THE URN
Chapter 18
written and illustrated
Chapter 18
written and illustrated
by Elaine Troisi
Marin, Rachel, and Maurice
Warsaw
April 29, 2000
Still holding his hands, Marin pulled Maurice from the bench. While tea and biscuits had filled their stomachs and renewed their souls, it was time to get to work. She smiled and addressed Maurice directly, “Well, now that you have joined our mystery heritage club, what’s the next step in our journey?”
Fully recovered from her encounter with the Ghetto Wall, and the last tears drained away with the last of the tea, Rachel added, “ Lead the way, Maurice!”
“Well, then we are off to a JHI, otherwise known as the Emanuel Ringelblum Jewish Historical Institute. That will be our primary stop. They have all the original documents and photos, too. Think of them as the experts on Jewish genealogy.”
Marin sighed, “I feel hopeful that you both will find what you came here for. I'm just your backup support.” She looked up into Maurice’s blue eyes and wished to swim in them. Instead, she smiled and rested her head lightly on his shoulder. He did not seem to mind at all as they walked along the Vistula.
Maurice suggested they stop at Kasinski Square. He wanted them to visit the Warsaw Uprising Monument.
It was already 11:00 a.m. by the time they reached the famed square. “Why don't we grab a quick lunch when we get there?"
The scent of lilacs and flowering trees accompanied them on their way.
They chatted amiably as they walked west along the river and then up to Kasinski Square. Maurice pointed out the historical buildings.
“Your knowledge is amazing,” Marin said. “How do you know so much about all this?” She pointed to their surroundings.
“It's not a big deal. Really. I've traveled all over the world in search of art. I've been here in Warsaw a dozen times. You pick things up. Sometimes facts stick with you. That’s all.”
He paused while they approached Kasinksi Square. They turned a bend. He pointed. “Look there,” he said.
Warsaw
April 29, 2000
Still holding his hands, Marin pulled Maurice from the bench. While tea and biscuits had filled their stomachs and renewed their souls, it was time to get to work. She smiled and addressed Maurice directly, “Well, now that you have joined our mystery heritage club, what’s the next step in our journey?”
Fully recovered from her encounter with the Ghetto Wall, and the last tears drained away with the last of the tea, Rachel added, “ Lead the way, Maurice!”
“Well, then we are off to a JHI, otherwise known as the Emanuel Ringelblum Jewish Historical Institute. That will be our primary stop. They have all the original documents and photos, too. Think of them as the experts on Jewish genealogy.”
Marin sighed, “I feel hopeful that you both will find what you came here for. I'm just your backup support.” She looked up into Maurice’s blue eyes and wished to swim in them. Instead, she smiled and rested her head lightly on his shoulder. He did not seem to mind at all as they walked along the Vistula.
Maurice suggested they stop at Kasinski Square. He wanted them to visit the Warsaw Uprising Monument.
It was already 11:00 a.m. by the time they reached the famed square. “Why don't we grab a quick lunch when we get there?"
The scent of lilacs and flowering trees accompanied them on their way.
They chatted amiably as they walked west along the river and then up to Kasinski Square. Maurice pointed out the historical buildings.
“Your knowledge is amazing,” Marin said. “How do you know so much about all this?” She pointed to their surroundings.
“It's not a big deal. Really. I've traveled all over the world in search of art. I've been here in Warsaw a dozen times. You pick things up. Sometimes facts stick with you. That’s all.”
He paused while they approached Kasinksi Square. They turned a bend. He pointed. “Look there,” he said.
In front of them large bronze soldiers rose up, a battalion it seemed. “Oh, my, they look as though they are escaping from a crumbling building,” Rachel exclaimed in awe, though there was a catch in her throat.
Marin stood immobilized and stared, unable to breathe. Finally, she said, “Maurice, I've seen many monuments, but this one takes my breath away. So many brave Polish soldiers fighting to take back their city from German occupation. It’s so … real … so moving.”
“Sadly, the Polish Home Army fought hard over a few months, but without the expected support of Russian troops, they were ill-equipped. In the end, they failed,” Maurice said sadly.
