Briar Rose (13 page)

"I don't know," Becca admitted.

"We must discover this sometime," Magda said. "You journalist. You will find out and write to me the reason.

gin-ger bread?"

"Yes and yes."

"Good," Magda said and, with a great grin, bit the head off gingery countess.

"You," Becca mumbled around her own bite of gingerbrea.

the most 'up' person I have ever met."

"Up. Yes. That is good?"

"Yes."

"What does it mean?" Magda's accent was, peculiarly, ma pronounced by her mouthful of cookie.

"It means optimistic. Happy. Full of joy."

"Ah, yes. But I am Polish."

"Is everybody who is Polish optimistic?"

"If one is not optimistic in Poland, then there is too m weep about," Magda said. "In the not-so-past history are tragedies. Every family can recite them. The blood of so martyrs are still wet on our soil. Once . . ." Her face too dreamy expression, the rest of the gingerbread forgotten plate. "Once I was not so optimistic. But I was young and know these things and so can be forgiven. I was not so mother she was Jewish, my father Catholic. Only neither w were doing their religions."

"Practicing," Becca put in softly. "We would say practic

"How odd. To practice a religion, like a violin! What a language English is." Magda giggled and her eyebrows danc right-left again. "I was not brought up in either one."

Becca nodded and sipped her tea.

"Then one day our teacher saw that we knew little of P

real history, not the history of heroes and generals burthe Briar Rose

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of the people. Or rather that what we knew of the immediate past we saw as the same kind of thing-just history, but not real. Not having anything to do with us. I am not saying this right."

"You are perfectly clear. Only drink your tea. It's getting cold."

Like an obedient little girl, Magda drank her tea down in a single gulp. "Good. I like being perfectly clear. So our teacher made us trip. Do you have this in America?"

"Class trips? All the time. To places of Significant Historical Interest." Becca smiled. "To see history."

"She took us to Lublin. Outside of Lublin is Majdanek. It was camp during the war. There is a monument of grey stones, a great mausoleum-that is the word?"

"Yes." Becca barely whispered.

"A mausoleum dedicated to the 360 000 men and women and-she told us-even children of our own ages who were murdered and discarded, like animal carcasses. So close to where we lived. That is what she said. She told us how the young like us,
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and the elderly like our grandparents, and the sick like Mr. Mleczko who cleaned our school but had bad lungs-were put into ovens. Burned up as if they had been meat. Or bread." She pushed the plate with the cake away from her with a sudden angry movement. "She said the children were whipped with cattle whips and their bodies piled onto lorries like filth, and taken to the rose garden which is what the guards called the gas-chamber. I remember every word she said.

"By then most of us were crying, some of the older boys were even sobbing loudly. And she said

'See how green and lovely are the lawns around the memorial. Think of what horrors were buried here forty years ago right under our feet; think about what it is that has so fertilized this rich soil.' She made us look at the grey stones for a long time, then she had the bus take us home." Magda was silent for a moment. "She did not return to teach the next year."

"No," Becca said.

"No." Magda sighed. "I loved her very much. She was m first-oh love affair is the wrong word. I was eleven years old. She did not touch me in any way."

"We would say you had a crush on her."

"Crush?" Magda's hand described a downward arc, as if crushing something.

Becca nodded.

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"How odd. Yet how true. My young heart was crushed, esp cially when she was not returned.

She was a very good teacher.

"And . . ." Becca urged.

"Ah, you want an ending to the story. Not every story has end, my friend, Becca."

"But, friend Magda, I suspect this one has."

Magda laughed delightedly and pulled the plate with the cal back towards her. She broke off a piece and put it in her mout rolling her eyes as if to emphasize how delicious it was. After s'.

swallowed and dabbed at her lips in an exaggerated fashion with ~

cloth napkin, she sighed. "Oh, yes-an ending. From that day or started practicing-yes?-being Jewish. I joined with other studer who were Jewish and went to their homes for the holidays. Not kept the holidays, you know. My mother did not approve."

"And your father?"

