by Bina Bernard
Hannah’s palms began to sweat as she recalled an episode with her mother in Koslow, near the end of the German occupation.
Having earned a reputation as a talented singer in the Koslow community, Marta was summoned by a group of German officers passing through town to entertain at a party they were having. Afraid to go and afraid to refuse, her solution was to take six-year-old Zosia along for protection. Hyper-vigilant Zosia stationed herself at the side of the refreshment table and watched the performance. But after Marta finished singing, an appreciative group of officers formed a circle around her. When Zosia finally caught sight of her, one of the officers had his arm around Marta. Seeing the pained expression on her face, Zosia took a cake fork from the dessert table and jabbed the officer in the arm. In the ensuing commotion, Marta grabbed Zosia’s wrist, dragged her out the back door, and they hid in the hayloft of their barn. Zosia was terrified, and was sure the barking dogs she heard through the night were searching for them. They stayed hidden until they were sure the German officers left town.
She wished she could tell Lena how she has felt responsible for Molly since she was a child. But Hannah only felt comfortable saying, “Mother and I have had a complicated relationship. Sometimes, we’re too close . . .”
During the night, Molly went in to check on her girls. They had finally talked themselves out and were sound asleep. For a few moments she stood and watched, remembering how they once shared a bedroom many years ago. Without thinking, Molly gently rubbed Lena’s cheek, the way she had when she was an infant. Drowsy with sleep, Lena opened her eyes, patted her mother’s hand. “Dobranoc, Mama,” she said, just the way she used to, and fell back to sleep.
For over thirty years, Molly had longed to hear her firstborn say, “Goodnight, Mama.”
CHAPTER
24
SUNDAY WAS THE MORNING Hannah usually slept in. But when she opened her eyes this Sunday, the clock on the night table next to her bed glowed 5:00 a.m. The entire night Hannah had been trapped in a maze. Now awake in the semi-dark room, an uneasy feeling settled in the pit of her stomach. She had been worried for weeks because there had been no word from Lena. The unveiling of Harry’s headstone, a year after his death, was a week away, and Hannah was afraid her sister might not be allowed to come.
She took several deep breaths hoping to force the unspecific dread out of her body, then reached over to stroke Robert’s shoulder as he slept next to her. He grunted in his sleep and patted her hand. Feeling his touch lightened her mood.
Hannah quietly tiptoed around the bedroom collecting her clothes, careful not to awaken Robert. It was unnecessary. He had the enviable ability to sleep through any kind of disturbance. The innocent sleep unperturbed, Hannah thought.
She stayed in the shower longer than usual, letting the warm water soothe her stiff neck. Hannah came out clean but hardly relaxed. She decided to go visit her mother early. Hannah kissed Robert on the forehead and placed the Times at the foot of the bed, with a note: Be back as soon as I can. Call me at my mother’s. Love, H.
Robert seemed to incorporate her kiss into what most certainly was a pleasant dream.
On her way uptown, Hannah stopped to pick up an assortment of bagels, cream cheese and some whitefish, a delicacy that Molly particularly enjoyed. Just like her mother, she hoped the food would smooth over a potentially difficult day. When Hannah arrived at the apartment, a cheerful Molly greeted her at the door.
“Good morning. It’s still morning, isn’t it?” she asked. “I’ve been up for hours trying to decide what I should wear to the cemetery next Sunday. I narrowed it down to three possible outfits. I’d like your opinion on what would be most appropriate.”
Hannah was bemused. Her mother was willing to give her a vote on what would make an appropriate fashion statement at an unveiling! She returned Molly’s hug. It felt good. They both wanted to help each other through a trying time. For the past year Hannah had worked hard to improve their relationship, and for the most part she was successful.
As Molly took the bag of food from Hannah, she sniffed it, then turned up her nose. “I hope you didn’t buy the whitefish at Zabar’s. I’m sure they don’t deliver on the weekend, and what I had seen yesterday was old and dry. Not fit to eat.”
