My Mother's Secret (2 page)

I
don't k
now if my mother ever loved my father.

Maybe love isn't something that people value when it's hard just to get by.

Damian and I are constantly worried that our father, so quick to anger, will strike her in one of their arguments.

Being slight and about half his size, my mother would be seriously injured.

She never backs down in their arguments, so it is my brother and I who fear.

We want to grow up so desperately.

A
s predict
ed by my father, Hitler becomes chancellor on January 30, 1933.

Seven months later, a law is introduced to ban the formation of parties.

Now . . . there is no stopping the Nazi machine.

I
t may have be
en as subtle as the sight of a small robin sitting on our windowsill in the early days of spring that makes my mother think,
This simple bird has the freedom to fly anywhere, and yet here we stay
.

Or maybe it's just what is practical. Leave when you have enough money set aside.

Regardless, one uneventful day, she tells my father that she has decided to move back to Poland. This is the same as saying she is leaving him because he has on many occasions said that he would never return to a country he felt was backward compared to Germany.

At this point, my brother is eighteen and I am two years younger, so we can make our own decision in terms of whom we will live with.

In reality, there's no decision to make.

We respect that she stands up to my father, who promises a secure lifestyle for obedience.

Sometimes I wonder if it's because we never felt close to our father that we embraced the values of our mother. It's hard to say how we become the people we do. My mother believes that it comes from our choices. She says, “If you choose to do the right thing, it's a conscious decision at first. Then it becomes second nature. You don't have to think about what is right because doing the right thing becomes who you are, like a reflex. Your actions with time become your character.”

“If you leave, don't come back,” are my father's last words to us.

W
e don't take mu
ch when we leave.

Fortunately, my mother has been smart enough to keep some of her earnings hidden from my father.

With her savings, my mother buys a small house with some land for raising chickens and growing vegetables in her hometown of Sokal, Poland.

Sokal is located a day's wagon ride from Warsaw. There's a river with majestic willow trees lining the banks that runs through town. In the summer, it has a carefree feel to it.

The people living here form three distinct communities: Ukrainian, Polish, and Jewish.

The Ukrainians don't trust the Poles, the Poles don't trust the Ukrainians, and they both don't trust the Jews. There exists a certain friction that has been dulled by time but is never gone.

A few wealthy families live in Sokal, but most of the people are of modest means. Just about everyone works hard for what they have.

The more expensive homes in town are made from bricks. However, the majority of people live in homes made from wooden boards that are considerably cheaper. Fireplaces are used to keep warm in the winter, when it can be mercilessly cold. It's not unusual for people to wear almost as much to keep warm indoors as outdoors in the coldest months.

For water, people go to a well that's in their neighborhood. Farmers sell their produce and meats in the market, where most people shop. Only those with money shop in the stores, which carry imported goods from Germany and other places.

At the market, my mother sells eggs from our chickens, and garden vegetables that she grows in season. My brother works at an oil refinery a few towns away, so we only see him on his days off. He brings supplies and takes care of us more than my father ever did.

When my brother comes to visit, the first thing he does is pick me up and whirl me around as if I were a small child. I am dizzy with this but love the feeling. Over six feet in height, he towers above me. I have to look up at him because I am barely taller than my five-foot mother.

“I don't know how two plain-looking people like your father and I could have produced such attractive children,” my mother says.

It seems we did inherit the best features from both our parents.

I have my father's brown eyes and chestnut hair, which flows with a natural wave hinting at its origin from his tight curls. My brother has my mother's fair skin and light hair, and I am envious of their gray, sparkling eyes.

Damian always brings me an apple when he comes to visit.

It's love and sacrifice disguised as a piece of fruit.

He brings my mother chewing tobacco, which she adores.

On my seventeenth birthday, Damian surprises me with an apple tree. “Now you can have apples whenever you like, Lena. You don't have to wait for me anymore,” he says. “Show me where you want it planted.”

