Renia's Diary

by Renia Spiegel

  I’ll jump onto the windowsill

  No, higher still

  Onto the roof I’ll go

  Climb a very tall tower

  I’ll strike a blow

  Hit the bell’s clapper on the hour

  I will shout, I’ll bellow

  In a voice that is not mellow

  The clapper ding-dongs

  Bell-like, d’you hear?

  Joy, bliss, life all along

  Crazy love in the air

  Which can’t wait to be in the world

  Quivering soul’s a-ringing

  I’m sweet 18 years old

  It’s all brimming

  It’s way too much to hold in

  Perhaps then I will tell you

  Perhaps I will begin

  And it will be true

  As if everybody knew

  As if the whole world knew

  What it doesn’t in fact know

  That in the spring breeze that cuts through

  In every bit of sun aglow

  Your little miss is on her way to you

  You will help me, Buluś and God.

  BEYOND TODAY. TOMORROW

  I’m scared. I’m really scared for myself. I kept thinking in the night to write, write, write, but I couldn’t write. Because I know my thoughts were focused. Just think, spring and the dreamy stuff that used to wander over the moon and the stars and in the world, was now combined into one strong embrace! And now it’s not enough to imagine ♥, now I want to have him with me. It’d be best for me then, as it is I’m only well. But yesterday, I won’t forget it, Zyguś, yesterday it was spring!

  I’m just shocked that flowers

  don’t sprout at your feet

  you, my bird, angel empowered

  you, May, paradise, you spring sweet

  I stifle this scream in me. I would run out to the fields, spread my arms wide and scream like crazy. May! Paradise! Spring! Spriiing! And then … One more embrace like this. Which would contain everything. God! I’m so terrible!

  I’ve received postcards from Mom and Ticiu. Sad cards, horrible! And I, their child, feel so bright and singsong?! This is a terrible sin. Forgive me. Because I …

  I don’t care

  in the attic, in the cellar

  on the Aryan side, there, there

  as a ghetto wretched dweller

  my heart warmed with a flame like this

  makes the world a happy place

  my heart warmed with a gaze like this

  I’ll go to the bottom of the sea with grace

  I can even wear an armband

  and not just one

  but bands abundance.

  No, this is still not what I want to write.

  Listen to my news

  Wait, I will tell you something

  At night spring rain oozed

  And out of my head violets are sprouting.

  Don’t know how it came about

  but when I was woken up

  the world was pink somehow

  And my head … green like a buttercup!

  I saw countless gloomy faces

  heard sighs full of black despair

  and the lament, “what’s with her

  this girl! She whistles and leaps, oh dear

  like a street urchin.

  Incredible, something new is occurring here!”

  Aunts, cousins and distant relations

  Discuss how to bring the sinner back

  Such disgrace for the family, such sensation

  the whole clan is under attack!

  I know, I should cower, make a sad face

  I should hunker down a bit more

  lament the world and the human race

  busy darning old stockings, what a chore.

  I should sigh over hard times

  over endless human stupidity

  I should worry

  But why should I? What pity?

  I promised myself long ago,

  to chuck worries and sadness out.

  Begone, what’s distressing and full of sorrow

  There’s only space for love in my heart.

  My buttonhole is adorned

  With a pretty blossom

  I paint hearts all over the world

  I draw hearts all over the heavenly parts

  Write your name in each of the hearts

  I am to do physical work. You will help me, Buluś and God.

  APRIL 24, 1942, FRIDAY

  You were at Z’s place. Zyguś knows you! Oh, paradise! Oh, May! Oh, springtime! Enough already … You will help me, Buluś and God.

  APRIL 26, 1942, MONDAY*

  I don’t know where to start! I need to collect my thoughts and myself; I need to force myself to express everything. In fact this exclamation about paradise, May and springtime was the final one. At first I felt terrible. I wanted to tear you apart, burn you, crush you for giving my secrets away. How could you? After all, you promised me in the beginning to stay faithful! By what right did you reveal your pages so shamelessly? When I thought that somebody had forced (well, yes, forced) their way into my personal, most intimate realm, no, I didn’t feel emptiness, but a terrible, burning shame. I don’t anymore and I stopped feeling it soon after. You know, I thought he could understand me more than anybody else. In fact I thought he was the only person who could understand me. He knows me terribly well, scarily well. And he’s good, loving, understanding and … Didn’t he kiss me today like a father, a husband, a mother?

