Renia's Diary
Page 27
I have decided to work on myself from now on. There’s still time, one can still become somebody. The one who has a spiritual life, who can have such a life, has to have something to build it upon. Not all lives rest on beautiful legs. And yes, yes, yes … Should I say it? Well, yes, I will, as it’s like a grain of sand stuck in a shell, which becomes a pearl. Suffering is the pearl of love. I was angry at Irka and Zygu. I can’t even imagine good moments not being poisoned by something. But he was so sweet, that’s true, so lovely. He’s coming tomorrow. If it’s not a dream, then we’ll soar high …
This goodbye has made me angry.
Tomorrow I go to Nora to get Kiciek.
Good night. Mama, I send you a kiss, I embrace you, as always. You love me the most in the world. Your wishes are my road to follow and my life’s blessing. You will help me, Buluś and God.
JUNE 19, 1942, FRIDAY25
And God saved Zygu. Oh, I’m beside myself. They were taking people away all night long. They rounded up 1,260 boys. There are many victims, fathers, mothers, brothers. The sea of our blood is red, forgive us our trespasses, listen to us, Lord God! This was a terrible night, too terrible to describe. But Zyguś was here, my sweet one, sweet and loving. It was so good; we cuddled and kissed endlessly. I almost forgot about yesterday, though it was my birthday, so he could have spared me this. But that’s the way he is. That’s his disposition, his nature. He likes “women.” Zośka, this “red-haired fog,” was here as well. I was so stupid to show that poem. Even Z. said so. Well, tough, that’s exactly what matters. There are times when one can speak and write, but not act. And it really was so delightfully pleasant that it was worth all the suffering. But sometimes I think it isn’t worth it, that a loving woman has to pay too high a price.
June night
pregnant
with dense darkness
night … stretches
above my head.
Night of solitude
Came. The irresistible one stood
at the end of the bed
with a tormenting face
dug its claws
into the sticky brain
and I dream …
My naked thoughts
stripped of clothing
stretch under my skull
in silence
and for mercilessly long
the night goes on.
Heavy black shroud
dropped and clings
to the body
silent and stubborn
I shuddered.
The flower opens
in quiet
open lips
whisper words
fragrance of jasmine
of maturing buds.
Moan
exasperation slowly easing
senses sigh with relief
sweet fantasy
Dawn …
You will help me, Buluś and God.
JUNE 23, 1942, TUESDAY
Again words mean nothing; again words are ridiculous. Yesterday we experienced one of the wonderful symphonies of youth.
There was a kind of pogrom in our quarter. Buluś wrote and told me to leave the city for Tłuste* with Zyguś. She wrote “together.” “Together”! It would be so delightful, so sweet! Though it’s absurd for now. But nowadays even the biggest absurdity can become true.
Oh, my dear Zyguś, we’ll go away together, tra-la-la-la-la … aaah! Bimba says hello and I send you a kiss, Zyguś does too. Rena. You will help me, Buluś and God.
JUNE 25, 1942, THURSDAY
Where to start … Well. I’ll just say it how it is. A wave of good and bad came. It’s all right now, because it’s all right to dream, to kiss. But today I don’t “burn,” I’m not like a dog trying to break free from its chain, even though I’m still full of longing. That’s because Z has said a terrible thing today. He’s said he wanted to read my diary, because that arouses him; it provides him with stimulation. Listen, my dear Diary, I love you, I love you, you’re my soul, you’re alive in a thousand of my bright memories, you cry the tears of my old worries, but I never ever wrote you for you to become stimulation in love! Am I to constantly tear the deepest parts of my soul apart, am I to make my heart bleed so that he can believe me and so that he can find pleasure in it? What about me, why do I love without any stimulation? (I find my stimulation in daydreaming.) I don’t think life’s so idyllic. Life is full of bitterness; one doesn’t even need to look for it. And that’s why Zygmunt was like that, exactly like that. It was because there was too much sweetness.
When your worry goes to sleep
don’t wake it up
there’s so much bitterness in life
it’s the source of the worst evil
when your worry goes to sleep
don’t wake it up.
