Читать книгу POMORSKA STREET - SARA APPLEBAUM - Страница 4

This afternoon I have to go to the office. I’ve arranged to talk to my boss and stop in at the Human Resources department to fill out the leave application. I’m figuring about three weeks for now.

It will be a busy afternoon. I stop at the bank and go through the Safe Deposit Box, count out some more cash to cover what I will need and deposit most of the money in a new account. I’ll be able to bank on line and keep track of the expenses of the project. I take the remaining manila envelope, determined to look through the documents carefully tomorrow.

I look at my TO DO list.

Arrange for a leave

Withdraw some walking around money

Get a couple of decent suitcases, one bag,

one carry on

Buy a few non-wrinkling traveling outfits

Get a good pair of walking shoes

Contact Mr. Walenski

Make Airline reservations

Confirm Hotel reservations

Download Skype on my I-phone so I can

stay in touch with grandma

I was amazed that grandma knew about Skype. My grandmother the geriatric computer “maven”! Who knew?

Things go pretty well at the office. I finish at my desk and close out a few matters. I Email some web addresses of research sources to my personal Email so I can access them easily, if I should need to, while I’m away.

I check my in box and see a response from the Musee Royal de l’Armee et D’histoire Militaire in Brussels. They’ve identified the soldier’s uniform in the picture that I Emailed them. It’s definitely Belgian, but old the picture isn’t sharp enough to read the unit patch.

I save the message as new, on my personal Email, and make sure the office computer is clear of any items not related to my work. Then I shut it down.

I head for Rudy’s office. Office may be overstating it. It’s not that much more than a cubicle, like mine. Anyway, Rudy’s out, so I leave him a note.

At home I settle in for several hours of close examination of the documents and charts.

Just as I’m about to make a cup of tea and stretch a bit after all that sitting, the phone rings and it’s Rudy. I give him a brief recap of what I’m going to be up to and he offers to help in any way he can. I have yet to get the travel plans finalized. He insists he’ll take me to the Airport and wishes he could come too. I promise to keep him posted.

I look through my calendar and see what appointments I have booked, what I need to cancel, what I need to move up and take care of before I leave. A haircut is one; maybe I’ll treat myself to a French Manicure too, while I’m there.

I walk over to my closet to see what I should take with me. It’s warm here but I’m not sure how it will be in Europe. I walk over to my laptop and click on AOL Weather and enter Warsaw, Poland. Not too bad. I’ll need to bring clothes I can layer.

My raincoat is light and can do double duty for evenings. I consider a new pair of comfortable walking shoes, other than sneakers. I guess some shopping is in order. I’ll start with the luggage. I’ll stop by Macy’s tomorrow.

I remember the TravelSmith catalog that came a few days ago and find a few things I can use and order them on-line.

Some of the stuff in the fridge needs to be used up or thrown out. I make a big salad with whatever fresh veggies are in the crisper. That uses up the lettuce and tomatoes and other greens. I also take out a Lean Cuisine dinner.

My neighbor, Jan, drops in and asks about the Email I sent her. She’s full of questions and hasn’t had dinner. That means I can use up two dinners and my super size salad will do both of us nicely.

She goes to her apartment and comes back with a bottle of wine, Fetzer, Pinot Noir. It’s a lovely light red. It ought to go well with just about anything, even Lean Cuisine! I ask her to take any of the perishables left in the refrigerator that she can possibly use, when she goes home. Otherwise I’ll have to throw them out. I don’t want moldy cottage cheese, runny yogurt or deteriorating turkey, smelling up the fridge when I get back.

The wine relaxes me and I drift off to sleep shortly after Jan leaves.

****

I awaken in the morning with a lot to do, and start by planning out my day. The first thing is to call grandma. The phone rings five times before she picks up and I’m about to hang up when she answers.

I ask her if I can come around eleven. Her answer startles me. She seems surprised to hear from me and surprised that I’m coming over. I assume that her memory is being affected by the medication she’s taking and don’t think too much about it.

It turns out that Lucille and I both arrive at grandma’s house at the same time. After the upsetting scene we had the last time we were together, I wish she’d have picked another time to come. I’m annoyed that I can’t speak openly with grandma, as I wanted to. I figure I may as well tell Lucille my “cover story” and I do…to the expected effect.