“I think I picked a good one,” Hannah said, and immediately changed the subject. “How’s the head count going?” She was pleased with herself, knowing that the old Hannah would have bristled at her mother’s remark.
“I’m halfway through the guest list. Don’t worry. I guarantee you we’ll have enough people. More than enough.”
“Great,” Hannah said.
Having picked out the headstone, made all the arrangements with the cemetery and the rabbi, Hannah had left it to Molly to ensure that the necessary number of people required to hold a gravesite service would show up. They needed a minyan, the quorum of at least ten Jewish men to be present. Of course, Hannah resented the fact that only men qualified for a minyan.
She remembered arguing with her father: “Are Jewish women chopped liver?”
Harry’s answer was always: “It’s tradition!”
For Harry, Hannah was willing to follow tradition.
In the kitchen, Hannah poured herself a cup of coffee, and mother and daughter sat down to breakfast.
“They must have gotten a new delivery!” Molly said as she swallowed her last mouthful of whitefish.
Hannah said, “I’m glad you liked it.”
“Ten o’clock isn’t too early to call on a Sunday, is it?” Molly asked rhetorically as she headed for the phone with her guest list. “We’ll deal with my wardrobe after I’ve made my calls,” she said. “Go, read the paper!”
Hannah was happy to see her mother back in charge instead of waiting for someone to tell her what to do. Cup of black coffee in hand, she walked into the living room and looked at Harry’s favorite spot on the sofa. I still expect him to walk in from the bedroom and sit down. Will it ever change? She sighed.
Hannah flipped through the Sunday New York Times Magazine and worried about Lena. She knew her sister would call as soon as she had secured a flight to New York. Unfortunately, no call meant no flight arrangements.
Having Lena at the unveiling was crucial. It was to be her final gift to her father. Her sister by her side at Harry’s grave was the only consolation for not finding her while Harry was still alive. The powers that be in Poland could once again sabotage my life. This time by not allowing my sister and her son to get on a plane!
As Hannah agonized silently, Molly complained out loud. “Lena should be here with us now,” she yelled into the living room. “Lena is back in the family. She should have come a week ago. I know she’s a doctor and has patients, just like Harry, but this is different. Out of respect she should have come. Harry would expect her to be here. I need her here. I need some time to get to know my only grandchild!”
Hannah let Molly rant without commenting. Even bringing up Stefan, her only grandchild, didn’t force a response. “It’s her nature,” she told herself. “She can’t help it.”
Molly was halfway through her final tally when the phone rang. Hannah rushed to answer it.
“Hello,” she said in a stilted voice, expecting one of Molly’s friends on the other end. But there seemed to be no one on the line.
“Hello. Hello. Is anyone there?”
“Yes. Yes,” a far-off voice finally said. “We have bad connection. Is me. Is Lena here.”
“Your ears must be burning,” Hannah said, relieved. “We were just talking about you. We can’t wait to see you and Stefan. Before you say another word, give me your flight number and time of arrival.”
“That is what I call to tell you.”
Hannah searched for a scrap of paper and a pencil, but froze when she heard Lena speak again.
“We have problem,” Lena continued.
Hannah held her breath.
“We have not got space on plane yet.”
Hannah sti
ffened. She closed her eyes, and forced herself to think positively.
“When will you get some good news?” Hannah asked.
“I do not know if . . .”
“You are still on a waiting list, right?”
“Of course. Is possible we be able to get on plane that comes to New York next Sunday morning. What hour is unveiling to be?”
“Three o’clock,” Hannah said, and swallowed hard. “With customs and immigration, that’s cutting it close.” Her voice was low, emotionless. “Is there any chance you could come on Saturday?” Hannah hated sounding like Molly, demanding more than was possible.
“No. Is not possible. Sunday would be earliest. And it may not . . .” Lena’s voice trailed off. “I try everything I could.”
“I know. I’m just glad you’re coming,” Hannah said, refusing to acknowledge the possibility that it may not happen.
“Who was on the phone?” Molly asked, when Hannah hung up.
