Beyond the Shadow of Night(96)

“And I know it’s unfair,” he said. “Because I want to know everything about you.”

“Oh, my life’s been very uneventful since I got out of the ghetto. And, if I’m honest, I like it that way. While I was recovering in hospital, I had some visitors. My brothers and sisters had come back. Then we all lived together for a few years in Warsaw after the war. We thought it would be what our parents wanted, and it made up for lost time.”

“You got married, so I hear?” Asher glanced down at her hand, the fingers still slender and elegant, one of them encircled by a ring holding a single clear gem.

“This?” She held it up. “Yes, I still wear it as a reminder. I married Paul in ’52, he died three years ago last March.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Asher said. Then he narrowed his eyes to slits. “Did you say 1952?”

“Yes.”

“Mmm . . . and . . . children?”

“Oh, we tried for many years, but it just didn’t happen. Of course, we didn’t have the technology back then, so I can’t be certain of the reason, but I always thought the time I was starved behind those walls—my formative years—must have damaged me somehow. Anyhow, it’s all in the past. I don’t dwell.”

“Good,” Asher said. “I mean, it’s good that you don’t dwell. And I’m sorry. But . . .” Asher left his mouth open, struggling to speak, sitting back in his seat, then leaning forward again.

“What?” Izabella said. “What is it?”

“Well . . .” He took a sip of milky coffee to help his dry throat. “I swore to myself that I wasn’t going to tell you this, but I came back here before—1946, it must have been.”

“Oh?”

“I searched for you.”

“Oh, Asher. You’re making me cry.”

“I’m sorry. But I have to tell you. I came here, and I went to the market—the Banacha. I saw you there . . . and . . .”

“I don’t understand, Asher. I don’t remember it at all.”

He gave his head a sharp shake. “I feel so stupid about it now. And I don’t know why because it was such a long time ago. I saw you at the market. I was about to reach you, to take you in my arms and tell you how I felt about you, but . . .”

Izabella pressed a paper napkin underneath her eyes.

“. . . I was almost within touching distance, but then you picked a baby up and held it. A man appeared from behind you. He put his arm around you and . . . and I assumed . . .”

“Oh, Asher.” Izabella’s face contorted in pain, the tears coming freely. “I remember those days well. I’m sorry, Asher. That wasn’t my child, and that wasn’t my husband.”

Asher didn’t speak for a few minutes, just took a few breaths. “So, who were they?” he said. “No, I’m sorry, that’s personal, I shouldn’t ask.”

“No, no. Please. I think we’re both a little too old for the jealous lover routine, don’t you?”

Asher said nothing, just waited while she dried her eyes.

“You see, the man was one of my brothers, Marek. It was the time he and my other brother and my sister all lived together here. Marek got married in ’45. Early the next year his wife gave birth to Marek Junior, but she passed away in childbirth. I helped bring up Marek Junior.” She glanced around the café. “It was Marek Junior who bought this place back for the Baran family many years ago. Of course, he’s not so junior now. The woman over there who called me is Katarina, his daughter.”

Asher’s gaze hopped between Katarina and Izabella a few times as the news took some time to sink in. “Oh God,” he said, his voice trembling. “I feel such a fool.”

“Don’t punish yourself. You weren’t to know.”

“But if I’d had just a little more courage, if I hadn’t been so weak, who knows what might have happened.”

“But that’s just it, Asher. Who knows? We both might have had a better life if we’d met then, but we might not. I guess sometimes your decisions in life are made by the sort of person you are. And you always were a shy boy. That was your charm.”

“Charm? Is that what you call it?”

“Yes, I do. You used to watch me without speaking. It sounds like it should have been strange, but I didn’t think so at the time and I don’t now. It was so sweet.”

“Strange?” Asher let out a laugh. “That sounds more like me. But forgive me. I’m just feeling sorry for myself.”

“Well, don’t. Just tell me, how has life turned out for you?”

“So-so.”

“Is that it?”

“There isn’t much to tell.”

“There’s that shyness again. Come on, Asher. Did you marry? Have you any children?”

Izabella paused, but Asher didn’t speak.

“I’m sorry. Am I being forward, asking about marriage?”

Asher laughed at that.

“What?” Izabella said, laughing along. “What did I say?”

“Nothing. It’s just that . . . well, I know you told Rina you wanted to marry me once the war was over.”

Izabella frowned at him. “I told her no such thing. I thought it. Of course I thought it. I didn’t tell anyone. But Rina told me that you wanted to marry me. She said you confided in her one day when you were alone together at home.”