by Lily Brett
“No,” the waitress said.
“Why do you ask such questions?” Edek said to Ruth.
“Because I want to know,” she said.
“It is not always necessary to know everything,” he said. The cheesecake arrived. It was small and flat.
“It’s not even a Jewish cheesecake,” Ruth said. Edek tried the cheesecake.
“It is very nice, as a matter of fact,” he said.
Ruth felt furious. What were these Poles doing mimicking a Jewish life they had been so happy to see disappear? They were making money, that was what they were doing. Edek finished his cheesecake. “Mottel Mottel,”
one of his favorite Yiddish songs, was now playing in the background.
Edek started humming again. He turned in his seat and looked around him at the rest of the café. “It is very nice,” he said.
“It’s created by Poles,” Ruth said. Edek shrugged his shoulders.
The Jordan Jewish Bookshop and travel agency were also not owned by Jews. There were books, artifacts, and pieces of jewelry for sale. Silver Stars of David, and Hebrew letters on silver chains. There were candleholders and Passover dishes. A small sign said that you could buy books and souvenirs of Jewish culture, and maps, guides, and postcards, and cassettes of Jewish music.
Another sign offered three tours. Each tour was printed in bold capitals: SIGHTSEEING OF JEWISH KAZIMIERZ, RETRACING SCHINDLER’S LIST, and TRIP TO AUSCHWITZ-BIRKENAU. The store looked a bit disordered. A bit untidy. As though the owners hadn’t quite known how to display the merchandise. Surely Jews wouldn’t shop here, Ruth thought. She spotted a book on Auschwitz on one of the upper shelves. It contained reproduc-tions of all of the documents left behind by the Germans. Ruth had never seen the book before. It was a large thick book. She asked to look at it. She flipped through the pages. It was a very interesting book. Ruth felt torn.
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She didn’t want to contribute to this business, but she wanted the book.
“I’ll have it,” she said to the man behind the counter.
Edek was waiting outside with Helena, the guide.
“The person who owns the Jordan Jewish Bookshop isn’t Jewish, is he?” Ruth asked Helena. Edek glared at Ruth. She ignored him.
“No,” Helena said. “But he is a very good man. Very sympathetic to Jews.”
“See,” said Edek.
“See what?” Ruth said.
“Forget about it,” Edek said. “We are going to walk to the Schindler’s factory.”
Ruth was surprised that Edek had agreed to walk. She had thought he would want to get this tour over as quickly as possible. “Good,” she said.
Edek and Helena walked ahead of her. Ruth could see that Edek liked Helena. He was smiling and chatting with her. He was telling her about his life in Australia. He was telling her about his job as manager of the shipping department of the sporting goods store, and his subsequent position in the health food store. He explained at length how important it was that the cleanliness of the store was maintained in these health food places.
Helena looked riveted.
Ten minutes later, they were still in the square. Edek and Helena had stopped walking and were deep in conversation. Ruth felt she had waited long enough. “Can we move on?” she said.
“Of course,” Helena said.
“We was just going to start walking again,” Edek said. “Helena is a very nice girl.” Helena blushed.
They walked for a few minutes. They stopped outside a building on Szeroka Street.
“Here at number 6 was housed from the sixteenth century the community bathhouse and the mikveh.”
“See she knows what is a mikveh,” Edek said to Ruth. Helena nodded.
“A ritual bath for women on certain occasions,” she said.
“Yes, yes, that is a mikveh,” Edek said. Helena looked very pleased.
Helena was a sweet girl, really, Ruth thought. She couldn’t be more than twenty or twenty-one.
“This bathhouse was called the big bathhouse,” Helena said. “This was
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in order to distinguish it from the small bathhouse, which was near Nowy Square.”
“Very interesting,” Edek said. Helena was clearly finding Edek interesting. More interesting than Ruth. Ruth noticed that Helena was addressing all of her remarks to Edek.
“This building was renovated and modernized between 1974 and 1976,” Helena said to Edek. “It is now occupied by the Kraków branch of the Historical Monuments Restoration Workshop.” Edek nodded his head.
