FEBRUARY 17, 19407
I haven’t told you anything for a long while, for such a long while … But don’t think I haven’t been thinking about you. I wanted to speak to you at every hour, but it so happened that I couldn’t. So I’ll tell you briefly what happened during those few days.
Daddy came here (he brought us provisions) and now he’s gone again. A letter from Mama arrived. She might be in France already. I’ve enrolled myself in piano classes and decided to play.
Meanwhile, I’m not in love with Ludwik anymore. Which doesn’t mean I don’t like him, but I also like Jurek Nowak. Our class is nice, we have a class hero, Pieczonka, who lives on the same street. He walks me home, fools around, pulls my hood off my head, etc. Irka has started going after Ludwik in an impossible way. Since I sit right near them, I can see and hear everything. For example, “Irka, stop pinching me or I’ll pinch you back hard.” They flirt with each other like crazy. Our class is the best in our school. Though our attendance today was terrible. Only seven of us. We’ve already skipped out on physics three times. Pieczonka plays tricks, which makes us laugh. Łaba’s still in love with me.
Mama said in her letter that she’s been thinking of us constantly on her birthday. She said she was sorry she hasn’t been getting any of my poems. I haven’t been writing any; I’m so awful, so very awful. Granny and Grandpa are good to me. But I’m all on my own now. It’s so hard being left on my own with my thoughts. It’s so, so hard.
I feel compelled to draw nowadays; I find it irresistible. I keep seeing images, for example, of an archer. Begone, apparition! Ah! Ah! Ah!
A minute ticks second by second
Yet another hour beckons
Nobody knows when the end’ll come
Or where it all started from
I don’t know and you don’t know
The world’s beginning a long time ago
No beginning means no end
Earth’s always sent round the sun to ascend
Millions of thousands of planets go round
Who in the world could swear it’s not bound
MARCH 1, 1940
I had so much to tell you. Wednesday was a beautiful day, so our class played truant at 11:00 a.m. and escaped to the Castle. We threw snowballs, sang songs and composed poetry. I wrote a poem that’s already in the school paper. Our class is really nice and sweet. We’ve become really close and we are good together. But because Nora and I aren’t part of any gang, we’ve decided that I’ll write verse.
I sway as if soused
with an abundance of spring incense
I’m up to my knees in water
dripping down from roofs and gutter
onto the passersby’s heads, giving them shivers
flowing out in wide, wide rivers
humming and whistling on the corners
This cloudy, cheerful flood knows no borders
Houses dance in the streets, ice breaks on the walkways
trees, cobblestones, wooden fences, alleyways
From everywhere loud shouting arrives
Everything is springlike, dancing, alive
But I’m not happy at all
I’m not laughing, I’m crestfallen
like somebody who’s just left their bunk
after sickness—I am drunk …
MARCH 16, 1940
A message from uncle in France. Mama wrote too.
Nora and I don’t have much company, so we’ve decided to see what happens a year from today and ten years from today. So, wherever we are, still friends or angry at each other, healthy or ill, we are to meet or to write to each other and compare what’ll have changed from now. So remember, 16 March 1950. We’ll also write a diary together, but it won’t be a diary filled with so many private thoughts, like this one here. You are and will remain my only friend.
I’ve started liking a boy from X class. I know that his name is Holender and he’s from Zakopane. I like him very much. We’ve even been introduced to each other, but he’s already forgotten me. He’s well-built and broad-shouldered. He has pretty black eyes and falcon-like eyebrows. He’s beautiful. There is a tale about a ship Holender der fliegende Holender.*
You cross the wide ocean’s waves
You wander around with no home
Known to all people on Earth
But in fact known to no one
Day and night you dash on slippery foam
Propelled by storm, by rain, by wind that’s rotten
People talk about you often
But in fact you are all forgotten
Deviate from your winding course, Holender
Drift into lakes, rivers, waterways
You are so close to me, Holender
You are so far away …
Finally call at some port
Tired with storm, rain and wind
You are so dear to me, Holender
I love you with all my mind
Why do you roam aimlessly at sea?
Why do you have no home?
Known to all people on Earth
But in fact known to no one …
In dark, underground dungeons
In damp holes, rotten and pungent
With eyes burning with fever and agony
They dreamed of a communist destiny.
