JANUARY 31, 1939
Why did I decide to start my diary today? Did something important happen? Have I discovered that my friends are keeping diaries of their own? No! I just want a friend. I want somebody I can talk to about my everyday worries and joys. Somebody who will feel what I feel, believe what I say and never reveal my secrets. No human could ever be that kind of friend and that’s why I have decided to look for a confidant in the form of a diary.
Today, my dear Diary, is the beginning of our deep friendship. Who knows how long it will last? It might even continue until the end of our lives. In any case I promise to always be honest with you, I’ll be open and I’ll tell you everything. In return you’ll listen to my thoughts and my concerns, but never ever will you reveal them to anybody else, you’ll remain silent like an enchanted book, locked up with an enchanted key and hidden in an enchanted castle. You won’t betray me, if anything it’ll be those small blue letters that people are able to recognize.
First of all, allow me to introduce myself. I’m in the third grade of the Maria Konopnicka Middle School for Girls.* My name is Renia, or at least that is what my friends call me. I have a little sister, Arianka,† who wants to be a movie star. (She’s partially fulfilled this dream, as she’s already been in some movies.)
Our mommy lives in Warsaw. I used to live in a beautiful manor house on the Dniester River. I loved it there. I think these were so far the happiest days of my life. There were storks on old linden trees, apples glistened in the orchard and I had a garden with neat, charming rows of flowers. But that’s in the past now and those days will never return. There is no manor house anymore, no storks on old linden trees, no apples or flowers. All that remain are memories, sweet and lovely. And the Dniester River, which flows, distant, strange and cold—which hums, but not for me anymore.
Now I live in Przemysl, at my granny’s house. But the truth is I have no real home. That’s why sometimes I get so sad that I have to cry. I cry, though I don’t miss anything, not the dresses, not sweets, not my strange and precious dreams. I only miss my Mama and her warm heart. I miss the house where we all lived together, like in the white manor house on the Dniester River.
Again the need to cry takes over me
When I recall the days that used to be
The linden trees, house, storks and butterflies
Far … somewhere … too far for my eyes
I see and hear what I miss
The wind that used to lull old trees
And nobody tells me anymore
About the fog, about the silence
The distance and darkness outside the door
I’ll always hear this lullaby
See our house and pond laid by
And linden trees against the sky …
But I also have joyous moments, and there are so many of them … So many! I need to introduce my class to you, so that you can understand all our inside jokes.
My best friend, Norka,* sits next to me. Somebody might say that they don’t like Nora, someone else might be delighted with her. I always like Norka, she’s always the same sweet Norka to me. We share all the same thoughts, have the same views and opinions. At our school, the girls often get “crushes” on our teachers, so Norka and I have a crush, a real one (some girls do it just to butter the teachers up) on our Latin teacher, Mrs. Waleria Brzozowska née Brühl. We call her “Brühla.” Brühla is the wife of a handsome officer who lives in Lwów. She goes to see him every other Sunday. We tried to get his address through the address bureau, but didn’t succeed because we don’t know his actual name. (We call him “Zdzislaw.”) Brühla teaches Latin and we’re good at this subject, which surely proves that we really love her.
The next girl in our row is Belka or “Belania”—fat and stocky like three hundred devils! She has an exceptional talent for academics and an even more exceptional talent for earning dislike. She has a terrible “crush” on Mrs. Skorska* and pulls stupid faces when looking at her.
Next comes Irka (ira-ae—anger). I don’t like Irka and it’s in my blood. I inherited this hatred: my mommy didn’t like Irka’s mother much when they were in middle school. I started disliking Irka even more when she began undermining me at school—all of this plus her unfair school report and disgusting sweet-talking, lying and insincerity made me genuinely hate her. What needs to be added to this mixture is also the fact that Brühla goes to visit Irka at home, which we investigated. And Irka’s mother goes to visit Brühla at home, which we discovered peeking into the ground floor windows of Brühla’s place, where I spent many an hour with Nora waiting for her. All of that means I can’t stand the girl! But since we’re in the same class, we have to get by. So Nora and I just clench our fists and wait for an opportunity.
When it comes to the girls sitting next to Irka, I either don’t care about them at all or I like them a little bit. On the other hand I care a bit more about the girl sitting at the very back of the classroom, namely Luna, who sits behind me and constantly bombards my back. She thinks of herself as a very talented and unearthly creature. During parties and generally all the time she “pretends” to be this or that, tries to draw attention to her beauty (which she doesn’t possess), her exceptional abilities (which are figments of her imagination) and her importance (which she’s never had). Luna is always trying to get the attention from boys, so, being short, she wears high heels, pencils her eyebrows longer and powders her face. At first she “borrowed” Irka Lozinska’s powder and did it supposedly “just for fun.” And now she doesn’t do it “for fun” at all, but entirely seriously.
Irka Lozinska must be the most beautiful girl in our class or perhaps even the whole school. You don’t even mind her dark, almost orange skin tone (powder-related, of course) and her patronizing voice or harsh words spoken by coral-red lips revealing beautiful, snow-white teeth. But Irka has the worst of all flaws; she has tuberculosis … Yes, sometimes she bleeds from the mouth and nose. I feel sorry for Irka. She has a boyfriend who loves her, but he doesn’t know that his girlfriend’s so seriously ill.
