CYLA

CYLA

So you're getting a divorce?
I knew all that going to the psychologist was good for nothing. What can I tell you?
You are a grown-up man in your forties, so don't expect any fatherly advice.
Hand on your heart; are you innocent in all this? Well? You see!

Of all this, I feel sorry for Ann.
Well, well! I know it. You have signed a deal.
But did you ask your daughter if she likes it?
Or do children and fishes have no say?

And don't give me all that what I did as a father. I did not get a divorce.
Are you saying that life is full of surprises? That you feel like a victim of fate?
What do you know about grievances? What do you know about fate?
That expulsion from Poland? Do you feel uncomfortable in this country?
Is someone calling you names? Are you harassed at work?
Neighbors give you a dirty look?

That your life is a failure?
That I was so lucky to find my ideal second part at the first shot?
Indeed, mom and I always agreed, and we were OK.
But she wasn't always that sweet.
She could remind me of something that had happened long ago and drill a hole in my stomach.
And if it only were something important. But you could not talk her out of it.
Sometimes, I couldn't stand her. Sometimes, I didn't like her. But I always loved her.
Although, it wasn't my first love.

I never told anyone. Do you want to know about it? Then listen.

Before the war, I lived in a small town near Ojcow.
Our family was poor, but they sent me to study in Krakow.
Our Rabbi was very conservative, and he was a bit angry at my father.
According to him, I had to go, like other young Jews, to the yeshiva, instead of being educated in a Polish school.
True, whenever I returned to the town during the school breaks, I looked and acted like a sheygets [pejorative: "non-Jewish boy"].
My father regretted it, but he sent me to that school, so, as they say, he had to suffer in silence.

However, our town wasn't entirely so traditional.
The Bund people were taking care of Jewish cultural life, too.
A theatrical troupe came from time to time and gave performances in Yiddish.
Some music evenings were organized, and young people could dance.
The Jewish youth met there, regardless of what worldview their parents had or how religious they were.
Of course, youth from religious families also were there without informing their parents.

That was where I met Cyla. And I caught her eye, too.
She didn't come there too often because her father was a Rabbi.
But you know how it is. If young people have a strong desire, they will always find a way.
After a while, we met each other on other occasions than these music evenings.
Of course, very hush-hush.
It was not only about the Rabbi, her father.
My father, when he found out that I was meeting the daughter of a Rabbi, he strictly forbade me to do it!
Why? Because of differences in our social positions! Because the Rabbi was a puryc [rich person], and we were those poor bastards!
Yes. The rich ones were not the only ones to uphold the class divisions.
Oh no! Those poor religious Jews also knew their place!
That I had a good education did not matter at all!

But we still met each other and danced at the dance evenings.
Sometimes very close to each other. One would even say - too close.
I found a particular point on Cyla's body. Not a G-point, you idiot! Not in those times!
I discovered that when I touched the place under her left shoulder, she acted as if she got an electrical spark. It paralyzed her for a moment, and her left calf muscle was visibly shivering. When I was alone with her, I did it quite often, and that poor girl couldn't even defend herself!

But our dating ended abruptly when the Rabbi became aware of it.
My father was called in for a serious talk, and the Rabbi had sent Cyla to out-of-town relatives.
I was devastated. Only later did I find out that she was in Warsaw until the outbreak of war.

Then came the war.
Cyla returned to town, and the Germans drove all Jews into the ghetto.
There I met Cyla again, and that time the Rabbi didn't have much to say anymore.
The times were hard, and we were young. We even stopped hiding that we were a couple.

Germans kept Jews in total disregard and contempt.
Each day some dead bodies, food problems, and an uncertain future.
Cyla and I decided to escape.
For a sum of money, it was possible to sneak through the Russian border.
At first, the Rabbi, Cyla's father, was against it.
Because God Almighty will not allow harm to the Chosen People.
In the end, he gave us money for the escape.
But first, they married us, and we got a real Jewish wedding.
It was the only time in my life that I saw my father beaming.
Just think! He became a relative of the Rabbi himself! Such a yikhes [respectable pedigree]!

But we did not allow them to shave off Cyla's hair.
Her hair had a specific color. Not black. They were unique dark cocoa brown, and they felt in touch like silk.
I could recognize her with closed eyes by this and the distinct smell of her skin.
I still remember that sharp, specific smell in my nose.

It took us almost a week of wandering to reach the Russian border.
Then I had to find people who would lead us through it.
It turned out that we were not the only ones who wanted to get out of Germany-occupied Poland. We had to wait until it was our turn.
We had money and could pay for the place to stay during the waiting time.
It didn't bother us too much, because we were just married.

Then it was our turn. The smuggler said that he could only lead four people that night.
We were the last two, but something was wrong, and the smuggler said he could only take us one by one. We agreed that he would first lead Cyla and come for me after that.
Ten minutes after they went, I heard some dogs barking, some screams, and some rifle shots. I noticed the oncoming truck full of German soldiers.
I could escape, but I was afraid that they could discover me, and besides,
I was waiting for the smuggler to find out how it went with Cyla. He did not come back.

I returned to the village the next day.
The locals told me it was a shootout from the Russian and German sides and that my smuggler was killed. No one could say what happened to the fugitives, but there were more dead victims. The transfer point was "burned".
I didn't know where to go. I wandered in the area for two months.
I met some partisans, and I survived with them until the liberation.

I returned to my town only to find that all Jews were taken away.
I tried to find out what happened with my family at the information center in Lodz.
I met your mother there. She was lonely too. None of us had anyone to wait for.
We got married, and I got a job with the municipality.

One day there was a farewell banquet for the Russian officers who were ordered to return home. At the reception, we got a table with one of those Russian captains and his wife.
We were sited at the table, and I got a familiar smell in my nose.
I looked at the captain's wife and became numb! She had shiny, cocoa-brown hair!
I asked her for a dance. She nodded, and we danced as if nothing had happened.
But this hair! This smell! I tried the old trick under her left shoulder blade. It worked!
I embraced her and whispered in her ear, "Cyla!" She shouted, "No!", and fled the room. We didn't see her or that Russian captain anymore at the banquet.
The next day they were no longer in the city.
The entire contingent of these Russian officers, with their "belongings", departed early in the morning. That much I got from one of those new Russian officers, who came as their exchange.

If I searched for her afterward? For what purpose?
You were three months old at that time.
Would I destroy one more family without knowing what would happen if I found her? No!
One does not return to the matters closed by fate.
Unless one wants to lose.

Somehow, I survived it. So don't come to me to complain.