She’s definitely annoyed. “You pick a great time to leave the country, with grandma sick!” The irritation is evident in my voice but I try to keep it in check as I answer.

“Look, it’s been a long time since I’ve had a decent vacation and this has been in the works for a very long time.”

Just then grandma breaks in and asks, “So where will you be going?”

I’m so startled that I lose my train of thought! What exactly is she up to? Grandma then turns toward the kitchen and asks “How about a cup of tea?”

After staying as short a time as I could get away with, I beg off and say I have lots of errands to run, and I do.

By tonight I plan to have the itinerary arranged, the reservations and plane tickets taken care of, and the communication with my contact in Warsaw, Mr. Walenski, done.

I lay out a few of the documents about which I wanted to talk to grandma and write out the questions to ask her, so I won’t forget.

One of the papers is a document from the International Tracing Service, I.T.S. It is dated 9.5.49. Is that September 5^th or May 9^th? In Europe the day goes first and then the month and year, I think. Here it’s month, day and then year.

I wonder why she made this inquiry to the I.T.S. and who Salma Weiss is. Could that be her real name? Is Sara her Jewish name and Sally a nickname?

The birth year is the same as grandma Sal’s, 1930. Sal could be a nickname for Salma rather than Sally. Was Weiss her maiden name?

I realize I never actually knew her maiden name, I just knew her by Berman, her married name which she kept after her divorce. The date in 1949 was apparently just before my grandmother entered the United States.

There is also a document in German. It says:

PERSONAL AUSWEIS

Britische Zone

Name - WEISS, SALMA

File no. - F 18-108

BD - 1930

BP - Lublin

Nationality - Polish Jew

Next of Kin (blank)

Book - B.P. 250

Source of information -

Central Jewish Committee/AJDC

Bergen-Belsen Poland, Warsaw

Last Known Location-

Szczecin, Zupansk 17

The rest of the lines are blank except Remarks.

It says IN TRANSIT.

There is another document in German. It has an address, Rheinallee 26. I research it briefly and the German is fairly easy to translate.

It appears to be an identity card carried by Germans. It has the same name, Salma Weiss.

If it is grandma, how did she get from Poland to Germany and why? If Weiss isn’t her maiden name, was she married before she arrived in the U.S.? She would have been about 19, but that’s certainly not impossible.

I look at the picture again and wish I could talk to grandma now, but it’s probably better to do it in person than on the phone.

My order from TravelSmith was scheduled for next day shipping and it has already arrived. It looks perfect for this trip. The outfits are simple, all of them coordinate. They can be hand washed and dried overnight and don’t need ironing, at least according to the brochure.

In case of a cold snap, I’m taking along a heavy pair of gray wool slacks and a good sweater that will fit under my raincoat. I’ve also bought a pair of nice black boots. I intend to travel as light as I can.

I picked up a small folding umbrella that will fit in my bag. I decided not to bring all those documents with me, but have scanned them into my laptop so I can have access anytime I need them.

I make sure I’ve got a European charger and converter for my phone and laptop. I’m still looking for a small hand held scanner to use in Europe. I may have to buy one when I get there. Come to think of it, maybe I don’t need to. There’s sure to be one I can use in Mr. Walenski’s office.

My list of questions lays on top of the computer, ready for my next visit with grandma Sal. Almost everything is ready for the trip and I’m really beginning to look forward to it.

****

I slept late this morning and realize I’ll be late at Grandma’s, so I call her. My mother picks up the phone and says she’s taking grandma for a follow up doctor’s visit. It surprises me that grandma didn’t tell me that the appointment was scheduled, since she was expecting me to visit.

I ask mom if it’s possible to talk to grandma for a bit before they leave. She calls her to the phone.

“Grandma, can you talk?”

“What do you mean? Of course, with you I can always talk.”

“What I mean is, are you alone…is Mom standing nearby?”

Grandma seems flustered and responds, “So ask already!”

I launch into my questions. “That picture that was in the envelope you gave me, it was of a little girl and a soldier. Is that who you’re looking for? Are they relatives?”

There is a moment of silence and then she answers, “No.”

Now I’m the one who’s flustered. Mom must have re-entered the room and grandma is being evasive. I try again. “Is that who I’m supposed to find?”