Irka sits at the very back of the classroom. Next to her there are two stony figures: Halina (very bad) with greatly coiffured hair and Slawka who always pulls surprised faces, never answers and hides Halina under her desk when she wants to avoid answering a teacher’s question. Then there is the third Irka, thin as a rake and very ugly. Next to her sits Elza, my former neighbor. She plays all innocent but I know very well that it’s just a game. She has decent grades, but her school report is always better than she deserves. Supposedly she always copies her Latin homework from the third Irka … but who cares.
Then there is the president of our class, Krzyska. Krzyska doesn’t know anything and speaks as if she has dumplings filled with sand in her mouth, but she’s pretty and always head-over-heels in love with all her Zbyszeks, Slaweks, Leszeks, Zdzisios, etc. She’s friends with Luna.
In front of her the first Eda (there are three of them) bends and sways. Eda is a “lady with claws,” she’s engaged, has a great figure and all. The second Eda is Belka’s former friend. She also has a crush on Mrs. Skorska, but she’s not good at history, which makes me suspicious. The third Eda was our enemy as recently as several months ago. Just imagine, my dear Diary, some stranger, some “stray” from the sticks arrives and wants to be the boss, tries to show us we are slow and thinks of herself as an “all-around talent.” Seriously?
Luska and Dziunka sit in front of Eda. Dziunka makes “nervously tectonic” moves. I was on bad terms with her for over a year, but I got over it on Brühla’s name day. Dziunka is considered the most boring person in the class and, indeed, she is one. Luska is silly, stupid and backward. You can tell her whatever you want. But she’s a fun one, she always dances the “Andrusovo” dance with me at parties. Once Luska yelled during a math lesson, “Miss, miss, I haven’t been called up for such a long time and I like math so much!” Nora’s response to that was, “Luska, come on, don’t be stupid.” “Not at all,” Luska answered, but then, when she realized what she’d done, she started stammering and widened her shiny eyes.
In front of them, in front of the first Eda, Luska and Dziunka, there is a strange desk reserved for “antiques.” Which means Janka. Janka is the best in the class at “playing stupid” and she only survives thanks to other people’s help. When she gets called up to the blackboard, she has all the answers written on her nails. If, by any chance, the teacher notices something suspicious, Janka quickly licks the ink off and plays the saint. Janka knows how to cry, wail and even faint on demand, quite like the first Eda, who suddenly feels woozy when Pacula is about to ask her to recite a poem. Janka is generally very talented when it comes to making scenes. Next to her sits Wisia, a little creature who’s not even three and a half foot tall despite her fifteen years of age. The third in the row is Frejka or Salka. She gets nervous attacks every now and then, sometimes can’t say a word when too upset, walks in comical steps and skips, and often “can’t stand” sitting by her desk.
I should also mention Ninka, this unusual girl who looks completely innocent but receives poste restante letters from various “peoples,” arranges meetings in dark streets, visits lonely men and is proud of it. She’s quite nice. There are more girls like her in our class, but, as I said before, I either don’t care about them or don’t want to hang around with them, because I am a good girl.
We’ve been planning a party for months now. We’ve fought and disagreed, but the party is on this coming Saturday.
FEBRUARY 2, 19391
My dear Diary! I have always been just average in gymnastics, so I practice at home to get better. I have just managed to pull off my first somersault. None of my friends can do it. I’m triumphant, though I’ve grazed my knee.
FEBRUARY 5, 1939
My dear Diary, it’s after the party, finally! I’m so happy. It was a great party and everyone, especially Brühla, had a wonderful time. But some sadness awaited me after the party. And again, for the umpteenth time, I thought, “I wish Mama were here.” What happened was that Irka’s mother, Mrs. Oberhard, was all over Brühla, sweet-talking her as much as she could, which, of course, would be sure to benefit Irka and her younger sister in the near future. Oh, dear Diary, if you could only know how hard it is to want something so badly, to work so hard for it and then be denied it at the finishing line! What was it actually that I wanted? I don’t know. I was given the highest praise by Pacula, which I don’t care about (she talked to us, me and Norka). Brühla was quite nice. But I’m still not satisfied.
Luna performed twice and so did I. Today I saw Brühla with Mrs. Oberhard, most likely walking back from hers. I nodded politely, walked past and said to Nora, “What do you think? She was at hers again, wasn’t she?” And then I suddenly see her pulling a stupid face. I look around and see that Brühla is walking right behind us. She looks horrible, I don’t know what’s wrong with her, I would like to be of use to her, to help, perhaps to advise, but the abyss between us is so huge, so very, very huge … Perhaps even larger than the one separating me from Mama. She could help me too, she could advise. But it’s much harder, oh so much harder to bridge this gap.
FEBRUARY 8, 1939
Dear Diary! It’s been several days since I told you about my life, but actually nothing special has happened. Life goes on as normal, with few small exceptions. Brühla attended a Latin teachers’ conference, so Latin was taught by Mr. Skorski. Mr. Dziedzic praised Irka very much (undeservedly), Belka got a bad grade, I got away with it, but I’m worried about tomorrow, as it could be a really bad day. That’s all I needed to tell you.
Copyright © 2019 by Elizabeth Bellak. English translation copyright © 2019 by Anna Blasiak and Marta Dziurosz. Foreword copyright © 2019 by Deborah E. Lipstadt