A Drop of Rain (11 page)

Then Grandpa opens the door to the water closet. He tells the Jews to come out. He tells them to take off their shirts with the yellow stars.

Grandpa burns the shirts of the Jewish men in our stove. Then, after the Jews put on Daddy's shirts, Mommy and I give them some supper to take with them. Their supper is cheese and bread that we have tied up in clean rags.

Then the Jews are gone.

“They've gone to somewhere safe in the forest,” Grandpa says.

Clothes and food are pretty scarce during the war. But we aren't the only people who help others. Many people leave food on the edge of the forest and in the cemeteries. This food is for Jews and partisans who are hiding, cold, hungry and afraid.

The partisans are a kind of Polish soldier. Daddy is a soldier. He is away somewhere fighting the Nazis. We don't know where.

Yes, people help other people. At least, some people do. I hear the grownups talking about it.

One night after curfew, a woman runs through the village with her baby in her arms. The baby is sick.
The woman is so worried about her baby, that she forgets about the curfew. She forgets that the Nazis shoot you dead, no questions asked, if they see you on the street after a certain time.

That woman is a Catholic, like us. But it is Jews who save her. The Jews pull that woman and her baby inside their house, before the soldiers see them.

I should listen to Naomi more. I don't give her enough credit for her good sense. She is maturing rapidly, and she is intelligent in different ways from Hanna and me. Whereas Hanna and I are logical, Naomi is intuitive. Naomi sensed Doctor Kowalska's wisdom and brought her here to help. Yet she just thinks of Doctor Kowalska as a new friend, as “Mary.”

Hanna is relieved to have her own doctor here. She enjoys talking to a fellow countrywoman in her native language.

It's not merely that Doctor Kowalska is familiar and Polish. She also understands what Hanna has gone through here. Both women are brilliant professionals who have been forced to do menial labour in Canada. Both have been plunged from the top to the bottom of society. Both feel powerless, yet both have much to offer. They see so much. They have so much to say, so much wisdom that mainstream Canadians could learn from. Yet they are marginalized.

Dr. Kowalska says she'll come and visit Hanna as often as she can. She says she'll bring her some Polish dishes to eat. And a Warsaw newspaper from a Polish
shop in Mapleville that I didn't even know about. And she'll chat with Hanna. I am so relieved. Hanna has been asking for dishes that I don't know how to make. The other day it was
kasza
. I had some buckwheat that I'd bought in a health food store, so I boiled it up. But Hanna couldn't eat it. Then, when I tried to cook potato pancakes, Hanna couldn't eat those either. (Dr. K. says the cancer may already have spread to Hanna's stomach and brain.)

Hanna never cared about traditional Polish food before now. When we were together, we took turns cooking the simplest things, like scrambled eggs. Anything quick, inexpensive and nutritious. Mind, heart and soul were more important than body.

Here is another of Hanna's scribbled notes. It was in one of the boxes. It is undated. I find it harrowing.

I looked at my watch: ten minutes past eleven. It began to rain a bit. I walked quickly from the ______ subway station north on ______ Street.

In front of the entrance of ______ where the Ministry of Health and Social Services is located, a group of people formed a circle; the placards moved in a ring.

I began to understand the slogans. Among others: “They talk and we die.”

A knife stroke in my heart.

For me it was not a slogan.

I know well what that means.

Took Eva and the boys to see
Star Wars
. We didn't tell Naomi we were taking Jeff and Jerry. I think Eva is too sensitive about Naomi's feelings.

But what do I know about teenage girls?

Eva didn't try to get close to the boys. She spoke to them politely, almost as though they were adults.

Eva thinks I'm “great” with Naomi. Evidently Naomi does not agree. Nevertheless, I seem to perceive that Naomi is becoming slightly less hostile.

But I'm probably wrong.

At least the boys like me. Had a great day with them Sunday. No time for my photography, only for their hockey and homework. Big expedition to the library.

Is my growing cynicism about teaching part of the proverbial mid-life crisis? No, I really need more freedom and creativity.

On the other hand, it would be terrible to be without a decent pension in ten years, like this Polish doctor. She's cleaning floors. Where's the freedom in that?

I guess I just have to hang on for a while yet. At least I feel needed. Occasionally.

Eva's got herself involved in some committee looking into purchasing new industrial robots for the technology department at the college. She has an amazing capacity for hard work and for compartmentalizing her life.

But she needs a hobby—something to relax with and regain perspective.

Sunday, October 24, 1999

Today I spent eight hours at the Rec Plex, working with Mary. It's amazing how little I knew about her, when I thought I knew a lot. Mary told me that she is all alone here in Canada, because her older brother and sister are dead. Mary stays here because she can earn more money with minimum-wage jobs in Canada than she can earn with a doctor's job in Poland. If she stays, she can help her kids financially.