  Ah, I don’t feel like writing at all. I have some terribly sweet dreams to think through. But I have to write to make my soul lighter and brighter, to make everything clear. True, I’m not describing the details now, but I can’t. (Zygmunt, after all you wanted me to grow up one day.) My writing’s honest, that’s true, it’s fiercely heartfelt, but … (so there is a but) I think I lost a little, just a tiny bit of trust in you. In the past I entrusted you with my thoughts, those thoughts I didn’t even think yet, but today I don’t want to, I can’t … Not that it’s your fault, my dear Diary, it’s not you, it’s me and … no, it’s just me. I’ll forget about it now. I want to forget, I want to give you a verbal hug and say, “Thank you, my dear friend, for letting Zygu have a glance at my soul.”

  We came to an understanding today. I know we have understood each other for a long time now, but those words were not gathered together. I also know that I’m looking for a job and I know why I need this job. After all I’m me and I know why I’m doing something. But think, Zygu knows it too! This is outrageous and wonderful at the same time. And how does he know it? As I said, he knows me terribly well. Ah! Do you know that in fact this was the first time?! So did it come true? Do you know that Zygmunt’s cousin came; she lives with them and I am to meet her? But I’ve saved the sweetest, the dearest bit for the very end. Do you know that we talked with Z about children today? About my, or rather, about our children? When he mentioned it I was very upset that he read it here (you spilled the beans again), but it was true. Zyguś was so loving when he asked me, “Boy or girl?” I almost went crazy with happiness. So now our secret has a third accomplice. This is so dear. I can’t even … Even now I feel strange. Norka understands everything, but I know she doesn’t want it as much as I do, that she finds it a bit surprising, because she’s a modern woman. I, too, am not a thousand years old, but if the price of modernity is relinquishing a dream, I would go centuries back … Just to tenderly stroke my beloved child’s head. And Zyguś understands it. Zyguś is a wonderful, good husband, the best. I’m still a bit shy writing about it, but it’ll happen soon, very soon. You will help me, Buluś and God.

  APRIL 30, 1942, THURSDAY

  What do I have to tell you? Ah, there was something. It’s almost May. But this May is not fragrant, green and fresh. I laugh my head off when I think that this bad weather is my doing. Indeed it’s quite autumnal. I can feel this devilish temptation. So I won’t say yes or no. But knowing that it might have happened because I wanted it so m
uch pleases me, amuses me, delights me! Well, I don’t need this wet weather for anything, but it also isn’t in my way. And it serves to spite so many people. Ah, sometimes, like today, I’m tempted to be a malicious goblin. Yes, because Z said today that the little world consists of all people, while the world is I and Nora. He said it as ironically as he could. Well, because this is how it is. Aha! “But I’m sensing something.” What? Something unpleasant must have happened to Z. Tough. I imagine he feels like a woman who has given herself away. I have also given myself away spiritually, i.e., I have given you away and now I’m not ashamed of anything (perhaps that’s why I stopped blushing), but from time to time something flashes to remind me that it’s happened, that it’s done. I’ll always be left with something, because I have thoughts even more secret than the biggest secrets, more secret + - ∞. What Z showed me today about Brilliant People was very wise—that there are people who are proud but also sensitive, weak and touchy and that is what makes them bighearted. He’s really got it spot-on. Even though I still sighed with relief when Z told me he would never read you again.

  It’s so nice to run a pen on a page. I’d like to write everything. That’s why I create such a mess. But I’m still a bit worried that Z might have made me believe that I am somehow different. Will I not get manic, like Klim Samgin?* No! I will try to be normal (if I’m not already; and “average” too). Ah, excuse me! Perhaps all girls write diaries, ponder over everything, analyze everything? How do I know this isn’t the case? My God, they do think after all. What do they think about? Perhaps they dream just like me?

