My Mother's Secret (5 page)

I
shou
ld be in school myself, but I prefer to go to work with my father. I think secretly, he's happy that I want to be with him.

Books don't make much sense to me, as they do to Dawid.

My father, a strong man, teaches me to be handy with a hammer and takes me to construction jobs with him. His men respect that he always does more than his share. He covers for members of his team who are ill and can't do their job to justify the day's pay. You don't see men like my father every day, and I'm proud to be his son.

Walking home from our jobs, my father shares his dreams with me. “Bronek, one day you and I will build our own house. We'll use it to show people what we can do. If people see that a good house can be built for a reasonable price, then we'll have lots of business and make lots of money—maybe enough to buy your mother a fur coat,” he says with a wink of his eye. “We'll be partners and we'll bring Dawid in too. With all his education, he can figure out how much money we'll be making, because we won't be able to count that high!”

I love that thought.

At home, my mother has a hot dinner ready and after the physical work all day, we can eat plenty. It's my favorite time of the day, partly because I love to eat but mostly because I love how we are all together.

Dawid always wants to hear about what we did. I know that my father is proud of me because he usually says, “Bronek is as good as any man that I have ever worked with.” Then my mother typically says, “I am proud of both my boys.” It happens like that almost every time, and yet I never tire of hearing it.

Every man has his weakness, and my father loves his drink. It's only occasionally that he loses control over the bottle, but it does happen. When he's drunk, he's just silly, not mean. My mother scolds him but never in a harsh way. It's hard to be angry with a good-natured giant like my father.

Not all fathers die because of the one flaw that they possess, but mine does.

One day after having too much to drink the night before, my father falls off the roof of a four-story building. I'm on the work site and rush to him, but even I know it's too late.

I love my father, and it feels like my world is shattered with his body. The hardest part is telling my mother and brother, both sobbing like children with the news.

•   •   •

O
VERNIGHT,
I become the protector of the family.

I know that I have to find work on my own merit. Although people liked my father and would help me out of pity, pity only goes so far and for so long. I need to be hired because I can do the job. So I behave like my father. I do more than I am asked and stay longer than I am paid for.

At sixteen, but looking eighteen, I start to feed our family of three. I make my brother stay in school. I want him to have the future that my father and I had envisioned for our family.

My mother goes from house to house with a big basin to wash other people's clothes. At the end of the day, I see how red and swollen her hands are from the hard work. This is 1930s Poland, and being poor is just what most people are, but it's not what I would settle for.

I learn that if people like you, the chances of landing an odd job here or there are better. I practice looking in the mirror to perfect a pleasant look on my face—just enough friendliness and natural ease to be unassuming but confident.

Trying too hard scares people.

I start out mending the fence at a small cattle farm on the edge of town. Always willing to do whatever is asked, I soon become the guy to go to for solving problems. The owner notices me, and in six years I rise to become the general manager, despite being younger than most of the workers.

Cattle farms are full of men with rough dispositions, and fighting over minor slights is not uncommon. Rising to becoming manager had as much to do with my ability to herd men as cattle.

At six feet three inches tall and solid, I can handle anyone. In my actions I am fair, and the men above and below me know it.

Being manager has its privileges.

I bring my brother into the company to be the bookkeeper, and my mother no longer needs to wash the clothes of strangers. We have a nice house in town, and it looks like the future is bright.

M
y mother, n
ow having more time than she has ever had, begins to look for wives for her sons.

One Sunday, she is clearly excited as she tells us to wash up and put on our best clothes—that's a clean white shirt and black pants.

The matchmaker is bringing two sisters over to meet us.

My brother and I look at each other, and he says, “You can choose first.”

I shouldn't have been surprised. Dawid is thoughtful, kind, and not too fussy.

As it turns out, we both find the girls to be very attractive. This can happen when all you see are men and cows, both covered in dirt, but truthfully the matchmaker earns her fee that day.

We learn later that it was difficult to find someone for the older sister because she had been married before and had a young son when her husband died.

We don't have to choose because it makes sense that the older sister marries me and the younger one my brother. I always wanted a son.

When Walter first comes to live with me, I'm not sure how it's going to work out. But being so young, he has few memories of his natural father to interfere with how he feels about me.

