Once upon a time there was a boy. He lived in a village that no
longer exists, in a house that no longer exists, on the edge of a
field that no longer exists, where everything was discovered and
everything was possible. A stick could be a sword. A pebble could be
a diamond. A tree a castle.
Once upon a time there was a boy who lived in a house across the field
from a girl who no longer exists. They made up a thousand games. She
was a Queen and he was King. In the autumn light, her hair shone like
a crown. They collected the world in small handfuls. When the sky
grew dark they parted with leaves in their hair.
Once upon a time there was a boy who loved a girl, and her laughter
was a question he wanted to spend his whole life answering. When they
were ten he asked her to marry him. When they were eleven he kissed
her for the first time. When they were thirteen they got into a fight
and for three weeks they didn’t talk. When they were fifteen she
showed him the scar on her left breast. Their love was a secret they
told no one. He promised her he would never love another girl as long
as he lived. What if I die? she asked. Even then, he said.
For her sixteenth birthday he gave her an English dictionary and
together they learned the words. What’s this? he’d ask, tracing his
index finger around her ankle, and she’d look it up. And this? he’d
ask, kissing her elbow. Elbow! What kind of a word is that? and
then he’d lick it, making her giggle. What about this? he asked,
touching the soft skin behind her ear. I don’t know , she said,
turning off the flashlight and rolling over, with a sigh, onto her
back. When they were seventeen they made love for the first time, on
a bed of straw in a shed. Later- when things happened that they could
never have imagined- she wrote him a letter that said: When will you
learn that there isn’t a word for everything?
Once upon a time there was a boy who loved a girl whose father was
shrewd enough to scrounge together all the zloty he had to send his
youngest daughter to America. At first she refused to go, but the boy
also knew enough to insist, swearing on his life that he’d earn some
money and find a way to follow her. She she left. He got a job in
the nearest city, working as a janitor in a hospital. At night he
stayed up writing his book. He sent her a letter into which he’d
copied eleven chapters in tiny hand-writing. He wasn’t even sure the
mail would get through. He saved all the money he could. One day he
was laid off. No one said why. He returned home. In the summer of
1941, the Einsatzgrouppen drove deeper east, killing thousands of
Jews. On a bright, hot day in July, they entered Slonim. At that
hour, the boy happened to be lying on his back in the woods thinking
about the girl. You could say it was his love for her that saved him.
in the years that followed, the boy became a man who became
invisible. In this way, he escaped death.
Once upon a time a man who had become invisible arrived in America.
He’d spent three and a half years hiding, mostly in trees, but also in
cracks, cellars, holes. Then it was over. The Russian tanks rolled
in. For six months he lived in a Displaced Persons camp. He got word
to his cousin who was a locksmith in America. In his head, he
practiced over and over the only words he knew in English. Knee.
Elbow. Ear: Finally his papers came through. He took a train to a
boat and after a week he arrived in New York Harbor. A could day in
November. Folded in his hand was the address of the girl.
That night he lay awake on the floor of his cousin’s room. The
radiator clanged and hissed, but he was grateful for the warmth. in
the morning his cousin explained to him three times how to take the
subway to Brooklyn. He bought a bunch of roses but they wilted
because though his cousin had explained the way three times he still
got lost. At last he found the place. Only as his finger pressed the
doorbell did the though cross his mind that perhaps he should have
called. She opened the door. She wore a blue scarf over her hair.
Once upon a time, the woman who had been a girl got on a boat to
America and threw up the whole way, not because she was seasick but
because she was pregnant. When she found out, she wrote to the boy.
Every day she waited for a letter from him, but none came. She got
bigger and bigger. She tried to hide it so she wouldn’t lose her job
at the dress factory where she worked. A few weeks before the baby
was born, she got news from someone who heard that they were killing
Jews in Poland. Where? She asked, but no one knew where. She
stopped going to work. She couldn’t bring herself to get out of bed.
After a week, the son of her boss came to see her. He brought her
food to eat, and put a bouquet of flowers in a vase by her bed. When
he found out she was pregnant, he called a midwife. A baby boy was
born. One day the girl sat up in bed and saw the son of her boss
rocking her child in the sunlight. A few months later, she agreed to
marry him. Two years later, she had another child.
The man who ha become invisible stood in her living room listening to
all of this. He was twenty-five years old. He had changed so much
since he last saw her and now part of him wanted to laugh a hard, cold
laugh. She gave him a small photograph of the boy, who was now five.
Her hand was shaking. She said: you stopped writing. I thought you
were dead. He looked at the photograph of the boy who would grow up
to look like him, who although the man didn’t know it then, would go
to college, fall in love, fall out of love, become a famous writer.
What’s his name? he asked. She said: I called in Isaac.
They stood for a long time in silence as he stared at the picture. At
last he managed three words: Come with me. The sound of the children
shouting came from the street below. She squeezed her eyes shut.
Come with me, he said, holding out his hand. Tears rolled down her
face. Three times he asked her. She shook her head. I can’t, she
said. She looked down at the floor. Please, she said. And he did
the hardest hing he’d ever done in his life: he picked up his hat and
walked away.
And if the man who once upon a time had been a boy who promised he’s
never fall in love with another girl as long as he lived kept his
promise, it wasn’t because he was stubborn or even loyal. He couldn’t
help it. And having hidden for three and a half years, hiding his
love for a son who didn’t know he existed didn’t seem unthinkable.
Not if it was what the only woman he would ever love needed him to do.
After all, what does it mean for a man to hide one more thing when he
has vanished completely?
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Melancholy Heart 