Clattering Sparrows (14 page)

18

ALTHOUGH JUDY RECOVERED RAPIDLY and completely, and she felt better overall than she had in years, she decided to retire from teaching. Her daughter was engaged to be married, and she was in the midst of planning a wedding. Her son had been married for over a year, and they were expecting a baby in a few short months. Excited about becoming a grandmother for the first time, she planned to do some major shopping with her daughter-in-law to furnish the nursery.

After her illness she viewed her life more deliberately. Her cancer scare reinforced the fact that no one is immortal, and she felt there were so many things she wanted to do in whatever time she had left. She felt she had been given a second chance, and she wasn’t going to take it for granted. When we were younger, we talked at length about what we envisioned for our senior years and joked about retiring to Florida and playing Mah Jongg day after day. Now knowing that everything can change at any given moment on any given day, she saw things quite differently.

The year following Judy’s surgery passed quickly and disturbingly with the months alternating between celebrations and crises. We welcomed Sam’s new daughter and Mindy’s new son. As we visited Sam and his family in Massachusetts to get acquainted with our new granddaughter, Jon’s mother had a heart attack and died. His father who had been ill for years, after suffering several small strokes, was unable to live alone, and after great thought and a lot of soul searching, we decided to put his father in a nursing home. He was so confused, and it broke my heart at the cemetery when he said to me, “From now on if I want to talk to her do I have to come to this place? You said she won’t be home anymore.”

Still recovering from Jon’s mother’s death and getting his father settled in the nursing home, my mother passed away in Florida less than six weeks later. Dad who was always a strong person held up a lot better than I did. He had lost his true love and partner who had been at his side for over fifty years, and at first he didn’t want to return to their empty home in Naples, so he stayed with us. They had sold their house in Maryland years before, and when they came north for the summer, they usually alternated their visits between our house and my brother’s.

His stay was as therapeutic for me as it was for him. We talked about our house on Oates and all the good times we had, and he laughed when I recalled the time we visited the Washington Monument; the two of us walked all the way to the top because the wait for the elevator was too long. My mom and brother who opted to wait for the ride up beat us to the top anyhow. Our trips to New York to see the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parades, and summer vacations to the Catskill Mountains’ many resorts or the Jersey shore where we usually hooked up with aunts, uncles, and cousins were a big part of our memories, and we reflected on those too. We both agreed that ice skating on the rink at Rockefeller Plaza was great, but our favorite times together were when the two of us would sneak out for an afternoon while visiting my grandmother and Dad would take me to see a Broadway show. My very favorite of all time was seeing Yul Brynner in The King and I, and even though we thought we were being quite secretive, my mother knew where we were going, but she never minded a bit.

Now that my mother was gone, I felt certain that my father would be visiting often and taking his grandchildren on many of those same adventures. As Jon and I mourned our mothers’ deaths and weeks before my father returned to Florida, we suffered yet another loss when Jon’s father died just a few short months after we moved him to the nursing home.

The bright spots that sustained us were the arrival of our two beautiful grandchildren, and Michelle Singer’s wedding. When Judy and Ira’s daughter-in-law gave birth to their first grandson a few weeks after their daughter’s wedding, we hoped and prayed that the bad times had passed for now. My mother always used to say that the birth of a child brings good luck and new hope for the future. And at that point in time, I desperately clung to that belief.

Two months after my mother died, Dad returned to Florida where he had many friends. He knew being among her things and frequenting their favorite places might be painful at first, but would ultimately bring solace to him and begin the healing process.

Before he left, he personally wrote notes to the many people who had made contributions in memory of my mother. We were surprised so many of our old neighbors from Oates Street responded to the obituary notice in the paper. Many of his patients who were now grown with children and grandchildren of their own wrote cards that were quite touching, considering the length of time that had passed.