“It was Lena.”
“Why didn’t you let me talk to her? I would have told her to come immediately.”
Hannah lied. “We were disconnected.” She decided to tell her mother only the good news. “Her flight information isn’t final yet. She has to call back.”
The morning of the unveiling Hannah woke up at 5:30 a.m. She had showered and was fully dressed long before Robert even got out of bed.
Over breakfast, which neither ate, Robert tried to convince Hannah that he should be the one to pick Lena up at the airport.
“You take care of my mother. Please! Lena expects me to meet her,” she insisted.
“For God’s sake, Hannah you’ve never driven a car west of Southampton. How are you going to make it through the tunnel and all the way to the airport?”
“Don’t you think it’s about time I started driving west of Southampton? I have to do this. And I will!” It was a test Hannah set for herself.
“You’re sure you’re going to be okay driving on the L.I.E. by yourself?” Robert asked as he watched her nervously rummage through her cavernous bag for her driver’s license.
“Yes. I’m sure. If I can drive along Montauk Highway during the summer, I can manage the Expressway early on Sunday morning,” she insisted. But her bravado was fake. Hannah was terrified. But also determined.
Ultimately Robert gave in. “You’re right. There won’t be much traffic at this hour. You’ll be fine,” he said, as he pulled her close. He could feel her heart racing.
He agreed to bring Molly, the wine, and the sponge cake to the cemetery, while Hannah made her solo trip to the airport. The LOT Airlines flight with Lena and Stefan on board was scheduled to land at 10 a.m. Hannah allowed plenty of time for traffic snarls.
She was waiting at the door of the Hertz car rental on East 24th Street when the manager opened up.
“Morning, you must be real anxious to get somewhere,” he said as he pulled up the metal gate.
Hannah nodded but said nothing. She thought to herself, If you knew how anxious I am you wouldn’t rent me one of your cars.
She managed to fill out the necessary paperwork in the guise of a normal person, but by the time Hannah slid behind the wheel of the Mercury Marquis she was in a cold sweat. The seat was lower to the ground than Robert’s old comfortable heap and the configuration of the dashboard was different. Everything added to her discomfort. She had trouble adjusting the seat so her foot could reach the gas pedal and brake. Then while fixing the rearview mirror Hannah almost pulled it off its moorings. For a moment she froze, not sure she could actually start the car. Hearing a honking horn from the vehicle behind her, Hannah put the car in drive. She gave it too much gas and it jolted forward. While she made a right out of the garage onto 24th Street without a problem, she had to jam on the brake when the light turned red just as she was about to make a left onto Third Avenue. Thank God New York has lights at every intersection, she thought. No left hand turns without a light was her mantra! A skittish driver in the country, Hannah often resorted to making a right in search of a traffic light when she needed to go left.
Waiting for the light, she took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.
“I can do this,” she said out loud. Seeing the sparse Sunday morning traffic, Hannah felt more in control, even though her wet palms kept slipping off the steering wheel. When the green light allowed it, she made a wide left onto Third Avenue and for eleven blocks stayed in the right lane, ready to turn onto the 36th Street entrance to the Queens Midtown Tunnel.
“I can do this. I can do this,” she kept telling herself.
After she’d given the attendant at the tollbooth the exact change without incident, and the green light welcomed her to Queens, Hannah relaxed her shoulders. She let the car in front of her set the speed limit. Hannah remained a car length behind. When she realized she was whistling, just the way her father used to when he drove, pretending to be calm, she laughed out loud. Hannah wasn’t sure whether she was channeling her father’s behind-the-wheel anxiety—Harry was neither a happy nor confident driver—or whether Harry’s spirit had somehow invaded her body so he could come along to greet his long-lost daughter. She glanced at the empty front seat and imagined her father sitting there, nervously tapping his hand on his right thigh as he anticipated seeing Lena after all these years. The image cheered her.