“So, what happened to the remaining citizens of Warsaw?” Rachel asked.
They stopped at a café with a view of the monument. As they ate, Maurice told them more about the sad history. “After the 1944 uprising, Himmler ordered the razing of Warsaw to the ground, very methodically, block by block. They struck at the very soul of Warsaw, its culture as well as its history. It was as though the city had never existed,” he managed between bites of kielbasa and pierogi. The aroma was sweet and savory, quite the opposite of the bitter story.
“But the people?”
“Well,” he said, "I'm sure you’ve guessed by now that it's bad. Unbelievably bad.” He paused. He saw the horror in their eyes. Truth hurts, but he continued. “More than a half milllion people were collected like trash and deported to death camps like Auschwitz, Treblinka, and Pruszkow. Then 90 percent of the city was leveled.” Maurice paused again.“Many consider this to be the worst of the Nazi atrocity in WWII … death to the citizens and to the city itself.” He stopped abruptly, staring into his empty teacup.
They decided to taxi to the JHI.They sat quietly, each deep in thought. Marin and Rachel tried to understand what they had learned at The Warsaw Uprising Monument, and what Maurice had shared with them. How could such a thing happen? Could it happen somewhere again?
“Oh, no, not another tragic monument?” Rachel’s voice rose, betraying the sadness of the day. They exited the taxi at the Ghetto Heroes Monument.
A huge bas- relief sculpture of seven fighters, one a woman, even her child. It brought tears to Marin’s and Rachel’s eyes. It was built upon the very site of the Jewish Ghetto uprising in 1943.
“So, what happened here?” Rachel asked, a sick feeling growing inside.
“The most inhumane events of history happened here in Warsaw. First, the unsuccessful 1943 uprising by the Jews in the ghetto. Defeated, murdered, the ghetto razed to the ground, followed a year later by the uprising of the citizens of Warsaw. Oh, the cruelty of the Nazis!” he paused, his voice rough. He looked into Rachel’s dripping eyes. He hesitated. “Rachel?”
“I'm okay, Maurice. I need to know,” she insisted.
“The Jews were murdered or sent to Auschwitz or Birkenau and forced labor camps.” His voice was heavy with emotion. “Sorry … I can't find the right words.”
Marin added,” Because there are none.” She took Maurice’s hand in hers and squeezed.
“There is one thing we need to remember about the Jews in1943 and the Polish citizens in 1944 … the incredible bravery. And, more importantly, Rachel, your parents may have escaped prior to the 1943 uprising.” She tried to smile.
Maurice said, “Let's hope JHI reveals the truths.”
Nearby they said prayers to the fallen, before entering the JHI to begin a journey of their own.
At the Ringelblum archives, Maurice and Rachel met with helpful genealogists who advised them to search by family surnames first.
It was tedious work, yet fascinating at the same time, pulling together shreds of the past to understand the present. An intricate story told through documents and newspaper articles. If lucky, photos would be the day’s treasure!
They photocopied everything they found over the next few hours. Rachel was successful, while Maurice kept running into roadblocks.
Finally, after several hours, Rachel exclaimed, “I know how my mother got to Paris! She was not alone in her journey,” she said excitedly. “I have so many photocopies to paw through tonight. But I'm too exhausted right now to continue.” She sighed.” And my tired old eyes are blurry,” she said, rubbing them. Maurice, did you find anything at all.”
“I'm frustrated. Perhaps I jumped to conclusions about how my mother acquired the podzerka box.”
“Maurice,” Rachel said, “I am so sorry. Perhaps your heritage story lies in the Jewish archives in Paris.”
“You are right. I think we have overstayed our welcome here anyway, at least for today,” he said, looking at his watch. After a pause, “Where would you ladies like to go for dinner?” He could feel his spirits rise at the thought of dinner with Marin.
“Not me. Do you two mind if I leave you to dine without me? I'll just order in if I feel hungry.” Rachel yawned. “I need rest.”
Marin said, “Only if you are certain you’re okay?” Rachel nodded.
They returned to the hotel. While Rachel rested, Marin and Maurice readied for dinner.
