah hungry.
“Don’t touch anything in the basket,” Robert yelled, and gently slapped her hand when she tried to break off a piece of the still-hot croissant. “You can hold out a little longer. Exercise your famous willpower,” Robert said in mock anger.
As she watched him go from stall to stall, Hannah lamented her own lack of interest in cooking. Maybe it’s not my fault. I’ve got Harry’s genes instead of Molly’s. She liked that explanation.
As Robert pulled into the driveway, Hannah stiffened. She knew that seeing the cottage under their new circumstances would be hard for her. Surrounded by dune grass and other modest beach houses, the small, two-story, gray-shingled A-frame was on a lane just behind the dunes. From the deck off the upstairs bedroom Robert and Hannah often watched the ocean waves undulate on the sand. In the late afternoon they’d sit sipping wine and congratulate themselves for being fortunate enough to have such a spectacular view. Seeing the sun set was a perfect coda to any day.
When the front door slammed behind her, the familiar smell of damp pine embraced her. Hannah closed her eyes and recalled the happy times she and Robert had spent there. Her memories cheered her until she walked into the living room that now doubled as an office. The drop-leaf dining table they found at a thrift shop and she’d waxed to a hard luster finish was folded and relegated to a sidewall. Robert’s large drawing table, piled high with blue prints, T-squares, rulers, and other architectural paraphernalia, now dominated the room. The gray-ticking couch, along with a white sale-cloth easy chair and glass coffee table were shoved to the other side of the room. Tacked on the walls, with pushpins, were huge renderings of the two houses now in mid-construction. It was still the same beach house, but now it was officially Robert’s. Deep down, Hannah had always considered the cottage to be his.
She had been out of town on an assignment when Robert first
saw it and he couldn’t reach her. The house was exactly what they both wanted and at a price they could afford. He put down a deposit that very day. “I couldn’t risk losing it,” he explained. It was the only time Robert ever made a major decision without consulting her. Until now.
“We’ll be ready to eat in no time. Just relax,” Robert said, as he took his cache of food into the kitchen. Grinning, he added, “If you can figure out how to do such a simple thing.”
“I’ll do my best,” she said with the utmost seriousness. “Do you have anything cold to drink?”
Just as the question fell from her lips, Robert handed Hannah a mimosa before disappearing into the kitchen. She looked around trying not to feel displaced. Hannah was surprised to see the staircase leading to the master bedroom now had a railing. For years she had pressed for one. Seeing the change unnerved her.
“The house looks very different,” she said.
“It’s only temporary,” Robert yelled back.
Unlike Hannah, he attached no significance to the changes.
Robert had not considered his move a break in their relationship. But he had to admit that their living apart did create a distance between them that was greater than the 107 miles from Manhattan to Amagansett. Robert liked living away from New York City even more than he thought he would. He wished he could persuade Hannah to move to the cottage, but he had not ruled out moving back to the city once his two houses were finished. Having Hannah at his arms’ reach made Robert realize how much he’d missed her.
The noonday sun streaming through a wall of windows made Hannah squint. While Robert cooked, she sank into the comfortable down couch, sipped her drink and consciously tried to purge all negative thoughts from her mind as she tracked a parade of puffy clouds being chased by the forceful wind.
In exactly eighteen minutes Robert came out of the kitchen to show off his beautiful French omelet.
“Where shall we eat, inside or out?” he asked.
“I’m tempted to say on the deck, but maybe it’s too windy,” Hannah said.
“Fine. We’ll enjoy the sun inside, without the need for sun-screen.” In one motion of his left hand, Robert transformed his workspace into a dining table by shoving everything that was on top into a cardboard box.
Hannah quickly set the makeshift table, and they dug in.
“Delicious! My compliments to the chef,” Hannah said after her first bite.
“And you didn’t even have to tip the delivery guy.”
“I’d be happy to give some serious compensation to the chef.”
In half the time it took to prepare, the two of them devoured an omelet meant for four, along with marmalade-laden croissants, and berries topped with crème fraîche. They laughed, toasted, and happily ogled each other, both avoiding serious talk.
Their playful eating orgy was reminiscent of the meal shared by Albert Finney and Diane Cilento in Tom Jones, one of their favorite movies.
Finally, over coffee, Robert said: “How is Harry holding up? More important, you and Harry?”
“Better than I would have imagined a week ago.”
“Have you any idea how to go about looking for your sister? I take that back. Knowing you, you’re probably only days away from finding her.”
“I’m afraid that’s what Harry thinks. I know he’s disappointed that I haven’t made more progress. I suppose I should feel proud that my father thinks I could find her after all this time.” Hannah sighed and shook her head.
“He waited thirty years to tell you about her. Even he can’t expect you to miraculously make her reappear.”
“Forget pulling off a miracle, the truth is I’m not sure where or how to begin. I’m trying to locate a thirty-nine-year-old Polish woman who was called Lena as a child. That is really all I have to go on.”
“Harry is right about one thing, if anyone can do it, it’s you.”
“I wish . . . I’ve been reading up on hidden children, hoping that would lead me somewhere. All the stuff I’ve gathered so far is in my tote.”
