by Bina Bernard
Helga interrupted. “You are from America?”
Hannah nodded.
“Come inside!” She pulled Hannah through the threshold. Before she closed the door, Helga looked up and down the street to see if anyone was watching.
Without uttering another word, Hannah followed her into the front room. She looked around for family photos. Only a framed picture hanging on the wall, of a young couple on vacation in the mountains, caught her eye. By the time Helga motioned for her to sit on the couch, Hannah had formulated an acceptable opening.
“I’m writing a story about Polish families who adopted children during the war. Whose relatives live in the United States,” she added lamely. “You and your husband adopted a daughter, Lena?”
“Yes, we adopted Lena. But why is that a story now?” Helga asked.
Hannah couldn’t bring herself to tell Helga the truth. “The American family would like to thank you for taking Lena in and caring for her,” she finally said.
“We gave her a good life. My husband adored her. Stefan completely spoiled the child.”
Hannah felt jealous as she recalled Harry’s coldness.
“It’s sad that it was for such a short time,” Hannah said.
“What do you mean?” Helga was indignant. “We took care of Lena always!”
“How old was Lena when she died?” Hannah asked.
“What are you talking about?” Helga shouted. “Lena is not dead. She’s a doctor in Warsaw. Dr. Lena Malińska. You can ask her yourself. She sees patients at the Central Hospital on Wołoska Street. It’s my husband who is dead!” Helga cried out.
Hannah was struck dumb. Her hand trembled. She could barely scribble Helga’s words into her reporter’s notebook.
“So sorry for your loss,” Hannah finally whispered.
“You must be talking about a different Lena,” Helga said.
Hannah nodded. “Yes. Perhaps the American family was given the wrong information. We may be talking about two different people.”
Helga frowned. Now with Stefan gone, she could use some help from America. She would have welcomed a reward. She’d earned it.
Hannah’s mind was reeling. Her heart was racing. Before Helga could ask any more questions, Hannah wanted to make a quick exit. She stood up and grabbed her bag.
“I have to do some more checking,” she blurted out. “Thank you for seeing me!” And headed for the door.
Once the door slammed behind her, Hannah took a deep breath of cool air as her thoughts seesawed between thinking that her sister was still alive and the alternative, that the only thing Lena Malińska had in common with her Lena was the first name. The reporter in her wondered how the Archbishop could have made such a mistake. It is possible, she decided. The elderly nun could have passed on wrong information. Records get lost and misfiled.
For the time being, optimism won out. Unbelievable! My sister isn’t dead! How fitting that Dr. Harry Stone’s first born is a doctor? Without the benefit of his prodding.
Hannah felt she would explode if she didn’t share her news soon. I must call Robert, was her first thought. Remembering what she’d been told by journalists about phones being tapped by the government, Hannah had second thoughts. Do I want the Polish authorities to know that an American reporter who was born in Poland, and may have left the country illegally, is now back looking for her sister?
Hannah decided the news was too extraordinary not to share with Robert! I’ll be very careful. Just like during the war. Now at least I have an American passport! That must count for something. Even behind the Iron Curtain.
She started her search for a public phone in the Town Square. When she finally located one at the train station, it was broken. Frustrated, Hannah asked the clerk at the ticket counter for help. The woman rolled her eyes, realizing Hannah was a foreign tourist.
“There are three ways to make an international call in Poland,” she explained. “If you are lucky enough to have a phone at home, you live in a hotel or, as most people do, visit a post office. Poczta Polska is where you buy stamps, send letters, receive registered mail, and make long distance calls.” But no matter where the calls were placed, international calls required an appointment.
Resigned, Hannah realized her good news would have to keep till she got back to Hotel Polonia. By the time the train pulled into Warsaw’s Central Station it was night. Hannah was glad she had only a short walk to her hotel. The café she’d passed that afternoon had looked inviting, now seemed menacing. Hannah quickened her pace. A group of East German tourists was milling around the lobby. She gave the concierge Robert’s office number and asked her to arrange an international call, then raced upstairs to her room to wait. But it took a while before the concierge was able to get the call through.
