Briar Rose (12 page)

America and had no intention of ever crossing another border. Most probably, Becca thought, she never had a passport; the woman at

Storrs said the majority of the refugees were considered displaced persons who had gotten their visas through American consulates.

"Someone running desperately in a war," she'd said, "rarely stops to find the proper papers."

Becca thought about her grandmother, about the war she had been running from when she was close to Becca's age. Then she put the passport back in her pocketbook, zipping it closed with a sound that was both rude and funny. Smiling, she turned to her seatmate.

"I've never been to Poland," she said, cutting into the woman's monologue.

"Well, I have, my dear," the woman answered. "Third time. And my cousins . . ."

"I've never actually been anywhere before."

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"Sort of a Sleeping Beauty, are you?"

Becca started laughing and could not stop. The woman looked shocked and after a moment rang the call button. A stewardess, fearing she had a hysteric on her hands, came running with a glass of cold water.

Having nothing to declare but the blue jeans for Magda ("Not even a set of cousins," she thought to herself, but knew better than to make jokes with customs officers), Becca got through the long line with relatively little fuss. There was no size twelve student waiting for her, so she stopped for a moment to glance around. The airport was decidedly low-tech, not like an American airport at all. Three young women in embroidered skirts and dirndls were the only spot

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of color. They were holding up a sign in English: "Welkom Aun Anna and Uncle Stosh." She resisted the urge to copyedit it, When no one tapped her on the shoulder, she perched on top c her suitcase and waited, lulled by the buzz of voices. It occurred t her that if Magda size twelve didn't show up, she might have som serious problems making herself understood, the Polish phraseboo in her coat pocket notwithstanding. But within five minutes-a ver long five minutes-a broad-faced, blonde young woman, muc smaller than a size twelve, stopped before her and asked: "Mi!

Berlin?"

"Magda?"

"I am so pleased to make your acquaintance." Magda held oi a hand whose grip turned out to be firm and familiar. "There wi much cars today."

"Traffic?"

"Yes, traffic. I think my English will much improve for the ne: three weeks."

Becca smiled. "Over."

Magda looked puzzled. "Over?"

"Over the next three weeks." Becca picked up her suitca, "Maybe I can learn a little Polish, too."

"All things are possible." Magda's face was sunny and open, if deceit were a foreign commodity.

Her eyebrows worked indepf dently of one another, which gave her the look of a slightly mented dove. Becca decided she liked that.

"What do we do first?"

"You must have changed money. And then we go to my aun apartment where we will spend the night. It is too late to go off a without good plans. Tomorrow we get the automobile."

"We would say car. "

"Yes, the car. And I will show you tonight some of Warsaw you are not too tired. It is a wonderful city for tourists and has bf much rebuilded since the war." During this little speech, Magda ~

carefully guided them to a kiosk where money was exchang

"How much would you like changed?"

Becca took out a packet of traveler's checks. "Would two h dred do?"

Magda grinned and her right and left eyebrows did their li independent dances. "It will do very well, though you must ki

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also dollars ready. People like dollars very much. Do not say I told you this." She turned and spoke quickly in Polish to the woman behind the counter.

The woman leaned forward and said in heavily accented English, "Do not trouble. I am speaking your language. Sign the checks, and

I give you zlotys. It is forbidden to take zlotys out of country. All must be spended here."

"You see-many speak English here in Poland," Magda said ex-pansively. "Perhaps you will have no need of me."

"I will have much need of you," Becca said. "Especially once we go out into the countryside."

"Especially then," Magda agreed cheerfully.

They left the airport and got a taxi. "Just give him dollars," Magda advised. "That is the way to make it very inex: ... how do you say, cheap?"

An hour later, with Magda pointing out the sights-"That is the River Vistula, and there is the Old Town, perhaps we will look there, and that dome like an onion is St. John's and where the

Jesuits-is that right, Jesuit?-yes, church. And-" They arrived at their destination.

Becca gave the driver one-dollar bills, counting them out into his open hand, his round, ruddy face beaming with delight.