I choose a spot just outside my window. It will be the first thing I see when I wake up.

I can't wait until I can earn money too. I want to surprise him with a present, and I already have something in mind.

There is a beautiful brown leather jacket in a store on the way to the market, which would be perfect for Damian.

I keep thinking to myself,
Please, please don't let anyone else buy it before I can get the money
.

I
n the local newspape
r, there's an ad for a secretarial position, assisting the general manager of a garment factory in town. I confide to my mother that even though my chances are slim, I want to try. “There are going to be so many girls competing for this job,” I say.

She says to me, “Do you remember when you first learned how to type? You wanted to be faster than anyone else in your class, but we didn't have a typewriter so you drew the keyboard on a piece of paper and practiced as if you were really typing. You always wanted to be the best, Helena, and you practiced day and night. Your teacher told me that she never had a student who could type eighty words a minute. You were the top in your class then, so why shouldn't you be selected for this job now? Besides, how many girls speak German as beautifully as you?”

I already knew everything she was telling me, but there are times when it feels good to hear what you already know.

My mother somehow manages to provide me with the most beautiful dress I have ever seen for the interview. It's made from soft wool, a fabric that only wealthy people can afford. The cream color is professional, yet fresh and classic. The dress is fitted from the waist upward with three-quarter sleeves and a V-neck. At the waist, it flares out to a full skirt, flattering my figure. Around my neck I wear a simple pearl strand, which is the only jewelry that my mother owns. My shoes are old, but I shine them up with some polish. This dress transforms me and gives me the confidence to compete against girls who I know will be better educated and from far more prestigious families.

Before I leave, my mother says to me, “They would be smart to hire you. You're capable, honest, and hardworking. When you smile, Helena, your face lights up and there is nothing more beautiful, so if it is a man interviewing you, smile.” That's my mother—always knowing what to say and providing insightful advice as well.

•   •   •

M
R.
K
OWALSKI,
a man in his late twenties, is younger and more handsome than I expect. With him is Ferda, an older, heavyset woman who is also part of the interview. He tests me with conversation in German and asks me to type a short letter, which he dictates rather quickly in Polish.

I know my German is good, and I type faster than anyone I know, so I'm scoring well on both accounts. His final question is, “Helena, if you could choose one thing to possess, what would it be: breathtaking beauty, worldly knowledge, or financial wealth?”

With this question, he's trying to figure out what kind of person I am. It's important to answer correctly, but I say what makes the most sense to me. “I would take the money.”

He looks surprised, while Ferda looks openly disgusted at my crass response. This is neither the answer they expected nor the answer they have heard from the other candidates.

He clears his throat a bit. “You would take the money? Why?”

“Well, being beautiful doesn't last. Having worldly knowledge is good, but money feeds hungry stomachs. Also, if I had money, I could study what I want and learn all sorts of things. I could afford books and teachers. Money gives you choices. It gives you freedom and the ability to look after other people. Yes, I'll take the money.”

I hear my own voice, and it sounds much more confident than I really am.

Mr. Kowalski now has an amused look on his face. It's not what he expected.

He says, “Thank you very much. We will make our decision shortly and get back to you.”

Before I turn to leave, I look directly at him and smile.

I get the job.

T
he apple tree in bloom is
full of white flowers that fill the air with beauty and sweetness. When there is a breeze, the fragrance sweeps through my window. On these mornings, it feels like only good things can happen.

I don't know how it started, maybe it was the smile, but Mr. Kowalski clearly prefers my company over that of Ferda, who is the office manager. When there are project deadlines, he asks me to work late with him. He is always a gentleman, and I don't feel uncomfortable in any way.

One evening, he asks if I would like to have dinner with him since we were both working so late. I reply that I would be very pleased to, which is the truth. Over a simple dinner in the neighborhood restaurant, we take a break from talking about the company business and begin to know each other as two people sharing a meal might do.

