Читать книгу The fat man - Wolfgang Armin Strauch - Страница 10

4. Chapter

I have long hesitated to go this way. But there are things that burn under the nails. I want the truth, nothing but the truth. Even if it hurts.

Six weeks ago, my great aunt Jadwiga was murdered and immediately afterwards grandfather died. They left me an apartment with memories and many open questions. Unfortunately, Jadwiga told me very little about my mother. Did she want to save me from painful truths?

My grandfather, the great war hero, had died of cirrhosis of the liver without talking to me about his daughter. Only now do I really realize that I am alone. They say that a new door opens when another one closes. Is Andrzej that door? I wish it so much.

I never had a cordial connection to my grandfather, even though I lived with him until my high school graduation. For him, I was a useless evil with which he had to put up with. He behaved accordingly. And after graduating from high school, he saw no reason to treat me particularly well. He probably hoped that I would learn a profession and then move out. Studying meant that I would be on his pocket for another five years. I was a knickknacks figure who was using up his pension unnecessarily.

Once I dared to bring a friend, he insulted him and threw him out of the apartment. He called me a tramp who was just as shameless as my mother. He shouted that she was the cause of his misfortune and that I was a spawn of Satan. With a few personal belongings I moved out. Jadwiga tried everything to get me back, but she failed. Grandfather only became angrier and threatened her.

“Alina is a bastard and has nothing to do with me.”

He threw a bottle of schnapps at her, which she could only avoid with luck. With that he had forfeited it with her. From that moment on she refused to do anything for him. He even had to have the laundry done by a waitress.

When I visited Jadwiga, she made sure he was not there, or she locked her room. My grandfather was required by the youth welfare office to pay alimony. For him I was only a position on his bank statements.

Jadwiga, on the other hand, was something like a surrogate mother for me. But when I once said ‘mom’ to her, she immediately improved me.

“There is only one mother. You must never forget that.”

Nevertheless, she was the anchor in my life. She embodied everything I imagined in a mother. I wanted to be like her. Sometimes she would talk about her. They were very beautiful stories. Sometimes I could see her crying afterwards. I didn’t know why, but then the tears came.

My grandfather hardly ever talked about her. Not even a picture adorned his desk. Instead, a bust of Stalin was displayed there. I did not understand it. I asked Jadwiga as a child if my mother was ugly because we had no picture of her. She assured me that she was a beautiful woman who would have made it far if she hadn’t died. Then she said that I didn’t need a picture. It would be enough that I look in the mirror. I was her exact image.

But everyone needs a mother to lean on when they are sick or just have worries. So, I painted a picture of her that was very similar to the princesses in the fairy tale books. The older I got, the more often I asked grandfather about my mother. Then he always became grumpy and poured even more liquor into himself. I never got answers. Finally, I had come to terms with it.

But when he was out and about, I searched all the cupboards and his desk for clues about her. But I only found documents from the youth welfare office that declared grandfather to be the legal guardian – just like you buy an object and receive a title deed for it. For my mother only the name and date of birth were listed: Eva Klimek, born on 20.07.1923 in Owczarki. In the line for the father's name was "unknown". However, there was a safe deposit box to which only my grandfather had a key. In my dreams I imagined that one day I would open it and find many letters and photos of my mother inside. She would look like the movie stars from Hollywood, and she would have an Indian prince or something at her side.

Since Adam Krawczyk had given me the key to the safe, I carried it with me. But fear held me back from entering the apartment and opening the monster. Are my dreams now shattered? Truth can also hurt.

The bowl slides into the lock. Its rotation triggers a mechanism. I pull the handle and hear air flowing into the interior.

In the upper compartment there is a letter from a lawyer from Krakow. It is addressed to me and about half a year old. The letter asks for urgent contact. A Dr. Nikolai Watzlav reminds of visits and regrets not having met me. This must have been the letter Jadwiga had spoken of. The lawyer points out that because of the obligation of secrecy he is only allowed to talk to the addressee. I put it aside.

The middle compartment is filled with World War II medals, honorary certificates and any documents showing when and where he had fought.

