The Blouse Hope

The ruination of life as you know it is all because of Papa’s blouses.

At least, that’s the conclusion you’ve come to.

I watch you follow your Papa and Mama into the train station, a little girl with frizzy dark hair that barely reaches your shoulders, pinned back with a silver clip. You lug along a suitcase that’s almost as large as you, a suitcase that you insisted you were big enough to carry all by yourself.

You bite your lip and chew on it as you stagger into the station and away from everything you have ever known.

Those silly blouses, I hear you mutter under your breath.

It’s really quite ridiculous that you’re thinking that. But that

preposterous thought is the only reason that I am here with you, and for that, I am glad. If you would really understand what was happening, you would have no reason to Hope.

***

I was there on that sunny summer day when you first decided that it was all the blouses’ fault. Banging the door behind you, you ran into your house, following the scent of freshly baked cookies. You were hoping your Mama would let you taste one, just one, hot off the tray- even if it was just before dinner.

That was when your Mama, with a too serious face, sat you down and explained to you that the Honig family would be leaving Szcekociny and going on a train – a great big train! – to Russia.

Why? you demanded. I like our house. I like my friends. And… for how long will we be gone? To your mother’s reply, Quite a while, you questioned- Will Babi and Zeidi come with us? Will all our cousins come?

And- Why?

Your Mama looked tired; despair radiated off her in waves, but she had a bright smile pasted on her face. I backed away a little.

Despair and I don’t get along too well.

I remember you sitting there, hands clasped in front of you in what you thought was a very grown-up pose as your Mama explained to you How Matters Stand in the World. How Papa, a women’s clothing manufacturer, had recently gone on a business trip to Berlin. How he had heard some things there. And how he had concluded that Poland was not safe for Jews any longer.

You scrunched up your forehead.  

But what did Papa hear? You needed to know.

Mama sighed.

There’s a very bad man, she said, taking your hand, who wants to do very bad things to us Jews.

Is it Herr Schmidt? Because I only stepped on his flowers by

accident, really Mama-

Mama laughed.

No. Not him. Someone else. A very, very bad man, may his name be erased.

But… why? You were confused. What did we do?

Nothing, Mama said.

That made you even more confused.

When the other boys beat up your big brother, you explained patiently to your mother, it was because he had played a prank on them. No one just hurts people for no reason.

What did we do? you demanded again, waiting for a real answer.

Your Mama smiled at your innocence.

I was smiling too. The special gift of clarity given to children was a breath of fresh air in this upside down world.

We did nothing, your Mama told you as she got up to bring the fresh cookies to the table. We’re Jews, that’s the only reason.

I could almost see the little wheels turning frantically in your head, trying to figure out the logic behind your Mama’s words.

It doesn’t make sense, you decided. It can’t be that someone wants to hurt us for no reason.

That is when you figured out that it had to be the blouses. After all, it was on his return from his business trip for his blouse factory that Papa decided you had to leave.

It had to be, because Mama’s explanation made no sense.

You bit into a warm, gooey cookie, and all disturbing thoughts promptly flew out of your head as you contemplated what you were going to do with your beloved Babi in the few weeks

you had left with her.

***

To tell the truth, I was happy about your ridiculous, childish conclusion. At this point, I found people calling for me less and less, and I feared that very soon, I would be out of business completely, very much like your Papa. Oh yes, Despair, Anger, Sadness, Death, and Poverty- they were all busier than ever before.

But Hope- Hope seemed to be going extinct.

***

That night, you overheard Mama and Papa whispering urgently in their bedroom. You weren’t eavesdropping, no, just pausing conveniently outside their door, leaning in to catch the muffled words.

So your parents wouldn’t listen to you, Mama said, sighing. Mine didn’t either. My sister said they are leaving too, her and her husband and the children- but the rest of our family just won’t listen.

No one believes that Hitler will really do what he is

threatening, your Papa said, and his voice sounded like your grandfather’s, all hoarse and cracked.

Oh, I’m so worried about them, Mama choked. I feel- I feel as though we won’t ever see them again…

You froze, ear pressed against the door. We won’t ever see Babi

again? Or any of our aunts and uncles and cousins?

Surely, Mama was over-exaggerating.

***

I continue watching you in the train station, staying close to your shimmering cloud of youthful innocence. You plunk down on a wooden bench and start swinging your legs, which hang about a half a foot above the ground.

Your Mama, holding your baby sister, sits down next to you. She looks nervous.

Wringing his hands together, your Papa paces the floor. He also looks nervous.

Why are they so nervous? you wonder. A blouse problem can’t be so hard to fix.

I am drawn nearer to you as the desperate Hope that all will be fine soon and that all will return to normal flares up in you.

This is how they all feel at the beginning, I know. The escapees. They Hope and Hope that they are being overcautious, that this German devil is just a lunatic who will do no real harm. However, their logic wins in the end, and they lose all hope.

But the children-

-The children are different.

The grasping claws of Despair have to work much harder to draw them in, down into Despair’s bottomless depths.

This is why I like you so much, why I am clinging to you with so much strength-

You keep Hope alive.

***

But all too soon, you will grow up.

I am afraid of that.

I am afraid that the angry storm clouds of suffering and pain that are gathering on your horizon will cause you, just like the rest of them, to let me drift away. I am afraid that you, too, will be sucked into the abyss of despair.

So, now, when you are still young, still full of Hope, I beg of you – I plead with you-

Don’t lose Hope.

Please.

Or else all Hope will be lost, and I will die.