She says she had three grandchildren when she left Poland, and now she has five.

“Two of them I have never held in my arms!” she says. She says she hasn't seen any of her children or grandchildren for eight years.

“How can I afford to go to Poland?” she says. “I am starting from zero, just like my Daddy did after First World War, just like my Grandpa did after Second World War.”

Mary is working three jobs. As well as cleaning, she sews and babysits.

“Even with three jobs,” she says, “I have barely enough to live on, because I must help my children.”

I told Mary that my Great-grandmother Goralski worked as a cleaner at the University of Alberta for fifteen years. Great-grandma Goralski saved up enough money for my mother to study at university. But then, after my mother graduated from engineering, she had trouble finding a job in her field, because she was a woman with a small child.

Mary has lots of problems, but she doesn't get as depressed about them as Hanna did. Maybe this is because Mary has religious faith and goes to church all the time. Or because she has children and grandchildren she has to help. Or because she trusts capitalism more. Or because she trusts people more.

Mary and I didn't talk just about our problems. We talked about travel, education, medicine and fashion, as well as sewing. We're going to borrow her landlady's sewing machine this evening, and Mary's going to give me my first sewing lesson. Mom and Hanna are silent mostly, but Mary is almost never silent. Her stories bubble up like a spring of pure water. She tells hundreds of stories that all flow into each other. Her stories have endings, yet they never end. Maybe she does this because she is a doctor. Maybe she uses stories to help cure people.

This is a few days later: Wednesday, October 27. I know I'm supposed to write my diary entry at one sitting, but I didn't have much to write about before,
and now I've got lots. Today Sarah invited me to her house for the first time. She invited me to eat dinner and study for our biology test. I was delighted that Sarah had time to visit with me after school, and I was eager to see the inside of Sarah's gorgeous house and get to know her better. Furthermore, I wanted to go say something to Curtis, who lives near Sarah.

Curtis does live on the same block as Sarah, but he does not live in a big, beautiful, new house like Sarah's. Instead, he lives in a small, ugly, old house like ours. Curtis told me on the plane that his parents are divorced, and that his dad lives in Edmonton. I guess his dad doesn't send much support money, and his mother doesn't make much money working as a secretary.

When I knocked on Curtis's front door, I started worrying that he would think that the clothes I was wearing were too expensive and showy. I was ready to walk away and pretend I had rung the wrong doorbell by mistake, when the door opened. And there he was.

“Um, hi, Curtis!” I say.

“Hi!” Curtis says. “You're the girl from the plane, aren't you?” He looks sort of tired and rumpled. His hair needs trimming, and his Tyrannosaurus rex sweatshirt is faded and wrinkled. But I think he looks great.

“Yes, I am, and my name is Naomi,” I say. “Look, I'm sorry to bother you, but I just happened to be in the neighbourhood, and I have a message for you.”
(Dummy! How can you use that trite phrase, “happened to be in the neighbourhood”? Now he'll know for sure that you are a total idiot!)

“So, how are you doing?” Curtis says. “Sorry I
didn't call, but I've been very busy with my art work and school.”

“Why didn't you speak to me when you passed me in the hall the other day.” I blurt.
(You were not going to mention that! Not! Not!)

“Passed you in the hall?” he says. “I didn't even see you. Sorry.”

(How come I know he is lying?)

“That's okay. It doesn't matter,” I lie. “Probably a case of mistaken identity. Anyway, the message is from the aquatic director of the Recreation Complex—that's where I work. She says she needs a mural painted on the walls around the shallow pool, where the little kids learn to swim. I happened to be, uh, cleaning in her office when she mentioned this. I told her you draw great animal pictures, especially birds. She says she'll pay you. The kids are really young, so the pictures can't be scary, but otherwise you could probably paint whatever you want. Maybe you could just phone her and talk to her. You could recommend another artist if you don't want the job.”

“Okay, sure, Naomi. Thanks,” says Curtis. “Can you give me her name and number? I'll call her tomorrow.”

I hand Curtis the piece of paper the aquatic director gave me. Then I notice that he is looking sort of uncomfortable, so I just mumble, “Hope she pays you a lot. I've got to go now. Bye.”

“Bye . . . and thanks,” says Curtis closing the door as I run down the sidewalk.

He doesn't even care if he never sees me again! He doesn't even care!
I yell silently at myself, as I run towards Sarah's place.
How could I have been so dumb?

When I got to Sarah's, I didn't tell her anything about what happened at Curtis's. I can't talk to Sarah about things that are important to me. I don't know why. I mean, Sarah is really nice, but she's too confident, and too beautiful and a really good singer. I guess I'm a coward. I think she'd drop me if she knew what my life was really like. When I'm around her, I prefer to be just sort of a mirror for her. I agree with everything she says and act like a groupie. It's disgusting.