Renia's Diary

by Renia Spiegel

  There is a dance party tomorrow. Z asked if I’m going to have a good time. Oh! How could I know that? By the gate he told me, “Rena, the gate’s locked, os stel og yats ni a letoh.”*

  He makes me so happy … Aha! We are to meet at midday, I suggested it, but he said he needed to see my hair. A “What else do you want?” kind of provocation. Mama, please be with me tomorrow and always. I’ll be happy or sad … Good night, till tomorrow …

  MARCH 16, 1941, SUNDAY

  It’s today already. Or rather it is gone, like another stage of this beautiful, spring dream. We met in the morning like a regular couple does, i.e., he waited, I arrived and we walked until 2 p.m. in town. And today at Olga’s picnic it was also wonderful—we danced and he pulled me to him hard, with passion. At some point we were even going to dance in a different room, but … it didn’t feel appropriate.

  Poldek and Maciek avoided me at first, and then Maciek said he couldn’t ignore me any longer. I danced not just with Zygu, but with everybody. And on so many occasions I was stolen right from under Zygu’s nose when he was about to ask me to dance (Maciek, mirror, Zygo). They kept teasing us and I kept blushing. Just imagine, Rysiek said that I must be writing poems in Zygu’s honor. Zygu’s wonderful!

  After the picnic I walked down the street with a whole group of boys and Maciek said, “Look, there are buds,” and Zygu to this said, “Rena, spring!” I can feel its first waft … Of course there was a lot of teasing from Maciek, Poldek, Fredek and Julek, but no matter.

  Today in fact (do you remember, March 16?) I am to compare today with this other March 16. Can you compare those two days at all? No! Or in fact yes! True, Mama’s still not here, but I hope to see her soon (war should be over). And I love, love this beautiful, wise boy, the best boy at school. And it’s mutual. Yes! Even though Zygu hasn’t told me anything, he said, “There is something I won’t tell you,” and he wants to write it all down and give it to Irka to give it to me.

  I now have a so-called social life and, to be honest, I’m quite popular. Anyway it’s looking good. I go to parties now, enjoy picnics, like a regular 16-year-old girl would.

  It’s different with Nora. Her love for Nacek, which collapsed and I believe will be restored, but in the meantime I wanted to drag her into the youthful hum almost by force. But she wasn’t well again today. I was so sorry, as I was the one trying to get her to come to today’s picnic. She sat there, even though most boys were there, and later she read a book. I know she’ll write an entry in her diary today and compare those two days one year apart. Even though, when we were saying goodbye today, she said, “This isn’t what matters most in life,” which is true and I say that too, but on the other hand what is more important than “this”? Yes, tell me, what’s more important? I remember that I used to say I didn’t care about those things, but that’s not true. Perhaps my opinion will change one day, but for now it’s simple: life is worth living for the person you love, for the person you dream about and think about during sleepless nights. Living not for fame or knowledge, not for learning—these are just intellectual concepts. Living the sensual life, “getting to the bloody core of life,” snatching what’s best, satisfying yourself until you’re breathless. Whatever they say about me when I die, I’ll die like an animal, but I can live the way I want now. To be able to say, standing over one’s grave:

  I got what I could out of life

  a lot, but still not enough

  Today my wizened body lies in the grave

  I desert what others still crave

  To live, live, live in such a way!

  Everybody can in the grave decay

  Dying is easy, but to live is art, I say

  I’ve read Nora’s diary once. I read she wouldn’t write about her loves anymore, she wouldn’t describe details, and it’s all because if somebody were to read her diary, they could say, “This is some stupid, vain girl who only cares for flirtation in life.”

  Norka! You’re so wrong! Firstly, why do you care about other people reading it? You’re writing it for yourself. And secondly, is your dearest, intimate diary to be a political almanac or an almanac of your heart??? Somebody very harsh, with a stony heart, might say what you thought. Every normal human being should rather say, “This was written by a young, 16-year-old girl who loved so deeply…” That’s what I think, Norka, and I hope you soon agree with me. I wouldn’t go back to the old sentences, the old situation. I’m in love, which is my explanation for writing all this nonsense. You forgive a person in love, you forgive them everything, and apropos the sad party I escaped.