Be happy, laugh and smile
it only lasts a short while
When your worry goes to sleep, don’t wake it up
there’s so much bitterness in life!
I think that even though Z is good and affectionate and sweet (today he was really sweet), there’s something strangely calm about him. It’s not the first time I thought this. I’m writing and thinking, and I’m angry, like today, but as soon as I curl up next to him, as soon as I hug him, I walk on air again. What am I going to do? Fantasies are the most wonderful too. They’ll come true; they have to! Can one love somebody and dislike them at the same time? You will help me, Buluś and God!
THE FOLLOWING DAY
Most likely one can. No, I can’t write about it today, because I’m angry. Z, the one who can be so dear, as warm as my own heart, can also be so distant. Yes, yesterday he was distant. It was hard for me, and strangely gloomy. I’m so glad I have my poetry! My poems. I love them so much.
It’s not true, Z is not good for me at all! He says things, for example about my taste changing. He says that on purpose, he says that to hurt me and when one loves somebody, one doesn’t want to hurt them. Life is overcast, but our tiny bit of sky was blue. Now there is nothing left. On days like today I think that we would be unhappy together. But this thought hurts so much. Oh, Lord God, why does it hurt so badly? It’s terrible, it’s so very hard; I wish it were Saturday already. You will help me, Buluś and God!
JUNE 27, 1942, SATURDAY EVENING
Good, peaceful, quiet, blessed Saturday evening. My soul has calmed down. Why? Because again I curled up against him, he caressed me and made me feel like his tiny little daughter. I forgot everything bad. It’s a shame that Zyguś is gone now. I could lie curled up against him for a long, long time. You will help me, Buluś and God!
JUNE 28, 1942, SUNDAY
It’s quiet and peaceful now; I’m well. I would like to curl up again, just curl up and sleep. It was something beyond words. He was. I don’t know what I’m writing. Because it’s dark. Oh, such a balmy night. This was a wonderful flight, devilish and heavenly at the same time. We took a big step forward. Toward this Z who is adored by people! Why, oh, why only in five years’ time? After all today, already, already today. My legs couldn’t cope. It was so very sweet what Z said—I am mature. And it was also very sweet with Marysia, because I really like this Daddy-Mommy sweetness. Perhaps I even prefer it. All of it is so wondrous. Divine and very human. Oh, how much I’d like to curl up against him again and say, “Oh, Daddy dear!” Off I go now to dream sweetly and in peace. You will help me, Buluś and God!!!
JUNE 29, 1942, MONDAY
So tell me, Zyguś, how am I to survive those two days, those two nights? Each hour lasts ten times longer. Oh, they go so slowly, they are so horrible, so excruciating, so oppressive. How did it come to that? How did it spill out, what was piling up, growing and growing? And will it always be like that from now on? Will we ever want more and if so, when, oh, when? Because today I don’t want it, but my body does, it asks for it, it demands it. Won’t it be like that every day from now on? Strange that I don’t seem to be able to go back to what it was like before. I have ripened; I wen
t overripe. It’s good to think, to want and to complete—but how? It all scares me. Because it’s a sober thought. Too sober. How can I think about it as a done thing or being done, but not about how to get there? No! No! I simply can’t be bothered to think. And that’s why this letter hit me like a sledgehammer. My lovely Buluś. My good, dear one, I know now that you have good intentions. I know, because I want it too, because it’s my destiny. But do you know that it’s highly absurd, it’s the biggest illusion under the sun. Now, only now, when I read your letter, I thought that there are no real, serious reasons for it. You are a woman who’s lived through a lot. You know a lot. And you tell me to be practical. You are such a child. Do you know that the way you presented it to me, I found it, well (to avoid committing a sin), simply in a bad taste. Think, two young people and …
Zyguś tells me bad things, he tells me sweet things too … He reckons we must part, he says that in five years’ time I will be 10 centimeters taller and I will be prettier. But I won’t be either of those things. I’m always prettier afterward—with shining eyes, with burning lips and flushed cheeks. Zyguś is also at his most beautiful then. I prefer to clear all obstacles and dream that it is already, that it is … You will help me, Buluś and God.
