Things Could Be Worse (2 page)

Sometimes some of the younger girls at Renee of Rome complained about their mothers. This one's mother didn't understand her, and that one's mother was unfair. Renia used to block her ears and plan what she would cook for dinner.

Renia often said to Lola, ‘You don't know how lucky you are to have parents.' And Lola didn't know.

After a few years in Australia, Josl had his own small clothing business. Josl and Renia also had another daughter, Lina. Lina was born with one leg shorter than the other. Renia felt responsible for this. She thought that it could have been due to the fact that she had been bent over a sewing machine eighteen hours a day through the pregnancy. She felt consumed with guilt. She stopped working and stayed at home with Lina. At home, Renia washed and cooked and cleaned and looked after Lina.

She had a beautiful garden. A garden with rose trees and apple trees and lemon trees. Renia loved her garden. Early every morning Renia went outside and fed the birds in the garden. There had been no birds in Auschwitz, and no birds in the ghetto. For six years Renia hadn't seen a bird. Now, about a hundred birds waited for Renia every morning. There were seagulls, sparrows, starlings, willy wagtails and sometimes pigeons.

Renia never went shopping with her friends. She never went to charity luncheons or to fashion parades. She didn't play cards or bridge. She belonged to no clubs. Renia sunbaked.

On sunny days, Renia did her housework faster than usual. She then took the telephone off the hook. She rubbed Nivea cream over her face and her shoulders, and she lay down in the garden in the sun.

Even if it had been raining and the grass was damp, Renia didn't lie on a towel or a beach mat. She lay on the grass.

She loved to feel the earth on her legs, on her hair, on her scalp, on her hands. Lying there, blended into the earth, Renia Bensky felt happy.

Loti Luftman's Daughter

When she arrived in Australia, ten-year-old Michelle Luftman was put into grade one. ‘When her English improves we will move her up,' the headmaster said to Esther Borg, Michelle's guardian.

‘Mister Herbert,' said Esther Borg, ‘Herr Professor, this girl is very clever. She can speak French. She travelled on a boat by herself for eleven weeks to come to Australia. She sat at the captain's table every night. She organised it herself. She had no-one else to organise anything for her. You know that she is an orphan. Herr Professor, if a girl is so clever that she sits at the captain's table, don't you think she doesn't deserve to be in a class with five-year-olds? Don't you think you could put her with children of her own age?' ‘All in good time, Mrs Borg. All in good time,' said Mr Herbert.

‘It's lucky my Rivka learns French at school,' Esther Borg said to Ada Small, who could speak French, ‘and it's lucky I have got you, Ada, to help me, because, to tell you the truth, I don't know what I would do with Michelle otherwise. At least she eats everything that I give her. That you can say about her for sure, she is a very good eater, but she is a bit wild. I am used to my Rivka. She is such a good girl. She studies hard. She doesn't give me any trouble. This one, this Michelle, if I ask her not to dip her bread into her milk, she says, “Why?” I tell her it's not nice. But she doesn't care to be nice. She just keeps on putting her bread into her milk. And I know she can understand what I am saying. Oy, Ada, what am I going to do? You think God thought I didn't have enough troubles already?'

Michelle Luftman was the daughter of Esther's third cousin, Loti Luftman. ‘I wonder if she has got some of her father's bad blood,' Esther said to Ada Small. ‘You know, Ada, Loti married a bad type. He was a gambler with a big eye for the girls. Loti's parents didn't give their blessings to the marriage. This did upset Loti, but she was so madly in love with this gambler that nothing else mattered. They left Lodz in 1937 to live in Paris. I heard that Loti's mother was never the same after her daughter left.'

When Esther was asked by the Jewish Welfare Agency whether she was willing to take in her cousin's daughter, she was horrified. She'd hardly known Loti, so why would they ask her to take in Loti's child? Mrs Silberman from the Jewish Welfare Agency had explained to Esther that welfare agencies in Paris were looking for orphaned Jewish children who had been in hiding during the war or who had lived as Christians in Christian families. They were reclaiming these children and placing them with Jewish families.

Esther was superstitious. She was frightened of not doing the right thing. She reminded herself that it was the greatest honour, in God's eyes, to look after an orphan. And so Esther had said yes, she would take Michelle into her home.

Sometimes, at night, Esther wondered how Loti had died. She knew that she had died in Auschwitz. She knew that by the time Michelle was born the gambler had already left Loti for a wealthy French woman. Esther had heard this news from her cousin in Lodz. Esther had also heard that in 1939 Loti had wanted to come home to Lodz with the baby, but her father had told her that things were very bad in Poland and that she and the baby would be safer in Paris.