When Hannah finally heard Robert’s voice, what she blurted out made no sense to him.
“What are you telling me?” Robert asked, confused.
Hannah took a deep breath and started again. “I can’t explain now. Just know that Lena did not die as a child. She lives in Warsaw.” Hannah was careful. She did not mention Lena’s last name. Nor who gave her the information, or any fact that could identify the person she was talking about.
“And you know this, how?”
“The woman who adopted her told me. It’s amazing! Lena’s a doctor. Isn’t that just incredible?” Hannah was careful not to say where Lena practiced, just in case someone was listening and taking notes. She was sorry she let it slip Lena was a doctor. Too much information, she chided herself.
“Are you sure it’s the same Lena? It’s a pretty common girl’s name, wouldn’t you say?” While pointing out the obvious, Robert was reluctant to put the kibosh on Hannah’s astonishing news.
“No. I’m not sure,” Hannah admitted. While she had not dismissed the possibility that this was a different Lena, she tried to suppress the notion. “I’m going to talk to her tomorrow.”
“Your mother misses you. She’s invited herself to dinner this evening,” Robert said.
“You’re taking her out to eat?”
“No. She’s bringing food to the apartment. She keeps asking me where you went, and I’m not as good a liar as you,” Robert said.
“Unfortunately, I’ve had more practice.”
After she hung up the phone, Hannah’s anxiety quotient started to rise. The fact that the concierge had her passport, which clearly stated she was born in Poland, was worrisome. What if the Polish authorities decide to investigate how I left Poland as a child? Then again why would anybody care when Hannah McCabe left Poland? she reasoned. No one at the hotel had even asked her where she was born.
As she took a bite of her kielbasa sandwich that she’d brought back from Sandomierz, the telephone rang.
“Hello,” Hannah said cautiously, wondering why she was getting a call from the front desk.
“Hannah, your mother has freaked out, she found the letter,” Robert said, his voice shaky.
“What letter?”
“From the Archbishop. It was on your desk.”
“What was she doing at my desk?”
“I don’t know. She went in there to put her coat down, I think. After she read it she came running out of the room, screaming and yelling in Polish. I couldn’t figure out what she was saying. When I finally got her to talk English, she calmed down. Now she’s sitting in the living room staring into space. She keeps repeating, ‘That can’t be! That can’t be!’ Should I tell her what you found out?”
Still censoring her comments, Hannah said, “I don’t think so. We should wait until I know one way or the other. Does she know where I am?
“No. Should I tell her?”
“Absolutely not! Let me talk to her. She’ll feel better if she gets a chance to yell at me for keeping the letter from her,” Hannah said. “Can you take the day off tomorrow? Make her stay over. She shouldn’t be alone.”
“No problem. I can work at home. I’ll keep her here until you sort this out,” Robe
rt promised.
When she picked up the receiver Molly’s “Hello,” was lifeless.
“Mom, I’m sorry we kept the letter a secret,” Hannah said. “We didn’t tell you because we wanted to spare you. We thought it was the right thing to do,” Hannah said.
“It’s not easy to know what is the right thing to do,” Molly said without a trace of malice. “I was so sure Lena was alive. I thought I would feel it if she was dead.”
Hannah crossed her fingers as she hung up the phone. “I hope I’ll have good news for you tomorrow, Mom,” she said out loud. Hearing her own voice in this unfamiliar environment made Hannah feel more alone. She was glad her room faced the street so she occasionally heard the sound of life outside. Hannah was not hungry enough to finish her sandwich and too keyed up to sleep. She turned to the routine that calmed her when she worried about a story. Legal pad in hand, she sat down on the bed and went into prep mode. She started to write a list of questions for Dr. Malińska. As she did for any important interview, Hannah rehearsed. This time she practiced asking her questions in Polish. Not out loud, but in her head. In case her hotel room was bugged.