  You don’t know how life can be

  It’s like a leaf trembling on the water

  You don’t know what does matter

  Sometimes you win and sometimes it’s me

  Sun can dry it, change its form

  When it suffers yet another storm

  The leaf will hide deeper in

  Though that will soon be a has-been

  The leaf will shimmer in good weather

  On the long river like a feather

  It will slide on the surface

  Carrying our life with no purpose

  Yes, yes, yes. Buluś, if you could only read this. Thank you, thank you so much. Not sure I’ll write tomorrow. You will help me, Buluś and God.

  MARCH 18, 1941, TUESDAY

  We made arrangements today, he picked me up at 6 p.m. First we went to the Socialist Club, then to Irka’s, then back home.

  It’s cold outside again.

  Today it felt as if there was something hanging between us, something elusive, something unspoken. And I kept thinking this one thought, about an unfinished symphony … And I’m barely able to control myself. I’m boiling, I’m broiling, I can barely stop myself from … And I know it’s a bit similar for him too.

  Pity it isn’t warm anymore …

  It’s strange and wild with Mama (Leszczyńska*), I don’t know what’s going to happen with her now, will she come and when? When? When???

  Ah, I’m so shamelessly vulgar, Z is much gentler than me and even though he said, “I forget about everything when I look into your eyes,” I put my hand under his arm and it was so nice. He made a little pout with his wonderful lips, so, so, so sweet, but it was as if … Zygu behaves like my guardian. There is indeed something elusive in the “unfinished symphony” … Will it ever be finished? Will it be soon? Mama, please tell me honestly, would you like it to end well and lovingly, please tell me? Anyway, Buluś and God, help me!

  MARCH 19, 1941, WEDNESDAY

  I’m feeling guilty. I’m so vulgar. I can feel something powerful swelling up inside of me. I need to confess to somebody or I’ll go crazy. I can feel all my senses are churning, I’m aware of myself boiling. For example I know I suffered terribly yesterday. Ha! What a curse.

  I feel I’ll destroy the old foundations

  I feel they’ll get smashed and crushed

  by my rampant temper and frustrations

  I feel so strong, so strong with love

  hot blood is boiling in my veins

  I am so drunk with closeness,

  hotheaded, dazed with desire flames

  my senses send me writhing

  they’re tying me, entangling

  I know I’m like a beast

  My self-respect has decreased

  I despise, I degrade myself so much

  But still I understand that like a dog

  like a wounded lynx I don’t budge

  my heart twitches, I howl inside, agog

  in no time I will jump up and go savage

  shake everything off and snort and bellow

  the red lips will be ravaged by my lips

  I’m in a frenzy, my urge and fear’s not mellow

  I live now, I’m not gone

  and I want

  I can’t go on …

  This is disgusting, repulsive, animalistic …

  MARCH 21, 1941, FRIDAY

  I gave myself a day off today. I
didn’t go to school; I had a headache. Yesterday I was supposed to see Z, but he didn’t come. Today I was unwell, as I’ve been unwell for several months now, ill with Zygu, lazy with Zygu, daydreaming with Zygu, my unfinished symphony.

  My dear Diary, do you know how much I love you? Very, very, very much. I feel that I need you, I open you on one bright sunny day, read for a while—and then I know. I remember everything and all those days live in me, together and separately.

  Buluś has written that there would be war. Who knows? Will it interfere again with my life, this powerful, hated enemy?

  Tomorrow is Saturday. I don’t know what’ll happen. I don’t expect anything. I shook off some of this madness. It’s gone. But it might come back. And it’ll be back as soon as the wind brings spring again, when I see … I’ll get terminally ill with Zygu. Or maybe it won’t be terminal? Those images I pasted there, I should paste here, if I could write what I wanted.

  Let some quiet song

  Play a loving tune

  About you living in my heart

  And me living in yours too

  It would be nasty, not so smart

  It would be sad, teary and dreadful

  If you indeed lived in my heart

  And I not in yours! That would be fearful

  It would be even more unkind

  if cruel fate decided

  to let me sleep in the heart of mine

  and you in yours, divided.

