by Bina Bernard
Hannah placed her mother’s fingers around her fork. “Eat,” she said.
An obedient Molly slowly ate the omelet.
That was a small victory, Hannah thought. She realized her mother could not be left alone. After Molly finished eating, she went into the bedroom, and Hannah phoned Adella.
“Any chance you could come back to stay with Molly, at least for a couple of weeks?” Hannah asked.
“I was about to start a new job next week, but I didn’t tell them yet,” Adella said.
“Please, please come back. She really needs you. I didn’t realize how bad it was until I saw her this evening.”
“Don’t you worry. I’ll be there in the morning. We’ll fix her,” Adella promised.
“Thank you,” Hannah said solemnly. Relieved, she called Robert. “I don’t feel comfortable leaving Mother here alone.”
“Spend the night,” he said. “Let Adella in tomorrow and give her a key. It may take a while, but I’m sure Molly will come out of it.”
“I’m glad I didn’t tell her about Lena.”
“She doesn’t need to hear more bad news now,” Robert said.
Her search for her sister was over. But Hannah, the inveterate reporter, had many questions. How did Lena live during the war? What was she like as a child? Exactly how did she die? She needed those questions answered before she showed the letter to her mother, and before she herself could put the matter to rest.
Hannah decided she had to talk to the family that adopted Lena. Even if they only had her for a short time, they deserved a proper thank you for taking Lena in, she reasoned. And Hannah convinced herself that she had to talk to Helga and Stefan Jankowski in person.
CHAPTER
17
OVER LINGUINI AND CLAM SAUCE at Pete’s Tavern, Robert listened as Hannah, the reporter, plotted her trip to Poland.
“I have a name and a place to start. Father Murphy got me the address for Helga and Stefan Jankowski. What could be easier?” Hannah said confidently.
“It would be easier if you were flying into Warsaw, Wisconsin, instead of Warsaw, Poland,” Robert said. “Do you remember how freaked out you were five years ago when the guard checking your passport in Spain asked when you left Poland?”
“I don’t know why that upset me so much. I guess it was the first time I’d been out of the country. I think I can do it now,” Hannah said. “I’ll pretend I’m on a story.” Hannah often forced herself to do things as a reporter that she would never tackle otherwise. When necessary she covered riots, got on a ski lift in spite of vertigo, and took a white-knuckle ride in a helicopter.
“What will you tell your mother?”
“I’ll just say I’m going away for a week for work, and not mention where to. If I told her I was going to Poland, she would definitely freak out. Remember, we left Poland illegally. Technically I’m still a Polish citizen. My mother would be afraid they might try to keep me. One of their friends was arrested and put in prison when she went back to visit her sister. I don’t remember the details. But her husband paid a lot of money to get her out.”
“But you’re not afraid, right?” Robert said with more than a little sarcasm in his voice.
Hannah sighed and shook her head. As her anxiety level increased, her enthusiasm for the trip waned a little. They still don’t like Jews in Poland, she thought. Not much had changed on that score. She bit her lip and fought off any negative thoughts about her impending trip. I have an American passport, she reassured herself. I can’t be like Harry and Molly. I can’t let the past cripple me for the rest of my life. Instead, Hannah challenged her grown-up self to measure up to the capabilities she demonstrated as a child.
At the Polish Consulate, Hannah felt less confident. When a dour Elka Woleńska, neatly dressed in a navy suit that looked like a uniform, asked for her passport, Hannah was glad it was in the name of Hannah McCabe and not Hannah Stone, and certainly not Hannah Stein. When she had applied for her passport, Hannah was indignant hearing she had to use her legal married name. Now, in the Polish Consulate, being seen as Hannah McCabe she felt protected. Hannah wondered if on some level she saw Robert’s not being Jewish as a plus, rather than a minus. Would he know how to keep her safe if the unthinkable happened here? The way Harry had. For now, it was enough that she had his name to shield her.
Having noted Hannah’s place of birth, in a lilting Polish accent, Elka Woleńska asked, “When did you come to America?” Her friendly tone indicated real interest.
