she’d have added some needed balance to the upper end of the chorus. This time I saw her, and I begged her to go for her check-up with Ewa’s father, but I never heard anything more about her.’
‘How did she seem to you?’
‘Unhappy. And fragile. The poor girl was just skin and bone.’
‘She didn’t by chance mention Adam when you saw her?’ I questioned.
‘No. Did they know each other?’
‘That’s what I have to find out. Rowy, listen, I’ve got something else to ask you that requires a little privacy. Let’s go inside.’
The young man hooked his arm in mine as we walked towards a nearby apartment house. I imagined he was close to his father. The psychiatrist in me would have bet he was the youngest child in his family.
Once we were hidden on the stairwell, I took out Hannah’s ring. ‘Know anything about selling jewellery?’
‘Just that you’ll get a better price outside the ghetto.’ He took the ring and studied it, then handed it back. ‘Inside, it’s become a buyer’s market. I sold Papa’s flute the other day and got next to nothing.’
As I’d guessed, that left me only one choice, but it was too late in the day for an excursion to the Other Side; I’d go in the morning.
I passed Rackemann’s Tobacconists after Rowy left for home, and the French cigarettes in the window gave me the idea that the owner might be able to help me with an important request – or know someone who could. A woman in her fifties, with short, hennaed hair and too much rouge on her puffy cheeks, sat crocheting behind the counter. ‘Is Mr Rackemann in?’ I asked.
She laid her crochet work in her lap. ‘My husband passed away in ’37.’
‘Then you must have made the Gauloises star in the window.’
‘Yes, that was me. How can I help you?’
‘Maybe you can put your hands on something unusual for me,’ I told her. ‘Two things, as a matter of fact.’
I waited an hour for my first request to be fulfilled by Mrs Rackemann. She told me then that my second item would require a great deal more work and would cost me the astronomical sum of 1,300 złoty if I wanted it by the next morning, as I’d indicated. I agreed to that fee, and since I couldn’t pay her the full sum right away, I gave her as a deposit all the cash I had on me – nearly 200 złoty – as well as my gold wedding band.
It was just after five in the afternoon – morbid darkness in the Polish winter – by the time I made it to Mikael’s flat, which doubled as his medical office. In the waiting room, the tiny, quick-moving nurse whom I’d met briefly when Adam came for his check-up sized me up from her desk in the corner, and her disapproving look told me I’d failed whatever test she’d conceived for me. She told me in a stern voice that Dr Tengmann was with a patient, but she poked her head into his consultation room to let him know I was here. Too jittery to sit, I stood by the window and watched a water-seller accosting passers-by on the street below. A wooden bar was stretched horizontally across his shoulders, with a tin pail hanging from each end. He wore galoshes wrapped in what looked like birch-tree bark.
We were back in the Middle Ages, and the Nazis had dragged us there – which meant that the question we now needed to ask was: how far back in time would be enough for them?
A young woman with a plaster cast on her wrist soon came in and whispered to the nurse, who instructed her to sit and wait on the green velveteen couch to the side of the window where I was standing.
‘Excuse me, but would you like to sign my cast?’ she asked me after a minute or two, smiling hopefully. She held it up to show me it was covered with signatures.
She wanted to be nice to an alter kacker with grey stubble on his chin and dead bats for shoes, so I did as she asked, except that I wrote the name Erik Honec in extravagant Gothic lettering – what I imagined a professional writer might do.
She told me her
‘How did she seem to you?’
‘Unhappy. And fragile. The poor girl was just skin and bone.’
‘She didn’t by chance mention Adam when you saw her?’ I questioned.
‘No. Did they know each other?’
‘That’s what I have to find out. Rowy, listen, I’ve got something else to ask you that requires a little privacy. Let’s go inside.’
The young man hooked his arm in mine as we walked towards a nearby apartment house. I imagined he was close to his father. The psychiatrist in me would have bet he was the youngest child in his family.
Once we were hidden on the stairwell, I took out Hannah’s ring. ‘Know anything about selling jewellery?’
‘Just that you’ll get a better price outside the ghetto.’ He took the ring and studied it, then handed it back. ‘Inside, it’s become a buyer’s market. I sold Papa’s flute the other day and got next to nothing.’
As I’d guessed, that left me only one choice, but it was too late in the day for an excursion to the Other Side; I’d go in the morning.
I passed Rackemann’s Tobacconists after Rowy left for home, and the French cigarettes in the window gave me the idea that the owner might be able to help me with an important request – or know someone who could. A woman in her fifties, with short, hennaed hair and too much rouge on her puffy cheeks, sat crocheting behind the counter. ‘Is Mr Rackemann in?’ I asked.
She laid her crochet work in her lap. ‘My husband passed away in ’37.’
‘Then you must have made the Gauloises star in the window.’
‘Yes, that was me. How can I help you?’
‘Maybe you can put your hands on something unusual for me,’ I told her. ‘Two things, as a matter of fact.’
I waited an hour for my first request to be fulfilled by Mrs Rackemann. She told me then that my second item would require a great deal more work and would cost me the astronomical sum of 1,300 złoty if I wanted it by the next morning, as I’d indicated. I agreed to that fee, and since I couldn’t pay her the full sum right away, I gave her as a deposit all the cash I had on me – nearly 200 złoty – as well as my gold wedding band.
It was just after five in the afternoon – morbid darkness in the Polish winter – by the time I made it to Mikael’s flat, which doubled as his medical office. In the waiting room, the tiny, quick-moving nurse whom I’d met briefly when Adam came for his check-up sized me up from her desk in the corner, and her disapproving look told me I’d failed whatever test she’d conceived for me. She told me in a stern voice that Dr Tengmann was with a patient, but she poked her head into his consultation room to let him know I was here. Too jittery to sit, I stood by the window and watched a water-seller accosting passers-by on the street below. A wooden bar was stretched horizontally across his shoulders, with a tin pail hanging from each end. He wore galoshes wrapped in what looked like birch-tree bark.
We were back in the Middle Ages, and the Nazis had dragged us there – which meant that the question we now needed to ask was: how far back in time would be enough for them?
A young woman with a plaster cast on her wrist soon came in and whispered to the nurse, who instructed her to sit and wait on the green velveteen couch to the side of the window where I was standing.
‘Excuse me, but would you like to sign my cast?’ she asked me after a minute or two, smiling hopefully. She held it up to show me it was covered with signatures.
She wanted to be nice to an alter kacker with grey stubble on his chin and dead bats for shoes, so I did as she asked, except that I wrote the name Erik Honec in extravagant Gothic lettering – what I imagined a professional writer might do.
She told me her
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