“This wouldn’t have happened if you’d told me who you were right away, Mr. Malkevich,” she said. “Call me Nesha.”
She swabbed the cuts on his face with antiseptic. He smelled of soap. “When was the last time you saw Goldie?”
“I was seven or eight.”
Rebecca stopped a moment, surprised.
“We lived far apart in Poland. They were city girls, we were country cousins. Didn’t visit often. Goldie left for Argentina when I was nine. Then the war broke out in September. For five years I was isolated from the world. When I was fifteen, my Uncle Sol found me and brought me to California.”
So this was the root of his melancholy. “You were very young. How did you survive?”
“Who says I survived?”
She took in an involuntary breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude.”
He watched her face with glazed unseeing eyes. He was disconnected from his body, ignoring her ministrations. “A Nazi patrol pulled into our town. Ordnungspolizei, order police, though I didn’t know it then. I was playing deep in the woods with a Polish friend. By the time we got back, all the Jews were being marched in this ragged line into the square. I saw my mother in the line holding my little brother’s hand, my older brothers were somewhere behind. She was turning around looking for me. I started to run to her, waving my arms, but before I could get close, our eyes met. She shook her head frantically — I didn’t know what to do. She had such a look on her face. I’d never seen her look like that, filled with terror. Some women were wailing, and that look on her face — I held back.
“A Nazi officer stood in the centre of the square, directing the chaos. His uniform was clean and pressed, his leather boots shined. He was a giant — immaculate, the handsomest man I’d ever seen. We were all small and dirty in comparison. We were nothing. Even the visor on his cap — it threw a shadow over half his face. Anonymous, mysterious power. I was too far away to see his features, but the aura of fear after all these years — I ran away into the woods. I deserted them. I saved myself. But I realized even then that there was no point being alone without them. So, after a while, I ran back. This is what haunts me forever. They were all in the synagogue when I got back. The soldiers had set fire to the building. Flames rose out of the windows. Screams, screams — I can still hear them. One girl managed to get out of a window. They shot her while she ran. I watched and didn’t understand anything. It’s still a mystery. What had these people done? Everyone I ever loved went up in smoke. The air was filled with ashes.”
Rebecca felt her skin crawl with his darkness. She couldn’t leave him there. “Where did you go then?”
He pulled the towel closer around himself, crossed his arms over his chest. “Back into the woods. I found a group of Jewish partisans. Maybe they found me. I stayed with them till we were raided. Somehow I managed to escape. I was young. I could run fast.”
She smiled slyly. “You still can.”
He pursed his lips, nearly smiled.
“Go on,” she said.
“I was alone for a while before I found some more partisans. I constantly had to find new groups because people were always being caught, disappearing. Anyone who managed to survive in the woods was a partisan. We fought with whatever we could find. A few had guns but it was rare. Then one day, I got a gun. I’ll never forget because it was the first time I saw a Nazi killed. He must’ve been on patrol and gotten lost. The partisans I was staying with then, one of them stabbed him, then ran off. A group of us teenagers hid behind trees for twenty minutes watching the body, sure he would get up again. You have to understand, the Nazis were like gods. We were afraid to look at them. They were so far above us. How can I explain? They weren’t real. We didn’t believe they could die. So when they killed this Nazi, we thought: how can a god die? Finally I got up the courage to approach — I was fifteen then. Up close he looked like all the other corpses I’d seen. I touched him with my foot. He rolled over and I knew he was dead. It was a revelation. I took his gun.” He looked askance at her, mischievously. “I still have it.”
Rebecca led him down the hall into her inner office. She took the kettle Iris kept near the sink and boiled some water for tea while he watched, ensconced in one of her upholstered chairs.
“You said you went to California?”
“My Uncle Sol, on my father’s side. I don’t know how he found me. I was fifteen by then. A couple of years later I got a letter from Goldie and Chana. That was the first I knew Chana had survived. Somehow they’d traced me to Uncle Sol’s, who was no relation to them. They were very polite, but we hardly knew each other. I grew up. I studied accounting. My life went on. We corresponded off and on for years, mainly on holidays. When Chana moved to Canada she stopped writing. But I still heard from Goldie now and then.”
Suddenly Rebecca thought of something. “In what language?”
“What?”
“What language did you correspond in?”
He thought a moment. “Polish.”
She jumped up and pulled her purse out of the closet. Taking the top letter out of its envelope, she thrust it under his nose. “Can you tell me what this says?”
He took the page and held it out at arm’s length. “I should get reading glasses.” After a moment, he said with surprise, “This is from Chana.” Then in a voice halting in the translation, “’ ? wish you would come. Even for a visit. The High Holidays will be here soon. Please, please come. I am so lonely here. Leo doesn’t like me having friends or going out. He even got angry when I tried to meet someone for lunch.’ ”
Rebecca handed Nesha a few more letters. He stumbled, reading. “’ If only I had children, but as you know, this topic was always forbidden. Once he made up his mind, there was no changing it. I so much wanted children. How is Enrique? It’s been so long since I heard from you. We could help you move here if only you would think about it. Please write. You are the only person I can talk to. Leo is always angry with me about something. Sometimes he scares me.’ ”
Nesha flipped to another letter. “’ ? had a dream that took me back thirty years. I was in the camp again.’ ” He dropped the letter down, shaking his head. “Enough,” he said.
“Please go on,” she said softly. “I’d like to hear.”
He observed her for a moment, his brown eyes resigned, as if to say: You really want to know this? Alright, you shall hear it.
“’I was in the camp again. The Ukrainian guard took me from the barracks, walked behind me to the building that I cleaned every day, the officers’ quarters. Only, something makes me afraid today and I don’t want to go. There’s something there I don’t want to see, and I resist. So in my dream I’m walking slowly, very slowly down the street. The Ukrainian guard screams to walk faster. And I try, but it’s like I’m in water, I cannot make my limbs move faster. I don’t want to go inside. But it’s not in my control and suddenly, I’m in the room, the dust rag in my hand and then — then I see it, what I’ve been so afraid of. The Hand. I don’t want to touch it but I can’t help it. I’m drawn to the shelf where it sits upright, like a silver glove on a glass base. I remember it perfectly — the little framed glass windows over the knuckles of the middle fingers. In my dream I reach for it closer and closer but I know I mustn’t touch it or I’ll die. Just like he did. I’m about to touch the silvered fingernails. I’m willing to die to touch it — then I wake up. Goldele, I’m frightened of this dream. It’s a bad omen. I don’t understand why it’s come back to haunt me.’ ”
Nesha