***

As we eased into spring the weather helped buoy our spirits. On Monday, March 25, 1991, Judy and Ira invited our Mah Jongg game couples for dinner and to watch the annual Academy Awards televised from the Shrine Civic Auditorium in Los Angeles. It was a great evening, and for the first time in months, we completely relaxed, as we oohed and aahed over the beautiful gowns worn by the actresses and the hunks whose arms they adorned.

The Best Actress in a starring role went to Gina Alexandra for her portrayal of Susan and Sarah Blake in Ghosts of Our Past. Although she had been in Hollywood for over eight years, none of her previous parts allowed her to express her true acting ability that so genuinely emerged in the dual role of twins separated at birth. Beautiful, in her mid to late thirties, with long, dark hair, her solemn, dark piercing eyes revealed an aura of deep sadness. Originally she auditioned for a lesser part in the film, but as she began to read, the director Leo Gold immediately saw in those eyes exactly what he was looking for to portray Susan and Sarah.

Compared to previous winners, her acceptance speech was quite brief. “I thank the Academy from the bottom of my heart and especially Leo Gold for believing in me.” She then raised the Oscar and looked upward saying, “Mom, Dad, Joel—this is for you. I wish you could be here.”

We had all seen the film and were in total agreement that she was terrific, and that she definitely deserved the award. I noticed as Judy stared at the screen into the face of Gina Alexandra, she seemed to be miles away. Suddenly, she said, “I know this sounds stupid, but for some reason she has always looked familiar to me, reminding me of someone, but I can never imagine who.”

We all laughed and I said, “Maybe she’s a twin like in the movie?”

Judy slightly annoyed that we laughed said, “I’m not joking. She just really reminds me of someone.”

Two weeks later, one Wednesday evening as I was setting up the weekly Mah Jongg game at our house, I had the help of my grandson Jake who had spent the day with us and was sleeping over. Expecting the girls at any moment, I hurriedly placed the snacks and drinks on the counter. Judy was the first to arrive.

Jake was busy setting up the walls of tiles when she came in and he ran to her immediately. She scooped him up in a bear hug. Rubbing noses she said, “Are you sure you’re a little boy—you’re much too pretty, and your hair is much too curly.”

He giggled and wriggled free. “Grandpa Jon is going to read me a story before I go to bed.”

Judy replied, “Well aren’t you a lucky little boy.”

Jon came into the kitchen. “Come on Jake, it’s time for bed. Have you picked out a story for me to read?”

“Yes,
Curious George Feeds the Animals
. Here’s the book Grandpa.” After kissing Judy and me goodnight, he raced up the stairs ahead of Jon.

Jake was sound asleep by the fourth page. Jon kissed him, pulled the covers up, and whispered, “Goodnight Jake. I love you.”

By the time Jon came downstairs, all the girls had arrived, and we were playing the first hand. “Good evening ladies.”

He reached for his jacket and said, “Jake is all tucked in and fast asleep. I think we wore him out today. I’m going next door to Ira’s for a while.”

After going over a contract that Ira wanted Jon to take a look at, they turned on the television and settled in to watch. Wednesday wasn’t a very good TV night and with nothing else to pique their interest, they decided to watch the special on NBC.

During the 1980s, the major networks’ financial and labor troubles contributed to a proliferation of reality-based programs. As the networks soon learned, reality programming was not only cheap to produce, but also strike-proof. Consequently, they added more and more such programs to their primetime lineups. One of the most successful of the shows that came out of this period was
Unsolved Mysteries
. The fact that the program aired segments that tended to focus on the personal problems of both ordinary people and celebrities, and interacted with the viewing audience seeking their help, caused the show to soar in popularity.

It was 9:00 p.m., and Unsolved Mysteries was airing a special two-hour show, dedicated to the upcoming fifth anniversary of the Chernobyl Nuclear Power Plant disaster. The show had been heavily advertised as a must-see for weeks, urging viewers not to miss it.

The first hour featured interviews with several survivors from areas that were affected by the fallout. They related the tragedies that ensued, and many of the stories were heartbreaking. At one point, Ira even suggested they turn the TV off in favor of shooting a few games of pool, but they continued to watch.