"Too much, too much," Magda said loudly, but Becca kept up the count. Finally Magda put her hand palm down over the driver's at seven dollars. "Wystarczy! Enough!" she said roughly to him and he made a face back at her.

They got out and Becca was delighted to see that they were in a much older part of the city.

"Auntie lives there." Magda pointed to a series of low buildings.

"Can I pick her up a present of some kind?" Becca asked. "That is a custom in America. When you stay at someone's house . . ."

"She would love a bottle of good slivovitz," Magda said. "There is a store over there." She pointed across the street. "It is too expensive for her that often."

They bought the bottle with an awful lot of zlotys, and went on to the building that Magda had originally pointed to. Auntie lived on the fourth floor, up steep, uneven stairs. It to-ok both of them carrying the suitcase to manage it.

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"Why did you bring such a heavy case?" Magda asked, as rounded the third floor.

"I am staying three weeks," Becca said, the stairs making momentarily cranky. But she was suddenly embarrassed by all clothing she had packed. An athletic duffel with fewer things w(

have made much more sense.

Auntie proved to be a greyer and wider version of Magda ebullient and welcoming. The slivovitz was a great hit, tho

Auntie Wanda insisted they all have a drink to celebrate Bec arrival. Not being much of a drinker, Becca choked on the str liquor, much to the amusement of Magda and her aunt.

Becca unpacked in the tiny room she was sharing with Ma only to the extent of hanging up her skirts and one dress. She pu out the blue jeans and brought them back into the room that se as a living room, dining room, kitchen, and-she suspected-Aun bedroom as well. "These are for
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you," she said, handing the

Magda. "Though I was told size twelve and they are probably rr too large. You can't be more than a size six."

"Oh, they are much in appreciation," Magda said.

"Appreciated," Becca corrected.

"That, too. I can sell them on the black market and Auntie I will have a wonderful holiday." She said it with no embarrass whatsoever. "She has raised me since my parents are gone. I ca not enough for her."

Becca nodded.

"Now, if you are ' not too tired, I will show you my ci Magda's face was so pleased4ooking, Becca could not resist.

"I am not too tired," she said. "Besides, I will sleep very tonight."

"Very well indeed," Auntie Wanda put in. "My Magda doe snoring."

Magda's city was a combination of very tall, new skyscrapers, s war ruins, and a bustling Old Town along the royal route. Ma insisted they had to go to the Royal Castle, now a treasury o and relics. King Sigismund Vasa the Third looked down from high column in the square. It was all so European, so unlike ica, that Becca forgot how tired she was and managed to enjoy i Her favorite place, though, was the summer palace of, the Briar Rose

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Polish king. Sitting on an escarpment overlooking the Vistula, with classic parks around it, the palace was just right for a fairy tale.

"I wonder," Becca said aloud, "if my grandmother's palace was like this~"

"Your grandmother had a palace?" Magda asked.

"So she said. Or at least, she said she lived in a palace. I promised her I'd come back and find it."

"We will find it," Magda said, right eyebrow arching like a bow while the left flattened momentarily. She held out her hand.

Becca took her hand, "We will," she said, and for the first time believed it.

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"And the thorns parted before him." The simple statement was a accompanied in Gemma's telling by a moment ofsilence from all her listen

Only once had Becca broken that silence early. She had had to go to bathroom, quite desperately, yet didn't want to leave, afraid Gemma wo flnish the story without her. She knew the story by heart, but she didn't to miss it. There was always the possibility that this time something n would happen.

"And the thorns parted before him," Gemma said.

On the sofa, the threegirls breathed a deep, urgent breath.

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"Huri)~ Gemmq, " Becca said.

Gemma looked startled, her washed-out blue eyes opening wide. Th kind of interruptions were so unlike Becca who, of all the girls, unders the rhythm of a story.

"Shut up, " Syl said and poked Becca with a sharp elbow.

Becca felt the wetness slip out, through her pants, soaking into gold-coloured velour cushion.

She started to cry, as much for the loss of story as the damp spot she knew would soon be discovered.