They waited …
And waited still …
Sick, shivery, crushed, out of steam
In hospitals, prisons—all with a dream
Until their red star lit up bold
With a sickle and hammer made of gold.
Their chains were dropped down
The gates opened wide to town
They marched out, shouting loud!
And froze, the whole crowd
This star, gold-plated star
(which left their lives so scarred)
was not red by far …
They saw it and cried the most
Over the freedom they lost
Over their dreamy idea
And the gray real life.
MARCH 31, 1940
I didn’t tell you anything before, even though I should have. Our form tutor was Trelka, very learned and intelligent, more, an angel of a human being. He always defended us; made sure the classroom was warm; let us go home on the quiet. We got him a cake and a bottle of wine for Christmas, sent him a card. He didn’t receive it in his office, but in the hospital. He broke his leg and now … he died. Today is his funeral. We are buying a wreath; we put an obituary up. I’m so very sorry, we’ve lost not just a form tutor, but a father. And now this disgusting Józia is our new form tutor. I can’t stand her.
Runaways from Jarosław* have been here with us for a while. I’ll tell you about it one day.
APRIL 24, 1940
It’s been so long since we’ve spoken! Don’t know where to start now; I have so many jumbled thoughts in my head, so many. I should perhaps start with the fact that terrible things have been happening. There were unexpected nighttime raids that lasted three days. People were rounded up and sent somewhere deep inside Russia. So many acquaintances of ours were taken away. Everybody was messed up. There was terrible screaming at school. Girls were crying. They say 50 people were packed into one cargo train car. You could only stand or lie on bunks. Everybody was singing Poland has not yet perished.
Now people are getting registered to the other side of the river San. It’s a German commission, so many people get through. And those from there come here. It’s terrible. I’ve been thinking about everything, but not about that.
About this Holender boy I have mentioned: I fell in love, I chased him like a madwoman, but he was interested in some girl named Basia. Despite that, I still like him, probably more than any other boy I know.
Irka’s very popular.
At this point I’ve decided that if I can, one day I’ll write a drama about Trelka’s death, about how he wasn’t in the coffin, but was taken away and then he suddenly came back. “If I only wanted…”† After
all I could have had it, but I didn’t like them. And anyway … I don’t want to. Though sometimes I feel this powerful, overwhelming need … maybe it’s just my temperament. I should get married early so I can withstand it.
I wonder if Mama’ll come back here. Isn’t it better for her there? I never thought it would turn out this way here. Hell, perhaps I’ll put something together!
A voice on the radio rambles on
Loudly, flatly, no uproar
About what goes on in the world
About what goes on in the war
The world is not that important
Spring has only just exploded
And somewhere in faraway countries
Cheerful life has unfolded
Not much has happened at the front either
The voice on the radio says calmly
There was one single fatality
Is that such a terrible blow?
In view of many at war
In view of many thousands
Somebody cries softly some more
Somebody whimpers in pain
Somebody looks out the window
Waiting, then dying in vain
Somebody despairs even more
One victim, is it such a blow?
FOR JARKA
THE DOLL AND THE CLOWN
The Clown:
Hello, hello, pretty Doll!
I’ve waited for you since the balmy morn.
Are you happy to see me?
Pray, tell.
The Doll:
Daddy, Mommy.
The Clown:
You don’t believe me? I liked you
as soon as I saw you that summer.
And me? Do you like me as well?
Pray, tell.
The Doll:
Daddy, Mama.
The Clown:
Come, let’s have a little dance.
What shall we dance together?
A mazurka? An oberek? A waltz?
Pray, tell.
The Doll:
Father, Mother.
The Clown:
Not a word from you?
You remain so stiff, so quiet
I understand you turn me down,
You don’t like the ridiculous clown …
The Doll:
Don’t think so badly of me.
I do understand everything.
But I am so very sorry,
I don’t know how to dance, I worry.
(she cries) Poor me, poor, poor Doll,
troubled and lonely.
How could I give you a call,
When I’m so shy and so lowly?
The Clown:
Oh, don’t cry, my little Doll.
Dry your tears.
Look! One step first,
then three more, it appears
then make a turn, lean your head to the side,
then bow low and jump with pride.
