Once

by Elisabeth Grace Foley et al.

  “Oh.” He sounded surprised, but pleased. “Good.”

  The concert hall was a beehive of activity when we arrived. I suddenly realized how underdressed we were. Ladies draped in fur stoles were escorted by dapper men in crisp black suits. Romek and I exchanged a look. “I like to keep things simple.” Romek shrugged, glancing down at his freshly pressed button up shirt and trousers. He was clean-shaven, and I could smell his aftershave as we waited in line. When my eyes fell on my own humble garments, I unconsciously let out a little sigh of disappointment. My black and white houndstooth dress was fresh and clean, but plain. The only consolation I had in regards to my evening wear was Mama’s pearl necklace that was draped across my neck. My fingers fell on the smooth, cold beads.

  “You look really nice, Kasia. I meant to tell you that earlier.”

  My heart jumped. “You do, too.”

  He leaned over and whispered conspiratorially, “I think fur coats look ridiculous.”

  That made me smile, even though I wasn’t certain I agreed. I knew he was just trying to make me feel better. The line moved slowly, but I took the time to admire the warm glow of lights twinkling above us in the lobby. I soaked in every detail—the polished floors, the feel of lush fur coats against my arm as ladies brushed past me, the smell of cigar smoke that hung in the air, and the hazy, warm, elegant atmosphere that made my skin tingle with excitement. I followed Romek to our seats, my eyes drawn to the lights glimmering above us. A din of voices flooded the room.

  “I’m sorry our seats are so far in the back,” he said.

  “I don’t mind.” I really didn’t. I was bewitched by the sights and sounds. Even the seats felt like heaven. My body relaxed as I sank into the velvet cushion. I glanced over at Romek. He was staring at me with an amused grin.

  “What?” I asked, blushing. He must have thought me silly to be so enthralled by something so natural to the rest of society.

  “You’re refreshing.”

  Unsure of his meaning, I ignored the statement and made one of my own instead. “Stop staring at me.”

  “I’m not staring at you!” He quickly looked down at the program he was bending into a mangled-up fan.

  “Yes, you were. It makes me nervous.” The lights began to dim. I scooted to the edge of my seat, hands clasped tightly in front of me.

  “I wasn’t staring!” He lowered his voice to a defensive whisper. He just had to get the last word in.

  “Shh! The concert’s starting.”

  He fell back into his chair with a defeated sigh.

  I watched every gentle movement of the pianist as the soulful melody of Mendelssohn’s “Sweet Remembrance” enraptured me. I drank in every note, every movement, until I became drunk on the impassioned cadence. I sank back into the chair and closed my eyes. Our arms brushed against each other, but neither of us moved. We sat like that for the remainder of the evening, our arms gently touching on the armrest as we soaked in the music. My mood rose and fell with the notes, tangling me into an emotional jumble of bewildering thoughts and feelings. Tears burned in my eyes. I blinked, letting the warmth streak down my cheeks. A roar of applause rose from the crowd as the lights flickered on. I clapped my hands as hard as I could, joy springing through every vein in my body.

  “Well? What did you think?” Romek asked, as we began walking homeward.

  “I’ve never heard anything so beautiful in my life!” I twirled around in reckless abandon, so enlivened by the evening and our budding love. He watched me, his eyes shining with pleasure. But the church bells tolling ten o’clock brought us both back to earth once again.

  “Your mother’s going to hang me if I don’t get you home soon,” he sighed, a hint of reluctance in his voice. Could it be he didn’t want the evening to end?

  “Yes, she will,” I agreed with a little laugh, but I didn’t want to go home.

  He slowed his strides to match mine as we meandered down the sidewalk, trying to drag the night on for as long as we could. I stayed close to his side and he seemed to like that, for he inched a bit closer, too. The lights still shone through the bakery window, and we stopped to purchase a box of mixed pastries. As the buttercream melted in my mouth, I lifted my eyes to admire the night sky. The moon tossed streaks of pale light against the cobblestone, and a thick fog hovered under the silver birch trees. We lingered outside the shop for a long moment. Romek’s face was ruddy from the chill. He tugged on his cap, a shyness creeping into his bearing.

