The Things We Cannot Say(86)

“Good,” I say, and I beam at her. “Good.” I pause, thinking again about that missing birth record, then ask, “Mom, did she ever tell you she was born in the house she grew up in?”

“That’s right. She and her twin brothers and her sister were all born at home.”

I glance at Zofia. She’s tilted her head to the side and she’s staring at the iPad curiously.

“Huh,” Zofia murmurs thoughtfully. She raises her voice a little as she confirms, “Twin brothers, you say?”

“Hello there,” Mom says, frowning. “Who is that, Alice?” I adjust the camera so that Mom can see Zofia, and Zofia waves and smiles.

“Mom, meet Zofia, Zofia meet my mom—Judge Julita Slaski-Davis.”

“It is so lovely to meet you, Julita,” Zofia says. “Tell me, was Hanna the youngest of her family?”

“That’s correct. She used to tell me she was the spoiled baby girl, although I don’t imagine spoiled in her childhood context means the same as it does in ours.”

“Do you know her siblings’ names?”

Mom looks uncharacteristically uncertain.

“I always thought the sister’s name was Amelia, but then we saw the list she wrote for Alice last week and it said Emilia so I’m not really sure...”

“Emilia was Pa’s little sister,” I confirm for Mom, and she sighs.

“I’m really not at all sure how it all fits together. I distinctly remember her saying she was writing to her sister, but maybe I’m wrong...”

“Perhaps her parents’ names...” Zofia prompts. “Do you know what they were?”

“I only remember her mother’s name. That was definitely Faustina,” Mom gives a little laugh. “The Catholic church canonized a Saint Faustina...goodness, maybe twenty years ago, and Babcia was excited like a kid in a candy store.”

“Ah. Her mother was Faustina, and her father was...” Zofia reaches into her handbag and withdraws her iPad, then says, “Bartuk. Yes?”

I see Mom glance beside herself, and I can hear some kind of movement offscreen. Mom is frowning.

“What is it, Mom? Is everything okay?”

“Hang on a minute, Alice,” Mom says, and the camera shows her walking back to the bed. She sets the phone down for a moment, onto the bedside table I think, and all I can see is the ceiling in the hospital room. “Mama? Are you okay?”

The camera swings wildly, and for a minute, the camera is blocked by a finger. It shifts, and then I see Babcia’s face.

“Hello, Babcia,” I murmur, by habit. She looks distressed and frustrated, and I peer helplessly into the screen. “Mom? Could you give her the iPad? I think wants to tell us something.”

“Alice, did you say she still understands spoken Polish?” Zofia asks me softly. I nod, and she extends her hand toward my phone. “Do you mind if I...may I?”

I pass her the phone, and Zofia smiles gently into the camera. She speaks very slowly and carefully for a few minutes in Polish. A single tear rolls down Babcia’s cheek, but she’s nodding. Zofia looks at me and she grins.

“Well, that’s one mystery solved.”

“It is?”

“Alina Dziak was the youngest child of Faustina and Bartuk Dziak. They had four children...a daughter, Truda, twin sons and then Alina. I only remembered the composition of the family because the twins and Alina were born very close together and I felt so sorry for poor Faustina,” Zofia says wryly, but then she sobers. “Alice, I just asked your grandmother if she is Alina, and she’s nodding yes.”

My eyes widen.

“What? Mom? Are you listening to this?”

I see Mom hand Babcia the iPad, and she takes her phone back. Her face fills the screen, and she’s frowning.

“Her name is Hanna,” Mom says stiffly. “She’s confused.”

“I couldn’t find any records at all for Hanna, or a family of origin with that surname in this district,” Zofia tells Mom gently. “It makes no sense. If this is her childhood home, and she and her siblings were born here, the Wis′niewski family would have left behind some records.”

Mom is shaking her head, but then I hear the electronic sound of a camera shutter in the background at the hospital room. Mom looks away from the screen, and then I hear Babcia’s iPad say Alina, and Mom’s eyes widen in disbelief. She silently turns the camera around, and I see Babcia sitting on the bed, the iPad resting awkwardly on her lap, facing toward Mom.

Babcia’s face is set in a mask of pure determination, and she’s made a label on the iPad screen for Alina, complete with a brand-new selfie of herself for the image. After a moment or two, Babcia gives us an impatient look, then she holds her left forefinger up, points to the screen, then stabs her finger against her own chest.

“Holy shit,” I say.

“That’s pretty definitive confirmation,” Zofia says.

“No. I don’t believe this,” Mom says. She turns the camera around again and she’s scowling at the screen. “Alice, I don’t understand this. It makes no sense at all. She’s lied to me for my whole life? No. I don’t—”

“Mom,” I interrupt her carefully. “Remember she wanted you to name me Alina? Maybe it does make at least a little sense.”