I feel like I’m in the Abbott and Costello routine “Who’s on First?”. I figure these questions are going to have to be answered in person. I tell my grandmother that I will stop by this evening and I’ll bring something for dinner.

I figure I’ll go through the documents more deliberately since I have some time now. Though I’m a researcher by trade, the format of the genealogical data is unfamiliar to me. Therefore I have to go through the papers slowly.

Some of the documents are in Polish, others in Russian and yet others in German. The style of writing is unfamiliar and sometimes it’s in an antiquated script that is hard to decipher.

There are index lists of marriages, births and deaths, pretty straightforward. Some old records are in not lists but prose. The Napoleonic format goes something like this: So and so appeared before me this such and such date and reported the birth of the child…so and so.

Sometimes documents include various other facts, genealogical gems, like the names of parents, their ages, the work they did, sometimes the towns they were from or the fact that they were continuing residents of such and such a town. Sometimes they reported a death and the cause of death. On occasion they listed witnesses to a birth or marriage or death and the named persons were identified as various relatives.

The terms they used aren’t modern terms and the on-line translation programs I use are often only minimally informative. I looked up one term, ”apopleksja.” The j is pronounced like a y. The word is pretty similar in English, actually. Apoplexy is an old term for a stroke.

I see family names that aren’t familiar to me and see that the possible spellings of a given name have a great many variations. I found Isaac spelled in at least a half dozen other ways: Itzhak, Ick, Icek, Izaac, Ytzik and Izak.

Rarely does every document for a given person use the same name. There is one American document for a Matt who is apparently the same man as Mathew, Matthias and Mieczyslaw.

I realize I’m going to have to learn about these things and hope that Mr. Walenski is up to the job of educating me.

My brain needs a rest and I flip on the TV for something mindless to watch, not hard to do, and I quickly doze off for a bit.

When I wake, I realize that it’s time to head to grandma’s house. I stop at Gelson’s Market to pick up a few things that I think Grandma will like and head out.

I have my list of questions. I’m annoyed that I have to use subterfuge with my family. It complicates things. I don’t lie very well. My face always gives me away. I’d be terrible at poker.

As I arrive, I see an unfamiliar car in the driveway. It turns out that it belongs to the woman who is staying with grandma each night. I hope I brought enough food.

It happens not to be no problem as grandma is already eating her dinner. As I place the items from Gelson’s on the table, grandma asks, “What’s that?”

“Don’t you remember? I said I’d bring a bite to eat. It’s no problem, you can have the leftovers for lunch tomorrow.”

I take out just enough of the Chinese chicken salad for me and plate it, and then sit down and join grandma. I ask the woman, whose name is Linda, if she’ll join us. She declines and tells me she’s already eaten, then goes to the living room and busies herself with something or other.

I start with some small talk and ask how her check up went. She’s vague so I pry a little. She said the blood pressure was not so good and shows me a vial of new pills the doctor prescribed. I’m not familiar with the name of the medication and make a mental note to look it up.

I ask how she feels and it’s the same “fine, fine” I usually get from her.

Then I offer to make some tea and go about it as I ask grandma about the picture.

“Yes, the picture” she says.

“So, do you know who the people are?” She answers, ”Yes”.

I wait for more.

“Mr. Walenski knows all about the papers and the picture. The people in it are probably dead by now, but I hope someone is still left from the family. It’s very important to me that someone be left. It’s my doing, you see.”

I see the agitation in her face, and I’m concerned. I suggest that with her medical problems, maybe this isn’t the time for me to be gone.

That upsets her even more. “I’ve already waited too long, don’t you see? I want you to go no matter what, you hear? If something happens to me, you have to finish it. I’ll rest easier.”

“Grandma, what are you talking about, rest easier? Did the doctor say something?”

She shushes me and says, “Eat your dinner and then let me have a cup of tea, if you don’t mind.”

I’m no longer comfortable with asking her more questions. All I can think of is, just how bad is it? I cut short the visit and decide to call my mother as soon as I can. She took grandma to the doctor. Maybe she knows something.

I get her voice-mail and leave a message asking her to call me back on my cell phone if I’m not at home.

I start the car and my mind is abuzz with questions and worry. My phone rings but I can tell from the identifying ring tone that it’s not my mother, so I ignore it. It can wait. I’m almost home when the phone rings again. This time it’s her. I pull over and answer the call.