On a picture album of his time as an officer, the Polish eagle was displayed. This was followed by proof of purchase and guarantee certificates for things that had long since given up the ghost. And finally, pictures.

I have trouble recognizing Jadwiga, grandfather and a woman I assume to be my grandmother. Other photos show unknown people. The names on the back tell me nothing. In the last compartment there is a box with the inscription "Miscellaneous", which also makes me fear to be disappointed. But it covers a big grey envelope.

My hands tremble with excitement, because on the front it says: "To be opened by Alina Klimek on her 16th birthday.

A stamp indicates that the letter was notarial sealed in the hospital of the city of Krakow on August 18, 1948. The Polish eagle on the coat of arms looks to me as if it had guarded the envelope the whole time.

Gently I open the letter. I pause for a moment.

An official letter indicates that the objects and documents belonged to the late Eva Klimek. At her express request, they were deposited separately from the rest of the estate in a sealed envelope for her daughter. A copy of the inventory list was deposited with a notary.

I find a stack of postcards from Germany, Norway, France, the USA and England. The texts are in polish language and are in themselves irrelevant. The sender is always "Your loved one". My mother is addressed with "Dearest Eva". The recipient addresses are in Graudenz, Grudziądz or Krakow. In a black velvet bag, I find a silver necklace with a red stone. My heart beats up to the neck.

I open an envelope that is addressed to me.

"Dear Alina,

today is your 16th birthday. I hope that you are doing well and that you are about to fulfill your dreams. Maybe you already have a boyfriend, then I wish you that he is always nice to you. Unfortunately, I am not allowed to see you grow up. You probably don't remember me either, because you were only three years old when I had to go to the clinic. Because my illness is too contagious, I was not even allowed to hold you in my arms when I said goodbye. I was only allowed to look through a pane of glass at my sweet baby.

I hope that your grandfather treats you well. After all you are his granddaughter. But you can be sure that I am always with you, no matter where I will be after my death. Today I am no longer sure if there is a God, because too much has happened. But if there is, I wish that he would protect you from all misfortune and that you would find your happiness.

If your grandfather says bad things about me, just forget them! Unfortunately, I cannot explain to you myself how it was back then. When I was your age, I had the best time of my life. This will surely seem strange to you. After all, Germany had invaded Poland and there was suffering and misery. But I was allowed to experience a great love. And I had friends you could rely on. If you want, you can have the story told to you. I will not be able to write it down.

Therefore, I have enclosed two addresses. Hopefully people are still alive when you read this. Martin Bauer was my great love. You might get a fright because he is a German. But you can trust him.

My grandfather always said that the world is not black and white, but colorful. When he sat among his old books, he liked to sit me on his lap and show me pictures from foreign countries. I always had wanderlust. I wanted to travel the world with Martin.

The necklace and the postcards are among the few mementos I have of him. I have enclosed photos that survived the war. You will also find a letter for him in the yellow envelope.

Please hand him over personally. Let him tell you our story, because I can't do it anymore. It is up to you to judge me. But I am sure that you will understand me. Without thoughts of him I would not have survived the difficult time. Unfortunately, he is not your father.

You are the result of a rape. Right after the war the man is said to have been shot by the advancing troops of the Red Army. Therefore, I do not burden you with his name.

Your grandfather had urged me to put you in a home. But how could I give you away? You are my flesh and blood. Jadwiga somehow convinced him to sign the guardianship papers. She promised me that she would always take care of you. It makes it a little easier for me to leave this life. Give her my regards. I am very grateful to her.

A greeting should also be addressed to your grandfather. Tell him that I have forgiven him. He knows what this is all about.

The second address is from Jolanda Michalska. She accompanied me in hard times and still has some things from my grandfather that I always wanted to pick up once. But unfortunately, everything turned out differently.

I love you.

Your mama,

Krakow, August 17, 1948

On a piece of paper there are names and addresses of two people I have never heard of: Jolanda Michalska from Graudenz and Martin Bauer from Frankfurt (Oder).

Slowly I put the chain around my neck and kiss the red glass stone. Thank you, mom!