Revolution Baby (26 page)

We were given a two room apartment in Łódê, where my father, who had to travel from town to town for his work—he was a major now and in charge of an organization which helped demobbed soldiers reintegrate into civilian life—came to visit us from time to time. I was enrolled at the school, even though I had no papers—I was far from being the only one in such a situation. To enroll, all I had to do was give my name, date and place of birth. The administrators knew that my papers would come through someday, even though it might take a long time. I changed my life for the umpteenth time. A new life under the name of Julian Gruda. And that would remain my name for the rest of my days.

 

 

 

 

 

I'm on my way back to the house, just past the bridge, unmistakable with its green roof. My dog, Nez-Roux, is running ahead of me in circles. She still hasn't lost hope of winning a race against the cars. Spring has come early this year, too early, according to my neighbor, Mr. Harrison, who is worried about his thousands of daylilies. I can hear the cries of the huge flocks of white geese, returning from the warmth. There is no ice on the river by the house. That too is astonishing. Normally in the month of March there are chunks of ice of every size and shape rushing past.

I turned eighty-two this autumn. No doubt I am living the last of my many lives here in Sainte-Angèle-de-Laval, not far from Trois-Rivières, where I worked for thirty years at the university as a professor of biochemistry.

If someone had told me when I was little that when I grew up I would be a science professor! In the end, I studied animal physiology and biochemistry at the University of Moscow. Because even though I learned Polish again very quickly, I didn't master the written language sufficiently to study literature in Poland or become a journalist.

After I came back from Moscow I lived in Poland for many years, until 1968. I waited until my father died before I left the country. It would have been a hard blow for him; for all his life he remained a true patriot, and he would have seen my departure as a betrayal. Life can be astonishing. There I was, I had wanted to be a journalist in order to describe the virtues of communism, and among other things, I became a biochemist and fled from the Eastern Bloc. I lost my faith in 1956, when the Soviet tanks invaded Hungary.

Lena stayed in Poland until her death in 1989. She remained a member of the Communist Party until the rise of the Solidar­ity movement; she was carried away by the anti-communist fervor that reigned throughout the country, and in 1981 she handed in her party membership card.

I have to go and spend two weeks in France at the end of the month. There's no one left there from my childhood, from the days when I spoke the language of dogs. When you get old, there are bound to be fewer and fewer chances of finding the people you ran around with when you all wore short trousers. My daughters have made numerous attempts through the Internet to find Roger Binet. To no avail. They would have so liked to give me this present, even if it turned out that he was dead—at least to find out how he had lived, the boy whose identity enabled me to get through the war.

Last week was the eighth anniversary of Geneviève's death. She was a marvelous woman, all her life, involved socially and politically, always ready to help those less fortunate than her, and explain to her children and grandchildren everything they wanted to know about history, politics, literature . . . She never lost her patience, except in the face of injustice. Arnold did not age as well. Nevertheless I always considered him to be my spiritual, or rather my political father. He could be gruff, and sometimes downright disagreeable. But he was always pleased to see me, when from time to time I went to Poland for a visit, after I had moved to Quebec.

This is where the tale of my childhood ends, the chaotic childhood of a boy who knew how to speak the language of dogs. I'm looking forward to sharing it with my grandson, Émile—he's the one who is so very fond of raptors. He is the only one of my children and grandchildren who has inherited my gift for communicating with animals.

Born in Poland, Joanna Gruda arrived in Trois-Rivières, Canada, by boat at the age of two. She acted in the theater and worked as a comedian for many years, and she is a translator and an editor.
Revolution Baby
is her debut novel.