  “Well, how did you like it?”

  I held in a laugh. “You already asked me that.”

  “I did?” He ducked his head sheepishly.

  “Yes, and I told you how much I loved it.”

  He suddenly glanced over his shoulder, watching the silent street.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, hand lingering on the doorknob.

  “Nothing. I just—” He turned again. “I thought I heard something.”

  I shivered and pulled my sweater tighter to myself. “Thanks again for the nice evening. I’ll never forget it for as long as I live.”

  “Neither will I.” He smiled and reached out to squeeze my hand. “Good night, Kasia.”

  I bolted upstairs to my room, shedding my sweater on the bed. As I unpinned my hair, I watched Romek from between my curtain blinds. He was moving slowly up the street, stopping every now and then to listen. What did he hear? I dropped a pin on my nightstand, squinting my eyes against the hazy fog that hovered over the Vistula. I thought I saw something move in the shadows near the bridge. My eyes tried to pick the object out of a cloud of darkness. The clouds shifted, pale moonbeams falling on a woman rocking her young child. Her clothes were tattered and torn. As I cracked open the window, a child’s cry drifted into my bedroom. I could see Romek kneeling beside them, rummaging through his pockets. He held out a handful of zlotys.

  “I don’t want your money.” The woman’s voice was dripping with bitterness.

  “Then at least take this,” Romek’s tone was kind, but firm as he slipped a wrapped pastry into her hand. “You shouldn’t be out here. Let me take you to a shelter—”

  “No!” The woman’s voice pitched louder. “No. I don’t want your help, or anyone’s for that matter. Leave us be.”

  Romek reluctantly stood up, swiping a hand through his hair in an agitated manner. “Please, let me help you.”

  She shook her head, squeezing the child to her chest.

  Romek lingered for a long moment then crouched down again, reaching for the child. “Please, let me—”

  A firm slap! split through the air. My hand flew to my mouth as Romek stumbled to his feet, his hand on his face. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to help.” He made a mad dash for the street, then suddenly stopped. He ripped off his coat and ambled back, draping it over the woman and her child before running off, forcing them to accept the small gift.

  What made him so willing to help a complete stranger when it would be easier to simply brush past them and utter a prayer for their well-being instead?What made him sacrifice his evening simply to nurture my dream? Respect and admiration stirred in my heart. I couldn’t continue lying to myself about Romek. It wasn’t an infatuation any longer.

  That night, I knew I was in love with him.

  II.

  Sorrow and joy wage a fierce battle in my heart. Why must the memories prick at my heart like this? Tears spill down my cheeks as I roam the alley, stuffing the matchbox deep into my pocket. I long for that evening when my head was whirling with thoughts of love, not with the knowledge that I might not survive another night. I clutch the memory to my heart possessively. The Germans have taken everything and everyone from me. But not my memories.

  I won’t let them have my memories.

  My ears ache from the cold. I could stop and make a fire, for evening is falling rapidly. I finger the matchbox. Or I could give them away. I have four matches left. The wind digs its nails into my skin, and I pull my sweater across my chest, slipping into a doorway.
>
  Stay warm. Savour the warmth of the matches while you can.

  Give them away. Don’t hoard what you can share with the suffering.

  What good can one match do?

  One match can’t save a life, can it?

  My eyes snap forward as shoes scrape against pavement. A boy is running toward the ghetto wall. He stops and peeks over his shoulder before kneeling down. He’s searching for the false bricks that cover a small opening to the Polish side. His scrawny frame moves along the wall in quick movements and I take a tentative step out of my safe haven to keep watch for German sentries.

  The sound of jackboots cracks against the icy cobblestone. We both stop. The boy inhales and scrambles to find the false bricks. The footfalls are swifter now. I hear the clinking of a rifle against a belt. I run toward the brick wall, ready to intercept the sentry.

  What am I doing?

  But I don’t stop. I quicken my pace.

  I step in front of the sentry who stops in his tracks. He’s a foot taller than I am, a giant demon looming over me. My pulse roars in my ears.