He is the son of a wealthy industrialist in Germany who owns the factory. His Polish mother was his father's mistress. Although he admires his father, he resents that he and his mother lived in the shadow of his father's legitimate family.

I know that he is well educated, so his father must have paid for that. He also has the factory's top job, which most men his age would just be working their way up to.

I see that he knows that he is where he is because of his father, and there's a vulnerability to him because of it.

I say to him, “You may have obtained the job because of your father, but you do a good job because of who you are.”

I think he appreciated that.

Funny how even the most successful people still need reassurance, wherever it may come from.

I also tell him that not having to share a father doesn't necessarily mean that you have a better relationship. “We haven't heard from my father since we left Germany,” I say, carefully omitting the fact that my father is a Nazi sympathizer.

Now that I know Casmir better, I feel safe enough to ask something that has been on my mind since the interview. “Why did you choose me? There were so many others.”

“Well, if it was up to Ferda, we wouldn't be sitting here right now,” he says with a mischievous smile that makes him look boyish.

“You were brave enough to tell me the truth, and I want someone I can trust. Honesty is refreshing, Helena. Besides, you have that great smile and type like lightning.”

He is laughing as he finishes saying this, and I start laughing too.

Was it because he trusted me enough to reveal his darkness, or was it that I had not expected to be in the company of a man so different from the harshness of my own father, that I begin to have feelings yet unknown to me?

Despite our different worlds, we feel closer after that night.

I
find that I now fuss about my
appearance before leaving for work. I wake up earlier to make sure that my hair is in the right place. I spend a little money for lipstick, and I ask my mother if she can find any more of those beautiful dresses.

I look forward to work and am excited when I see Casmir. At the office, we address each other politely as Mr. Kowalski and Miss Halamajowa. However, over dinner, which is now at least once a week, we call each other by our first names, Casmir and Helena.

I can't remember when the presents started. It's usually when he returns from a trip to Germany. There are chocolates, books, and scarves—nothing too grand to imply seriousness, but always something to let me know that he thought of me.

Not having much to give in return, I occasionally bring him a home-cooked German dish that my mother has made.

“Helena, how does your mother know my favorite foods? Maybe I should be bringing her presents too,” he says playfully. Casmir enjoys those meals immensely.

•   •   •

I
AM SO HAPPY,
and it is an odd time to be happy.

The world is in turmoil.

There is news that the Nazis will soon be in Poland, and while we know it, there is not much that we can do.

Everyone is nervous.

Casmir is probably the only person I know who is calm about this development. His friends include Germans and high-ranking officials.

G
ermany invades Poland on September 1, 1939, and it takes them just over a month to conquer the country. The ineffectiveness of Poland's defenses leaves the population deflated.

I don't understand much about the war, and especially why Hitler decided to invade Poland, so I ask Casmir, who seems to know all these things.

“Hitler invaded Poland because he thought that Britain and France would let him get away with it.”

I say, “What do you mean?”

Casmir makes it simple for me: “Well, he didn't think that they would declare war over it.

“You see, most people have until now thought that communism was a bigger threat than Hitler. For that reason, they let Germany rearm over the past few years, even though it was against the treaty for Germany to do so after the last war. They thought that a strong Germany would be a good balance to Russia.

“Think about it; didn't Germany host the Olympics just three years ago?

“The world wants to think he's a good guy.

“Hitler is counting on this.

“What did the British do while German soldiers were crossing into Poland? Despite declaring their support for Poland, the might of the Royal Air Force consisted of dropping leaflets asking Germany to reconsider their attack.”

Casmir lowers his voice. “They should have been dropping bombs if they were serious.”

I realize then that Poland didn't have the support of the friends that we thought. How could the world have been so misled?

Casmir continues. “Britain and France came through after the invasion and declared war on Germany, so Hitler miscalculated their response. But he's made an alliance with Stalin to strengthen his position, and they have agreed to split Poland between them.”

This explains why our town has Germans on one side of the river and Russians on the other.

We're on the Russian side.