Despite the stress, Hannah marveled at how well her first solo drive on the Long Island Expressway went. In the airport parking lot, once she was navigating on her own two legs, the cool breeze dried her damp brow. She inhaled the jet-fumed air, and exhaled some of her tension. Only Robert could understand what a big deal this was for her. She had passed her own test.
Her next worry—the plane was late. She now had four hours to kill. Hannah found a working pay phone and called Robert to report the delay. For three hours she paced, counting the floor tiles, the way she used to count to one hundred, over and over, waiting for Aunt Emma to return. Finally, Hannah fell asleep on a plastic chair in the waiting area. The booming voice over the P.A. system announcing that the long-awaited plane had just landed awakened her. As she hurried to the immigration area, Hannah checked her watch. We’re still okay. If I can get out of the airport without making too many wrong turns, we’ll get to the cemetery on time, she reassured herself.
Hannah elbowed her way past others waiting, trying to get closer to the double doors that separated immigration from the rest of the terminal. When she saw Lena looking around frantically, she yelled to her sister.
“Over here, Lena! Over here!”
Once she spotted Hannah in the crowd, Lena pulled her son by the arm and the two rushed past other arrivals. They stopped just short of colliding with Hannah. Lena and Hannah threw their arms around each other.
Stefan’s light brown hair was slicked back, and he was wearing a man’s suit that was slightly too big for him. The thirteen-year-old looked even more like his grandfather than he had the last time she saw him, Hannah thought. In addition to their common features, Stefan’s body language reminded Hannah of her father. The way he tilted his head when he was unsure of his surroundings, but didn’t want anyone to know.
“Stefan,” his mother said, “don’t just stand there. Give your Aunt Hannah a proper hug!”
His lips pressed closed, Stefan stepped toward Hannah and extended his hand. He knew they were related by blood, but this woman was a stranger to him.
Again, Stefan’s sullen manner reminded Hannah of the cold, judgmental Harry she had feared for so many years.
She wanted to put her arms around her nephew, but stopped herself. Instead Hannah wrapped both her hands around his tapered fingers and squeezed.
“Thank God you are both here! Dzięki Bogu oboje jesteście tutaj!” she repeated in Polish. Then added, “Welcome to New York!”
Stefan stared blankly at her. “Don’t worry,” she said in Polish, “you’ll learn English soon enough.”
He shrugged. Again Hannah held back from giving Stefan a hug.
; “I’ve got to get us to the cemetery as soon as possible,” she said in Polish as she bent down to pick up a suitcase. “Is this all your luggage?” Hannah asked in English.
Lena nodded. “Is all we have.”
“Good. The three of us can manage this. Let’s head for the car.”
Hannah, carrying one of the bags, led them out to the parking lot. It amused her that she felt as if she were the older sister when Lena was in New York.
“Is this really your car?” Stefan stared in awe.
“No. It’s a . . . borrowed,” Hannah said in Polish. She didn’t know the word for “rental.”
Stefan mulled that over in his head, “What kind of person would lend such a beautiful car to someone?”
When they got into the car, Hannah noted the stunned look on Stefan’s face as she watched him in the rearview mirror.
“People in America must have a lot of money,” he said, seeing the sea of cars whiz by. “Everybody has a car!”
Hannah laughed. “Some people have two cars.”
“Amazing!” Stefan murmured to himself.
“What’s amazing is that you and your mother are here, that you were able to come!” Hannah exclaimed. “I wish your grandfather could see you.”
Stefan nodded. “I’m sorry he’s not alive,” he said dutifully.
During their drive to the cemetery, the mood in the car was more cheerful than anyone could have predicted given the circumstances. Stefan continued to give his full attention to the traffic. To reassure herself that Lena was really there, Hannah periodically took one hand off the steering wheel to stroke her sister’s hand. In Polish or English, the sisters made small talk as if their being together was nothing unusual.
The somberness of the occasion took hold once Hannah made a left turn, even without a traffic light, and drove through the iron gates of Beth Moses Cemetery.
They passed hundreds of graves on the way to Harry’s gravesite.
“Why aren’t there any crosses?” Stefan asked.