Briar Rose (22 page)

ironies in Potocki's story were too many and too overpo

How could anyone have a sense of them?

Going back at last to the drawing room, she passed Ma they did not speak. Indeed, except to refuse the food, n

71

his ful vn to

ley

,n, an

:he in

ry, led to

ur-

ier of he

1g.

)ut of

Briar Rose

Page 117

179

them had said a word the entire time. It was as if-Becca thought-they had been turned to stone by the telling.

"Wrong fairy tale," she whispered to herself, shaking her head.

When Potocki finished the story, his head dropped to his chest.

He sat so long in that pose, Becca was suddenly afraid that he had passed out. Or died. She stood and went over to him, touching his hand tentatively.

He jerked awake, took one look at her, and whispered the-name, "Ksi~iniczka!" Then just as suddenly, he excused himself. "Oh, my dear, my dear, you do look so much like her. How could I have missed it?" He reached over to the table by his chair and rang the silver bell standing on it.

The housekeeper came back at once, flooding him with Polish.

He spoke back rapidly, then turned to Becca and Magda. "She worries so. And perhaps she is right to. I tire easily. But that is nothing. Just my age. The Potockis are a long-lived family.

Unless they are cut down in their prime. She says that dinner has been sitting on the table for ten minutes already. She is very cross with us. Come." He had a little trouble getting out of the chair, but managed at last and, using his silver-headed walking stick, led them down the hall to the dining room where a feast waited.

Once they had been served, Magda nodded at Becca as if asking permission, then turned to their host. "I do not wish to be offensive sir, you have been so very kind. But my friend Rebecca has come so very far to hear the truth."

"And you wonder, child, if I have told it, or if I have added something theatrical for the effect?"

"No, no, no," Becca said. "I think no such thing. Magda, how could you?"

"Dear child, she is right. I am, by my own admission, a playwright and a liar. You gave me all the clues, you know: the ring, the town, the camp-even your grandmother's last name." He ticked them off on his fingers. "I could be making all this up. Yet another fairy tale."

Magda laughed. "And you like to play games."

"Games?" Becca asked.

"Yes. When you are my age, there is little else to do. I have outlived all my friends-the ones who made it through the war. And

180

Jane Men

all my desires. My dreams at night are not pleasant ones. 0

to remember being a hero, you know. I never got over his

"Whose death?" Becca asked. "Alan's?"

"Oh no," Magda said. "He was in love with Aro Avenger."

"Then it is true," Becca said, turning first to look at Mag at Potocki. "All of it?"

"Of course," Magda said. "He was the first to say her Ksi~iniczka."

"In the forest?" Becca said, still looking puzzled.

Page 118

"Last night, at the hotel," Magda said.

"I think . . ." Becca shook her head at Magda, "I think to play games, too."

Magda grinned. "It is not his age, you know; it is tha Polish. If one does not play games, then there is too much about. Is that not so, Josef Potocki?"

"That is so, lovely Magda." He kissed his hand at her the

"But you asked about truth, young ones. 'What is truth? sai Pilate; and would not stay for an answer.'

"We stay," said Magda.

"We stayed," corrected Becca.

"And I told you more of the truth than I have ever told I gave Ksiginiczka the breath of life and she in turn gave How could I not tell you the truth of that?"

"You said you were not a hero, that there were no hero Becca. "But I think you were a hero. And so was my Ge He smiled. "Your own American writer Emerson said:

is not fed on sweets but daily his own heart he eats.' If definition you can accept, then I will tell you I have dined hard on my own heart. And it is bitter."'

Almost on cue the housekeeper brought in the dessert, in individual dishes.

"But no more talk of heroism. Let us eat Madame G

cr6me caramel while it is still fresh. I taught it to her year now that I can no longer cook it myself, she does the hono must admit-better than mine."

As they were leaving the house, Becca took Potocki's hand honestly think she remembered. Not you, not my grandf

Briar Rose

181

any of it consciously. It had all become a fairy tale for her. She must have told us the story of Briar Rose a million times. But it was all there, buried."

