I wonder if grandma Sal had a child before my mother, but the numbers don’t add up. The date on the back of the picture is 1946, and the child in it looks around four or five years old. Grandma was born in 1930.
If the little girl in the picture were hers, grandma would have given birth when she was around eleven! That’s highly unlikely. That’s assuming the birth date that she claims is accurate, of course.
“Grandma” I ponder, “why is this picture so important to you? Is it the man, Phillipe? Was he an old lover, perhaps?”
I place the envelope back in my purse, finish my business and rejoin the family. My mother and Lucille are talking to the doctor who reports on grandma’s tests.
“She will be monitored and a decision will be made about her ability to withstand bypass surgery at her age and in her condition. Most probably they will use a stent to deal with the blockage instead of bypass surgery.
The cardiac team will be reviewing the film of the angiogram at the end of the day and decide how to proceed. Meanwhile she’s been sedated and will probably sleep through the night.”
He recommends that we all go home and return in the morning.
We stand around figuring out what to do next. The family picnic is already underway at Roxbury Park, which is in Beverly Hills. None of us are inclined to go…not in the mood. Nobody has to twist my arm to pass on the picnic. Mother will send our apologies and explain.
We go down to the hospital cafeteria, as none of us is quite ready to just leave. A bite of food would be good about now, even hospital food!
I break away and head home at the first respectable moment. My head is full of questions and anxiety. This I didn’t expect today.
Generally, I’m not one that does things on a whim. I weigh and measure and plan. Even so, I feel drawn to the thought of tossing it all and going off on this…whatever it is…this adventure.
It’s just like Grandma Sal to drag me into it. Nevertheless, part of me is starting to look forward to it. A bit of change and excitement might be just the thing!
After a sleepless night I call in to the office and tell them I need a few days off . I explain that my grandmother is gravely ill and that I need to take care of some things.
****
When I get to the hospital the next morning, the doctors have already taken her in for the placement of the stent. It will be a while. I tell Lucille that I have to take care of several things and will be back by noon.
The bank is nearby, so I decide to take a look. The person in charge of the Safety Deposit Section is a Miss Adler. She accepts the signature card after checking my picture I.D. then goes to the copying machine and makes a copy of my driver’s license.
It seems odd, but then I’ve never had a safety deposit box, so maybe it’s routine. She staples the copy to the card, places it in the in-box on her desk, then seems to think better of it and puts it in the desk drawer instead.
I’m glad she didn’t just leave it for anyone to see. In these times, identity theft is a definite concern. I notice a book lying on her desk. I can’t make out the title from where I’m standing, but notice a prominent swastika on it and wonder what she’s reading.
She locks her desk and then escorts me into the vault where she uses her key and mine to open and withdraw the box. It’s one of the over-sized boxes. We walk over to a cubicle with a desk, where I can have privacy. She shows me the intercom so I can call her to return for me when I am done.
Inside the safe deposit box are several large manila envelopes and a cardboard box. I open the box carefully. The first thing I see is a bundle of stock certificates, Apple shares, 500 of them, in my name. I see that they were purchased quite a few years ago, about the time of my sister’s wedding. I do a quick mental calculation and am amazed at what they are now worth. At $353 a share, it adds up to $176,500! I happen to know the price per share, seen it quoted a lot as it’s gone up and up.
Under the bundle of stocks there is cash, a lot of cash. A note on top of the money says, “Clara, this is for the investigation and the rest is for you. Enjoy!” I take a small stack and toy with it. I count out 20 fifty-dollar bills and slip the $1,000 into my bag. I lay the rest of the cash aside and look through the manila envelopes.
There appear to be a lot of genealogical charts there and letters, to and from Poland, regarding research and investigations. There are also receipts for payment of a few hundred dollars here and a few hundred there, as well as a recent one for $2,000.
The latest mail from Mr. Walenski is dated only six weeks ago and suggests it’s time that my grandmother come in person. There appears to have been a breakthrough and some decisions will need to be made.
He suggests a date, less than two weeks away, when he can set aside some time for her and a hotel where she could stay while in Warsaw. He has requested a hold on a room at the Royal Meridien Bristol in Old Town Warsaw. I notice that it needs to be confirmed within a few days.
He proposes that they travel to a couple of towns to meet with the archivists of the local historical societies. One town is Lublin and the other town is Belz.
I’m startled by the name of the city. Besides Warsaw and Krakow, it’s probably the only other Polish town I know of. I don’t know much about it, just that song, the lullaby, by the Barry sisters - the record that my grandmother cried over the day we were at Tower Records.
A look at my watch reminds me that I should head back to the hospital. I put the stocks and balance of the money back into the safety deposit box. I glance at the genealogy charts and put them back too and gather up mostly the letters and Emails between grandma Sal and Mr. Walenski and a couple of things I can’t identify.
Then I pick up the intercom and inform Miss Adler that I am ready to go. She uses both her key and mine, returns the box to its slot, locks it and escorts me out.
I make sure the large manila envelope I took is secure in my big Coach bag. That purchase was a special and rare treat I gave myself last spring. I head back to the hospital.
****
On the fifth floor I find Mom and Lucille. There’s no news yet, so I sit down to wait. I take out my I-phone and check for calls or messages. There’s nothing much there. I fiddle with this and that and check CNN for news.
I go on Google and enter the word BELTZ and glance briefly at Lucille. She’s looking through a fashion magazine. She’s not watching me.
I look on Wikipedia. It says that Beltz, it’s also spelled Belz, goes back to the 10th Century and has, at various times, been part of Lithuania, the Austro-Hungarian Empire, Poland and the Ukraine. There’s also a town by that name in Moldava which may be the one referred to in the song…that song again!
Beltz is associated with a famous Hasidic Dynasty and also with the Black Madonna of Czestochowa. That’s a lot of fame for a small town.
I glance at Lucille again, but she’s absorbed in the magazine that she’s reading.
Then I enter LUBLIN. It is the ninth largest city in Poland and dates back to the middle ages. People then came from all over Europe to study at the Yeshiva, a place of religious study, there.
The Jewish population of Beltz was pretty much wiped out during the Second World War. Most were deported to the extermination camp of Belzec and the rest to Majdanek, which was the first of the Concentration Camps that were liberated. Unfortunately, it was too late to save more than a few of the prisoners.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see the doctor approaching. I turn off my phone and quickly join my mother and sister.
Lucille is the first to speak. “So how is she, doctor?”
“Dr. Lawrence”, his name tag says. He looks drawn and seems reluctant to commit himself. “She made