Professional Documents
Culture Documents
My Grandmother
Tells Me This Story
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The UnAmericans
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The UnAmericans
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radio and said the only way they couldnt ignore us was to plan
bigger. We have to let them know, he said, that theres a secret
army they cant touch, soldiers fighting back with weapons
taken from them, then retreating deep into the forest to plan
their next attack.
* * *
T his is the part of the story where I know you want to hear
how we fell in love. I understanddont think I havent noticed
how youre always free to visit your grandfather and me, even
on Saturday nights. How five years out of college youre still
living like a student, still alone in that shoebox studio. Even
when you were little, it was your favorite part of every story.
It used to kill me when Id overhear you asking your mother
those kinds of questions about your father, this young chubby
you with long blond braids and a dreamy expression, as if with
your eyes half-closed you could envision a time your parents
werent sneaking around your living room at night, scribbling their names into each others books, or storming after
each other outside your old apartment, fighting over who got
to keep this ceramic fish-shaped platter your mother said she
made at summer camp but which your father claimed he made
at an Adult Ed class at the Ya fish, he yelled, that held his
nachos just right.
And I remember after he left, you and your mother piled
all of your possessions into a taxi and headed over the bridge
to our apartment in Queens, where the two of you moved into
her childhood bedroom, sleeping side by side on her trundle
bed, surrounded by her spelling ribbons and stuffed-animal
collection, as though you were living in a permanent exhibit
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in the museum of her life. And I remember all the dates shed
bring back, Philip and Hugh and the one who wore his sunglasses inside, how shed parade those men into my home with
the same defiance she had in high school, only she was thirtysix then with a four-year-old daughter eating dinner with her
grandparents in the next room. From the kitchen the three of
us would listen to her carrying on, her voice high and clear and
always drowning out the other persons, which probably made
her a good teacher during rowdy assemblies but not such a hit
on those dates. There were so many nights when Id watch her
crawl into bed beside you after her date had left, her back to
the wall, her bare feet wrapped around yours, holding on to
your stomach so tightly it was like she feared the distance you
might fall was so much greater than from the bed to the carpet.
I want to tell you mine was a great love affair, but the truth
was that the only reason your grandfather started coming into
my tent at night was to protect me. There were so many things
to be afraid of in the forest. Not just the soldiers but bears
and snakes and wolves. Russian communists who lived in other
parts of the woods, coming by our camp, offering bullets for
a night with one of the girls, sometimes taking one even if
refusedmen who disliked your grandfather but respected
him enough, even as a boy, not to touch the one he was with.
Anyway, it was almost winterI will always remember that
as the coldest season imaginable, the winter I watched hot tea
freeze in a cupand when your grandfather climbed inside
one night and lay beneath my blanket, his hands roaming up
my shirt and into my pants long before he thought to kiss me, it
didnt feel romanticmore like a basic physical need that had
little to do with me.
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The UnAmericans
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The UnAmericans
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* * *
T he following day I got ready for Haradziec. A gray wool
dress and coat, leather boots and thick brown stockings. The
boots were too large but everything else fit so snugly it was as
if Id picked out the clothes myself. In my pocketbook were my
pistol and a case of bullets. I clutched it under an arm as I followed your grandfather and Isaac down the dark, mulchy path.
These woods I knewit was where we foraged for shells and
mushrooms. We were quiet walking through, your grandfather
brushing the ground with a stick to cover every footprint. Then
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Isaac called out to me, If the police stop you while youre casing the station
Im Henia Sawicki. Staying with my grandparents nearby.
And if they ask what youre doing on the tracks?
Looking for my ring. It slipped off somewhere.
These lies, I knew, were the easy part. But really, the entire
plan was simple. Wed walk along the edge of the forestfar
enough in the woods to go unnoticed, close enough to glimpse
the villages through the trees. In Haradziec, Id slip out and
cross the tracks, set the explosives down, run back into the forest. Your grandfather had made it sound so effortless in the
dugout, but here I worried about keeping it straight in my
mind. If one wary soldier saw through my lie, that was itId
be shot, your grandfather and Isaac probably next, or maybe
tortured in an attempt to be led to the brigade. So I was trying
to remember the planHenia, the ring, the grandmother
while clonking around in my too-big boots, and that was when
I tripped on a rock and fell to the ground, twisting my ankle so
hard I couldnt stand up. There I was, splayed in the dirt with
my ankle throbbing, and even before your grandfather helped
me to my feet, Isaac was already moaning about how he knew
something like this would happen.
Twenty minutes out, he said, and your grandfather snapped,
Tell me, Isaac, one of us couldnt have fallen?
Before your grandfather could hoist himself back onto his
soapbox, I started hobbling along the route and all they could
do was follow.
Dont be stupid, Isaac called.
Hes right, your grandfather said.
I was suddenly so angry: with your grandfather for always
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acting like he knew what was best, with Isaac for being so hard
on me, with myself for botching the attack. For the first time
since the sewers, I felt utterly hopeless and alone. I had no
idea what to do, or who to ask what to do, becauseand this
was the first time it really became clear to meI had no one
left. The only people I had in the world were these two boys I
barely knew at all, who looked so unbelievably confused right
then, walking in their oversized coats, Isaac breathless and
spastic, your grandfathers cap falling over his eyes. Up ahead,
through a gap in the trees, I saw straw roofs, the jagged steeple
of a church. I kept limping down the path, and when an entire
village came into view, I slipped out of the forest. We were still
two hours from Haradziec. My ankle was swelling, my clothes
were covered in dirt, and I pushed through town, not even sure
what I was looking for. The streets were empty and so eerily
quiet it was as if something terrible had happened the second
before wed arrived.
Your grandfather and Isaac hurried behind me, whispering
to get back in the forest. But I kept on, and that was when I
realized this was the town Id crawled into from the sewers.
Huddled along the road were the same houses, the same barns
and mill and school, only now the buildings were deserted
and destroyed: broken windows, piles of bricks, rats darting
up stairways leading nowhere. The war, it seemed, had finally
arrived here. A few cottages were still smoldering. A man,
hard-faced and dirty, dragged a skinny horse past without even
looking up. This time, I knew, I was no more shit-stained than
anybody else.
Along the strip of shops was a bakery. The door was open,
and when I walked inside, the glass cases were smashed, the
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stories about Isaac, killed a year after we left for New York
when his homemade bomb went off prematurely, still on his
way to some unknown mission. One of those kids who couldnt
imagine living anywhere but Europe even once we were
allowed to leave. Maybe because he was addicted to the fighting, maybe because he could finally go home but no one was
there. Search for his story in the libraryfor that and everything else. But you wont learn what happened to that mother
and son I robbed, because believe me, Ive looked and looked
and theres just no way to find out whether those two people
survived the coldest winter of their lives.
I dont understand you. All your life youve been like this,
pulling someone into a corner at every family party, asking
so many questions its no wonder youve always had a difficult
time making friends. Its a beautiful day. Your grandfathers on
the patio grilling hamburgers, your mothers new boyfriend is
already loud off beer, shes hooked up the speakers and is playing her terrible records. Why dont you go out in the sun and
enjoy yourself for once, rather than sitting inside, scratching at
ugly things that have nothing to do with you? These horrible
things that happened before you were born.
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