"Just as well it was buried, my dear. I am glad she did not have my dreams." He bent over and kissed her hand. "Write to an old man now and then. I think I am your step-grandfather, in everything but name."

"Do you want your ring back?" Becca asked. "Or your photograph?"

"Oh no. I gave it to her as corroboration for her story. And now it belongs to you for yours."

He smiled slowly. "Your grandfather was the real hero, you know. He dived into that pit of hell and brought her out of it alive. I can think of no one braver."

Magda stood on tiptoe and kissed him quickly on the cheek. "I can," she said. "Sometimes living takes more courage than dying."

And they left.

The next morning Becca drove them back to the field by the Narew.

They got out, closed the doors quietly, and walked along the muddy road.

"Was it here, do you suppose?" Becca asked.

"Here-or close by."

They stared over the embankment down into the flat, grey water, then crossed the muddy road to stand in the field.

"Listen," Becca said.

Page 119

Magda listened. "What is it?"

"Trees in the wind. The river going by. Birds."

"And you expected what? Screams? Cries? The chatter of machine guns?"

Becca shrugged. "I didn't expect it to be so ... so quiet ... so peaceful."

"A grave is always quiet. Always filled with peace."

Becca nodded.

"Unlike dreams," Magda said.

They got in the car and drove away.

They drove back to Warsaw without speaking, both lost in the story. The rest of the day in Auntie's apartment their conversations were full of the inconsequentials of planning the trip home.

I

182

Jane Men

"You found what you were looking for?" Auntie asked Only once.

"I found what I was looking for," Becca answered.

"She found more," Magda said.

"And less," Becca said. For the first time she realized that s not really know how Eve became Gitl, or if Gid had bee grandmother's real name. And she realized, too, that she kn that her grandfather's name had been Aron Mandlestein and had been a medical student. "And a hero."

She hadn't meant it aloud.

"Poland is fdled with heroes," Auntie Wanda said. "S

deep."

"Auntie you read too many of the western books," Magd laughing.

That was the last they spoke of it.

VA,ile they got ready for bed, Becca. turned suddenly to

"Your Auntie is wrong, you know."

"Wrong? About what?"

"You snore," Becca said. "A little. I thought you should

"She snores, too," Magda said, an impish smile lighting h

"That is why we do not share a room. But it is not polite say to strangers. Especially Americans, who expect everyone t each in a single room. Yes?"

"My older sisters shared a room," Becca said. "And secret were jealous that I had a room to myself, even if it was the s room in the house, not much bigger than a large closet."

"Smaller than this room?" Magda said, gesturing.

Becca smiled sheepishly. "A little."

Magda climbed into the bed and pulled the covers up to h Hesitating a moment, Becca sat down on her bed. "I neve know any of my sisters' secrets and thought I was missin,~

thing. And now I know my grandmother's-and I'm not sur to know. Should I tell them even/thing at home? Do you

Potocki would want me to? Is it better to let some things
Page 120

"Let sleeping princesses lie?" Magda laughed. "We are a ing princesses some time. But it is better to be fully awak you think?"

Becca considered for a moment. "Better for who?"-

~e did

1 her only at he

p say

feet

Isaid,

Igda.

face.

~ this

;leep

[hey

Illest

:hin.

)t to

)me-

vant

Mr.

C

tep-

n't

Briar Rose

183

"For whom? I know this grammar. But I do not understand the question," Magda said. "Perhaps my English is not so good after all."

"Good grammar, bad English. Or rather, it may be your American that's lacking," Becca said.

"Americans do not want to be awake?"

"Oh," Becca said, "we like the truth all right. When it's tidy."

"Truth is never tidy. Only fairy tales. This is a very Polish notion.

And you are Polish, you know."

"I know now," Becca said. "Good night, friend Magda."

"Good night, American princess." Magda turned over and was soon asleep but Becca lay awake and thinking until nearly dawn.

