PART TWO - Part 08

“So, you’re an immigrant?” said the fat lady, paused for a moment, introduced herself as Elizhbieta and continued: “I know there was a war there... I’ve heard that there are quite a few immigrants from Greece in Vrotslav. We, too, are immigrants here. Our children are also immigrants. Our older son lives in the UK, he is a civil engineer and during the war he was a pilot, a Major in the Royal Navy. Our younger son is a doctor. He also fought against the Germans. Our daughter married a Bolshevik colonel and lives with him and our two grandchildren in Odessa. You see, we are a broken family. We come from Lvov which today is in the Ukraine. Lvov, my dear Miss, was the heart of Polish science and culture. My Bronek taught architecture at the Lvov Polytechnic. I taught the Polish language and literature. My specialty was Polish romanticism - Mickiewicz, Slovakia... I will repeat, Lvov was the centre of Polish science, culture and elite intellect. There were top names in all the sciences. People say that Lvov, besides Krakow, was the mind of Poland. Warsaw? There was nothing there. A collection of petty traders, sprawling aristocrats housed in large palaces built by average Italian architects. And lots? Lots had some significance. It was Russia’s clothing sector. The Jews there developed a powerful textile industry and clothed Russia with textiles. There was a Polish person among the Jewish industrialists who had no noble title and no coat of arms but he had a lot of money. Instead of pointing at a coat of arms, he pointed at the letter ‘P’ which meant that he was from Poznani and that he was a Pole,” said Elizhbieta, paused for a moment and, after wiping her tears, continued:

“Bronek and I go to Lvov once a year, on November 2, the day of the dead. Our parents and ancestors rest in the most beautiful cemeteries there. We were a large and reputable family of doctors, architects, engineers, university professors... We go there to clean the graves, put beautiful autumn flowers on them and light candles so that there is light for their souls and for our painful memory of our dear Lvov. We aren’t alone on that day. Thousands of Poles go there and that day Lvov is Polish again, it has a Polish soul and Polish pain and sadness. Everyone speaks Polish and Polish can be heard everywhere. People quietly sing old Polish songs which takes away some of the pain and sadness from our souls... We also curse the day the Soviets drove us into freight wagons with the cattle and moved us here to Vrotslav. We, my dear Madam, feel like refugees here and not like people from Lvov...” concluded Elizhbieta.

“Ela (Elizhbieta),” said Bronek. “Please don’t tire out the lady...”

“Do you think I’m tiring her out? No, I’m just telling her why we aren’t in our own home today, in our house in Lvov. I’m telling her that we have been uprooted and cast out... Well, didn’t they drive us out, my dear Bronek?” replied Elizhbieta.

“Yes dear, you are right,” replied Bronek and then quietly said: “But now it’s bad to talk about these things. Many have suffered under the new regime because of such talk. Now is the time for inspiring slogans, not for fruitless ornaments and unfulfilled hopes...

“No, it’s not like that my dear Bronek. Unfulfilled hopes? Have we Poles ever lost hope? Never, my dear! We live as we live but we haven’t lost hope. What did our old people teach us? What did we teach our children? And now what do these new rulers teach in school? Under what conditions can you enroll in college? You need to be a member of the Polish Youth Union, to come from the proletarian class, not the intellectual classes... And in our time what was the requirement for enrollment? Knowledge, my dear... But, well, enough about this. Come back to us, Miss. I will bake a cake that will make you lick your fingers. Now that’s all that’s left for me to do. To bake cakes and cookies instead of what I used to do, be a university professor. I also wanted to be a professor here in Vrotslav but I was told that I was from another time and people like me are

rubbish. We have endured a lot and we will also endure this... As we have done in the past 120 years. Our greatest weapon, my dear, has always been our never-ending hope...” concluded Elizhbieta, got up and said:

“Madam, it was my pleasure, please come again. You will have a room with us, instead of living in that worker’s dormitory. We will work out the rent. Bronek and I have been fifty years together, and now only rarely does anyone visit us. See you and come again. I will bake a cake especially for you and for my Bronek, who loves to eat cake, drinking strong Indian tea which we get under the table... God be with you, dear lady...”