Exhausted, Hannah fell asleep holding the picture Harry had shown her when he first told her about Lena.
Early the next morning, after she finished the continental breakfast left at her door, Hannah got directions from the concierge to the Central Hospital at 137 Wołoska Street. It was either a twenty-six-minute bus ride or a fifty-three-minute brisk walk. Eager to confront Lena Malińska, Hannah took the bus. At the hospital, when she could not find someone who spoke English, Hannah was forced to speak Polish. But locating a particular doctor in a hospital complex in Warsaw was not very different from trying to do the same in New York.
A nurse’s aide who saw how frazzled Hannah was took pity on her.
“Can I help?” she asked.
“Yes, yes, I hope you can. I’m looking for Dr. Lena Malińska.”
“Do you know where she works?”
Hannah shook her head no. She felt foolish. Some experienced reporter I am, Hannah berated herself. I should have asked Helga where in the hospital Lena worked!
The aide made several calls and came back happy. “I found her!” she said triumphantly. The young woman started to give Hannah directions, but gave up. “I will take you,” she said, and escorted Hannah through a maze of corridors to the wing where Dr. Lena Malińska saw patients.
“Good luck,” the aide said as she left Hannah in the crowded reception room.
Now forced to speak Polish, Hannah found herself actually thinking in Polish. “I would like to see Dr. Malińska,” Hannah said confidently to the woman collating papers at the reception desk. “I need to speak . . .”
The receptionist cut her off mid-sentence. “The doctor is not here. She is not seeing patients today,” she said without looking up.
“What about tomorrow?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Do you wish to see another doctor?” she asked, finally looking at Hannah.
“No. I do not want to see a different doctor. I will come back tomorrow.”
“As you wish,” the woman said, and went back to her paperwork.
Normally, Hannah felt it best to assume the worst, and be surprised when something good turned up, but in this situation, she had allowed optimism to take root. Although she still had no proof that Lena Malińska was her sister, she had almost decided that she was. Hannah was eager to surprise Molly with the good news. This delay was frustrating, but she did not feel defeated.
Instead of wallowing in disappointment back in her hotel room for not connecting with Dr. Malińska, Hannah viewed this free time as an opportunity to do some sight-seeing on her own. The map of Warsaw and her guide book in hand, she headed for the Royal Łazienki Park. As she explored the grassy walks, in her head, Hannah replayed that special afternoon. She was there with Aunt Marta on her day off, feeding the red squirrels, pigeons, and ducks. But on Lipowa Street nothing remained of the ornate limestone building where she had lived with Aunt Emma. A modern, three-story concrete structure now stood in its place.
What was once here now exists only in my memory, Hannah mused. Sad. But no surprise. The last time I walked on this street all the buildings were on fire.
As she strolled over to the promenade along the Wisła River, Hannah thought about that balmy Tuesday afternoon in August, just before the Warsaw Uprising started. She still marveled at how unusual and very lucky it was that both Bronisław Bieliński and Marta Wilakowa were visiting her that day. Luck made it possible for Hannah to be with her mother for the rest of the war.
Reading the mention in her guide book that the former Library of Judaica on Tłomackie Street was now the Jewish Historical Institute, Hannah thought, I should go there! Without Jarek Tarnowski looking on, I could mourn those I had watched being annihilated years ago.
But the mere prospect of revisiting that area instantly replayed the harrowing sound of explosives ignited by flame throwers. Recalling how the buildings in the Ghetto had been set on fire one by one, Hannah could almost smell the acrid smoke as it once hovered above Warsaw. She wiped her eyes. No. I can’t go there. Not alone. Maybe if Harry and Molly were with me.
Once she got back to her hotel Hannah immediately asked the concierge to place another overseas call to Robert, this time to the apartment. When the call finally came through, she cautiously explained the delay. She asked Robert to make Molly stay for another day, and quickly hung up. Whoever is listening, Hannah thought, must be bored to tears.