  Do you know, Z’s mother said he doesn’t look well when he comes back from my place, because he doesn’t have an erotic outlet. I like that very much. Do you know why? Because it’s serious and grown-up. This is not child’s play, this is not about drawing hearts and staring at the moon. I can say that “an animal has awoken in me”! And again I get lost in myself or I annoy myself with my own thoughts, with what I say. I either exaggerate or there is more than I think.

  No, today my writing’s quite sober. It’s horrible and cold. I can’t smell the fragrance of daffodils or lilac. Not now, now there is nothing. But I know that as soon as I go to bed, it’ll come; no, not today. Today I’ll daydream; I’ll imagine things. No, I’m taking it too far (or at least I think I do today).

  It’s natural that it’s so incredibly nice to lie next to Z. Today we lay on the sofa. In fact all closeness is delicious and I constantly feel the need for such closeness. Yes, yes …

  Anyway, I’m looking for a job, I don’t have it yet; I don’t know where I’ll work. I don’t want it to be at the Castle. But when I think that Z has read the diary, I can’t believe it sometimes. But still … I’m generally sleepy, but I know that I’d happily drop all my complexes and shyness and analyzing and (oh no, not my dreams, I’m sorry, no, my angels!) and I’d give a big sigh like somebody who’s removed uncomfortable clothes or shoes with some difficulty. In fact Z doesn’t care that much about children, how can he? I haven’t met a person yet who would want to ponder on this subject. The other day I thought that he did. But he didn’t even mention it. I know that if he’d talked about it, I would have been moved and happy. Ah, I’m such an idiot. I really am abnormal. It needs to be said. Bye, Zyguś, bye, Diary, bye, Mama … You will help me, Buluś and God.

  MAY 2, 1942, SATURDAY

  I feel heavenly in my blue shoes. Zyguś made them for me! What deliciousness! I’m touched when I think that he had me in mind while making them. And I’m so glad that it takes my breath away. I generally like everything and then this commotion with the clogs and all the fuss …

  I’ll write a letter to Buluś in a moment and tomorrow I’ll invite Noruśka over for the whole day. Tra la la. Waltz and love and … May! Do you know it’s May already today? It doesn’t look like it behind the window, but you can sense it and you can kiss its sweet lips. Ah, how we caressed each other today! How delightfully! I simply can’t write, because I float up in the air with euphoria.

  Maciek came later and this and that, and Z, my love, was angry because of it and he said something (I stopped writing, I was taking a bath). You know, I haven’t felt so great for a long time, I can barely keep my heart in, it wants to jump out. When Z told me today that it’s May, I felt completely different, more love-like. But I calmed down a bit and I have to say that … well, despite everything I was a bit jealous of Maciek today. I was in such bliss today that I stroked Maciek. (Don’t be angry, I’m trying to explain myself.) Well, whatever. Whenever something unpleasant happens to me, it’s enough to look at those azure shoes and think that he’s made them for me and … I feel somewhat azure-like too, i.e., heavenly. My life’s filled with “this” again.

  Aha, this cousin, Zośka, came today. I was terribly embarrassed because I felt she came to have a look at me and she did it with a curiosity that only women have. I don’t know what to say about her, because I don’t know her. But it seems she’s quite like Zygu has described her … I don’t care at all.

  May has its own rights, especially for me. Zyguś is May-like too. This year he’s more mine, not so mysterious, but affectionate and sweet. I think he loves me a bit more, while I love him the same, always the same, with all my might. “You cannot love less or more—you can only love” (Anna Karenina). It’s the beginning of May.

  Welcome, May … love

  illuminate our whole family*

  you will only come visit in May

  but you will never cease to exist

  Bye, Zyguś … You will help me, Buluś and God.

  * * *

  Today is Sunday. But I can’t wait any longer and so I write. I wrote a letter to my dear Mama. And I told her everything. And, in the spirit of honesty I also revealed what I didn’t write down. I felt my joy was great—limitless, but somewhat stifled. And when I was writing the letter, I thought that I could hug her and show her my blue shoes and tell her that all is well; or perhaps it’s this longing that I tend to always feel in May, this call of fields, trees in bloom, singing woods. Shame. If not for him, I wouldn’t have even known it was May. But perhaps if Buluś were here, she wouldn’t understand me. But Zyguś does understand me. I love her and I am writing to her. My wonderful Zyguś! I can feel this warm, heartfelt wave flooding my heart. In a moment I’ll imagine myself hugging you, in your embraces and … much, much more.

