A Time for Giving

by Jean Little

  Friday, November 19, 1948

  A busy week, both with rehearsal and school work. At first I was excited because I could miss classes, but I can’t miss the work, so I have to do it at home. Susan and I are doing twice — no, three times — the amount of homework now, which is why I haven’t had a chance to write in your pages, diary.

  The concert is on December 15. That seems very far away now. The boy playing Joseph is in Grade Seven and seems to have developed a crush on me. He hangs onto my every word and sometimes forgets his lines when he is looking at me! I am at least a head taller than everyone in Grade Nine — maybe why they chose me to play the mother, since I look older. Barry gazes up at me with this adoring look. Susan has started to tease me about it.

  The pageant is really very short and is mostly acted without words while the choir sings, so I’m not sure why the pageant players have to be at rehearsal as much as the choir. Maybe next week will be better.

  Sunday, November 28, 1948

  It seems that all I do in these pages now is explain why I have been writing so little. But this week was even worse than last! More homework and just as much rehearsal, although almost all of it is either sitting around or striking poses while the choir sings. Pageant is right! It is not a play — the words I read for the audition are really the only words I speak. The rest is miming: first so happy when the baby is born, then astonished when the three wise men come, then astonished again when the stars shine, and then the choir keeps singing and I just pose, sitting with my arms around Joseph and the baby. (Which Joseph likes way too much!) And of course the baby Jesus is a doll all wrapped up in a blanket.

  At any rate, today I took the bus downtown to the Y to meet up with the other orphans, as usual. After we swam, I talked to Oskar about the pageant. I found myself describing to him the two months in the countryside when I had to pretend to be a young Catholic girl who was living with her aunt — that was hard. In fact my “aunt” was a total stranger who ran her own farm, but who agreed to take me in and protect me from the Nazis. I remember going to church with her. She taught me how to make the sign of the cross, and how to mouth the prayers. My life depended on my acting. If I had done one thing wrong, not only would I have been caught and killed, but so would she.

  Perhaps that is why the longer the rehearsals go on, the more the past comes back to me and the worse I feel. When I was living at the farm, Mama was in hiding in the camp with the fighters, without me, and I was so so lonely for her. Not as lonely as now, of course, because then at least I knew she was nearby. Then I knew there was hope that we would be together again.

  Now that hope is gone forever. Until death there is always hope. Right up to death. After that — nothing.

  Saturday, December 4, 1948

  I am not going to apologize again! Oh, maybe I will! But I really have been busy, dear diary, and the only reason I can take time to write today is because a blizzard is about to hit the city. It struck Brandon already and is headed here. We’ve had a lot of snow and the wind has been bad, so we’re hunkering down and staying inside today. No shul, no movies, just reading and a promise of playing Monopoly later this afternoon.

  I hope the streets will be cleared by tomorrow so I can go to the Y and see Oskar. Since he lives in the north end of the city and I live in the south, it really is the only time we can meet.

  Sunday, December 5, 1948

  See, dear diary! Two days in a row, no apology needed! But that’s because Saturday was just the start of a massive blizzard and we’ve been stuck inside all weekend and I’m not even sure whether we’ll be able to go to school tomorrow. Jonathan beat us all at Monopoly twice in a row.

  I’ve been reading The Woman in White all weekend. I had to convince Susan to leave the light on when we went to bed last night. What a scary story! But I like it! I’m going to read Frankenstein next. Morris is lending me the books he thinks will scare me the most! Big brothers!

  I just called them my brothers. Do you think my real big brother would mind? When we were in the Ghetto, Abe spent his entire life trying to protect me and keep me from being scared. Still, he might be happy that right now I can actually choose to be scared.

  Thursday, December 9, 1948

  It’s going down to -22 tonight and -28 on Friday. So Eva is taking me shopping Saturday for a brand new wool coat. I’ve grown out of the one Rita gave me last winter. Eva says Susan needs a new coat too. This will be the first new coat I’ve ever had.

  Saturday, December 11, 1948

  The new coat is black with a white furry collar! And big black shiny buttons. It is the most beautiful thing in the whole world. I actually cried, and Eva pretended she didn’t see and so did Susan. And Eva bought me new woollen stockings and new boots with woollen lining in them! And two new dresses and three skirts and two blouses and two sweaters. All my sleeves had been stuck up around my elbows, I have grown so much, and my skirts were way above my knees.

  I have folded everything and put it all away neatly and hung up the dresses. I don’t know how to thank Eva, but she treats me just like her own daughter, so Susan and I both said thank you and she said we were welcome and that was that. Except I am crying again now.

  Sunday, December 12, 1948

  The play is in a few days. I asked Oskar and Jakub whether Jews believed in an afterlife and resurrection. Jakub says we believe in a messiah coming one day and some believe in an afterlife, but the emphasis in Judaism is on today, the here and now. In other words, don’t wait for the world to come. Do your good deeds now — just in case this is all there is. Not too comforting, but practical.