The plane ride back was more than two hours late, but Becca slept almost the entire way. The Potocki ring nestled between her breasts on the gold chain Magda had insisted she buy. Even in her sleep her hand went to it.

Customs in New York was slow and she almost missed her connection to Bradley, but with some quick footwork she managed to make it just before they closed the doors on her flight.

Page 121

She sank gratefully into her seat and got immediately into a deep conversation with the man across the aisle about late flights. It quickly turned into a discussion of her trip to Poland.

"Is it pretty?" he asked, "I've never been there."

"Not pretty," she said. "Not to me. But ... well ... haunting."

He nodded as if he understood. "Lots of old stories buried in those cities and towns, I bet."

She thought about the mud-colored street running past the ruins of the castle; about the old woman pointing them away from the men in the cloth caps who had threatened them. She thought about the burnished cheeks of the middle-aged priest and the way Potocki's hands shook on the silver-headed cane. She thought of the names of the camps as Potocki had spoken them-Sachenhausen, Dachau, Chelmno-like a horrible poem. She thought about a pit filled with corpses and a young hero bringing his bride-to-be up out of it into the clean air. She thought about the kiss of life. She thought about the silence of the field. She thought about what she would tell her family.

184

Jane Men

"Lots," she said, and ordered a club soda with a lime frorr passing drink cart.

When she de-planed, she searched the gate area for her parents then she searched baggage claim.

She was surprised to see walking towards her.

"Meeting someone?" she called out.

"You," he said, pushing his glasses back on his nose. "I a, your parents to let me pick you up.

Your father said somet]

about fast work. He's a funny man."

"He's a good man," Becca said. "And occasionally too funn) his own good."

Stan grinned. "And did you get your story? Find your ca: Meet your prince?"

Becca held out her suitcase to him and he took it easily. "Yes yes and yes," she said. "I found out most of the story, but not

"Family stories are like that," he said suddenly seriously, lea toward her.

"And the castle. It's called 'schloss.'

"Really? Am I talking to a princess then?" He leaned even fu: into the story. "I'm not sure if the paper can afford a princes!

even if it's politically correct to hire one."

"And I'm not sure. . . " Becca said slowly, working hard to her smile under control, "if I have any royal blood. But if you me, I might just start to wake up. That's the way it goes in the tale." She said it lightly so she could turn it into a joke il had to.

He dropped the bag and stepped the rest of the way towarc Taking her in his arms, he gave her a long and very satisfactory When it stopped, she whispered, "It ends happily, you k even though it's awfully sad along the way."

"Then let's start at the beginning," he said, picking the b, again, and reaching for her hand. "With once upon a time. Fr that fast a worker. We'll get to happily ever after eventually.

Page 122

0

"And as he did so, giving her breath for breath, she awoke saying 'I am alive, my dear prince.

You have given me back the world.' After she was married, she had a baby girl, even more beautiful than she. And they lived happily ever after. "

"The prince, too, Gemma? " asked Becca. "I don't think I was ever really clear on that point. "

She had come into the room just at the story's end, when Benjamin had taken his linger out of his mouth and offered it to his great-grandmother. Sarah was already fast asleep. She rarely made it all the way through the tale. She was only two.

"The prince, too, " said Benjamin, offering his flnger to Becca as well.

She laughed and shook her head.

"I want to hear Gemma say it."

"You are a troublemaker. You always were, " Gemma said, picking up the sleeping Sarah.

"No, Gemma, you have me mixed up with Sylvia. Or Shana. I'm the good sister, rememberV'

"That's not what Mama says. " Benjamin popped his flnger back into his mouth.

Sleepily Sarah opened her eyes. "Seepin BootV' she asked.

"Happily ever after, " Gemma said flrmly, "means exactly what it says.

And one child in her arms, the other at her heels, she went directly up the stairs.

F

AUrHOR!S NOTE

We know this about Cheln-mo: that 320,000 people died there altogether, gassed in the vans.

From February 22 to April 2, 1942, there were 34,073 exterminated. From May 4 to 15 another 11,680