JULY 5, 1942, SUNDAY
We feared it, it threatened us and then it finally happened. What we were so afraid of finally did come after all. The ghetto. The notices went out today. We might stay here; we might not. Oh, Lord, You gave me so much hope, so much comfort—thank You for it.
It’s so terrible. You don’t know how terrible, you know nothing. You will come with me, because, of course, I will take my soul with me, my little looking glass. Just think, what remained in some old, yellowed books, in vellum scrolls covered with writing, what lived in legends, what one learned with surprise at school—has now come true. The truest truth of all. And it’s so terrifying.
We fear deportation, supposedly they’re planning to deport half the people. Oh, Dido, oh, Bimba. Great Lord God, have mercy. My thoughts are so dark, it’s a sin to even think them.
I saw a happy-looking couple today. They’d been on an outing; they were on their way back, amused and happy. Zyguś, my darling, my love most sincere, when will we go on an outing like theirs? I love you as much as she loves him. I would look at you the same way. But she’s so much happier, that’s the only thing I know. Or perhaps—oh, Holy God, You are full of mercy—our children will say one day, “Our mother and father lived in the ghetto.” Oh, I strongly believe in it. You will save us, oh, God Almighty. My Mama prays so hard for us. You will help us, Buluś and God.
6TH OF I DON’T KNOW WHAT, MONDAY
There is so much worry and concern, so much bitterness that I feel ashamed to write about our little nest. But ours is sweet, charming, wonderful. It’s so good to talk about the nest. You will help me, Buluś and God.
JULY 10, 1942, FRIDAY
Goodbye, my little Diary! I will miss this abode. Let’s hope Good God will let me see you here again. Give me your blessing from afar, Mama, and You, Lord God. Bring me back home soon (not in the ghetto). Our home … I’ve lived so many happy moments here, I’ll always have fond memories of this flat where my love blossomed and matured. I’m in the middle of moving out, it’s a terrible mess, I have to get going. You will help me, Buluś and God.
JULY 15, 1942, WEDNESDAY
Remember this day; remember it well. You will tell generations to come. Since 8 o’clock today we have been shut away in the ghetto. I live here now. The world is separated from me and I’m separated from the world. The days are terrible and the nights are not at all better. Every day brings more casualties and I keep praying to You, God Almighty, to let me kiss my dear Mama.
Oh, Great One, give us health and strength. Let us live. I feel horrible, Bimba is sick. Hope is shriveling so fast. There are fragrant flowers in front of the house, but who needs flowers? And Zygmunt, you know, I haven’t seen him yet. I mean I saw him from a distance today, but he hasn’t come over yet. Lord, please protect his dear head. But why can’t I cuddle up next to him? Pity … Perhaps he … God, let me hug my dear Mama. You will help me, Buluś and God.
JULY 16, 1942, THURSDAY
You probably want to know what a closed-off ghetto looks like. Pretty ordinary. Barbed wire all around, with guards watching the gates (a German policeman and Jewish police*). Leaving the ghetto without a pass is punishable by death. Inside there are only our people, close ones, dear ones. Outside there are strangers. My soul is so very sad. My heart is seized with terror. Such is life.
I have missed Zyguś so much today, I thought about him all the time. I haven’t seen him for a week, I’ve missed him so much and I still miss him, because his visit today wasn’t a real visit. I longed so much for some caress, nobody knows how much. After all we face such a terrible situation. Let me get some caresses. But it ended up being strange and cold, probably because there were other people in the flat and there was such a mess. Perhaps Saturday’ll work out better … Yes, it must. We need a week’s worth of caresses. I’ll now dream like before. You will help me, Buluś and God.
JULY 18, 1942, SATURDAY
Days go by. They’re all the same, like drops of rain. Evenings are the most pleasant. We sit in the yard in front of the house, we talk, joke and—breathing in the fragrance of the garden—I manage to forget. I forget what I want to forget. That I live in the ghetto, that I have so many worries, that I feel lonely and poor, that Z is a stranger to me, that despite all my longing I cannot get closer to him. It’s not a relationship that other couples have, after all.