"He did not care. He just did not want me Catholic."

"Do you practice your Jewishness now?" Becca asked.

I do not practice the holidays," Magda said.

"Celebrate."

"Yes-I do not practice or celebrate the holidays. I do not spE

or read Hebrew. But I read history at University, and especiall, read Holocaust history. I am member of the Polish Jewish Stud(

League."

"That's how I got your name," Becca reminded her. "Throu the Cracow group."

"Yes. So you see, if my teacher had not taken us to that horri place, you and I would not become friends."

Becca smiled. "And I would not have had such splendid gin~

bread."

They paid and left, walking artn-in-arm along the little bouleva At first Becca was embarassed, but after they passed many g doing the same, she relaxed.

"And now to Chelmno?"

I think we take a little longer and go west to Bydgoszcz. )
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will like the streets and buildings there. And soon it will be time lunch."

"But we have just eaten," Becca said.

"Ah-but if you once smell bigos and pirogis, once you hav taste of nalesniki, you will not resist further."

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"I have eaten all of those. Well, maybe not bigos. I live in a Polish farm community, you know."

Magda stopped, withdrew her arm from Becca s, and looked at her seriously. "But you have not yet eaten in Poland! First, though, I must show you the monument for Niklas Koppernigk. You would

call him Nicolaus Copernicus. You have heard of him?"

"Of course I have heard of him."

"Well," Magda had gotten that twinkle in her eye again. "I have heard how poorly Americans have their education. Nicolaus Copernicus was born here, in Torfin. And there are many wonderful houses in the Old Town. I would love to live here some day, I

think."

Becca smiled and decided that, for the rest of the day, she would play tourist and let Magda take her around. After that, she was determined to continue her search. Gemma she was sure would approve.

They ate lunch in a restaurant. Becca accepted what Magda ordered with good grace: a dish of strong stew, which was the bigos Magda had mentioned, and something that was a cross between a blintz and a crepe filled with cheese and covered with a sour cream sauce that was sweet and filling.

"If I ate like this every day, Becca warned, I wouldn t even fit into the size twelve jeans I brought you." She paid for the entire meal, both hers and Magda's, and was surprised at how cheap it was.

They traveled on to Bydgoszcz, past fields of yellow lupine blowing distractedly in the intermittent breezes. Overhead the white clouds looked fresh-washed.

Willows stood knee-deep in pockets of the river ' not the weeping kind that Becca was used to, but a variety that lifted its branches straight up from massive trunks. Becca commented on them.

"They do not grow that way by nature, Magda explained, but we cut them back to get branches to make baskets. You know baskets?"

"Willow baskets!" Becca exclaimed. "I never thought they wer made of willow. W

"You Americans never stop to be an amazement!" Magda said.

"Cease amaze me " corrected Becca.

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"Yes.' I

Becca pulled along the shoulder of the road and stopped th

"A photograph?" asked Magda.

"Yes-you and the willows."

"Only I do not stand in the water. I do not grow well that v Magda giggled at her joke and Becca joined her laughter. She the picture while they were both still laughing, then took a se just in case.

Once more on the road they passed large fields and then s of white birch, gleaming in the afternoon light.

"I love birch trees," Becca commented. "We have one triple trunk on our front lawn."

"The birch is a favorite to me, too," Magda said. "Do you what the birch tree means in Poland?"

"No." Becca glanced over at her.

"My professor told me. Once it was believed birch trees h souls of the dead. Even today, at Pentecost, what we call Z

Swi4tki, the Green Holiday, people cut down branches of the and bring it into the house to put around the windows. Is pagan here still, yes?"

Becca looked back at the road. "Must have been a lot of trees at Majdanek."

Magda made a strange sound, something between a cough sigh. "My friend, Becca, there are birch trees everywhere in Pol

They arrived an hour -later in Bydgoszcz and booked into a hot Brda.

"First time I ever stayed in a hotel without vowels,"

commented as they unpacked.

Magda shook her head. "There are two towels in the bath, This is not so poor a country as that.