They set off again. Ruth looked at her watch. It was 2 P.M. She hoped that they would get to Schindler’s factory before nightfall.
Helena stopped outside another building. “Here on Bochenska Street was the Jewish Theater of Kraków from 1926 to 1939,” she said.
“A very nice building,” Edek said. Ruth was astonished. Since when had Edek been interested in buildings? He had never expressed any interest in any building. Ruth looked at Edek. He was smiling at Helena. He looked so happy. He had always liked a pretty girl or an attractive woman.
And they had liked Edek. It seemed that they still did. Helena was beaming at Edek.
“Ida Kaminska, the famous Jewish actress, played regularly in this theater,” Helena said to Edek.
“See, she knows Ida Kaminska,” Edek said to Ruth.
“Since 1945 this theater has been occupied by the amateur theater of the railway men,” Helena said.
“They do probably a very good job,” Edek said. Ruth couldn’t believe Edek’s pronouncement. He knew nothing about theater and less about railway men. Helena seemed pleased.
“Can we get a move on?” Ruth said. “I’d like to get to Schindler’s factory.”
“Certainly,” Helena said. She and Edek began to walk faster. Ruth followed them.
Edek looked happier than he had for days, Ruth thought. Ruth was glad that they had hired Helena as a guide. She knew that her father loved her, but too much time solely in her company had probably depressed him, flattened his spirits. Helena’s company was good for him. Ruth thought that some of the places she had chosen to visit with Edek had probably T O O M A N Y M E N
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dampened his spirits, too. Few people would find ghettos and cemeteries uplifting.
They were well away from Kazimierz now. This part of Kraków was as run-down and dilapidated as any part of Lódz. They passed an old woman sitting at a table in the middle of a small square. The old woman had a dirty red and black cotton scarf tied around her head. An odd assortment of plastic bags and pieces of cardboard were on the table. In the middle of the table, on top of two sheets of white paper, was an enormous, pink, slumped, plucked turkey.
The turkey had no feet. Its legs were sticking out, rigidly, in front of it, as though rigor mortis had already set in. But the bird looked too fresh, and maybe rigor mortis didn’t set in if you had already been plucked and decapitated. Ruth made a note to herself to look up rigor mortis and how it occurs in one of her many medical encyclopedias. A bucket with scraps of plastic was under the table. Was this woman hoping to sell the turkey whole? Or in pieces? Ruth couldn’t see a knife. To whom was she hoping to sell this piece of poultry? Ruth looked around the square. There didn’t seem to be any customers.
At the other side of the square there were two more stalls. Ruth had walked past them. At each of these stalls, a few screwdrivers, nails, hammers, and other bits and pieces Ruth didn’t recognize had been set up on folding tables. Ruth worried about who was going to buy the turkey. The woman must know what she was doing, Ruth decided. She wouldn’t have just set up a table anywhere, in the hope of selling a dead turkey. Ruth smiled at the woman. The woman glared at her.
They arrived at Schindler’s factory. Ruth recognized the curved gates from the movie.
“Look, Ruthie,” Edek said. “The factory of Oskar Schindler.”
“Here where we are standing at 4 Lipowa Street,” Helena said, “was the factory of Oskar Schindler. Because of Oskar Schindler’s contacts with the Wehrmacht he managed to build a small factory of forty-five employees into a prosperous factory that employed seven hundred and fifty Jews from the ghetto, which was very near to this factory.” Ruth and Edek nodded. It was strange to look at this building in this quiet street and think of the people who must have walked in and out of this gate. Jews, Gestapo, Poles, Ger-
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mans. “Oskar Schindler saved altogether one thousand two hundred Jews,” Helena said.
“I do know two Jews what he did save,” Edek said to Helena. “Two brothers from Melbourne.” Ruth knew the two men Edek was talking about. Both brothers were musicians.