Here, in the yard, doves coo. The moon’s crescent silently floats into the sky, flowers give a sweet fragrance and when I look at it all, I ask myself why. I was on the verge of tears three times today. I blamed the living conditions, but that’s not true! Love can flourish anywhere, dear love, full of warmth … And yet, shadows always flit on my path. What is it? Where do those shadows come from? Are they shadows of clouds floating above? No, unfortunately not, these are shadows of a clouded face or, well, it’s not worth mentioning. My heart aches so badly.
I don’t want to ask God for anything else, only for our survival. But one can dream, why not? I dream about putting my head on Mama’s bosom and crying so sweetly, it’s good, just like now … Mama’s not here, Norka is, so I’ll go to her and cry my eyes out. She’s a dear soul, she’ll understand. I’ll go. I don’t want to see any other friends. Irka said she would stop by. What for? I can’t stand her. I don’t want to renew our relations. It’s all stupid, calculated, contrived. Sometimes I just want to say that I don’t care, but all I say is that I wish for the war to end! Bye-bye, dear Diary, my heart is heavy, like it’s made of lead. You will help me, Buluś and God.
What scares me most are the shadows
When in the morning
a shadow flickers without a warning
on the road ahead of me
My heart trembles inside
and I look around
petrified
you can’t look a shadow in the eye
you can’t grasp it by its elbow
you can’t touch it, ask it questions
you don’t even know who casts it
This crawling, slithering grayness
That shimmers and strangely twists
What scares me most are the shadows.
You will help me, Buluś and God.
JULY 19, 1942
Tomorrow is Norka’s birthday. Irka is coming, so it won’t be the way it could be. But it’ll still be sweet, because Zyguś, my beloved Zyguś, is again my beating heart; he’s so delightfully sweet. The world’s good to us, even in the ghetto. It’s just that I’m always a bit silly, I get embarrassed about going there. But Z is truly the most beautiful and curling up against him, seeking his protection, is the best. So today I’m much calmer. In this apartment “it” is wonderful as well. Now I will have sweet thoughts about everything!
Tomorrow Norka is tur
ning 18. I’d like to give her some of our dreams, something more than an album and flowers, something that nobody else will give her. I promised to buy her a wonderful camera when we leave here and to go hiking in the mountains, to make my friend happy. That would make me happy too.
in a little house
with green blinds
where flowers will bloom
where it will always be just the two of us
Zyguś, my beloved, the best. I send kisses to everybody and I thank Good Lord God for this and my dear Mama for praying for us. You will help me, Buluś and God.
JULY 20, 1942
Nora’s birthday. Well? I knew it was going to be like that. But now I have talked to the neighbors and I feel a bit better. Holy God, protect us and save us. You will help me, Buluś and God.
JULY 22, 1942, WEDNESDAY
I have to write to silence the pain, to open the wounds and let worries seep out. Such a terrible, grim time. We don’t know what tomorrow will bring. We expect families to be taken away. Bimba’s sick and exhausted, Jarośka’s terrible, not a word from Mama or Daddy. It’s not good with Zygmunt, either. I didn’t, I really didn’t want to admit that I’m seething with venom. But I couldn’t stop myself. Also because I’m right. I have tears in my eyes from grief and the tips of my fingers are tingling with anger.
I don’t want to write about the details, as I might write surly, clamoring words, and what’s the point? It will always be the same. It’s his fault. He is right, I’m resentful and helplessly in love. One thing has to be changed though, just one expression—after all “the mug” might not tell anybody and … no! When I think about it, I get so furious that I don’t want to see him ever again. I’ve had enough of it all. I cover my ears with my hands and close my eyes. I’d like to use my suffering to create suffering, to make myself ill. And he’s right, he’s the wisest of them all …
But in my dream it’s completely different. My dreams are sweet … You will help me, Buluś and God.
JULY 23, 1942, THURSDAY
Well, Noruśka, my dear, dear child. I admire this world of yours, I love it too, but, you know me, one word shatters everything. Noruś, I’d like to study too and improve myself, but everything comes down to one word. I already know who is worth what, I know love and I told you the truth (although it’s the first time I thought it)—he’s not worth it. But it’s not a question of him being worth it or not, one needs to love, one needs to go on loving, one can’t say no!