  Oh God, what have I done?

  He hesitates a moment, as if deciding which offense is more worthy of punishment. He looks past me as the boy disappears into the opening.

  “Please.” My voice cracks. I wonder if he can even hear me. “Please, he’s hungry.”

  The sentry stares at me. I flinch, preparing for the punishment.

  “You stupid Jew.” His deep voice slices through the air. “You know I could kill you for this.” He takes a step forward, his gear rattling against itself.

  I swallow dryly. I long to slink into the shadows, to disappear from everything and everyone. My fingers search for the matches in my pocket. I slip one into my palm and hold it out to him. “May I light your cigarette, sir?”

  He studies me for a long moment, nearly as shocked by my confidence as I am. Without taking his eyes off me, he calmly reaches into his breast pocket, yanking out a cigarette. He slips it between his teeth, inclining his head toward mine. I don’t dare breathe as I strike the match against the brick. I stand on my tip toes and touch the flicker of light to the end of his cigarette. He stares at me, but his eyes aren’t like the others’. They don’t sear into my skull or degrade me with one callous glance. They are almost understanding. I look away, unsure if I merely imagine a spark of kindness in them, for at any moment he can kill me. He could be giving me a false sense of safety before sending a bullet through my head. My blood turns cold as he straightens and takes a long drag.

  “Danke.”

  My hands fall to my side. Did he just thank me? Did a German soldier thank me for lighting his cigarette? What kind of cruel trick is this? I don’t move. I wait for my fate. Will he kill me now? Will he make me run before shooting me from behind? Why doesn’t he do it already? What is he waiting for?

  “I have three daughters,” he says, positioning the cigarette between his finger and thumb. He gazes past me, lost in thought.

  That’s his explanation. He is a father. He has a heart.

  No.

  He has some ulterior motive. I’m sure of it. But then he does an about-face and saunters up the street, smoke swirling from his cigarette. I blink once. Twice. I wait for him to whip around and shoot me. I wait for the heat of a bullet meeting my flesh. He continues his beat. He never turns, only glances at the wall now and then. He doesn’t even take the rifle off his shoulder.

  There’s no sense to it. There’s no consistency. I can’t depend on anything, not even death.

  There are good people in the world. Don’t ever doubt that. If we doubt it, how can we go on? Romek’s words flood my mind, and a flame of warmth kindles in my heart. He encouraged me to seek the good in others, even when I was certain there was none left.

  A Memory

  It was my first birthday away from home, and the first one since war had been declared. I bundled up in my overcoat, red scarf, and boots, snatched the plate of muffins I’d baked earlier, and hurried to Romek’s house for the evening. Golden leaves crunched under my boots as I passed a newspaper stand. Bolded headlines screamed our downfall.

  WARSAW SURRENDERS.

  I stepped aside, nearly tripping over the curb, as a squadron of German soldiers marched past. The sunlight reflected off their helmets. They were so close I could have touched the eagle emblem on their field-grey jackets. Their voices rose on the conquered Polish air: “Hail our Leader, Hail Hitler to thee!” One soldier stared at me, a nasty smile spreading across his lips that made my stomach turn. The rest of the squadron kept their eyes fixed ahead, as if we were all invisible. Once the hammering of jackboots began to fade, I ran across the street to Romek’s apartment. I bit my lip, casting a wary glance at the brick building then back at the street.

  “What if your family doesn’t like me?” I had asked him the day prior.

  “It doesn’t matter, Kasia. I like you.”

  I had no time to entertain any further anxiety, for the door flew open, and Romek pulled me inside. “I was about to come get you. I just heard Nazi bastards singing their hearts out.” He lingered in the doorway, as if he was considering running out into the street to strangle the entire squadron. He must have thought better of it, for he slammed the door.

  “I ran into them on my way here.”

  “Did they hurt you?” He looked me up and down, swallowing hard.

  “No.” I didn’t tell him about the one with the nasty smile. Instead, I let my eyes linger on the glasses he was wearing.

  “Oh—” He swiped them from his face with a sheepish grin. I spotted ink stains on his rolled up shirt sleeves. “Can’t read without these.”

