Lilac Girls (44 page)

“My sister is a woman who can save lives. She has done nothing but help others. You treat her, and you treat thousands.”

“I wish it were otherwise, but the doctors here agree,” Dr. Hitzig said.

“We cannot overrule the ZBoWiD,” I said.

“I'm leaving,” Kasia said. “This is ridiculous.”

She rushed out.

“I'm so sorry,” I said to Zuzanna.

Zuzanna laid one hand on my sleeve. “I understand, Miss Ferriday—”

“Caroline, dear.”

“The important thing is the rest of the girls get to America.”

I gathered Zuzanna in my arms and held her close. Such a lovely woman. But so thin. How tragic she was so ill. If only we could get some of the Woolsey remedies into her.

When we finally separated, Zuzanna took my hand.

“Don't mind my sister, Caroline. Kasia is just a little tense sometimes. We've been through a lot together. But your gifts are very much appreciated.”

She smiled.

“And if you want to leave your gifts at the hat check, I'll make sure the girls get them once no one is looking.”

T
he day before I was scheduled to leave for America, our tiny bedroom was scattered with clothes, some mine, most borrowed. Pietrik rubbed his back, sore from taking my suitcase down from the closet shelf and putting it back up, since I'd packed and unpacked six times. Pietrik had won a radio at the factory, a prize for the most productive worker, and we'd turned it up, for good-looking Eddie Fisher, my favorite singer, was on.

Dungaree doll, dungaree doll,

Paint your initials on my jeans…

Pietrik held me, and we swayed to the music. It would be nice to be able to dance again. But how could I go to America and have the operation without Zuzanna?

I released Pietrik and continued to unpack.

“How can you be so foolish?” he said.

“I'm not going without Zuzanna.”

Pietrik sat on the bed next to my open suitcase, Matka's old green one. “Zuzanna told you to go. How can you pass this up?”

I wanted to get on that plane. More than I'd wanted anything in a long time. I would have the chance to have my leg put back to normal or close to it. Just the idea that I might be relieved of the pain made me giddy. And all the girls were scheduled for dental work. Could the dentists there fix my tooth? It had gotten so bad I hardly smiled. Plus, what would it be like to fly in a jet to New York and see the sights?
California
too. The Lublin papers had already made us celebrities.

I pulled my good dress from the suitcase and hung it back in the closet. “How can I leave Zuzanna here?”

“We'd miss you if you went,” he said. “But think of all you'll miss out on, Kasia. Zuzanna's the one who most wants you to go. What about Halina? How does this look, her mother afraid?”

The thought of flying on a plane for the first time made my stomach hurt—never mind the prospect of having to use my terrible English in America and of another operation.

“I'd be gone for months. Who's to say Zuzanna would be alive when I returned?”

Pietrik took my hand. “We'll take good care of her.”

His hand felt good around mine. I pulled away and closed the locks on my empty suitcase.

“There's no changing my mind,” I said.

Pietrik heaved my suitcase up, returning it to the top shelf of the closet. “You have to learn there are some things you can't change.”

“So it would be better to leave my sister here to die? I'm not—”

I turned to see Zuzanna there in our bedroom doorway.

“Oh, I was—” Had she heard?

Zuzanna stepped into the room, hands behind her back. “Don't worry about it, Kasia.”

I braced myself, arms folded across my chest. “I won't go without you.”

“I'm glad,” she said.

“So you're not upset with me?”

She smiled. “Not at all.”

I wrapped my arms around her and felt her hard ribs through the back of her dress. “Good, because I would never leave you.”

“Well, that makes me happy,” Zuzanna said. “Because if I'm going to die, I'll want you near me.” She pulled from her pocket a telegram envelope. “Especially since we'll be in New York together.”

She pulled a sheet from the envelope, cleared her throat, and read: “Miss Zuzanna Kuzmerick cleared for travel to U.S. STOP Travel documents to follow STOP Report to Warsaw Airport with New York–bound group STOP Bon Voyage STOP Caroline Ferriday STOP.”

Pietrik walked to the closet and pulled the suitcase down from the shelf as Zuzanna and I swayed in each other's arms to Eddie Fisher's smooth voice.

Together, together, together.

W
e landed at Idlewild Airport in New York at 8:30
A.M.
, thirty-five very excited Polish women. The din of Polish on that plane was so loud, but the other passengers were kind and seemed to enjoy watching it all.

Caroline met us as we came down the steps from the plane—some of us very slowly—and directed a parade of wheelchairs. The name Caroline means joy, so it's no wonder we were all so happy to see her. She looked beautiful in a navy suit, French scarf, and a charming little felt hat with a feather on top.

“Why isn't she married?” all the Polish ladies asked.

Tall, slim, and delicately pretty, with the regal bearing of a queen, in Poland Caroline would have had many marriage proposals each day.

Once we made it through customs, a crush of reporters and Red Cross people and friends of Caroline surrounded us…so many camera bulbs flashing!

“How do you like it in America so far?” said one reporter, pointing a microphone at my face.

“If the food on the plane is any sign, it will be a good trip,” I said. They all laughed.

“Welcome to the Polish ladies,” said Caroline, her arm around Zuzanna's waist. “An olive branch across the miles.”