  Zosia L. came today. She’s a lovely, very well-educated girl. Nora and I like her a lot. One can simply rely on her. I talked about Zyguś. Do you know his father asked if we were engaged? I like that very much, I like playing a pretend married couple. I like our “marriage.” Indeed, you know, there’s something very charming about those shoes, too. You have to feel it. How he brought them! Ah, he was such a darling. Can I write about it? No, there are no words for it, you can never tell how much. Why the mind? Why? And about May?

  It tosses, it wants to break free

  It’s locked away, sort of

  May … May, crazy as can be

  so green and so in love!

  It jolts, it jerks, it lurches

  “It’s stifling, let me go

  out in the fields, where sun marches”

  It looks around feebly, but no

  It punches hard with its fists

  It fights with tears too

  It calls for help, it twists

  And opposite, is that true?

  Another grave of the same kind

  Among those walls so somber

  A hundred Mays cry out

  Asking to be freed to wander

  in fields, in meadows, in the sun

  You will help me, Buluś and God.

  MAY 6, 1942, TUESDAY*

  Norka’s somewhat low-spirited. I think I’ve found a job; I might get it tomorrow. But no, I didn’t want to write about that.

  Today I was engulfed by this laziness, this delightful feeling. I wanted to laugh, to cry, but first and foremost to write. I didn’t have time, I couldn’t. But th
is May is more beautiful than the one last year. I mean, it’s completely different. When I think about how close we are to each other, how honest with each other, I feel very moved. Just think, you can say what you think. I think “My dearest” and I say it. I want to kiss him, so I kiss him. I can tell him about my joys—and my pains, too. And he understands. Isn’t that beautiful? Ah, it’s so good. So good.

  Today I fantasized, like before, that we are on a train. I sit in the corner, leaning against Z’s shoulder, embracing him tighter and tighter. The train rumbles and speeds somewhere … Where? I don’t know. I shout out the name of some station—I don’t care which one. We travel together; we leave the old world, its worries and regrets behind, we move toward a new, better one. That’s why I always imagine us traveling. To make even one single step in life, you need to travel. So it’s a pity that when I think “stay” (or even when I say it), he doesn’t stay and then I miss him … We both miss each other. But this is the most beautiful longing, the most wonderful, because it’s not hopeless. I would be embarrassed to write heresies. I’m sleepy. I send you such big kisses. You will help me, Buluś and God.

  MAY 8, 1942, THURSDAY*

  Ah! I love our miss so much! I love her, herself and her manifestations. Now I don’t need to be told it’s May. I can feel it in every muscle and every drop of my blood. I can feel something swelling in me, something growing to the absolute limit. It’s nothing else but this love of mine, which became so “marriage-like,” so bright and simple, direct, honest. It really is like that. Not only does it have its spiritual side, but also … the very tangible one too. Well, what shall I say, after all I’m not embarrassed in front of people—I simply feel that I can’t get away from Zygu, that it gets more and more difficult to part with him. I never have enough caresses, I could bite him to death … you know, I can’t … The memory itself has exhausted me. I don’t know what happened to me. Just think, I am contented now that I’m not “flat as a board.” I don’t know what I need it all for, but I feel my own body. In fact this is the first time in my life that I am experiencing this feeling. I feel that my legs exist, I feel it all too well, I (cover your ears) would like to … well … I wanted to sgel ym neewteb mih ezeeuqs.† That’s monstrous. No! Not at all, in fact it’s pleasant! Why should I be shocked with something that seems to be delightful? Zygu’s not so innocent either. It was him who stirred me up today so much I trembled, and then, then he gave me one more kiss and left as if nothing had happened, left me alone with my burning heart, my trembling soul, with my pressing thoughts and my simply sick, “nervy” imagination! No, it can’t be like that! I don’t write poems anymore! I’m going through a period of not writing. And I don’t want to force myself. But if I could, I would write! Rebellion! I’m rebelling; can you hear me? I don’t want to lie there half the night with my eyes wide open; I want Zygu as close as is possible …