“Steven Spielberg did win seven Oscars for this film, Schindler’s List, ”
Helena said. Ruth groaned. “Steven Spielberg did film Schindler’s List in thirty-five locations in Kraków,” Helena said.
“Really?” said Edek.
Ruth tried to work out how to derail the Steven Spielberg speech tact-fully. She didn’t want to offend Helena. She couldn’t think of how to do it.
“Do you know Steven Spielberg?” Helena said to Ruth. Ruth laughed.
“No,” she said. ‘No one ordinary knows Steven Spielberg,” she said.
“And I don’t know if he knows anybody ordinary.”
“Really?” Helena said.
“Of course,” said Edek, with authority. Ruth saw that Edek was eager to contribute to this conversation.
“Only celebrities know Steven Spielberg,” Ruth said.
“That is the truth,” Edek said. “How would a person what is a normal person meet such a person like Mr. Spielberg, who is not a person what meets normal persons?”
Edek was repeating himself in his rush to be an authority on the subject and impress Helena, Ruth thought. “President Clinton knows Steven Spielberg,” Ruth said to Helena. “President Clinton and Mrs. Clinton stayed with Steven Spielberg and his wife at their beach house in the summer,”
Ruth said.
“My daughter does know everything,” Edek said.
“It was on the front page of every New York newspaper,” Ruth said.
“So the president of America was a guest at Steven Spielberg’s house?”
Helena said. Ruth wondered if this new piece of information would be tacked on to all the future Schindler’s factory tours.
“Yes,” she said to Helena. Helena looked very pleased to be the recipient of this fact. Edek looked very pleased to have pleased Helena.
“I know someone who knows Steven Spielberg’s mother,” Ruth said.
She stepped back in surprise at what she had just said. She couldn’t believe what she had just said. Why had she said that? She had obviously been carT O O M A N Y M E N
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ried away. Buoyed by the success of the Clinton news item. Edek and Helena both moved toward her.
“You do know somebody what knows the mother of Steven Spielberg?”
Edek said. He looked wildly impressed.
“You know someone who knows Steven Spielberg’s mother?” Helena said.
Ruth felt foolish. She couldn’t believe the turn the conversation had taken. Still, it was her fault. She had started it.
“I think we should catch a taxi back to the hotel,” Ruth said. Edek looked disappointed. “I’m tired,” Ruth said.
“My daughter does need a rest,” Edek said.
“This former Schindler factory is now occupied by a company that manufactures electronic components,” Helena said. “I will go inside and order a taxi for you. They know me here.”
Ruth and Edek waited outside. “She is a very nice girl,” Edek said to Ruth.
“She is a very nice girl,” Ruth said.
Ruth was tired. She felt a bit sick. The taxi Helena had arranged for them stank of cigarettes. She should have something to eat, she decided.
“Do you want some lunch?” Ruth said.
“No thanks,” Edek said. “I will wait until dinner.”
“I’ve booked a Jewish dinner at the Samson Restaurant,” Ruth said.
“The dinner comes with a Jewish cabaret.”
“This does sound interesting,” Edek said. “A cabaret.”
“Would you be interested to go to a visit to the Auschwitz Museum?”
the cabdriver said. “I will do a very good price. Very cheap.” Ruth was stunned. How many people were peddling trips to Auschwitz in this city? And how did they know to whom to offer the trips? The takers, in this marketplace, the potential clients, must be clearly marked, Ruth thought.
“We do not want to go there in this car,” Edek hissed to Ruth. In Polish, Edek said to the driver, “Thank you very much for your offer. We have already made prior arrangements.” Ruth was irritated by Edek’s excessive politeness to this tobacco-stained driver.
“It will be better a Mercedes to get for such a long trip,” Edek said to Ruth.
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“It is the Auschwitz death camp,” Ruth said slowly to the driver. “Not the Auschwitz Museum.”
“It is not necessary to say this,” Edek said to Ruth.
“I’ve already booked a Mercedes,” she said to Edek.
“Good,” he said. “Please do not say anything more to this driver.”
“Okay,” she said. She didn’t want to spoil Edek’s good mood.