You've never in your life seen so many smiling faces in one place.

That week we all split up and went to different cities. Zuzanna and I stayed in New York with Caroline for treatment at Mount Sinai Hospital. Others went to Boston for reconstructive surgery; to Detroit, Baltimore, and Cleveland for heart operations. Two went to the National Jewish Hospital in Denver for the best tuberculosis treatment in the world, for their lungs were still bad.

My sister and I were lucky to stay in New York, since there was so much to see. Caroline drove us all over, Zuzanna in the front seat, of course. Caroline couldn't get enough of Zuzanna, it seemed, as if they were best friends all of a sudden.

“Here is Central Park, ladies, one of the most beautiful parks in the world.”

“We have beautiful parks in Poland,” I said.

She talked about her city as if it were the only one in the world.

We drove down Fifth Avenue. Hundreds of cars choked the streets, many with only one person inside. Such wastefulness! How was it allowed?

Our first day at Mount Sinai Hospital was a busy one, packed with blood tests and every other test you can imagine. Mount Sinai was a massive complex ten times the size of any Polish hospital. It took a long time to get anywhere, since the pain in my leg forced me to rest often and since Caroline stopped everyone she saw and introduced us.

“These ladies are here for medical treatment all the way from Poland,” she would say.

People were polite but looked at us with pity. It was kind of Caroline to introduce us, but it made it impossible to blend in.

The glass front doors of the hospital parted as if by magic, and Caroline forged ahead with Zuzanna as we hurried to meet the doctor. Zuzanna looked about her, remarking upon every little thing.

“Can you believe this place? So huge.”

Caroline turned as she walked. “Six floors. All state of the art.”

“How do they get to know the patients in such a big place?” I asked.

Zuzanna dropped back to walk with me. “This is the future of medicine. Can't wait to see their rehabilitation ward.”

“We have that at home,” I said.

“What? A jump rope and two dumbbells? They have a whole hydrotherapy unit here. Some people would be grateful to receive such care.”

We changed into hospital gowns and the nurse affixed a paper bracelet to my wrist. As we went to be x-rayed, I kept my purse and clothes with me, though a locker was offered.

“Can you believe this equipment?” Zuzanna asked.

I slipped a soft robe over my gown. “Ours does the same thing. Just not as new.”

We walked to the doctor's office in slippers we were allowed to keep.

“Please, let me take your things,” said the doctor's nurse, a tall woman wearing a ruffled nurse's cap.

She tried to take my clothes and purse from my arms, but I held on tight. “I'll keep them, thank you.”

The nurse helped me up a little step stool to sit on the examining table. The paper crinkled under me as I sat. Dr. Howard Rusk was a good-looking man with a shock of white hair and a kind face. He held up a small metal box that fit in his palm.

“Do I have your permission to record my notes with this device? It saves me time.”

A doctor asking a patient for permission? That was different.

I nodded, and Dr. Rusk spoke into the box.

“The operations at Ravensbrück concentration camp in Fürstenberg, Germany, throughout 1942 left Mrs. Bakoski, a thirty-five-year-old Caucasian woman of Polish-German descent, with reduced muscle function in her left calf, complicated by the introduction of foreign elements.”

He slid my x-ray under the metal rim of the light box and flicked on the light.

Zuzanna turned to me, her mouth open. There was a light box in every exam room. We had only one at the hospital back home.

My x-ray showed a scattering of objects in my calf. How strange to see it in such detail! I'd had plenty of x-rays but had never seen such clarity. It brought the operating room at Ravensbrück back in full color. Dr. Gebhardt. Dr. Oberheuser. I started to sweat as the doctor slid another x-ray onto the light box.

“Tibia has been reduced by six centimeters, resulting in antalgic gait. Network of neuromas developed around site, partial source of localized nerve pain Mrs. Bakoski suffers from. Treatment scheduled as follows: procedure to remove foreign elements and neuromas to increase blood flow and reduce pain, and reconstructive plastic surgery. Recommend orthopedic prosthesis, pain medication as needed, and routine post-op psychiatric eval.”

By the time Dr. Rusk clicked off his recording machine, I was short of breath. Could he tell?

“Any questions, Mrs. Bakoski?”

“After the operation, will I still have pain?”

“Hard to say one hundred percent. Chances are there will still be some pain, yes, but substantially reduced. Your gait will improve significantly.”

“No more questions, Doctor. Thank you.” I stepped down from the examining table, eager to escape that room and the x-rays hanging there.

“We'll also schedule the post-op psychiatric evaluation later.”

“I'm not crazy, Doctor.”

“It's standard. The Hiroshima Maidens found it helpful.” The doctor helped Zuzanna up to the table. “Good then. You'll spend the night here, and we'll get started in the morning. You can wait here or in the reception area to check in.”

“The operation will happen tomorrow?” I asked.

“The sooner we proceed, the sooner you recover.”

Recover? My mind flashed to the
Revier
recovery room. How could I do that again?

Dr. Rusk moved on to Zuzanna, and I left the room, panic jagging through me. Would the surgery be painful? Would I lie in a cast for days?

I changed back into my clothes and made my way down the maze of corridors and out the magic doors. There would be no operation. I was happy to keep my antalgic gait, thank you.