I didn't realize how much I would enjoy being a father.

Most people—who don't know—think that he is my son because he actually looks like me. We have the same sturdy build and our hair is a mop that's impossible to brush. We also both have a nose that you can't miss. He pinches mine and I pinch his while we both make honking donkey sounds. His mother pretends to be disgusted when we do this, but she has a smile when she says, “Stop that, you're not animals!”

Walter sticks to me like I did to my father, and he loves it when I take him to the farm, especially if I carry him on my shoulders.

My wife, Anelie, is a tough disciplinarian, which is a good thing because I can't be harsh with Walter. He's like my shadow when I come home. Our favorite game is when he pretends to be a wild bull that I have to catch and wrestle to the ground. He runs around the house yelling, “You can't catch me, you can't catch me,” giggling as he darts around the furniture.

Anelie tells me that when it starts to get dark, Walter goes to sit on his stool by the window to wait for me. He looks for me to appear in the distance on the street so that even before I get to the house, the door flings open and he comes running right into me, yelling, “Papa, Papa.” This becomes the highlight of my day.

My brother seems to have found someone perfect for him as well. While Anelie only speaks if she has something important to say, Bryda is very talkative and can keep us all entertained with stories of their day in the market, something funny that Walter did, or the latest gossip in town. She's more reliable than the newspaper, and her information is more accurate. She has quite the network of friends and contacts.

Our family of three goes to six in one step but feels like it was always meant to be that way.

My mother, for the first time, feels like her job is done.

Maybe she was holding on just for that. We never knew how sick she was, though for months she knew about the cancer. I'll always remember her final words: “Bronek, I wish your father could have seen how well you have done. He would have been so proud of you, as I am. A mother could not be luckier than to have both you and your brother for sons. I know that you'll look after everyone. I'm sorry to be leaving you, but it's my time.”

In all of us, there is a child that exists while we have our parents.

With my mother gone, I feel a sadness for the loss of the child within myself.

N
one of us know
about the storm that is coming.

Only a year later, the world as we know it starts to change—gradually at first but then unbelievably so.

I am glad that my mother did not have to see what is happening.

The name Hitler is whispered among the Jews as Germany invades Poland on September 1, 1939. Equipped with guns, the Polish army is no match for the Germans, who come with tanks. Our country is easily defeated with just over a month of fighting.

Hitler and Stalin make a pact to support each other, and Poland is divided between them. It's a tense situation for everyone.

In our town the Bug River is the dividing line, with Germans on one side and Russians on the other. We live on the Russian side and are thankful for that coincidence given stories we have heard of how the Nazis treat Jews.

This reprieve, however, does not last.

On a warm summer day in June 1941, the Germans break with the Russians and move to our side of town.

I look up at the clear blue sky, painted with soft clouds that float along, puzzled at how such tranquillity could exist in the natural world on such a day.

A
t first there ar
e restrictions on our activities, and we are required to wear a star to be identified. If you are identified as a Jew and don't wear the star visibly, you are shot on the spot and left on the side of the street.

Soon Jewish stores have to put signs in their windows so people know not to shop there.

Jews are also not allowed to work in certain industries and cannot shop in non-Jewish stores.

I keep working at the farm but am not surprised when the owner calls me in one day and says that he can no longer keep me.

He says that he has no choice, and I think he feels ashamed. Out of guilt or kindness, I guess it doesn't really matter; he pays me for three more months.

Being responsible for the family from a young age, I have always been careful to have money set aside. Knowing that our belongings could be confiscated, I don't keep our money in the bank. I buy gold and bury manageable amounts in locations along the river. I do this late at night to make sure no one sees me. I have the locations committed to memory but make my family repeat over and over again where they are in case only one of us makes it. Having the gold helps us survive. Even gold from a Jew is welcomed in the black market for food and medicine.

Gold, since the beginning of time, has worked best.

From her contacts, Bryda tells us about the Zegota, an underground organization that provides false documents for Jews who can pass as Christians. The Zegota is funded by the Polish government in exile.

The problem is that Walter, Bryda, and I have classic Jewish features and cannot possibly pass for Christians. Anelie and Dawid can be disguised this way.