“Mom, I just left grandma’s house and I’m worried about her. Did the doctor say anything to you about her condition? I saw that he gave her a new prescription. “Did you go in with her when she saw the doctor?”

Mom’s response is a little testy. “She’s an adult, of course I didn’t go in with her!”

“Grandma seemed a little forgetful tonight. Have you noticed anything like that lately?”

She sighs and says, “She’s eighty years old, Clara. What do you expect?”

“So she has been forgetful for a while then? It’s not just since the hospitalization?”

Mom is a bit agitated and seems unsure. “I don’t know, maybe a little more than usual”, she answers.

“Mom, when you take her for her next check up, I think you should speak to the doctor about the forgetfulness. Maybe it’s related to the stent. I think you should talk to him. Just because she’s eighty, it doesn’t mean it couldn’t be something else beside her age, and please let me know what he says.”

“A fine time for you to go gallivanting around the world!” my mother accuses.

That pretty much matches my own thoughts so I don’t reply. I try to comfort my mother with, “It’s probably nothing.” I end the conversation and pull back into traffic and head for home.

Grandma’s been lucky with her health and been able to maintain her independence so far. Is it about to change? Some forgetfulness at eighty is not unusual but I worry that it might be something else. Maybe more than one thing is going on.

I wonder if her doctor would talk to me. With strict patient privacy laws, he probably won’t. I wish I weren’t leaving so soon; I’d try to get grandma to let me go with her the next time she sees the doctor. I’ll have to rely on mom.

****

Jan drops by and I remember that her grandfather passed away recently and I seem to recall that he’d had a stroke. I broach the subject of my grandmother and the stent she recently had put in and the worry that there could be complications.

She tells me that her grandfather had surgery for an aneurysm and something happened during surgery. He almost died, but they managed to save him. Unfortunately he then had a massive stroke and died a few weeks later. The story is of no comfort to me.

I clean up a few dishes and go to check my Email. There is one from Mr. Walenski. He advises that I bring proof of my relation to my grandmother and a letter from her that gives me permission to access information about her.

He has attached such a statement, in Polish and English, for grandma Sal to sign and suggests I have it notarized as soon as possible. It will simplify our visits to the Archives.

It has something to do with a Polish privacy laws. In order to access information less than a hundred years old, you have to prove you have a legal right to do so.

I should probably locate my birth certificate too.

I search my mind for a person I know who is a Notary Public and who would be willing to do me the favor of coming to my grandmother’s place to get this done. Maybe I could ask one of the paralegals from Martin and Jones. I’ve done quite a bit of work for their law firm.

If that doesn’t work out, I’ll take grandma to the bank where the Safety Deposit Box is, if she’s up to it. They’re sure to have a Notary on duty. In fact the bank may be better. Grandma may like a short outing.

I reply to Walenski’s Email, thank him and update him as to my flight information and expected time of arrival at the Warsaw airport. He said that he, or his son Albert, will pick me up and take me to the hotel.

While I’m at it, I send Rudy my departure information. He said he wants to take me to L.A.X. and it should work out because I’m taking a late flight.

I go back to various websites with information about stents and surgery results and risks. It leaves me in a state of unease.

I check my bank account on line and pay a few bills, including those that will come due during my absence. I’ve put a hold on my mail at the post office. I’ve given Jan an extra key to my place in case of emergency and make a note to myself to shut off the water to my place.

A friend of mine had a flood in her house because of the failure of a two or three dollar part in her toilet tank. It was a mess! They had to take the place down to the studs because of the mold and gunk that resulted from the leak.

I try to anticipate all that I need to, but what troubles me most is my grandmother’s condition. I can’t do anything about that.

I think about the kind of woman she is, so self-reliant, independent and gutsy. What were the years like before she made it to America? I wonder how she managed it, young and alone.

What is so important that she must accomplish it, or make it right, before she dies? What guilt is she still carrying around that she has to make up for it after all these years?

Is it guilt that she survived and others didn’t?

Is it something more, something that she was forced to do by her circumstances, something she had to do to survive, I ask myself.

I’m amazed that we never talked about these things. She never volunteered the information and I didn’t ask. I’ve been absorbed with myself, and nothing much beyond myself, and my work. I’m not happy about that.

I hope there’s still time; that she can see her quest achieved. It seems to matter immensely to her, and therefore it matters to me.