Mother and Me (8 page)

“Sure you did.”

Fredek laughed at his victory, and Miss Bronia, instead of being angry, laughed a beautiful merry laugh with him.

This wasn't right. Fredek was lying, and Miss Bronia was making a joke of it as though lying wasn't wrong. Why would she do that?

I looked toward the front of the truck. I saw that the man in the army hat, who had opened our truck door, was leaning against a front fender, smoking. He had on an army coat as well, but it was open and his shirt and trousers were civilian. Next to him stood a man in a proper uniform, but
without either hat or coat. He had major's insignia on his collar. I guessed he must be the Major Solecki someone had mentioned to Mother at Fredek's apartment. The other man must be the driver from Lolek's factory, wearing the major's coat and hat to look like a soldier. I noticed the truck was painted the same funny green that they painted army trucks.

They were doing this, I understood, to get past military barricades. But that was not right either. What they were doing was not right. What we were doing was not right. Lying to your own soldiers was traitorous. I wondered if it was a Jewish thing. Catholics would not do something like that, particularly in a time of war. I would ask Kiki when she rejoined us.

The older woman I had seen inside the truck was standing with the two men. I guessed she must be the major's wife. I saw her drop her cigarette butt on the ground and grind it into the dirt with her foot. They said something to each other, and then she came back to the rear of the truck. “We must get going,” she said and began to climb into the truck. We all followed. Miss Bronia pulled me up by my hands. “Up, Yulian!” she said merrily. The driver came to close the door.

“Just let us get settled, Dembovski, before you close the door,” my mother said.

“Yes, Missus,” the man said and waited with the door.

“Yulek, go back to your place,” Mother said. I returned to my corner. I saw Miss Bronia tucking the blanket around Sonya, apparently asleep at the other end of our bench. Then she sat down next to Fredek who stretched to whisper something in her ear. Miss Bronia laughed again.

“Is everyone settled now?” Sonya's mother asked. There was no answer.

“All right, Dembovski,” Mother said, and the man closed the door, putting us in the dark again.

“Now remember, no talking when we stop,” the major's wife's voice said in the dark. “And the children aren't to talk at all.” I felt the engine start up, and the truck lurch forward.

The darkness was not complete, I realized now. High up on the opposite wall, just below the ceiling, there was a line of little circles of light. I guessed they must be holes—air holes, I deduced. I hadn't seen them before because of the darkness outside, but now that it was morning, the light of the sky was showing through. Occasionally, the first light, the one nearest the front would go out. Then the next one would be darkened and then the one after that, while the first light went on again. I decided that we must be passing trees. I counted the lights. There were twenty-seven of them. I guessed that there must be a similar line of holes on my side of the truck, but I couldn't see them by looking straight up. The light didn't come down to where we were. Maybe a little did because sometimes you could just barely make out the shapes of people in the dark.

“I could use some coffee,” Auntie Edna said after a while.

“I have a thermos of cocoa,” Miss Bronia said, in her melodic voice. “It's for the children, but we can all take a few sips.”

“Yuck,” Auntie Edna said.

“I want some cocoa,” Fredek said.

“The children aren't to talk!” the major's wife snapped.

“Here, feel for my hand,” Miss Bronia said. “But be very careful—it's hot.” I heard some movement on the bench beside me.

“Yulek, if you want some cocoa, slide over here,” she said. I would have liked some, but I couldn't drink out of the thermos after Fredek. “No thank you,” I said.

“Sonya,” Miss Bronia went on, “if you want some, just slide over here.”

“I had Marta make some sandwiches here,” Mother said. “There's sausage and some nice boiled ham for the children.”

“Maybe later,” Sonya's mother said.

“I think the children should go back to sleep,” Auntie Edna said.

“That's a good idea,” Mother said. “We don't know what we'll have to deal with later. Children, go back to sleep now.”

I tried to wrap myself up in the blanket and the darkness the same way I had before we stopped, but it wasn't working the same way. Miss Bronia and Fredek were whispering again, and I was jealous. I understood that Miss Bronia knew Fredek a lot longer than she knew me, but Fredek told lies and always talked about killing or hurting people, while I loved God and tried very hard not to sin.

Then I realized that I had not said my prayers the evening before. It was the first time since Kiki had taught me to pray that I had failed to say my evening prayers.

But God would surely forgive me under the circumstances—wouldn't He? Of course, the saints prayed even when they were about to be eaten by lions. My plight certainly fell short of that. On the other hand, I was only seven years old, and God would make allowance. But then, as an unchristened Catholic, I carried a greater burden of proof.

What was I doing worrying about not praying, when I should be making up for that dereliction? In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Ghost, Amen. I crossed myself in the darkness. Our Father who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy Name. Thy Kingdom come, Thy Will be done … I clasped my hands together, shut my eyes tightly despite the darkness, and mouthed the words that I knew would bring me back into contact with God. God knew that at heart I was Catholic. I loved Him and I loved Jesus and Mary and the Holy Ghost—which, I knew now, wasn't really a pigeon, but something more complicated—and because of my love for them all, they must love me too. Of the group of us in the back of the truck, God loved me and Miss Bronia, and I wasn't sure about the major's wife or Sonya and her mother. Miss Bronia, of course, had no way of knowing that I was Catholic like her, but when we met in Heaven, some day, and she saw me there, she would know. Hail Mary, full of Grace, the Lord is with Thee …

The truck lurched, and I realized I had been asleep again. From the sound, I deduced we were moving faster now. Somebody was snoring the way I had heard Lolek snore sometimes. I didn't know who it was.