Hannah responded as she always did, with evasion: “I was pretty young.”
Undaunted, Elka continued: Pani mówi po polsku?
Hannah shook her head no. Her being able to speak Polish, without anyone from Poland knowing that, gave her an edge.
“Do you remember much of Poland?” Elka continued.
“No,” Hannah shook her head. “That’s why I want to go back.”
“To see family?”
“Yes. To see family,” she nodded. Almost the truth. Always best to stay close to the truth, she thought.
As Elka reached for an application form, Hannah said, “I’m pretty sloppy, can I have a few just in case I make a mistake.”
“Of course. Have a good trip,” Elka said, and handed her the forms, which Hannah accepted with sweaty palms.
The form was straightforward, Hannah thought. Until she had to list her maiden name. Why do they need to know that? She wondered. Suddenly Hannah was back in war mode. Ostensibly there was no need for secrecy. But even with the protection of an American passport, Hannah preferred to keep part of her true identity secret. She considered writing BIELIŃSKA. It seemed like a minor alteration in light of a greater truth. That’s who I was the last time I was in Poland, Hannah thought.
She wondered if they could put you in jail if you lied about your maiden name on an application form. The mere suggestion aroused a sense of panic. Hannah was shocked by what she was feeling. She furtively looked around the large room, which suddenly took on a dangerous aspect. There was absolutely nothing to be afraid of, she told herself. I am standing in a building on East 37th Street in New York City. Nobody wants to hurt me, deport me, or put me in prison. Still, she was having trouble breathing, and every muscle in her body tightened.
Hannah filled in all the blanks on the application form truthfully. As she finally wrote STONE in block letters, she was relieved that she did not have to write STEIN.
As she imagined disembarking the airplane at Okęcie Airport in Poland, her mounting anxiety almost derailed her plans. At that moment, Hannah realized there wasn’t much difference between her and her parents. She may have learned to speak English without the trace of an accent and easily passed for being American-born, but the past controlled her present, just as it did theirs. With one difference. Unlike her parents, Hannah was not going to let her fear keep her from going back to Poland. She had to find out first-hand what happened to Lena. She owed it to her. She was the one who survived.
CHAPTER
18
Poland
THE FLIGHT ON LOT AIRLINES was uneventful. Robert had plied Hannah with enough wine before she boarded that she fell asleep almost as soon as she strapped herself into her seat. The pilot’s voice announcing their descent woke Hannah up. Her breathing became labored and her palms began to sweat. To keep calm she repeated, I’m an American citizen, I’m an American citizen. Once on the ground, Hannah was prepared to be grilled by a hostile immigration officer. Instead, her American passport evoked a smile from the man behind the Lucite partition.
“Speak Polish?” he asked when he noted that Poland was her place of birth.
Hannah shook her head. “Sorry,” she said sheepishly.
“What city?”
“Krakow.”
“Beautiful city. Much history. Your husband is American?” he asked, noting her marital status.
“Yes.” Hannah nodded. She was eager for his questioning to stop. But if he asked when she’d left Poland, she was
prepared with, “I was a child.” He couldn’t blame a child for leaving Mother Poland illegally! If he were to ask her maiden name, Hannah was buoyed by the fact that Stone, unlike Stein, didn’t scream, “She’s Jewish!” Hannah hoped her green eyes would again aid the deception. But no other questions followed.
“Welcome back to Poland!” he said, returning her passport.
“Thank you,” Hannah said and wondered whether he would be welcoming her back knowing she was Jewish. In the eyes of the West, the Polish Communist party was viewed as responsible for the recent government purge of anyone with a drop of Jewish blood. But Hannah believed distrust and dislike of Jews was part of the Polish DNA.
As she looked around the small arrival terminal, Hannah relaxed. No wartime memories to summon here, she thought. Yet she knew that at any moment the fear that she’d been suppressing could overpower her.