The Doll:
I’ll cry no more, I will dry my tears.
So one step first,
then three more, as it appears
then I’ll make a turn and lean my head to the side,
then bow low and jump with pride.
The Doll and the Clown:
Let’s dance together.
Let’s dance around.
It’ll be joyous, it will be fun.
Great will be the world to discover
Where everybody understands each other.
It’ll be joyous, it will be fun!
Let’s dance together, let’s dance around.
(they dance)
MAY 1, 1940
I would never have thought a year ago that exactly one year later, a long and a short year later, I would be marching not on May 3 but on May 1 instead.* Only two days apart, but those two days mean so much. It means I’m not in Poland but in the USSR. It means life; it means everything is so … I’m so crazy for Holender! He’s divine, adorable; he’s amazing! But what does that matter, since I don’t know him? Tell me, will I ever be contented? Will I ever have happy news to report to you about some boy? Oh, please God. I’m always so disgruntled!
Finally shimmer, the eyes
that are dark, deep, tormenting
the wonderful eyes of a boy
wonderful, loving, enchanting
Dark, hot diamonds
Fiery, excruciating
The wonderful eyes of a boy
Wonderful, loving, enchanting.
Let them even be strict
Let them be bossy, unbending
The wonderful eyes of a boy
Wonderful, loving, enchanting.
MAY 3, 1940
They came out of a side street
from some inn or some gate,
the one they carried on stretchers
might’ve been ill, wounded or drunk.
Their clothes were gray, torn, worn out
Their faces dark, haggard, washed out.
And the one on the stretchers
was also dressed like that
either ill, wounded or perhaps drunk.
They moved down the pavement,
people turned their heads away
Didn’t want to look. Why should they?
A healthy boy walked in the way
Healthy, lively and joyful,
with an accordion like a beast
his eyes almost saying loudly,
Look at me at least.
With his fiery music
he dazzled the passersby.
He walked down the street, all cheery
Laughing and playing aloud.
MAY 10, 1940
Today was a gathering of vidminniks, i.e., the best students. Yes, Irka was elected. Nora went, this duffer Major went and I didn’t. What do I deserve it for? You should know, my dear Diary, life is hardest for children without their parents, especially for those whose mothers are far away. Yes, know it, my dear Diary, and feel my pain, because I’m in pain too! How bitterly I cry sometimes. Let the school get something from me! If they need an article, let the vidminniks write it. Let them perform at contests too. Let’s see!
Why does a child cry?
Lonely, on its own?
Why does it always yearn and is hurt, why?
Why isn’t it comforted by its mother?
Why doesn’t she caress it and give it cuddles?
MAY 23, 1940
It’s over … I mean the school year’s over, as is my love for Wilk.* It is now busy exam time for me. It’s already begun. I’ve already had my algebra, geometry and biology exams. I think it went well. Let’s see what happens next. I’m petrified by physics. You should know that I won’t speak with you until after the exams. You’ll have to wait a bit. I’ll sit with you on 13th of June and I’ll either be happy or … you’ll get wet with tears. It’s been a good day today. I got new shoes, which is a luxury nowadays. And also two light dresses. There is this one boy in my class who used to flirt with me, or so I thought. He’s terribly ugly, but so very talented that … I like him. Let people talk, but I do like him, despite the fact that, apart from being a genius, he has few virtues. Ah, I forgot! I was made a vidminnik. You see, silly, how life changes? I told you once that something’ll happen in the spring. It did, but it’s something completely different than what I thought. Belgium and Holland are occupied, the Germans have taken over France, Mum’s in Warsaw. Great Lord God, please make it be all right. See you on the 13th!
JUNE 13, 1940
Done! Finally! It’s passed like a dream. The exams are over. It went very well, better than I expected. Bravo, Renia! It’s late now; the streets are dark. Some alarm, it seems … Soldiers on horseback stampeding, komandirs getting up—there is a lot of commotion. We’re going to go to Daddy’s soon! Oh, who knows, there might be a new war? God save us. I might tell you something soon, wait for it!
JUNE 17, 1940
It’s my birthday tomorrow. I’m turning 16. This is supposed to be the best time in my life. People often say, “
Oh, to be 16 again!” And I am, yes, that’s how old I am, but I’m so unhappy!
