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Authors: Gerda Weissmann Klein
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countless questions about England. Worship must have shown on my face. She seemed pleased, and asked: “Would you like me to give you English lessons?” Would I! Elated, I hurried home. Papa and Mama were glad to see me once again bubbling with excitement, although Papa was a bit worried about the possible danger connected with studying English, since it was forbidden by the Germans. “But, Papa, imagine the surprise Arthur will have when he gets home and I speak English to him”–Arthur had studied English for several years and spoke it quite well. There was a shadow of a smile on Papa’s lips. He patted my head. “All right,” he said.
With zest I threw myself into my studies. Twice a week I
went to Ulla’s, carrying a shopping bag with a few potatoes covering my English grammar.
One hot day in July I was on my way to Ulla’s, wearing a white dress, too short, too childish for my age, and pinned to it the star of David with the word JEW. My hair had grown long, and I wore it in braids. As I passed the municipal swimming pool I could hear the gay music of the small orchestra inside. Surrounded by exquisitely kept lawns and flower beds, it was the most modern and beautiful pool in Poland. How many happy days we had all spent there.
Through the gates I heard the playful voices of the bathers. I saw colorful beach balls thrown high in the air. I heard the delicious gurgle of fresh water. Feeling hot and sticky, I was full of envy and resentment at being denied all this. My long-sleeved dress and the potatoes seemed unusually burdensome.
Suddenly I felt a heavy hand on my shoulder and heard, “What do you want here?” barked at me.
It was a policeman.
“Nothing,” I murmured, “nothing,” and I began to move along.
His eyes fell on my shopping bag.
“What’s in there?” he asked.
“Just potatoes,” I replied.
He turned the bag upside down. The potatoes rolled into the gutter and out fell the book with its incriminating title.
“Ah, that’s it!” he exclaimed with obvious relish. “Come to the police station. Learning English will be the last pleasure of your life!”
I followed him meekly. What else could I do? I reproached myself bitterly, and felt a paralyzing fear, for I knew it was not uncommon to be condemned to death for violations of rules no worse than the one I had broken. My parents would probably be held responsible for what I had done.
In a few hours they would become worried waiting for me. Papa would pace the floor and Mama would finally run over to Ulla’s, only to learn that I had not been there. Then she would rush home, hoping that I had arrived in the meantime. Then she would hurry over to see Escia and ask if I had been
there, and she would continue her vigil until nightfall. I couldn’t think beyond that.
I wanted to plead with the policeman to let me go, but I couldn’t talk. There were tears in my eyes.
The music and the laughter of the bathers faded into the distance. The sun seemed to have ceased to shine. All of a sudden I felt cold, and I started to tremble.
When we got to the station house, the policeman took me into a room where an older man with a shiny bald head sat at a wide desk. The bald man had been writing, but he stopped and looked up when the policeman pointed to me, and with obvious pride described his discovery of my crime. When he finished the officer behind the desk barked at me, “Do you realize what you have done?”
I simply nodded.
He picked up my book and glanced through it. The passing minutes seemed an eternity.
The policeman sat down and smoked a cigarette, quite satisfied with himself.
The officer laid down my book. Then he looked at the policeman and said, “This is a terrible crime. It is almost espionage to learn English while we are at war with England. The punishment will be meted out accordingly.”
There was a lump in my throat. I wanted to say so many things, to plead, but I was unable to speak.
“I have to give it a
With zest I threw myself into my studies. Twice a week I
went to Ulla’s, carrying a shopping bag with a few potatoes covering my English grammar.
One hot day in July I was on my way to Ulla’s, wearing a white dress, too short, too childish for my age, and pinned to it the star of David with the word JEW. My hair had grown long, and I wore it in braids. As I passed the municipal swimming pool I could hear the gay music of the small orchestra inside. Surrounded by exquisitely kept lawns and flower beds, it was the most modern and beautiful pool in Poland. How many happy days we had all spent there.
Through the gates I heard the playful voices of the bathers. I saw colorful beach balls thrown high in the air. I heard the delicious gurgle of fresh water. Feeling hot and sticky, I was full of envy and resentment at being denied all this. My long-sleeved dress and the potatoes seemed unusually burdensome.
Suddenly I felt a heavy hand on my shoulder and heard, “What do you want here?” barked at me.
It was a policeman.
“Nothing,” I murmured, “nothing,” and I began to move along.
His eyes fell on my shopping bag.
“What’s in there?” he asked.
“Just potatoes,” I replied.
He turned the bag upside down. The potatoes rolled into the gutter and out fell the book with its incriminating title.
“Ah, that’s it!” he exclaimed with obvious relish. “Come to the police station. Learning English will be the last pleasure of your life!”
I followed him meekly. What else could I do? I reproached myself bitterly, and felt a paralyzing fear, for I knew it was not uncommon to be condemned to death for violations of rules no worse than the one I had broken. My parents would probably be held responsible for what I had done.
In a few hours they would become worried waiting for me. Papa would pace the floor and Mama would finally run over to Ulla’s, only to learn that I had not been there. Then she would rush home, hoping that I had arrived in the meantime. Then she would hurry over to see Escia and ask if I had been
there, and she would continue her vigil until nightfall. I couldn’t think beyond that.
I wanted to plead with the policeman to let me go, but I couldn’t talk. There were tears in my eyes.
The music and the laughter of the bathers faded into the distance. The sun seemed to have ceased to shine. All of a sudden I felt cold, and I started to tremble.
When we got to the station house, the policeman took me into a room where an older man with a shiny bald head sat at a wide desk. The bald man had been writing, but he stopped and looked up when the policeman pointed to me, and with obvious pride described his discovery of my crime. When he finished the officer behind the desk barked at me, “Do you realize what you have done?”
I simply nodded.
He picked up my book and glanced through it. The passing minutes seemed an eternity.
The policeman sat down and smoked a cigarette, quite satisfied with himself.
The officer laid down my book. Then he looked at the policeman and said, “This is a terrible crime. It is almost espionage to learn English while we are at war with England. The punishment will be meted out accordingly.”
There was a lump in my throat. I wanted to say so many things, to plead, but I was unable to speak.
“I have to give it a
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