“Is that what you planned to do all weekend?”
“No. It’s an old trick to eliminate guilt. I used to carry my books everywhere in college. Having them with me was my guilt protector, even if I didn’t do the reading. I stuffed my bag and came to be with you. I want this weekend to be about us. I’ve really missed you,” Hannah confessed. Feeling vulnerable, she cast her eyes down.
“Me too,” Robert said as he reached to squeeze her hand.
Reassured by his touch, Hannah asked her burning question: “How much longer will you have to stay here?”
“You mean when will the houses be finished?”
That wasn’t what Hannah meant, but she wanted the answer to that question as well, so she nodded yes.
“Should be done by the end of August at the latest.”
“How’s the work been?” She expected to hear all about the difficulties of finding qualified workers, and meeting the demands of irrational clients.
“So far, it’s been great. It couldn’t be going any better. I have a great crew and the clients and I are on the same page about everything. Hannah, I really like working for myself. And living out here, that’s been great, too. All except the fact that you’re there and I’m here.”
“Yes, I know,” Hannah said in a whisper.
“This summer will be wonderful. I won’t be spending my Friday nights rushing to an overcrowded train or sitting on the Hampton Jitney for hours on the L.I.E. You will!” Robert grinned and offered a toast, “To no commuting! Cin Cin!” He raised his wine glass, and clicked Hannah’s. “Of course the winter is another story. I know it gets pretty cold here. This house needs insulation.”
Hannah’s jaw went slack. Oh, my God! He intends to stay at the beach permanently! She felt Robert still loved her, but Hannah feared that might not be enough to keep their marriage on track. Would she be forced to choose between their marriage and living in New York?
As soon as he noticed Hannah’s troubled gaze, Robert asked plaintively, “Don’t I at least get a peck on the cheek for slaving over that hot omelet pan?”
“You deserve more than that,” Hannah said and playfully plunked herself down on his lap.
Robert held her face in both his hands and looked into her tear-filled eyes for a few seconds before kissing her quivering lips. The force of their kiss made it clear how much they’d missed each other. She would have liked to be carried up to the bedroom in his arms, like Scarlett O’Hara was by Rhett Butler, but settled for being led upstairs, holding on to the newly installed railing.
They embraced at the top of the stairs. Their six-week hiatus made them hungry for each other. Still clinging, one to the other, they landed on the bed. Their lovemaking was feverish. They satisfied their lust. Both realized what being apart had cost them.
“It always should be like this with us,” Hannah whispered.
Robert agreed. When they finally broke apart, they fell asleep contentedly. Robert woke up when he rolled over and hit his head on the edge of the night table. His eyes caught a glimpse of his note pad—scrawled in block letters was an appointment he’d made to meet an electrician. He checked his watch, and reached for his jeans.
Hannah woke up as he was putting on his sneakers. “Where are you rushing to?” she asked, wistfully.
“I have an appointment with the electrician. He’s at the house by now. I gotta run. Promise, I’ll be back in an hour, two at the most. He’s waiting for the new specs. Damn! I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Robert said.
“Now who’s letting work interfere with our life?” Hannah said laughing. “Go! I’ll clean up. In two hours you won’t recognize the place.”
Early the next morning Hannah and Robert were awakened by a beam of sun shining through the skylight over their bed. Neither wanted to budge. Instead they made love like newlyweds. Afterwards they held each other close. Hannah wished she could melt into Robert’s body, to make it impossible for him to ever leave h
er. They were both hungry. Robert decided to go out for fresh rolls and the newspaper. Reading the paper in bed on the weekends used to be their ritual when they lived together. Of course, in their New York apartment they had the convenience of having the paper delivered to their door. Reluctantly, Hannah let Robert go.
“Hurry back,” she said. Hannah couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this good. She was sure Robert felt the same way.
When he returned armed with a breakfast tray, they ate their still-warm rolls with jam, drank freshly brewed English Breakfast tea in bed, and read the paper in comfortable silence just the way they used to. Later, bundled up against the cool breeze, they walked along the beach. Hannah had almost forgotten what a good time they used to have doing nothing special. She was almost afraid to breathe. Hannah didn’t want anything to change. As they approached the house on the way back, Robert heard the ringing phone and rushed in to answer it.
“Where have you been? I’m here at the station. I have been waiting for you for more than twenty minutes!” Christy’s voice blared through the phone. Robert held the receiver at arm’s length to protect his eardrum.
“Oh, my God. I forgot you were coming. I’ll be right there.” Robert hung up and looked around for Hannah.
“Hey, Hannah, where are you?”
“Upstairs. Getting out of these clothes. Come and join me.”
“That was Christy. It’s her weekend. I completely forgot. She’s waiting at the train station. I’ve got to pick her up. See, you make me forget everything.”
“So sorry.” Hannah’s tone was flat, serious.
“Not your fault,” he laughed, “I’m the jerk who forgot.”
When Hannah didn’t respond, Robert knew her silence was not a good sign. He rushed up the stairs two at a time. When he reached her, he saw she was throwing her stuff into her overnight bag.