Karolina's Twins by Ronald H. Balson Page B

supposed to ask you about your mental condition. We talk about it. I’ve probably said I wish I was younger, but I don’t think I’ve ever said that I was failing.”
    â€œThat’s good.”
    â€œI might have said I was forgetful. I can’t remember names as well as I used to. Maybe my memory is not as good as it once was. You know, if you keep packing information into your brain for eighty-nine years, it gets pretty full. But I’m not confused, I’m not incompetent.”
    â€œI don’t think so either.”
    â€œLet me ask: at this meeting that Arthur’s demanded, what if his aggressive attorney insists that you stop representing me?”
    Catherine shook her head. “I don’t take my orders from Arthur.”
    Lena nodded sharply. “Good. Then this subject is closed. There’s nothing wrong with me. Shall we continue?”
    Catherine smiled, set her notepad on her lap and replied, “By all means.”
    â€œI left the Shop and headed for the ghetto to find a place to sleep. My house, Karolina’s house—they were confiscated. I had other friends, but they were Jewish as well, and I suspected that their homes had been taken away too. Besides, I didn’t feel comfortable showing up at their houses and asking to stay there. David told me that rooms were available in the northeast section, in the Jewish ghetto, so that was where I was going.
    â€œWhen I left the Shop, it was after curfew and the streets were quiet. I shouldn’t say that. They were quiet near the ghetto. People like me, coming home from work with ID cards, we were quiet. We kept to the shadows to avoid the Germans. But in the square it was a different story. The soldiers were a boisterous, pompous lot. I could see them sitting in the restaurants and bars, full plates of food, steins of beer, laughing and joking. No ration cards necessary for them. If they were out and about, and if they encountered a Jew on the street, they were inclined to abuse her for sport.
    â€œAs David had warned, many were sadistic. If you were an observant Jewish man, they’d cut off your beard. They’d make you dance on the street to German drinking songs. I saw them force men to lick the dirt off their boots. I saw them force a woman to squat and urinate on her meager groceries. I could go on, Catherine, but you’ve heard all the stories.
    â€œAfter work that very first day, on my way to the ghetto, I was stopped by two soldiers and ordered to show my ID. I said to myself, stay calm. But I was afraid. They looked me over and asked me where I was going.
    â€œâ€˜I’m headed back into the ghetto. I’m coming from work.’
    â€œâ€˜What is your address?’
    â€œâ€˜I don’t have one yet.’ My anxiety increased.
    â€œâ€˜No address? Where have you been living?’
    â€œâ€˜On the streets.’
    â€œThat answer was totally unacceptable to him and he shook his head. ‘ Nein, nein. ’ But then his companion said, ‘C’mon, Josef, we’re late. They’re waiting for us at the restaurant. I don’t give a shit about this woman.’
    â€œHe gave me back my ID, let me go and I breathed a huge sigh of relief. I saw a few more people on my way to the ghetto, mostly women returning from their jobs. I stopped some of them and asked them about the Scheinmans. Has anyone seen them? As I told you, most everyone knew the Captain. He was a well-respected man. But the people I met told me that as far as they knew, he had never arrived in the ghetto. They hadn’t seen him, my mother or Milosz.
    â€œI entered a few of the overcrowded apartment buildings looking for a room, but they were all full. The situation in the ghetto was bleak. You can’t imagine. In an area where a few hundred poor families had lived, there were now close to ten thousand people. If your family had lived in a two-story house before the war, you now