  Good that it is not the case

  Go away, terrible nightmare

  I dream of hazel eyes, your face

  You dream of blue ones, of my hair

  A quiet sweet spring concert

  Plays us a loving tune

  About you blossoming in my heart

  And me in yours too.

  Ah, it’s Saturday tomorrow, on the one hand this is a bit too daring. Buluś, love me! Help me, Buluś and God.

  MARCH 22, 1941, SATURDAY

  It was so good! Not only out in town (though that too!). I met him at the post office. I could see he was really happy to see me. It’s nice of him that he didn’t go to the picnic. Maciek kissed my hair and Z laughed and then kept calling me every now and then, saying, “Do you love him? Is your heart filled to the brim with love? ’Cause he loves you, don’t you know that beggars can’t be choosers?” I told him he was a total swine. Z kept kissing M. When I told him to stop already, Z said, “You can do it all day long, so I can do it too.” My sweet, wonderful boy. Even though I kept saying I wouldn’t go to the party, Z laughed under his breath and said that I would. What did I do? I told him the whole story with Irka and Felek. I’m so very sorry—this was somebody else’s secret, but Z is discreet and anyway, I can’t say “no” to him, that’s the effect he has on me. I don’t know about tomorrow, as we didn’t make plans. I might meet him somewhere. You would be happy for me, Buluś … God, You will help me too.

  MARCH 23, 1941

  I don’t know why, but I’m very sad today! Very, very, very sad. Sometimes I know the reason.

  I met Zygu twice today. We went for a walk in the afternoon with sweet Felunia. And suddenly! I felt this emptiness in my heart and in my life … Later Zygu said he noticed it and asked why I was so sad? We went for a long walk and had a serious conversation. Z told me he was never like that before, but now he is sad and serious. When we were saying goodbye, Z said, “Maybe it’s my influence on you? But tough, that’s what I am like. Maciek might entertain you.” He is stupid if he still thinks that I have any feelings for Maciek. But then he said, “You will be my solid support (something, something), I will be crushed.” He doesn’t know what it might be, but I suspect that Zygu is sad underneath this sweet burden. As am I.

  We are supposed to go to a party tomorrow. I want to be in a good mood, even if it’s fake. We made arrangements. And for the first time without my participation, but with his; he was eager. He reminded me about it when he was about to leave.

  Zyguś! I would like to be joyful, because you’re sad and you want this. But sometimes a “time of apathy” comes, as you call it, and one can’t, one simply can’t.

  You like listening to music, you love music—and I like daydreaming, daydreaming while listening to music with you. I like to daydream and be happy when my dreams come true. But then, there are times like today. Today I am sad, even though half a dream is coming true.

  I don’t believe I have changed so much, that I only have expectations, no! Let’s see what happens next.

  I am to see him tomorrow morning, we are to go to the party, I am to be in a good mood.

  Irka is traveling to see Felek, pretty much everybody is traveling to Lwów, and I’m staying with Zygu. We’re staying! Spring! Seven days off! What for? To get bored? To be sad? No, to love!!! Mama, do you know it all, can you hear my heart beating with love for him and my long-distance longing for you? You will help me, Buluś and God … Great Lord God! What will tomorrow’s party be like?

  MARCH 24, 1941, MONDAY (PARTY NO. 3!)

  So nice. Zygu picked me up (even though I was supposed to come later, but he got too impatient), he paid our entry fees, bought me a cake and water, and danced with me all the time. Maybe with a few exceptions. This party was different than other parties; this was a real “Zygu” party.

  People treat us like a married couple. For example after a dance one boy doesn’t take me back to my place, but says, “I need to give you back to Schwarzer.” And then somebody else says, “Thanks, I brought your wife back.” I even got outraged at some point. What is all this bargaining? Tusiek said, “I will bring her back to you untouched.” He told me that, for a while, since “this” has started, Z has not been able to think straight. Eau de cologne.