"Look what baby did!" It was Shana who noticed flrst.

"Wet-pants, wet-pants!" cried SyL "Gemma, she's disgusting."

"She's only a little girl, and you two are big ones. " Gemma picked B

up and held her close, never minding the wetness now running down B

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leg, not caring that Becca was squirming with embarrassment and rage and disappointment.

"I want the rest of the story~ " Becca cried. "I want the rest. I want the hall and the mist and the kiss and. . . "

'You know it already, " said Gemma, and she carried Becca up the backstairs and ran a bath for her. Only when Becca was sitting in the bath, with the special bubbles mounding up on each side, did Gemma flnish the story. Just for her. Syl and Shana refused to come in and listen.

"We could have taken a train," Magda explained as they set from the car rental. "It is much inex

... how you say cheap.

change in Lublin."

"I checked," Becca said. "Tbere are only two trains a day Chelmno, and what would we do once we got there?" She stee.

the gray Fiat carefully onto Route 8 1, as Magda instructed her %

a great flurry of hand-waving~ 'he was already thinking of the as Charger as much for the exj,

~ise on her Visa card as its referel to steeds of old.

"Walk," said Magda. "But I much appreciate the auto. The ca

"Besides," Becca continued, smiling, "I am a tourist. I want to: pretty places and take photographs and eat at good restaurants

"Then I very much appreciate the car," Magda said. "Besides your grandmother had a palace, it would not do to walk. We mi in the grand style. It would be ... expected of the granddaught Of what? A countess? A princess?"

"Ksijiniczka/' Becca said.

"You speak Polish!" Magda clapped her hands. "You did not me." Then she made a grimace.

"But what a terrible accent!"

"That was what my grandmother was called, before she came America. We don't know if it was a title or a nickname."

"Pardon me, but what is a neekname?" Magda asked.

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"A pet name, a family name," Becca explained.

"Ah, and I am called Kotek, which means little cat," Magda said, "By my mother and father first and sometimes still by my Auntie."

Becca was about to ask why when the route took a turn and a sign said PLOCK. Beside it, the land ran back flat and green, seemingly

untouched.

"Isn't that one of our towns?" Becca asked.

"We are not interested," Magda said.

"Why not?"

"It is not of interest. There is a cathedral and then tall chimneys and they are . . ." her hands described a volcano.

"Spewing fire and smoke?" Becca asked.

"Yes, so. Exactly. One at the beginning of the city, one at the end, like on either side of books."

"Bookends," Becca said.

"So. We will stop in Tor6n. You will like it. It is famous for its ... oh, I haven't the word. You will see when we are there."

"Can I guess?" Becca asked.

"It is a kind of cake, with wonderful spices. And baked in the shape of grand ladies and gentlemen. Maybe . ." Magda looked impish, "even in the shape of a Ksi~iniczka!" She pronounced it the way Becca had, and giggled.

"Gingerbread?" Becca guessed.-2

Magda shook her head, looking-, ~~izzled. "I am not sure."

I

The road to Tor6n was flat and they could see the Vistula, sometimes near, sometimes far, wide and grey, like clay.

"Roll down your window," Magda said, though the air was crisp and cold. "Sometimes you can smell the cake baking in the factory,"

But though they both drew in great breaths as they passed row after row of red brick buildings, Becca smelled nothing but a kind of old city odor until they stopped.

"Here," Magda said, "we will park and walk. It is best when you can to walk in a Polish city, yes?"

"Yes!" Becca agreed heartily.

They walked around admiring the older buildings, and stopped at last in a kind of cafe. They chose to sit outside under a nondescript umbrella that kept the intermittent sun from their faces.

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Magda said, "I will order the cakes, but you must tell me are preferring coffee or tea."

"Tea, please," Becca said.

Within minutes they had a plateful of gingerbread nobility two cups of very dark tea in heavy
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white utilitarian ceramic

"Gingerbread," Becca pronounced.

"Gin-ger bread. Why not cake? Gin-ger cake?" Magda as