“And we’ll have some fun for a change,” Mother said.
“I’ll stay with Fredek,” Miss Bronia said, coming into the room.
“Fredek’s asleep. He doesn’t need anyone watching him,” Mother said. “We’ll all be right in the next room. Look, he’s bringing his friend, and Paula and I don’t want to be two-on-two with them. Come on, Edna … Bronia.”
“There’s safety in numbers,” Auntie Paula added with a little laugh.
Auntie Edna sighed and stood up. She walked to the basin and began brushing her teeth. Mother and Auntie Paula were putting on clean blouses.
When the three mothers had returned to the front room, Miss Bronia took off her sweater and proceeded to wash like the others. We were all well accustomed by then to seeing each other in our underwear, but this was the first time I noticed how much larger and rounder Miss Bronia’s breasts were in her pink brassiere than those of the others. It was pleasurable looking at them.
At some point during all this, Sonya had stopped reading, and now she casually followed Miss Bronia into the outer room. I followed Sonya. The mothers had cleared the tea things from the table. Auntie Paula was washing cups and glasses in the basin and setting them out on a towel to dry, and Auntie Edna had laid a yellow dishtowel with blue flowers around the edges, in the center of the taller table. Mother was dripping candle wax onto a dish to make the candle stand up. They were all moving quickly, as though in a hurry.
“You two go to bed,” Auntie Paula said when she noticed Sonya and me in the room.
“Yes, Yulek, go to bed,” Mother chimed in. “And don’t listen.”
“He’s coming back, isn’t he,” Sonya said to her mother. “He’s bringing other men back with him, and you’re going to have a party, aren’t you?”
“We’re not going to have a party,” Auntie Paula said. “He’s coming back with some ham for us, and he’s bringing the man who’s in charge of supplies with him. When you wake up tomorrow, we’ll have ham for breakfast.”
“I’m old enough to stay.”
“Go to bed, Sonya. You have to take care of Yulek.”
“Yulek doesn’t need me to go to bed. And it’s not my bedtime.”
“You can lie down and read.”
“Whatever you’re going to be doing, that you don’t want me to see, you can see and hear perfectly well from the other room, you know. There isn’t any door.”
“We’re not going to be doing anything.”
“Then there’s no reason I can’t stay.”
“There is a reason, Sonya.”
“And what’s that?”
“Because I said so.”
“That’s not a reason.”
“That is a reason, and it’s all the reason you need.”
Sonya turned on her heel and marched into the inner room where I had preceded her and was now peeking out from around the side of the arch.
“Go put on your nightshirt,” she ordered me.
Sonya’s angry attitude surprised me. It certainly wasn’t my fault that her mother wouldn’t let her stay with the grownups. Why should she be angry with me? But I obeyed and ducked under the blanket of my pallet to change into my nightshirt.
Auntie Edna came in to check again on Fredek, who was asleep. She felt his neck with the back of her fingers and gave a sigh.
Then there was a knock on the door. Auntie Edna looked back into the outer room, straightened her blouse, then started back. I saw Mother cross to the door, but the door, like the table, was out of my field of vision. I heard Capt. Vrushin’s voice, “Basia!” With the access on the last a.
“Ah, Vasilli,” Mother said, and then some things were said in Russian too quietly for me to hear. I heard another man’s voice and the name Boris. Boris was my own middle name, but Capt. Vrushin again pronounced it with accent on the last syllable.
Then the three of them crossed the part of the room that I could see, for further introductions at the table. The brief glimpse I had of the second man showed me that he wasn’t as tall or as thin as Captain Vrushin but he had a very large head with a big forehead and a very small face below it. Like his companion’s, Comrade Captain Boris’s hair was curly on top and cropped short on the sides and back, except that his was quite blond.
He carried a large covered basket in his left hand, with his right stretched out in greeting, and he seemed almost to be skipping across the room in his eagerness. The handshaking took place outside my line of vision, but his voice was high and rasping, as though he had a sore throat. He sounded as though he was trying to shout, but his voice wasn’t loud enough.
Then there were ooh’s and aah’s, followed by a very appreciative oooooh from the mothers as, I suppose, the basket’s contents were revealed. The last oooooh, I speculated, must have been over something particularly good, of which, hopefully, there would be some left in the morning.
I could hear Fredek’s and my steamer trunk being dragged over the floor and Captain Boris’s—I assumed him to be a captain like his friend—high and raspy laughter.
There was a clink of glasses, in fact several clinks, followed by more laughter. Miss Bronia hadn’t made any more tea, so it must have been something that Captain Boris had brought in that basket. The talk was too quiet for me to make anything out, but there was a great amount of laughter.
Sonya was sitting on her pallet, still in her clothes, but she had taken off her shoes and stocks and was cutting her toenails with a pair of nail scissors. “What are you looking at?” she demanded.
“I’m just looking at you cutting your nails,” I answered
“Don’t look at my feet!” she hissed, making a face at me.
I turned away. I didn’t understand Sonya.