The next day when Hannah presented herself at the hospital, a different woman was now sitting at the reception desk. She seemed friendlier, but still a barrier.
“I’m sorry, Dr. Malińska is very busy. She is going away, and we are not scheduling any new patients for her.”
“I am not a patient. I am a journalist. I need to ask the doctor a few questions.”
“Is it about her trip to New York?”
Hannah was taken aback. Lena Malińska was going to New York?
“Yes. It’s about her trip to New York,” she lied.
The woman told Hannah to take a seat on a bench in the waiting room and disappeared down the hall. When she returned, she was shaking her head as she approached Hannah. “Sorry. The doctor doesn’t wish to speak to you.”
“I must talk to her. It is very important. It’s a personal matter,” Hannah insisted.
The receptionist sighed. “There is nothing I can do. I’ll try to find her nurse. Maybe she can help you. Wait here.”
As soon as the woman turned the corner, Hannah followed. She was surprised that the guard stationed in the waiting room had not stopped her. Hannah hid behind a cart piled high with medical supplies and watched. When the receptionist went back to her post, Hannah warily approached the room the woman had just exited. She took a deep breath, then ventured in.
Inside, Hannah looked around the empty room for signs of Dr. Malińska’s presence. The office itself looked nothing like what she was used to seeing. The walls were bare and needed painting. No diplomas or commendations, usually on display in doctors’ offices in the U.S., adorned these walls. The desk was stacked high with what she assumed to be patient files. When she approached, Hannah immediately spotted the same photograph of two little girls that Harry had shown her. Suddenly this drab room was transformed into a magical place.
“What are you doing here?” an angry voice behind Hannah shouted.
She spun around and was face-to-face with a woman who was the spitting image of her mother, thirty years ago. There was no doubt this was her sister. Oh, my God. I’ve found Lena. I’ve found her. Hannah tried to speak but her parched mouth could not form any words.
“Are you the journalist who wanted to see me?” Lena demanded.
Hannah nodded.
“I told Magda I have nothing to say. Please go.”
Hannah did not move. When she finally spoke, she said, “I don’t want to talk to you about your tr
ip to New York. I want to talk to you about this,” and handed Lena the duplicate of the picture on her desk.
“Who are you?” Lena asked, her tone registering a mixture of shock and fear. “How did you get this picture?”
“I am the other child in that photograph,” Hannah said.
She felt no need to keep her identity a secret from her sister.
Instinctively, Lena started to cross herself, then stopped. “You are Hannah, Hershel and Malka Stein’s daughter? My sister?”
Hannah nodded.
“I cannot believe this!” Lena almost shouted. “How could this be? I heard my parents and sister went to America.”
“They did.”
“But you are here!”
Both sisters started to laugh and cry at the same time before they fell into each other’s arms.
“Is miracle!” Lena shouted in English.
“Tak! Tak!” Hannah yelled in Polish.
While her sister completed her shift, Hannah remained in the tiny office. Having found her, she needed to stay close. Hannah felt drained. She’d made the trip back to Poland in spite of her fears, and accomplished more than she had expected. But her feeling of joy for having found her sister alive did not override her sense of guilt for not having found her sooner. In her musings she wondered, Had I shown Harry the Archbishop’s letter when it first arrived, would I have found out the truth sooner? Did my mistake cheat Harry?
Lena held onto her sister’s hand as they walked out the main entrance of the hospital, heading for Hotel Polonia. Surprising, this time as soon as they got into her hotel room, the concierge called with New York on the line.
“Molly is still with you?” Hannah asked when she heard Robert’s voice.
“Yes. I convinced her to stay. Is the news good or bad?”
“The best.”
“Then you tell her.”
Hannah hoped whoever was listening would be celebrating with them. As soon as Molly picked up the phone, Hannah said, “You were right, Mom. The Archbishop was wrong. Lena did not die as a child. She’s grown up. And a doctor!”
“How could you possibly know this?” Molly wasn’t shouting but she was obviously angry. “Where are you calling from?”