Outside, Hannah walked toward a line of parked taxis. Should I splurge on a taxi or take the bus? She weighed her options, keeping in mind the warning in her travel guidebook about unscrupulous Warsaw cab drivers. The driver at the head of the taxi line was leaning against the hood of his car, reading a newspaper. Hannah made her decision once she saw the “Taxi” sign on the roof had a number. According to her trusty guidebook, that meant this was a legitimate cab. When Hannah reached him, the driver folded the newspaper and tipped his cap.
“Jarek Tarnowski, at your service,” he said. As he gallantly opened the passenger door, he added, “I luff America,” and then put her luggage in the trunk.
“I have aunt in Chicago. I go see her someday,” Mr. Tarnowski said, sliding behind the wheel.
“Don’t go in the winter. It’s very cold,” Hannah advised, happy to be making small talk.
“Like Poland?”
They both laughed.
Though she didn’t feel the need to keep it a secret, Hannah wondered what gave her away as an American even before she said a word.
Hannah sat back in her seat and pretended there was nothing unusual about her trip. When she looked out the window what she saw held no meaning for her. After studying the train schedule she’d picked up at the airport, Hannah realized she had most of the day free before taking the afternoon train to Sandomierz. She considered doing some sightseeing.
I’m an American tourist. That’s what tourists do! At that moment Hannah wished she had let Robert come with her.
By the time the taxi pulled up in front of Hotel Polonia, Hannah had decided to ask her driver to be her guide. “Do you have time to show me Warsaw?” she asked. “I will pay you.”
“Tak, tak. Yes, yes. I have time,” he answered eagerly.
“I have to register at the hotel. Do you want to come back later?” Hannah asked, as Jarek Tarnowski opened the door of the taxi.
“No. No. I wait,” he said, and carried her bags into the lobby.
As she followed him, Hannah stared at the entrance. Nothing seemed familiar except the name. But this was the same hotel where Ela and three-year-old Hannah had spent that one night when she had slept through a bombing.
While Hannah was checking in, her soon-to-be-tour-guide parked his taxi on Jerozolimskie Avenue and waited. When she came out, he gallantly held the passenger door open for her, and proudly announced there was much to see in Warsaw. He also assured his American passenger that he loved everything from America, but especially Coca-Cola and Humphrey Bogart.
Though he seemed to understand English pretty well, he struggled to form sentences. Still, Hannah did not let on that she spoke Polish.
“Is all new!” Jarek Tarnowski said pointing to the skyline. Obviously proud of the rebuilt Warsaw, he asked, “What you want to see first?”
“Let’s start our tour with the Old Town. S-ta-re M-ias-to,” Hannah enunciated each syllable very carefully, as if she were trying to read it phonetically in the guidebook she was holding in her hand. Jarek smiled his approval at her attempt to speak Polish.
Left in ruins by the Germans, the Old Town had been faithfully restored. The Market Square with its pastel buildings and cobblestone streets looked like a movie set to Hannah. According to Jarek, the restoration of the Royal Castle, dynamited by the Germans, had only been completed recently.
To augment Jarek Tarnowski’s enthusiastic, yet inadequate, narration Hannah tracked their route on the map she had picked up from the concierge at the hotel. As they drove past the Monument to the Ghetto Heroes, Hannah stared at the modern apartment complexes that now stood on the ruins of the Ghetto. “Are there many Jews in Warsaw today?” Hannah asked.
As soon as the words left her mouth, she was sorry. Seeing him turn to look at her, Hannah squirmed. I bet he’s thinking, “Is this American a Jewess?” Even thinking the word “Jewess,” commonly used by Gentiles to refer to Jewish women, made her cringe.
To rehabilitate her image in his eyes, Hannah quickly said, “I meant did many of them come back after the war?” She emphasized the word them.
Hannah could see his head turn from side to side. But under his breath, in Polish, he muttered, “For what? There’s nothing here for them.” Hannah did not let on she understood his words. He simply reinforced what she had suspected. Gentiles in Poland did not miss the Jews. To change the subject, she pointed to a building that towered over the city skyline. “What is that?” Hannah asked, as they headed back south.