Now Comrade Captain Boris had begun to sing. I recognize his high, raspy voice singing some Russian song. When he had finished, there was some clapping, then more clinking of glasses. Mother said something in Russian, and Captain Boris began another song, one I recognized as a song Grandmother would sing sometimes. Then Mother joined in the song. But Mother could not carry a tune, and soon they both stopped, followed by more laughter.
Then someone was playing a harmonica. There was the shuffling of feet and suddenly Mother and Captain Boris danced into my field of vision through the archway. It was a fast tune and Captain Boris looked as if he was trying to push Mother to dance faster. Instead of extending his left arm, as I’d seen others do, he had tucked it in close to his chest, with Mother’s hand in his, and, for the short moment that I could see them before they danced out of sight again, he did seem to be actually pushing her around the floor with a very serious expression on his face.
There was more laughter and clapping and then Captain Boris danced into sight again, but this time breathing hard and pushing Miss Bronia. He held her tight in his arms, too, and I could see Miss Bronia’s legs trying to keep up, but tripping and her being held up by the comrade captain. I could see that Miss Bronia wasn’t enjoying this as much as Mother had appeared to. But her turn was soon over and then Captain Boris pushed Auntie Edna onto my stage and then off again. Auntie Edna was much taller than he was, and the impression I had after my brief glimpse of the two of them was of a fat little boy hugging his mother around the waist.
Miss Bronia came into the inner room now to check on Fredek, who was sound asleep. She told me to turn on my side with my back to the other room and go to sleep. I didn’t get to see Auntie Paula dance, but did hear more laughter, more clapping, and more clinking of glasses. Then I must have fallen asleep.
The next morning we had eggs for breakfast. There was also most of a large ham, two very big loaves of bread—one white, one black—a large cheese, some jars of caviar, and broken glass in the pail we used for trash. Auntie Paula stayed on her pallet with a cloth over her eyes like Fredek, though I don’t think she had a sore throat. Auntie Edna had a big black-and-blue mark on this side of her shin and limped, Mother had two torn stockings, and Fredek was feeling much better.
Auntie Edna spoon-fed Fredek his eggs in bed, though he wanted to get up. He wanted more scrambled eggs too, but his mother said eggs weren’t good for him and made him a ham sandwich, which he gobbled down very quickly. But he had to stay in bed at least one more day.
“Of course he’s not a gentleman,” Mother said over her shoulder to Auntie Edna from the mirror where she was putting on her makeup. “His father is a shepherd. I didn’t invite him for his charm, but for his food. And don’t you like Vasilli?”
“Vasilli may be all right,” Auntie Edna agreed, “but he’s a Bolshevik.” Bolshevik was a word I had heard before. Auntie Edna was moving around Fredek’s bed, arranging his sheets and blankets. “And that Boris is like a pig. He has no table manners and he was grunting all the time we were dancing.”
“Who was grunting like a pig?” Fredek asked. Nobody answered him.
“Vasilli is more than all right,” Mother said. “Don’t you understand that he brought Boris only because he saw we needed the food?”
“I bet he and Boris are talking about the three of us … and Bronia, right now.”
“This isn’t Warsaw before the war, you know. Officers don’t sit around cafes talking about women.” Mother was using a tiny little black toothbrush on her eyelashes. “Boris is probably counting his hams, and poor Vasilli’s out in the rain with his men.”
“Poor Vasilli? You like Vasilli, don’t you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Vasilli introduced us to Boris, and who knows what else he can do for us.”
“You gave him your silver fountain pen.”
“I gave him the pen because he had never seen a fountain pen before and it intrigued him. He’s an engineer. It was like giving a trinket to a child. It’s only a few zlotys, and I need him more than I need a fountain pen right now.”
“And what else are we going to be giving them?” It was Auntie Paula, still on her pallet, who asked this. I thought she was asleep. She still had the wet cloth over her eyes and her words were very slow and even.
“What we’re going to be giving them is a little oasis of sophistication in this stupid town,” Mother said. “Four cultured women they can talk to like human beings, who can laugh with them, have a drink with them, and even dance with them without anybody getting wrong ideas.”
“You don’t think Boris gets wrong ideas?” Auntie Edna asked.
“I can handle Boris, and so can you. You’ve handled people worse than him in Warsaw. Remember Stefan Gorovich?”
“You sound like you’re opening a salon?” Auntie Paula said.
Mother suddenly turned away from the mirror, the little brush still in her hand. “Look, Paula,” she said, “I don’t like dancing with that fat little peasant any more than you do, but, thank God, they’re not all like him, and this morning we have eggs and ham to eat instead of Bronia standing in line for bread. Do you two want to go on eating carrot soup for supper? Do you want your children to go on getting sick because they have to stand in the rain for firewood … or because there isn’t any firewood?
“Intelligent people don’t stand in line like peasants. My father built a stocking factory in Lodz from nothing … nothing. My mother’s people were the biggest chocolate manufacturers in Russia. When she was a little girl, Anton Chekhov used to come to dinner and read his plays to the family before they were produced. These weren’t people who stood in line … and I’m not either.”
“You forget what happened on the farm?” Auntie Paula said in her careful voice.
“What happened on the farm?”
“You got us thrown out, that’s what happened.”