  Speaking of the here and now, my swimming is so good now that I can beat anyone. I tease Jakob and call him old man (at eighteen!) and tell him I’m bound to be faster. Oskar, being only a year older than me, almost fifteen now, has to be gracious in defeat.

  Wednesday, December 15, 1948

  The snow was so heavy today, we all had to walk to school for the pageant tonight. I was very nervous, but since everyone was depending on me I decided, as we trudged through the snow, that it was way too late to quit, so I’d better do my very, very best. Also, when we arrived, I found Barry shaking in a corner of the stage! He had such terrible stage fright that I had to try to calm him down and convince him he could do it — so I had no time to worry about myself. And once on stage it was actually easy! Susan was so wonderful the choir received a standing ovation.

  Lots of people came up to me afterwards and shook my hand and told me how excellent I was in my part as Mary. I almost blurted out to each of them, “I’m Jewish, you know!” But I didn’t, and anyway, I suspect a lot of them already know I’m Jewish and they don’t seem to care that it isn’t a Christian playing Mary.

  On the walk home, Susan told me she had been invited to Sally’s house for lunch next Sunday and to play at Margaret’s house next week, so Eva’s plan has worked. Susan is worried, I think, that I will mind her having other friends, but I really don’t because I have Oskar and the rest of my friends at the Y.

  Something else, though, is making me feel strange, but I’m not sure what it is. A feeling that is nagging at me like a dark cloud threatening rain or even lightning and thunder.

  Thursday, December 16, 1948

  The blizzard is so bad that school has been cancelled and we are staying home today. I’m writing this from the basement. I am in a small room down here — well, not a room, a closet near the furnace — and I am in here with a flashlight. No one knows I’m here.

  I woke up early this morning from the worst dream I have ever had in my whole life, and came right down here. I discovered this place when I first examined the house after I moved here last spring. When the family was in bed, the very first night I was here, I went over every inch of the house to see if there were good hiding places in case anyone came to round up the Jews again. I also checked for a good way to escape.

  I found this little place and kept it in mind should I ever need it. I know that no one i
s coming to round up the Jews today. Well, they couldn’t if they wanted to, there is so much snow. But I need to be here. Where it is safe and quiet and I am alone, because … because last night I dreamed. Last night I was back with Mama, hiding in the cave. She made me stay down there, while she went up and confronted the men hunting us.

  It is fitting for me to be somewhere like this, somewhere small and dark. Alone. Why should I be in a lovely bedroom full of new clothes? Why should I be taking bows in a play? Why should I be alive at all? The last time I was with Mama we were in the cave together. That’s where I belong. I can hear people calling my name. But if I call back they will take me out of here and make me live in that happy bright place upstairs. I shouldn’t be there. I deserve to be here.

  I dreamed about my family last night. Mama and Papa and Abe and Sophie and my aunties and uncles and cousins. Mama and Papa appeared to me just the way they looked after they had been murdered. Eyes with no life in them, just staring …

  I can hear everyone calling to me. They are worried, I can tell. But I can’t move.

  I’m thirsty.

  It must be night. It’s so dark.

  I’ve had another dream.

  This one was so different. Papa was shaking me awake from a nightmare and calling my name — Rozia, Rozia — and saying that as long as I am alive, my family will live too, in my thoughts, in stories I will tell about them, in my heart. He said, We are here watching over you. We haven’t left you, and I’m going to prove it to you.

  I wonder what he means.

  Friday, December 17, 1948, morning

  After I wrote that last entry, my flashlight went out and all was dark. I fell asleep. I was awakened by Susan shouting at the top of her lungs. “I found her! She’s here!”

  And then David was there and he carried me up to my room and Eva made me drink and eat and use the bathroom and take a hot bath. It was 2 a.m. And after I’d had my bath, Susan said to me, “I finally fell asleep. I was so worried, but I fell asleep. And a man came to me in my dreams. He said he was your papa. He said you were hiding in the cellar. He said, Tell Rozia I will always watch over her.”

  We were in our room alone by then, sitting in our beds and no one else heard this. I stared at her.

  “But I dreamed of Papa too, and that is what he said — and he said he would prove to me that he was watching over me.”

  We were both silent for a moment, taking this in. Then Susan asked, “Why did you hide?”

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  “You don’t need to hide anymore,” she said. And she came over to my bed and motioned for me to lie down. I did. She tucked me in just like Mama would have and she said, “You can sleep now.”

  And then I fell asleep.

  And I had another dream. Papa was there. He was lighting the menorah for Chanukah. A miracle, he said. Enough oil for one night and yet it burned for eight days. And our life was a miracle too, full of love and respect. And you are a miracle, Rozia. You survived against all odds. That is something to celebrate. You survived. You beat Hitler. You will carry on. And be happy.

  Friday, December 17, 1948, evening

  No one went out today because of the blizzard, which has been raging for two days. We spent the day reading and playing board games. And eating. I was hungry all day, and Eva always seemed to have a plate of something to offer me that I couldn’t resist. I ate chopped liver and gefilte fish for lunch, a corned beef and pickle sandwich for a snack, and apples and oranges and nuts in between. And now I’m waiting for dinner!