They entered “Polka Restaurant” in Old Town. Marin’s eyes widened. “This is not what I expected!” she blurted.” Strange, tantalizing aromas greeted her nostrils, signaling that a gastronomic delight awaited! The décor, with flickering candles dancing on the walls made for romance. The colorful wall paintings were inspired. But before she could say anything else, Maurice grabbed her arm and propelled her across the room.
“Magda, my dear,” he said putting his hand on a woman's shoulder. She abruptly turned to see who was accosting her. She let out a joyous scream and put her hands on Maurice’s shoulders, pulling him close. She planted kisses on Maurice’s cheeks. Her lips lingered on his!
“Maurice, my darling,
how long has it been?” she asked, shaking a mass of lovely blond curls. She smelled of flowers and a myriad of herbs and spices. A haunting combination.
“Too long, Magda. I'm so glad to see you, and I'd like to introduce you to my …” he paused, “uh, my friend, Marin. And Marin, meet Magda, artist and master chef, as well as proprietor of this fine establishment.”
Magda aimed
a quick wink at Maurice while extending her hand to Marin. She pulled her in for a kiss on her cheeks, whispering, “He's quite a catch, Marin, and I should know!” Marin blushed to her toes.
Later, during dinner, Marin exclaimed, “This food might be the best I've ever had. It's unique but exquisite, like your friend, Magda. What is this delicious buttery dish called?” she asked, trying to sound casual.
Maurice smiled. “it's called kapusta zasmazana,” he laughed. “Now you try to say it,” he challenged.
“Believe me, I would if I could,” she said, avoiding the challenge. “Indeed, it is delicious. It's very cream,but I don't know the main ingredient. Hmmm, I'm puzzled,” she admitted.
“Will you be surprised if I tell you it’s cabbage?”
“But it's so creamy and rich!”
“It takes patience to make it, and lots of butter!”
“And I put my own spin on it by adding fennel, bacon, and beet root,” Magda explained, leaning over Maurice's shoulder. Her breasts were a little too close to his face.
When Magda left them, there was an uncomfortably long silence while Maurice poured more wine.
Finally, Marin broke the silence. “Ahem,” she paused, trying to find the right words. “I gather you two are more than just friends,” her eyes were cast down to hide her rising jealousy.
Maurice took her chin, turning her face up to meet his. “Were,” he said. “We were very close, but that was years ago.” He felt the urge to erase the doubt he saw in her eyes. “Yes, we had a fling when I was a student in Madrid. She was an undergrad there. I was working on my doctorate. We weren't, uh, together very long, Marin.”
“You don't have to explain your personal life to me,” she replied testily.
“But I do, Marin. I do.”
The stars were brilliant, like fireflies in the night. Maurice called for a carriage ride through Old Town, but Marin was not aware of the sites or the bright lights. She was too busy diving into Maurice’s blue eyes. She finally admitted, “I'm afraid I'm falling …”
He put a finger to her lips. “Don’t worry,”
he whispered hoarsely, “I'll catch you.” Then she was in his arms.
One hour later, they arrived back at the hotel. “I'm nervous, and my belly feels … well, jiggly!” Marin admitted.
“Oh, no, did my kisses do that to you?” he laughed. “Or was it the cabbage?”
She laughed, too. “Be serious now,” she rebuked. “How do we tell Rachel?”
The door flew open. “Tell me what? Oh, never mind,” she said, excitement running through her like a flash flood. She jumped up and down. Finally, she thrust a sheaf of papers in Maurice’s face, wrapping her arms around him and squeezing so tightly that he was breathless. The photocopies floated to the floor.
Marin picked up one, skimming it.
She clasped her hand over her mouth in utter shock. “Can this be what I think it is? ”
Rachel stammered, not letting go of Maurice, “It's about time you came back, little brother!” And she kissed both cheeks, oblivious to the confusion on his face.
I'm listening! I'd like to know if you feel engaged in this story. I won't be back again until December 5th with Chapter 19. So, hang in there! I'm giving me and my readers a break for Thanksgiving! . You won't have time to read anyway!
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