  Z and I bring couples in love together. We do it very subtly. Z, “Let’s open a marriage bureau.” He annoyed Irka with Felek so much that she had to go home, but it was a revenge for Irka annoying him, as she did to Felek with Fredziu, to Julek and the whole class.

  Zygu asked me how he could make it up to me, all that swing dancing. I can’t do swing dance and neither can he, so we suffer and keep apologizing to each other. Oh! How to make it up—I know how, and so does he. I told him he is provoking me with this alien military stuff.

  We didn’t make arrangements, because Julek was with us. Z is so good, so loving and understanding. It’s so nice to have a “pretend husband.” Tusiek was surprised that Zygu is allowed not to shave—how can I let him, how do I curl up against him? To which Z said that nobody complains about him.

  Zygu was happy with the party and so was I. This was a real “Zygu” party. I send you kisses, Renia. Please help me, Buluś and God …

  P.S. Studying this and that with Luśka. He danced with me several times, he was completely drunk and he hugged me tight, rambling on and on. I got scared … Bye, dear Diary, see you next time.

  MARCH 28, 1941, FRIDAY

  Today we went for a long, long walk. It was so good—we just walked down a half-dark street and talked, talked, talked. Now I couldn’t say what he said, but I know he said a lot of pleasant and a lot of ambiguous things. He told me we would go to the Riviera together one day, somewhere far away from other people, somewhere with “azure sky”—to which I added, “And azure sea”—and he finished, “And azure eyes.” Or, for example, that Mochnacki* is so passionate about mathematics, but “I prefer to be passionate about something else, don’t I, Rena?” And then a lot about hearts. “Poor darling, I’m so very sorry for you—why didn’t you come to me like you would to a doctor?” Etc. etc.

  A long, friendly walk like this is perhaps even better than … But what do I know?

  We’ve made arrangements for tomorrow; he’ll come pick me up around 4–5 p.m. Buluś, if you were here … I’m so happy and it’s thanks to you. You will help me, Buluś and God. Bye, kisses, Rena.

  MARCH 29, 1941, SATURDAY

  Our arrangement didn’t quite work out, but in the end we did meet. We went to the Socialist Club and then for a walk. Th
e walk was the nicest part, a long walk, just the two of us. We walked arm in arm and talked and talked, and apart from that we also talked with our looks. Such a walk is for me the most wonderful symphony and can replace tens of other nice things.

  This walk is a force and power

  This walk is immortality!*

  He said that at his wedding he would want Mendelssohn’s “Wedding March” played. Fela pointed at me and Zygu also pointed at me. We talked about the future, about medicine, etc. etc. Z said he wouldn’t want to have a son or children in general, because children between the age of 13 and 16 go through a period of rebellion and a lot of internal turmoil. I felt so good! His looks make me so warm. Not to mention that we walked arm in arm. Well, I say, such a walk is something powerful! About living in a dorm, he said, “I don’t want to look at anybody there, I would rather look at you.” We didn’t arrange to meet. Aha, what antics with Maciek! Zygu was happy I didn’t want to meet him. You will help me, Buluś and God …

  APRIL 4, 1941, SATURDAY†

  The entire week was bright, but for me it was empty. I feel emptiness today, and sadness, such sadness. But I found out that he came over to mine, and that made me feel better. And tomorrow? Sunday, probably nothing will happen again. You will help me, Buluś and God …

  APRIL 5, 1941, SUNDAY*

  Residency—invitation. He kept saying, “Shush, Renia!” And when I asked, “What?” he didn’t say anything.

  Ah! Today! “It was wonderful, warm, loving.” I saw him twice; we spent five hours together. We went to the movies. He held my hand tenderly, so tenderly, and kept yawning. He pulled a sweet face when we bumped into Maciek. But, you know, I found his photo with some girl. Z was sheepish. I was too polite to ask anything. But really, believe you me, sweetie pie, my poppet, that it was wonderful. The best thing was with the candy. Ah! Zygu, I can’t even express how much I love you.

  Z is supposedly angry at Irka for lying to us about Felek. And so am I. Today he said we would start going to the Castle—really??? You will help me, Buluś and God.