I try to persuade Dawid and Anelie to leave posing as a Christian couple, but they refuse, as I knew they would. “We stay together, Bronek. We're family.” Dawid feels strongly about this.

I look woefully at my brother with the blond hair that has thinned out considerably. Always youthful in appearance, he now looks ten years older from worry. I know that I too have aged beyond my twenty-five years.

It is bad timing, but Anelie becomes pregnant in the midst of this.

We name our daughter Biata, meaning “blessed,” and hope that her name will help to protect her.

B
y September 1942,
my gold is running low, and we are herded up and sent to live in a part of the city that has been sectioned off by barbed wire.

We are allowed to bring one bag each. I tell everyone to bring the most practical clothes and shoes. No one will care how we look. “We will need warm clothes and good walking shoes,” I say.

Worried that they will search our bags and take our money, I have Anelie sew a false lining in the coats to hide our cash. Also, Walter's teddy bear has his stuffing replaced with zlotys.

My precaution pays off when our bags are searched on arrival. The Germans take everything valuable. They are ruthless and even have a dentist on hand to extract teeth for the gold fillings. We hear people begging and crying to keep their remaining possessions. I know that it's useless to plead with thugs, and that's how I see them. I could fight the bully in the schoolyard, but this is beyond anything that I can fix.

•   •   •

M
Y FAMILY IS GIVEN
one room in an old house with seven other families. There are two small beds for the five of us. We keep a small pot under the bed for Walter, who can't wait for his turn to use the outhouse.

It's clear that the Germans want workers because they interview each of us, looking for skilled labor.

I am hired for a big industrial company that needs labor for a munitions factory. With my background in construction and my handiness with tools, I pass their test and am given working papers. Dawid does not. They're not interested in bookkeepers.

Surprisingly, the management of the factory treats everyone quite well, in contrast to the German soldiers. The rations for lunch are reasonable and consist of real food, not like the diluted soup and stale bread that we receive in the ghetto. I have a big appetite but always save some part of every meal for my family.

My papers keep us alive in other ways as well. They give me an opportunity to get to know the regular workers and gauge whom I can trust to trade with. When the supervisor is not looking, I pass the cash over and tuck the food coming back under my clothes.

The ghetto is guarded, but sparsely, so I sneak out late at night by timing the rotation of the guards. There are areas where the ground is lower, and by lifting the barbed wire with a metal bar, I can slide under. It's a good thing I know the route to the river by heart because I have to dig up what gold is left in the dark. This is my backup when all the cash is gone.

A
ll around us, people are thinner by the day. We see hopelessness in the faces of people we pass in the street and we try not to look at anyone because they are begging for help. Sanitation is poor, and with the overcrowding, disease is rampant. Rats are healthier than people in the ghetto.

With the finish line being death, it is a race between disease and hunger for most people.

Incredibly, despite the harsh conditions, Walter makes friends easily. I see him running and playing with the other children when I come back from work. He still gives me the hug that I look forward to every day.

On Chanukah, I am excited to give Walter a piece of cake hidden in my handkerchief from a trade at work. It was more than I could really spare, so there will be meager rations for dinner, but we all wanted to make this sacrifice for Walter. His eyes light up when he sees the cake, but he doesn't eat it right away, as I thought he would. He puts it carefully away in his pocket.

I say to him, “Walter, don't you want to eat it?”

He says, “It looks so good, Papa, and I really want to.”

“Then go ahead,” I say. “It's all yours.”

It is a regular piece of cake, but he hasn't seen one in months and says, “It's so big, Papa, and I love it, but my friend Sari has never had anything this special, and I want to share it with her tomorrow.”

My first thought is,
Don't you know how hard it was for me to get this for you? Don't you know that we're all starving and that you should hoard what you can for yourself and your family?

Deep inside of me, though, there is a part that is very proud of him. Without the war in the backdrop, I would have said, “Walter, that is very kind, and I am proud of you.”

But there is a war, and his survival might depend on being selfish one day. What to do as his father?

I say, “Sari is lucky to have a friend like you,” and the beautiful smile that comes back tells me that I did the right thing.

I decide that his character is worth more than the price of the cake.

I don't want the war to diminish Walter as it has done to the rest of us.