Hosted by Robert Stack, he opened the second hour with the introduction of the woman sitting beside him. She looked to be in her early to mid-fifties, and she was quite attractive. Her short hair was a dirty blond in color and accented her deep blue eyes. As the camera changed angles, they saw that she was in a wheelchair.

“Our guest tonight is Irina Petrova formerly from Prypiat, Ukraine, which is located 18 kilometers northwest of the city of Chernobyl. She lived on a small farm with her husband Josef and their two sons Nikolai and Alexi at the time of the Chernobyl Nuclear Power Plant disaster. Irina, an engineer, was among the first workers employed at the plant when it opened in 1977.”

Turning to Irina, he said, “Welcome, and thank you for agreeing to share your story with us. At the end of our program, I hope that somewhere in our vast viewing audience there is someone who will come forward and help solve your mystery.”

Irina began to speak. She spoke fluent English with only a slight hint of an accent.

“My story in most ways is not unlike the many others who survived the Chernobyl disaster. Yet in one way, it is quite unique. I was born in Ukraine to working class people. My father was Jewish. He had a brother and a sister and grew up on a dairy farm where they ran a creamery. They rented cows from a nearby farmer, milked them, and made butter and cheese to sell. In addition, they farmed a small plot of land for their food, eking out a meager living at best. Life was extremely hard, and my grandfather’s uncles who had immigrated to the United States in the early 1900s continually urged him to leave Ukraine, bring his family to America, and make a new life. At the time, only his youngest brother chose to go.

“My grandfather decided that as the eldest, my father would drive his brother to the closest town with a railroad station some 40 kilometers away. From there he would take the train to Warsaw where he would board the ship. With papers in order, and train and boat passage tickets in hand, they bid their family goodbye and took off in their old truck to make the trip. After spending the night and seeing his brother safely on his way to America, my father returned two days later to find that their farm had been ravaged by the soldiers who often roamed the countryside. He found that his entire family had been killed including his wife and two small children, and their house and barn burned to the ground.

“For hours he dug graves, laid them all to rest, and as he bowed his head and said a hasty prayer, he broke down and wept. The realization hit him, that if his father had not sent him to take his brother to the train, he too would be dead. He walked to the base of the big tree that stood beside what once had been the barn, and pushing the shovel into the earth uncovered a small box. Exhausted but fearful that the soldiers would return, he removed the box, got back in the truck and drove off.

“Unsure of what to do and with little money in hand, he headed back towards the next town. After he had traveled about 25 kilometers, on the outskirts of Prypiat, the truck gave out. He abandoned it on the side of the road, and set off on foot for the nearest farmhouse, carrying the valise which held all his worldly belongings—two pair of pants, two shirts, two changes of underwear, and the box which contained the few rubles his father kept hidden for emergencies.

“Suspicious of anyone and everyone, the man who answered the door asked if he was Jewish. Recalling the carnage he had just witnessed at their farm, he adamantly stated that he was not. The man opened the door, and welcomed him into his home. He fed him and offered him a bed for the night, then told my father he could repay him by working on the farm for one day. One day turned into two, and then to three, and by the end of one week, when the man offered him a job and a roof over his head, he eagerly accepted. Having been raised on a farm, and with nowhere else to go, he felt fate had led him to that particular farmhouse. They retrieved the truck which had only run out of gas, and my father began a new life under a new name leaving his heritage behind. Eventually my father married the man’s daughter, my mother, and their union produced two sons and a daughter, me.

“Unable to chance trying to reach his relatives in America without revealing his true identity, my father’s uncles and brother were soon forgotten. Everything had been lost when the soldiers burned the house down, and with time, his memory grew vague. He no longer recalled the names of his uncles or where they lived in America. And so the years passed. We had food to eat because we had a farm, but for many years, we had little else. We managed to survive the atrocities of World War II, and after the War finally ended, our lives began to improve somewhat.