  Oh, the evening edition of yesterday’s paper was finally delivered (late, because of the blizzard) and we found out that the young prince has been named Charles, or as they called him, Bonnie Prince Charlie.

  Sunday, December 19, 1948

  The roads were finally opened today, and I was able to take the bus to the Y. I was still tired and still trying to understand what happened to me after the play, and why. I told Oskar everything. He gave me a big hug and said that I’d been so lucky — to see my family like that. Sometimes he dreams of his family, but it is usually nightmares of their deaths.

  And then he said, “And Jewish people do have hope, because we trust in God even though we know that horrible things happen that we don’t understand. Don’t forget, when we say the prayer for the dead, the prayer is all about life, and we praise and thank God.” I know he is right. I know the prayer for the dead by heart.

  I suppose I could look at things two ways.

  One. I am the unhappiest, unluckiest person in the world because my family was murdered and I was left all alone and I should never be happy, but should spend my life remembering that horror.

  Two. The horror will never leave me. But I am the luckiest person in the world because I have a family that loves me, a best friend forever, a boyfriend who is the sweetest boy in the whole world, and a brand new black coat with a white furry collar.

  I will choose number two.

  Violet (nicknamed Pynut) is spending her first winter off the Reserve, enjoying time with her grandma, even if it’s just doing chores or going fishing. Life in the village is different from what she’s used to. There are challenges, like the scary dog that won’t stop charging at her; but surprises too, like making new friends. And Pynut wants to talk with an older girl who is home from Residential School, because Pynut herself will be going there, far from home, in the fall.

  Winter with Grandma

  Sunday, November 14, 1965

  I turned twelve years old today.

  Grandma gave me a new diary for my birthday. It has a shiny gold lock on it and tiny little keys!

  Oh, here’s Grandma coming up the path! The usual packsack is on her back and her long skirt is sticking out beneath the thick coat that she often wears, like all the women here. She has on that blue cotton scarf with big red flowers on it. That’s her “going to the store” outfit. She always has her walking stick with her too. Good for beating off dogs.

  The first thing I noticed when I moved here is that they dress differently in this village than the Reserve up north where I was living with Mother.

  Evening, after supper

  Grandma brought home some pork chops as a special treat, so we had a very nice supper. Just now she lit the coal-oil lamp for me at the table. She is reading a book with the other lamp beside her bed. I think she is the only grandparent here who can read and write. She just put the last log into the stove for the night. It is time for bed.

  Monday, November 15

  The snow was very deep on the path to the school this morning. I got there and found a note on the door — NO School Today. I was so happy to see that! I ran all the way home. The big black dog next door came up barking and growling at me again. I do not like that dog, yet I have to walk by him each time I come home. He does not bother me when I am going. It’s only when I come back that he charges at me.

  I just finished my homework from Friday. It was a good thing that there was no school today.

  Tuesday, November 16

  Teacher said the oil stove in the school broke yesterday and he had to get it fixed. Too bad it was fixed so quickly. Another day at home would have been nice. At lunchtime, when the black dog came charging at me, he ran into a frozen stump that was buried in the snow. He gave such a loud grunt that I laughed out loud and he came at me again, barking even louder, and he even followed me a ways. I think he didn’t like it when I laughed at him. Then I heard Bill yell, “Blackie!” He was kind of late to call his dog!

  Friday, November 19

  School was fun today. I like the way the class is divided and I love the smell of crayons and Plasticine from the little kids by the window. Since Tall Mike and I are the only ones sitting in the Grade Five row, right next to the blackboard, we have to wipe it and dust off the erasers at the end of each day. Sometimes I wish Tall Mike didn’t sit behind me — he never says anything and his knees are always lifting up the top of his desk.

  So far, I’m liking
my first winter with Grandma. I did not like the Reserve up north where Mother lives. No, that is not true. It’s my stepfather I do not like. I love my half-brother and half-sister. Oh! I forgot her birthday was last week — now she’s six, just a year younger than him! Anyway, I will have to write to Mother tomorrow. After being here with Grandma every summer, I’m glad I finally talked Mother into letting me stay this winter.

  I saw a big beige dog this morning. I had never seen him before. He was sitting on the hill just watching me go by. After school when I came back, he was there again, watching the big black dog charging at me. I just kept walking. Grandma says he probably belongs to the new railway foreman who just moved in to that house on the other side of the hill beside the railway tracks.

  Sunday, November 21

  I am tired. Grandma and I have been getting our winter wood supply all day. She cut some trees down behind our cabin and then we piled the logs on the toboggan and pulled the load home. After that, we put a log on the sawhorse and then we cut it with a handsaw. It is much easier doing it together, with Grandma at the other end of the saw and us pulling and pushing it back and forth. Then she split the wood with an axe and I brought the split wood inside and piled it in the woodbox behind the door. When the box was full, I piled the rest of the split wood outside, close to the door. The sun was shining and the air was crisp. It was really nice. We laugh a lot when we work together.