“Is Palace of Culture and Science. A gift from Stalin to the people of Poland. Looks like Russian wedding cake, no?” he said with a laugh. Then he added proudly, “Rolling Stones gave concert there nine years ago.”
Hannah thought it looked a lot like the Empire State Building in New York.
As they drove around, Hannah got to see more churches and palaces than she knew had existed in Warsaw. She was enjoying the tour, but it wasn’t until they passed the Blikle cake shop on Nowy Świat that something registered with her personally. Hannah thought about the times she opened a box from Blikle filled with pączki. Whenever he visited, Harry, as Bronisław Bieliński, used to bring Emma her favorite treats from that bakery. While pączki looked like jelly doughnuts, they tasted much better. Hannah had almost forgotten how surprised and disappointed she was when she took a bite of her first jelly doughnut in America.
A very different Warsaw whizzed by the car window than the one Hannah remembered. The last time she was there, the city was ablaze and the unforgettable stench of burnt corpses permeated the air. As Jarek pointed out the new Soviet-style architecture mixed in with the beautifully restored Gothic churches and neoclassical palaces, the new Warsaw did not feel frightening. Passersby did not look much different from people she might encounter in Cleveland or Chicago. Still, Hannah couldn’t help wondering what was in their hearts.
At the completion of her guided tour Hannah offered to pay Jarek Tarnowski in U.S. dollars. He was ecstatic. When he dropped her off in front of her hotel, they shook hands.
“Have a safe flight to Chicago,” Hannah said, and waved goodbye.
She had just enough time to order a snack from room service before heading to the train station for her trip to Sandomierz. As she walked briskly along Jerozolimskie Avenue to make the train, Hannah congratulated herself on how well she had acclimated to being back in Poland after touring Warsaw with Jarek Tarnowski. Until she stopped at the curb in front of the newly redesigned Warsaw Central Train Station.
Hannah knew the Germans had blown it up after crushing the Warsaw Uprising. But the futuristic exterior shocked her. It had no connection to what she remembered. Having seen how faithfully the Old Town was restored, she was unprepared for this replacement.
Inside the station was crowded. As she entered, Hannah blinked and suddenly she was back on a packed platform in October ’44.
The Uprising had failed. She, Aunt Marta, and Emma had been squatting on the floor of the station for many days. Along with hundreds of other women and children, they were being expelled from Warsaw.
Watched over by German soldiers pointing their guns, t
hey waited. But no one knew where they were going. Or when.
As a diversion she had been spinning herself around like a top. When she stopped, and saw no sign of Aunt Marta or Emma, she was sure she’d lost them forever.
By the time they found her, she had started to hyperventilate. But she did not cry.
Now, more than three decades later, standing in the new Warsaw Central Train Station, the same feeling of panic Hannah felt then resurfaced. Again, hardened knots churned in her stomach.
A young boy chasing after his mother bumped into Hannah and brought her back to the present just in time for her to buy a ticket and make her train to Sandomierz.
Gazing out the window of the #8 bus she boarded outside of the Sandomierz train station, Hannah wondered what her sister’s short life had been like. She tried to imagine little Lena skipping along the cobblestones or trailing after her “parents” in the narrow streets of this picturesque city along the Wisła River.
Hannah had timed her arrival to appear at the Jankowski house at dinnertime when most people would be home. She chose to come unannounced. As a reporter, Hannah thought surprise usually gave her an advantage. When she reached for the heavy iron knocker on the Jankowski front door, she still had not decided how she should present herself.
“Yes? Can I help you?” Helga asked in Polish when she cracked open the door. Her tone clearly indicated she was not interested in helping this intruder.
Hannah opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out.
“What do you want?” Helga asked.
Hannah cleared her throat. “Hope you can understand my rusty Polish. I’ve come a long way to talk to you.”
“What about?” Helga managed to inject both hostility and curiosity into her question.
“I’m a reporter for a magazine in the United States . . .”