Loti was making arrangements to leave for Grenoble when the Gestapo began rounding up the Jews in Paris. Loti knew that the Gestapo were making surprise raids on Jewish homes. Each time Loti returned to her apartment she left the baby in her pram in the street while she checked the apartment. Inside the pram Loti kept a note. It read: ‘This baby is not to be moved until I return. I have only gone inside for a short while.'

The day that the Gestapo were waiting for Loti, she had parked Michelle outside Monsieur Renard's bakery. Monsieur Renard knew Loti and always kept an eye on the pram. Monsieur Renard watched the Gestapo take Loti away. She didn't even glance in the direction of the pram. When Loti hadn't returned by the time it was dark, Monsieur Renard wheeled the pram to his sister's house. He asked his sister to look after the baby until Loti's return. Monsieur Renard's sister kept Michelle for a few days before giving her back to Monsieur Renard. ‘She looks too Jewish,' she said to her brother. ‘I'm not going to be killed or run the risk of my family being killed for one small Jewish child.'

Monsieur Renard, a middle-aged bachelor, was heartbroken. Michelle was such a sweet child. She could already say a few words, and she was always in a good mood, always smiling. She didn't look Jewish. With her blonde hair and heart-shaped face, she looked more Norwegian than Jewish. But his sister would not change her mind.

Monsieur Renard took Michelle home with him. He kept her hidden in the back of the bakery. Several times a day he would step out of the shop to see if he could see any sign of Loti coming back. After four months Monsieur Renard knew that he had to make a decision about Michelle. Although she was an obedient child, and kept very quiet while the shop was open, it was becoming more and more difficult to hide her. Once, when he hadn't been able to pop into the back and see her for a few hours, she ran into the shop and hugged him.

She was his cousin's child, he explained to a curious customer, and he was looking after her while his poor cousin recovered from tuberculosis.

But he was nervous. There were many Nazi collaborators, and it was impossible to recognise them. Monsieur Renard's sister heard of a Catholic woman who would take Michelle in, for a small fee. ‘Just until her mother comes back. Just until after the war,' Monsieur Renard said to Madame Guillaume. Michelle screamed and screamed when Monsieur and Madame Guillaume came to the bakery to collect her. She clung to Monsieur Renard. It took both men to disengage Michelle from Monsieur Renard. After Monsieur and Madame Guillaume left with Michelle, Monsieur Renard howled like a child.

Michelle stayed with the Guillaume family for eight years. Pierre and Marie Guillaume were good to Michelle. They took her to church every Sunday. She was a curious child, and a quick learner. By the time she was three she could recite the rosary. Several times a day she would say, ‘Hail Mary full of grace the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou amongst women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.' She would, if she was asked, say that her mother was Jeanne Lafitte, cousin of Monsieur Renard. ‘My mother is very sick in a sanatorium,' she would say.

Monsieur Renard sent a small weekly stipend to Madame Guillaume, but he never came to visit Michelle. A visit, he thought, would disturb her. It would do her more harm than good.

When Michelle was six, Madame Guillaume gave birth to twin boys, Alain and Auguste. Michelle doted on them. She fed them, she sang to them, and she walked them round and round the square in their big double pram.

‘I don't know how I would have managed without Michelle. She is a gift to me from God,' Madame Guillaume said to her husband. When the war ended, Madame Guillaume became very agitated. Every day she ran down to the letterbox to see if there was any news of Loti Luftman.

One day a letter arrived from Monsieur Renard. Loti Luftman had perished in Auschwitz, he said. Madame Guillaume could not contain herself. She wept with relief. She did not want to experience her happiness at the expense of somebody else, she told the priest at confession, but she was overjoyed that Michelle was now hers.

On the other side of Paris, Monsieur Renard's sister was bothered by her conscience. Finally, she phoned the Jewish Welfare. ‘I have to do this,' she said to her husband. ‘I have to make sure that that poor little girl knows who her real people are. I deserted her once, and I am not going to desert her again. It is not right that she is being brought up as a Catholic.'

The day that the people from the Jewish Welfare came to collect Michelle, the whole Guillaume family was crying. Michelle clung to Madame Guillaume. ‘Maman, maman, don't let them take me,' she screamed. ‘Maman, maman, don't let them take me!'

Mrs Polonsky from the Jewish Welfare escorted Michelle on the train to Marseilles. ‘This woman is taking me away from my mother,' Michelle told everyone in the carriage. She repeated it whenever anyone walked through. Nobody took any notice. When Mrs Polonsky tried to put her arm around Michelle, Michelle bit her. When they reached Marseilles, Mrs Polonsky put Michelle on board the boat for Australia. The purser agreed that it would be best if they locked Michelle in her cabin until the boat was ready to leave. When the boat sailed Mrs Polonsky heaved a sigh of relief.

