The Things We Cannot Say(118)

An hour later, I was sitting in the back of a transport with Saul, on our way to an airfield where I would board a plane for the very first time. We had no bags to take with us—the suitcase was long gone, and our only possessions in the world were the clothes we were wearing on our backs and the tiny leather shoe that Saul was still carrying absolutely everywhere he went, tucked into the waistband of his undergarments.



CHAPTER 38

Alice


Emilia Slaski is now Emilia Gorka. She’s retired from a very successful career as an artist, and she lives in a surprisingly luxurious apartment block with a view of Wawel Castle, just a half dozen blocks from my hotel. When I knock on the door to her apartment, my stomach is churning, and the anxiety only worsens when the door opens and Lia is there.

“I’m really sorry,” she says. “I was just trying to protect her.”

“Let them inside, Lia,” another woman chastises from deep within the apartment, and Lia steps aside. I suspected we shared a likeness from the thumbnail photos of her online, but there’s no question now that I’m related to Agnieszka Truchen. We share the same green eyes, and her hair is gray, but we have the same hairline, the familiar widow’s peak at the center. She approaches me and takes my hands between hers. She’s frowning, though, staring at me hard—and there’s an awkward moment where she just stares at me and doesn’t say anything, until she shakes herself and says, “It really is a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise,” I say, and she smiles. “And this is my guide, Zofia.” The woman nods toward Zofia, but then we fall into a lengthy silence again. Agnieszka is staring at me, but now she looks quite stricken. I’m confronted by our likeness too, but I don’t understand this prolonged awkwardness at all. “You must be Agnieszka?” I prompt.

“Yes, I’m Agnieszka Gorka-Truchen. I’m sorry,” she laughs softly. “I just didn’t expect you to look...” She trails off, then glances at me again, her eyes widening all over again, as if she can’t believe what she’s seeing. “Lia,” she scolds. “I can’t believe you ever doubted her.”

“I could see she was related,” Lia mutters. “But I told you, I thought she was here looking for money, and then I really didn’t want to upset...” She trails off, and they’re both staring at me, until I start to feel incredibly self-conscious. I gently pull my hands back and smooth my hair down. Agnieszka clears her throat, then explains, “Forgive us, Alice. Lia just didn’t explain that you’re so familiar, that’s all. Please—come through to the sitting area. Mama is so very anxious to meet you.”

Zofia and I follow her through to a large sitting area, lined with bookshelves and furnished with heavy, antique furniture. Seated in one of the deep leather chairs is a tiny elderly woman. Her hair is carefully set; she’s wearing heavy makeup and a set of ornate jewelry that’s almost as big as she is. She gasps when I step into the room, and I smile at her, but I kind of want to gasp too, because I actually look more like this stranger than I do my own grandmother.

I kind of figured I might share some physical features with my distant relatives here in Poland—but in this case, it’s so much more than a passing resemblance, and Agnieszka’s odd reaction when she saw me is starting to make sense, because I’m staring hard at Emilia like Agnieszka stared at me. Emilia stares right back, shock in her eyes—those eyes that are so uniquely colored, the same striking green that Eddie and I share.

Emilia reaches out her hands to me, and I see that they are shaking. I approach her hastily, and then because she’s sitting so low, I have to crouch to let her take my hands. Her skin is soft and wrinkled, just like Babcia’s, and she stares up at me in wonder—then her hands lift, until she’s cupped my face in hers. Soon, she’s crying—two heavy tears roll from her eyes and into the lined skin of her cheeks and onward, down toward her neck. She starts to speak in Polish—rapid-fire words loaded with those sounds that still seem so alien to my ears—and I’m not even sure who she’s speaking to or if she’s expressing happiness or sadness.

“Is she okay?” I ask Agnieszka, who has taken the seat beside her. Agnieksa’s eyes have filled with tears and she nods.

“She is overwhelmed. She’s not sure how this is possible. You are obviously my uncle’s grandchild. Tomasz,” Agnieszka murmurs. “Mama is saying that you could be her twin when she was younger. But—Tomasz died in 1942, before he could marry Alina, so we’re not really sure how she came to be pregnant by him.”

“Oh,” I say, and I frown and shake my head. I feel so awkward, because I can’t imagine it’s going to be easy for Emilia to hear the news that her brother did not, in fact, die during the war. But it needs to be done, so I draw in a deep breath and say, “I’m really sorry but that’s just not right. Tomasz—my Pa—only died last year. He had a very long, very happy life in America.”

There’s suddenly a flurry of rapid-fire Polish—Agnieszka, Emilia, Lia and Zofia all taking turns firing speech at one another, while I stare back at Emilia as she cries and strokes my face. As the conversation progresses, they each raise their voices a little—and to my ears it sounds like an argument. They all fall silent abruptly, and Zofia touches my arm and says gently, “Alice, could we video chat to your grandmother, do you think? Emilia would like to see her.”