“No, she has no idea,” I heard whispered on the other side of the truck. It was my mother's voice, and she was talking in the loud whisper you use when you don't want to wake someone, but you're not talking directly into the other person's ear. “She showed up at the Boleskis' last week in the most awful hat. Zosia was so embarrassed for her, though I don't know why she should worry about what Lara was wearing.”

There was silence for a few minutes, except for the snoring. Then I heard Auntie Edna's voice. “Who do you think Fela Eldmann saw together at Sobinski's?” I had heard of Sobinski's as a cafe that Mother and her friends went to a lot.

“Who?” Mother asked immediately.

Auntie Edna didn't answer.

“All right,” Sonya's mother said after a while, “so are you going to tell us?”

“Michael…” Auntie Edna said.

“Michael Kopievich?” Mother said.

“No, Michael Shchepanski.”

“Michael Shchepanski,” Mother repeated. “Michael Shchepanski and who?”

“Michael Shchepanski and …”

“And…?” Mother said.

“Mina Boleska,” Auntie Edna finally told her.

“Michael and Mina?” Mother said, “I don't believe it.”

“Mina Boleska and Michael Shchepanski are an old story,” Sonya's mother said, sounding bored. “He's been blah-blahing her all summer.” She used a word I didn't know. It sounded Yiddish.

“Everything's an old story with you,” Auntie Edna said. “You always say that. You can never admit you didn't already know something.”

Now there was silence.

“Wasn't Mina seeing that Belgian lawyer, what's-his-name?” my mother asked after a while.

“That's long over with,” Sonya's mother said. “He's gone back to Brussels, and I don't remember his name either.”

“Tadek Potanski is in love with you, you know, Basia,” Auntie Edna said, using the diminutive of Mother's name.

“Every man in Warsaw is in love with beautiful Basia,” Sonya's mother said in a very serious voice. Then I heard all three of them laugh.

“What about Richard—Richard Cypronek?” Mother said, still laughing some. “Isn't he in love with you, Edna?”

“With me?” Auntie Edna said. “He's five years younger than I am.”

“More like ten years,” Sonya's mother said.

“He is not!” Auntie Edna said, in an angry tone that I suspected was make-believe, and Mother and Sonya's mother laughed a little at this. “But he did drink champagne,” Auntie Edna continued, “out of my slipper at the Orphanage Ball, you know.”

“Everybody knows that story,” Sonya's mother said.

“Well, he said I had very clean feet.” And again the three of them laughed.

“We were all very drunk that night,” Mother said. I wondered if that was the night Mother sent me that birthday telegram that Kiki got so angry about.

Then nobody said anything more, and I was soon envisioning tall Auntie Edna standing in one shoe while her friend held the open toe of her other shoe above his upturned mouth like a funnel, and a waiter poured champagne into it from a bottle.

I must have fallen asleep again because the next thing I heard was the major's wife. “There are some nice pensions,” she was saying. “This won't take more than a week or two, but there's no point spending the money on a good hotel when you have the children with you, and I wouldn't stay at a second-rate hotel under any circumstances.”

I heard a buzz from Miss Bronia and Fredek. They were whispering again.

“Basia, I think I'll have one of those sandwiches of yours now,” Auntie Edna said when the major's wife paused.

“Anyone else hungry?” Mother asked. “Yulek, you have to eat something now,” she added. I didn't need prompting, nor, it seemed did anyone else. “Just a minute,” Mother said, and I heard the rustle of paper-wrapped sandwiches being unpacked. “Here,” she said, “you have to feel around for my hand. These are boiled ham for the children.”

I moved towards the center of the truck box and felt outstretched hands and arms. There was a wrapped sandwich in my hand, and I felt my way back to my seat, bumping my shoulder against someone in the process. And then, for the second time in as many days, God sent me a message of approval. Into my hands He had placed a sausage sandwich.

Sausage would make me sick, Kiki had admonished on more than one occasion. But not, I was sure, if it came from God. Of course, Kiki could not have foreseen the use of sausage as the medium for sacred communication. And if it did make me sick, then that was obviously God's will too. The priest at mass had told about God speaking to someone by setting a bush on fire, which obviously would not have worked in this situation. And there were the stone tablets with His commandments written on them that He had given Catholics. But here He had found a way to speak quietly to me to just let me know that He was watching out for me. In the very unlikely and highly disappointing event that this had been a human mistake, I ate my delicious sandwich very slowly, which, I knew, would minimize the risk of its making me sick.

I felt myself lean forward, away from the wall, and realized that our truck must be braking. It didn't stop, but continued at a slower pace. “Maybe they found someplace we can stop for coffee,” Auntie Edna said.

“That sausage made me thirsty,” Sonya's mother said. “If you packed sandwiches, why didn't you pack something to drink?”

“I told Marta to make sandwiches,” Mother said. “ I really didn't think she had to be told to pack something to drink too. She's not very well trained. I could use a cigarette.” Sensitized, as I now was, to matters divine, I hoped that God took note of Mother's talking that way about Marta.

“My ham was very good,” the major's wife said. “It wasn't salty at all.” I tensed, waiting for Mother to ask what child had eaten the major's wife's sausage, but she didn't.

“Mummy, can we stop somewhere I can take a bath?” It was Sonya's voice. “It's hot and sweaty in here.” I realized that I had no idea what Sonya looked like. And it was getting hot.

“The children are not to talk,” the major's wife repeated.

“Sonya isn't a child,” her mother responded. “She has breasts.”

“She does not,” Auntie Edna said. “If she's an adult, why does she need a governess?”

“She does so have breasts. I bought her a bra this summer. And Bronia is not a governess, but a companion. She speaks fluent German. Sonya, dear, say something in German.”