France has capitulated. Hitler’s army is flooding Europe. America is refusing to help. Who knows, they might even start a war with Russia.
I’m here on my own, without Mama or Daddy, without a home, poked and laughed at. Oh, God, why did such a horrible birthday have to come? Wouldn’t it be better to die? I look down from the height of my 16 years and I wonder whether I’ll reach the end. “Quietly like a razor through butter”* … this is death. Wouldn’t it be better, at once? Then I’d have a long, sad funeral. They might cry. They wouldn’t treat me with disdain, like today (Dzidziu,† “Nobody wants to go out with this old cow”). I’d only feel sorry for my Mom, my Mommy, my Mama … Why are you so far from me, so far away? I’d feel better otherwise, I wouldn’t ever think about it. But I cry and I cry that it’ll not be any different.
I walk along some empty streets
my footsteps echo from gray cobbles
the city seems to be transfixed
as if it’s fallen into slumber.
Even the wind doesn’t stir the leaves
nothing moves, nothing rustles or flutters
the only sound on the muffled street
is deep, sorrowful weeping that somebody utters.
I take a look, I look around
who sobs so badly in the night?
perhaps they need their mother now
perhaps they miss home, warmth, a bright light?
Why do they shed so many tears
on their own, in the midst of dead silence?
Nobody listens to you now, I fear
or perhaps I’m wrong … someone does hear?
I roam round dark streets
searching for the person I’m spying
but who do I search for?
it’s me who is crying!
JULY 1, 1940
Listen, my birthday was a pretty good day. I got two bottles of perfume, flowers and lipsticks from Nora and Irka. The three of us are now on good terms—that is my sweet, my one and only Norka, Irka and I. This idyll has lasted since the beginning of the exams. Will it last long still? I don’t know. Any thought can divide us, any row or any political wind can disperse our three-way truce. And let me tell you that the political wind is getting stronger. America has joined the war.* England counts on us, we don’t know what to do and so on. My Mama is in Warsaw. My poor, one and only Mama. You don’t know it, but she’s the sweetest, the prettiest, the smartest and all the other “-ests” that exist in the world of women. Yes, I can see some flaws too, two flaws in fact, which I’ve always forgiven her for, which never mattered much to me. Only today, only now they affect me so badly that I need to take them as flaws, not virtues. Because, my dear Diary, what is my life?! It’s just a handful of ashes of the past and some shells of the present. I hold them in my hand and I say, “What is bad’ll fly away, what is good’ll stay.” And I blow. And what? All the shells and specks of ash fly away and all that is left is a whitish dust of temporary contentment such as sitting in a theater, getting a good school report, a letter from Mom, Brühla’s smile. And everything else flew away? Yes, everything. So my life was sad? Yes, it was. And now let’s be frank, let’s get rid of all temporary contentment or joys, and let’s classify. I’ve lived in Stawki. Was I happy there? No, there were worries, Mama was seriously ill, there were money issues, family quarrels and rows, first Daddy, then Mama. My home’s fallen apart. Worse still. Arianka went to Warsaw, she struggled there, lost her childhood, it vanished and that was wrong. I was at Granny’s and Grandpa’s, I could’ve done something, I cried for Mama, I wasn’t happy and looked like “a motherless child.” And that was wrong too. Another mistake was the fact that Mama let us, she simply got us to get used to life here. What life is it? Yes, Granny loves us very much, she tries very hard. They pay the price and we do too. They don’t live a life of normal grandparents and we don’t live a life of normal grandchildren. It’s been like that and it still is like that. Such is life. Mama thought of us, she tried hard, she cared, but then there was her and there was Daddy. And we were left hanging. Arianka, poor kitten, and me, even poorer (because I don’t know how to make it in life). And now there’s the war. Arianka and I are on our own. What does poor Mama eat? They say there is famine there, my poor Mama dear, my poor, poor sad life. My sweet Mommy, if you were here with me, there would be so much less crying, I would be so much calmer with you, why are you so far away…? Mama!!! But you know, when I finally get the goblet of happiness in my hands (even if it’s short and small), I’ll drink from it as much as I can, for all the happiness hidden in this tiny goblet.
Renia's Diary Page 5