The hotel has three s

Becca tried a few times to explain the joke, realized there vowel after all, and gave it up as a bad job. They went do for a walk. The evening, though, had begun to turn chilly. Bec glad for the sweater she had brought along, but Magda was a short-sleeved blouse. When Becca saw her shiver surreptiti she announced: "I am cold, Magda, even through my sweater go back to the hotel."

Briar Rose

Magda gave her no argument. But as they walked, they plannec the trip for the next day.

"It is only one half hour if you drive, Becca," Magda said.

"How long if you drive?"

"Forever, I am afraid. I do not drive in auto ... in cars," Magdz said. "I cannot afford a car and I live in Warsaw. We have trains anc buses to every place I want to go. But is it true everyone in Americ~

has at least one car?"

Not quite everyone," Becca said.

"Do you?"

"Of course. But I live in the country," Becca said quickly. "An there are no buses or trains that come near my house."

"No buses, no trains." Clearly it was a stunning idea to Magda They reached the hotel still deep in a discussion of transportation and went right into the hotel's dining room. Though Becca swor(

she couldn't eat a thing, still being full from lunch, the waiter-whc spoke English, even better than Magda-with Magda's help ordere her a full meal. When it came, the medallions of veal and
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the thin delicate French fries were too appealing to resist. Becca finishe them, the small green peas, and a piece of cream cake besides.

"Tomorrow you will try borscht," Magda said.

"My andmother made borscht," Becca said. "No thank you They slept in the narrow twin beds. Auntie was wrong. Magda sometimes snored, though lightly.

Becca suspected it was because o the unfamiliar mattress. By the time she finally fell asleep, those light snores were the only sound in the hotel.

Hot beet soup ... !" She wrinkled her nose.

"You have never had it in Poland," Magda said.

"The prince walked along the path of the overgrown forest, t opening before him. On either side of the path white birch trees gle the souls of the new dead. "

'I wish you wouldn't say that part, Gemma, " Sylvia whispe on Halloween. "

"It is as true on Halloween as any other time," Gemma sa

"It's not true ever!" said Shana.

"Is, " Becca said. "Is, too. " She was dressed like a princess, wit and scepter even though Shana had insisted only kings carried t

"Is not!" Shana was a pirate. Her wicked black shoe-polish shone with perspiration. She was wearing long underwear for between houses.

"Is, too. " Becca turned to Gemma for support. Gemma simply the story.

"Then at last he came to the palace itself A mist still lay all walls and floors, hovering like a last breath on the lips of all the

She stopped to take a breath.

"Not on Halloween, Gemmg, " Sylvia said, getting up, the tutu of her ballerina costume sticking up at an odd angle and m exit somewhat less dramatic than she had hoped.

Shana followed Sylvia out of the room, pirate sword dragging.

before, the sword had belonged to Sylvia's king costume and S

. I ~,

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coveted it for 364 days. Now she was annoyed that it banged in when she walked. It was that, and the hot underwear, rather A

that were making her cranky. But Becca was only eight years o1a no way she could understand.

"Go on, Gemma, go on, " Becca said.

Gemma went on, needing little encouragement where Sleeping concerned.

W-11 ,

22

Magda rose early and left the room. Becca heard her go and over, falling back to sleep at once, jet lag having overcome he to start on the day. By the time she woke again, sunlig streaming into the room and Magda was sitting reading in 1

chair.

"I overslept," Becca said apologetically.

"You missed breakfast," Magda said, her mouth for oi smiling.

"That's all right."

Magda grinned and pointed to the dresser. "I brought up Becca sat up in bed. "I really don't need anything."

"You will need your strength. We go now to Cheln-mo anc~

been reading about it. Do you want to hear?"

"I already read quite enough about it before coming. It w~

Becca hesitated. "It was not a pleasant place."

"It was worse than Majdanek. There, at least, was some h(

the strong."

Becca grimaced. "I already know."

"Then why . . ." Magda came over to sit on her own b(

stare at Becca. "Then why are you here?"