“I didn’t get us thrown out. For godsakes, you keep saying that. I told you they were just looking for a chance to throw us out, otherwise they would have had to give us a share of the farm.”
“And you gave them that chance.”
“And you wish you were still living there with those self-important, opera-bouffe Bolsheviks? They’ve probably already shot old Mrs. Chernievich and moved into her house … along with their pigs and chickens.”
“So where are you going?” Auntie Edna asked.
“I’m going out to find some decent dishes and a samovar. And I’m going to see if I can find a Gramophone and some records.”
“I think they’ve already bought up all the Gramophones,” Auntie Edna said.
“All the Gramophones in the stores, maybe,” Mother said, “but I bet someone has one in their home.”
“And you’re going to entertain Bolsheviks,” Auntie Edna said. “They’re Bolsheviks!”
Now I felt I understood what the word Bolshevik meant and that I really did like Auntie Edna. I understood not trying to throw them out of your apartment when they were there one time and had brought you food, but I understood too that inviting them was treasonous.
“I’m going to trade them some culture, which they’re desperately short of, in exchange for food and firewood and protection, which we’re desperately short of, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“Protection?”
“Protection. A powerful friend can be very useful in times like this.”
A few minutes later Mother had gone out, and the makeup mirror on the wall beside the washbasin was free. Normally, one of the Aunties would have put it to use, but Auntie Paula was just lifting herself to a sitting position and Auntie Edna was seated on the edge of Fredek’s bed. Allowed to sit up today, Fredek was drawing a picture on a sheet of paper supported by a large book in his lap.
“She’s crazy,” Auntie Edna said, and I knew she was talking about my mother. But I also knew she didn’t really mean that Mother was crazy. Then Miss Bronia came and told me that she and I were going to go in the other room and I would practice my reading with her.
It was a children’s story about a sickly boy who went to a camp of some sort in the summer and became strong and healthy from the fresh air and exercise. But even knowing the story, I found the words difficult. I knew all of the letters of the alphabet but trying to read at a speaking pace, I would see a letter and read it as a different letter and not be able to make sense out of the word.
I envied Fredek for his ability to breeze through sentences, just the way he did through multiplication tables. I had heard Kiki talking with his Miss Frania about the fact that Fredek had special talents. While I, on the other hand, I supposed, had secretly ruined my mind with the birdie business. Even the train Fredek was drawing now actually looked like a train and not the shoeboxes with wheels that I would have drawn.
Eventually Auntie Edna, Auntie Paula, and Sonya went out “shopping.” Miss Bronia and I went on reading, with Miss Bronia encouraging me and telling me how much better I was doing. I stumbled on in my effort to please her, assembling each word and so intent on the process that I had no idea of what I was reading. Had Miss Bronia asked me what I had read, I would not have been able to tell her.
The Aunties and Sonya came home with a bag of vegetables and several packs of cigarettes. Then Auntie Edna and Auntie Paula sat close together at one end of the table smoking and whispering to each other.
It was almost dark outside when Mother came back, carrying a very large packing box. She had bought a red-and-white, twelve-piece tea setting with a teapot and everything. She said she had bargained the woman down because four of the cups were missing and several others were chipped, but it wouldn’t matter to us because the Russians drank their tea out of glasses. But Auntie Edna and Auntie Paula weren’t interested and wouldn’t even look, and Miss Bronia told me and Sonya to put on our coats quickly because we were going for a walk.
Mother didn’t eat supper with the rest of us. She sat on her pallet smoking and doing her solitaire. The next morning she told me she was taking me to the park.
There was a little area, one city block, that had no buildings—just grass, a few trees,
and some benches. It certainly wasn’t my idea of a park, without a lake and swans, a sculpture of Chopin, a royal palace, or even peacocks. But I realized that, this being a small town, it would have a small park. Possibly it had even had peacocks at one time, but they may have been killed and eaten.
Mother sat down on one of the benches and told me to go play. In Warsaw, Kiki’s sitting down on the bench had become a mantra that turned on an imagination switch. This time, none of that happened.
I walked around the deserted little park trying to make something happen. I saw squirrels scurry across the grass, then corkscrew their way around and up and around a tree trunk. I saw the wind lift leaves off the ground, whorl them around at eye level and then drop them to go elsewhere. But my make-believe world would not stir.
And then, as I passed Mother on her bench for the second or third time, she said to me, “Yulian, come sit next to me for a moment. I want to talk to you.”
I sat down immediately.
“Yulian, you’re a young man now, you know,” Mother began. “You are now master of the house.”
Master of the house was something I had never heard of.
“You are my protecting knight,” she went on. And then I understood that what master of the house must be was some sort of limited title, conferring adult status on children, but valid only within the confines of their domicile, under emergency conditions. It was as though Poland’s great warrior king of an earlier era, King Arthur, were departing for the Crusades with his knights of the round table, and in their absence the boys of the castle were dubbed temporary knights within the castle walls.
Mother was saying something about how Auntie Paula and Auntie Edna were not brave like she and I and were afraid to do what was necessary to save themselves, and I was visualizing myself and other boys of the castle in our miniature suits of armor guarding the ramparts against invaders.
Mother and Me Page 20