  I couldn’t mask a grin. “You look like a student of literature.”

  “Yeah, when I want to look smart I pull these out.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I almost forgot to wish you a happy birthday. I can be such an idiot when I’m around a pretty girl.”

  “Yeah, you can be.” I lifted my anxious eyes to meet his. He smiled down at me.

  “Don’t worry. They’ll love you, Kasia. I don’t know how anyone couldn’t.”

  Why was he doing this to me? My knees were giving out, so I quickly held out the plate of muffins to him before they landed on the floor.

  “You didn’t have to do that,” he said, lifting the cloth to sneak a peek. “But I’m glad you did.”

  I followed him through the elegantly furnished foyer, catching a glimpse of myself in the oval mirror. My cheeks were ruddy from the cold, and I tried to straighten the wrinkles from my dress as Romek ducked his head into the kitchen.

  “She’s here.”

  A pan clanged into the sink and a woman hurried to the doorway, untying her apron with an apologetic smile. Her shoulder-length hair was the color of cinnamon. As I looked at her, I discovered where Romek inherited his gold-brown eyes. Behind her stood a broad-shouldered man smoking a pipe. His relaxed style suggested a calm, appreciative demeanor.

  “It’s so good to finally meet you, Kasia. Romek talks about you all the time.”

  Romek raked a hand through his hair, obviously embarrassed by his father’s words. His mother grabbed my hands, her skin warm and smooth. I began to relax under her kind touch.

  “Romek,” she ordered, “take Kasia into the parlor. I’ll be in shortly with the drinks.”

  Romek motioned me to follow him further into the house, past his sisters who were folding napkins in the dining room. Their hair was pulled back into thick braids, and their dark brown eyes assessed me carefully. “Jannah and Aleksandra, this is Kasia.”

  Jannah, the older of the two, gave me a shy smile, while Aleksandra continued to study the situation. “Are you his girlfriend?”

  “Oh… um…” I nervously tucked a piece of hair behind my ear.

  Romek tugged on Aleksandra’s braid. “Maybe she would be if I didn’t have such a nosy little sister.”

  That produced shy grins all around.

  As Romek led me out of t
he dining room and into the parlor, I glanced back to find his sisters leaning across the table, whispering and giggling, as they watched us. My face burned.

  “I wanted to show you this.” Romek led me to a Bechstein grand piano positioned beneath a large oil painting of the Vistula river. The keys glistened, shined to a gleaming luster, and the bench was pulled back as if waiting for someone to sit. I let out a squeal while Romek beamed with pleasure. “I thought you’d like it.”

  I jumped up and down as if it were my ninth birthday, not nineteenth. “You never told me!”

  “I wanted it to be a surprise for your birthday.” He ran a finger along the keys. “No one plays it much.”

  “I can see that. It’s perfect.”

  “Will you play for me?”

  My hands fell to my side. “Right now?”

  He nodded. “Everyone’s in the other room. It’s just me. Besides, if you’re going to be a famous pianist someday, you have to learn to play in front of an audience.”

  He did have a valid point. “Oh… all right.” I brushed the back of my dress against my legs and took a seat. It seemed to be waiting just for me. “What should I play?”

  “How about that Mendelssohn song you like so much?”

  “Sweet Remembrance? I don’t know… I’m not very good at it yet.”

  “Ah, go on and give it a try.” Romek leaned against the piano, watching as I dusted my fingers along the cold keys. The light flickered from the lamp as my fingers settled into the familiar arrangement. Each note swelled with passion and despair, fear and joy. I lost myself in the melody, closing my eyes to the cruel world outside those walls, closing my ears to the sound of jackboots against pavement. My soul and fingers were in rhythm, sparking pieces of my heart into the evening air. As I lifted my fingers from the final note, I opened my eyes to find Romek staring at me with such wonder and admiration that it sent my heart beating wildly.

  “Romek!” The spell was broken as his mother entered the room, her face ashen. “You have to hide the girls.” Jannah and Aleksandra filed in behind their mother, mirroring my confusion.