To celebrate Michelle's first birthday in Australia, the Borg family went out to dinner at Giuseppe Botticelli's Italian Cuisine Restaurant in the city.

‘Have you got a French onion soup?' Esther Borg asked the waiter.

‘We have a beautiful minestrone, but madame, if you wish, we will make you a French onion soup,' said the waiter.

‘Good,' said Esther. ‘This girl is French, from France you understand, and she likes an onion soup.'

‘Excuse me, this is not onion soup,' Esther announced when the soup arrived. ‘This is kapushniak.'

‘Madame, I assure you that this is French onion soup,' said the waiter.

‘This is kapushniak. Polish cabbage soup. And it is not such a good kapushniak,' said Esther.

‘You expect an Italian to make a good kapushniak? You are crazy,' said Josl Bensky. The Borgs had invited the Benskys to join the celebration.

‘You have to be very careful about what you eat in a restaurant,' said Renia Bensky.

‘Yes,' said Josl. ‘I did eat some worms last week and oy Gott was I sick. Sick like a dog. I usually don't eat those worms, but they were in a special dish a girl did bring to the factory for her birthday.'

‘Josl, they are not called worms,' said Renia. ‘They are called prawns.'

‘You are, like always, right, Renia, they are called prunes,' said Josl.

‘Prawns, Josl, not prunes,' said Renia.

‘Prunes and prawns. Sounds like the same thing to me,' said Josl.

‘Josl, you have to learn to say the right word,' said Esther. ‘We are in Australia and in Australia we speak English. Oy, look who is at the table in the corner. It's Mr and Mrs Belgiorno from the fruit shop. Good evening, Mr and Mrs Belgiorno. Good evening.' Esther lowered her voice: ‘She is eating crapes. Crapes is a fish with a shell. It is not trayfe, but maybe one day we will try a crape. After all, none of us is religious.'

‘It's not a crape, Mum,' said Rivka. ‘It's a lobster.'

‘It's for sure not a lobster, it's a crape,' said Esther.

‘I think Esther means a crab, not a crape,' said Max Borg.

‘Oh. I know what Mum meant,' said Rivka. ‘She meant a crayfish.'

‘That is what I said, a crapefish,' said Esther.

‘It's not for me, such a crapefish,' said Josl.

The next day Max Borg came across Mario Belgiorno in Lygon Street, Carlton.

‘How you like that meal last night at Giuseppe Botticelli's?' asked Mr Belgiorno.

‘It was very nice,' said Max. ‘The kapushniak was not so nice, but I can't complain if an Italian can't make a kapushniak.'

‘I had a polenta,' said Mario Belgiorno, ‘and this morning I ring Botticelli and I say to him, “Why you put on the menu something you can't cook? I come from Venezia and every Friday we have polenta and fish. You must have a German cook because he put bacon in the polenta.” I say to Botticelli, “We don't put bacon in the polenta.” '

Max reported this conversation to Esther.

‘I knew this restaurant didn't know what they were doing,' she said. ‘The kapushniak was shocking.'

When Michelle was twelve, Esther Borg went to see Mr Herbert again. ‘Herr Professor,' she said, ‘I beg of you to put Michelle into at least grade six. She is a very intelligent girl. So she doesn't want to learn about the grazing lands of Gippsland or the discovery of the Darling or the story of wool, so is this so terrible? What is it about these things that she should be so interested in? Herr Professor, it is something shocking that a twelve-year-old girl should be in grade three. Herr Professor, she is an orphan. Don't you make special allowances for orphans?'

‘Mrs Borg, I can see your point of view, but I have a school to run and I can't put a child up who refuses to do her projects,' said Mr Herbert.

Michelle was happy in grade three. She was with the same children she had started school with in grade one. Michelle liked her classmates. She often told them stories about the Guillaume family. The children loved the stories of the twins and how no-one except Michelle could get them to eat beans.

Sometimes, on the way home from school, Michelle would stop at St Kevin's church around the corner from the South Street Primary School. She could still remember her prayers. She never prayed for anything in particular. She was just soothed by the presence of God.

The few times that Michelle mentioned God or the Guillaume family to Esther Borg, Esther would try to stop her from speaking. ‘Shush, shush, Michelle,' she would say. ‘You mustn't upset yourself. That is in the past, and the past has gone. You are our daughter now and we love you like our own daughter. You must forget the past and think of the future. And better still, you could think of your school work. A girl like you in grade three, it is shocking. Also, you could stop, once and for all, dipping your bread in your milk.'