“Only young Germans do visit Auschwitz,” the taxi driver said.
“He speaks English,” Edek said to Ruth.
“Old Germans, never,” the driver said. “Who knows, maybe they are Wehrmacht.”
“Do a lot of young Germans go?” Ruth said.
“Quite a few young Germans visit the Auschwitz Museum,” the driver said.
“The death camp,” said Ruth.
“Ruthie,” Edek said.
“Sorry, Dad,” she said. She was glad that young Germans were visiting Auschwitz. It was a good sign. It was too late for old Germans anyway.
They had too much at stake to repent now. They had to justify so much.
They would unravel if they unpicked a few of the historical myths they had stitched together.
“Are you going to have a rest?” Ruth asked Edek when they got back in the hotel.
“I do not need a rest,” he said. “I will read a bit. I did just start today a new book.”
“What’s the new book called?” Ruth said.
“Thrusts from Above,” Edek said.
Thrusts from Above? What on earth was her father reading? “Thrusts from Above?” she said.
“It is a very good book,” Edek said. “It is about a man who did used to be a pilot. A very good pilot.”
“Don’t tell me anymore,” Ruth said. “That’s enough.”
“That’s enough?” Edek said. “I did tell you nothing. It is a very interesting story.”
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“I’ve got some work to do,” Ruth said. “How about I meet you downstairs in the lounge in a couple of hours?”
“Okey dokey,” Edek said.
“Don’t forget to order something to eat if you’re hungry,” Ruth said.
“I am not hungry,” Edek said. “But I think I will sit in the lunge and have a drink of soda water.”
“Good idea,” Ruth said. She walked off smiling.
Ruth sat down on the bed in her room. It was a nice room. It was large and airy. Filled with light. She had her own balcony, which looked out on to a small, cobbled street. Edek’s room was even bigger than hers. He had been very pleased with his room. She felt she should check in with Max. To make sure things were under control. Under control. Could anything ever really be under control? In order? Probably not. She didn’t think she was destined for an orderly life. A life under control. All the order she had tried to put in place seemed to h
ave frayed, or split at the seams. Why was she using sewing metaphors? She had no idea. She was tired.
She should call Max, she thought. She put her feet up on the bed. Why was she so tired? Why was she so much more tired than Edek? She was so much younger. She was probably going to be a washout of an old woman, if she lived that long. She always added the coda, if she lived that long. As though to omit it would tempt fate. Incur wrath. Whose wrath would she be incurring? She had never been too clear on that.
Ruth dialed Max’s home number.
“Hi, great to hear your voice,” Max said. Max sounded very chirpy. Too chirpy for Ruth.
“Hi, Max,” she said.
“Let me ring you back,” Max said. “You’re in Kraków?”
“Yes,” Ruth said. She began to tell Max not to bother, but Max had already hung up. Why did Max sound so bright? The phone rang. It was Max.
“You sound exhausted,” Max said.
“You could tell that from a ten-second conversation?” Ruth said.
“Yes,” said Max.
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“Well, the trip hasn’t been a picnic,” she said.
“You didn’t expect it to be, did you?” Max said.
“I don’t know what I expected,” said Ruth.
“The Observer rang,” Max said. “They asked if we wanted to increase the size of our ad. They’ve got a special on. For two weeks we can double the size of our ad for not much extra.”
“We don’t need a bigger ad,” Ruth said.
“Can’t we try it?” Max said. “It won’t cost much.”
“We don’t want to look like a multinational corporation,” said Ruth.
“Three inches by three inches is hardly multinational,” Max said.
“There are some things that are more effective small,” Ruth said.
“You’re not thinking about men, are you?” Max said, and laughed.
“No, not at all,” Ruth said. She hardly thought about men. Her brain already seemed too crowded without adding thoughts of men. Too many men. Was that what the gypsy woman had said? What a strange thing to say to her. “You’ve got sex on the brain, Max,” Ruth said. “I’ve noticed it ever since you took up with the married man.”
