Hanna, I Forgot to Tell You: a Novel by Estelle Glaser Laughlin

Author:Estelle Glaser Laughlin
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Texas Tech University Press
Published: 2020-09-17T20:50:33+00:00

A grandfather clock chimed two o’clock in a comfortingly familiar way. Five hours had passed since Kasia had left her parents. They were a stone’s throw away, yet as remote as the moon. Feeling her knees buckle under her, she let herself sink into a chair. The dining room, more than the rest of the house, made Kasia feel like she was hallucinating — the past peered out at her from all corners and collided, mercilessly, with the present. Distant echoes of joyful laughter mingled with present despair.

Although much in the room remained as it had once been, the dreariness of occupation was noticeable in every corner. The paint on the walls was faded. The ornate moldings and high ceiling no longer looked as snow-white as she remembered them to be. An attractive painting was gone from one wall, leaving a faded rectangle staring down at her. More than anything, she mourned the absence of people who should have been there with them, and the lack of the very lightness of freedom she once took for granted.

She sat knotted up in memories, beholden to her hosts, self-conscious, and, above all, worried about her parents and her own safety. The fright she felt while sneaking across the wall still gnawed at her. A bowl of hot beet soup was placed in front of her. Bread sufficient for all sat in the center of the table. Meatballs and potatoes followed, and compote for dessert. Kasia was very hungry, and hunger is a powerful distractor. Her eyelids were drooping and her heart was heavy, but she polished off every crumb on her plate. Then, although night was hours away, she went to “her” room and fell into “her” bed.

She sank into a long, fitful sleep: tossing and turning, meandering in and out of the sub-ghetto, and landing in front of her apartment door. She heard Mama, Tata, and Ben carrying on an amiable conversation behind the door. She knocked and called out, “It’s me, Malka. Open the door! I want to come in. I want to be with you. Please!” They paid her no heed.

She saw them clearly through the wall, sitting around the table, bent toward each other and talking. No matter how hard she pounded and pleaded, they continued to ignore her. They didn’t want to have anything to do with her. Malka felt devastated by their rejection.

She may have cried out in her sleep, she couldn’t remember. But at an agonizing moment, a door opened and a pale shaft of light rolled into her room. Marcel walked softly along that carpet of light and sat down at the edge of her bed. He bent over, stroked her hair, and whispered shushing sounds, just like Tata used to do when she was a little girl afraid of the dark. Marcel stayed just long enough for her to find a peaceful corner within herself. Then he tiptoed out. His kindness lingered.

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