Poles Apart

By Audrey RL Wyatt

CHAIM SCHLESSEL lost his family to the Holocaust more than sixty years ago. DAVID SCHLESSEL, grown, married and successful, is plagued by the always taboo subject of his father’s suffering at the hands of the Nazis.

United by a history they cannot discuss, yet starkly alone in their private struggles, they confront demons as well as one another in a stand-off that will change them forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Audrey RL Wyatt
• Release date: Oct 18, 2010
• ISBN: 9781452472386

Audrey RL Wyatt

Audrey Wyatt, right-brained to a fault, has worked in various arts – most notably acting, teaching and creating children’s theater curricula. Now a fiction writer, she bases her novels, short stories and even a television sitcom on her experiences and culture. Her stories often feature strong-willed, quirky women. Audrey’s novel, Poles Apart, has been honored with five awards and her essays and short fiction have been published in various forums, both print and online. For a full list of Audrey’s credits as well as links to her work, check out her Bibliography. Always one to foster aspiring artists, Audrey founded Southeast Valley Fiction Writers near Phoenix, Arizona, and Bay State Writers in Southeast Massachusetts. She is a founding member of LitSisters and LitSisters Publishing. She also teaches Creative Writing in continuing education and Memoir Writing to Seniors. Audrey has enjoyed living all over the country, from the Rockies to Boston Harbor. She currently makes her home in the Valley of the Sun with her incredible husband, their two terrific teenage daughters, and their beagle-basset mix, the Artful Dodger.

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GLOSSARY

Alter Kucker – old fart, dirty old man

Aynshpam zikh –stubborn, persistent

Babka – Polish coffee cake flavored with orange rind, raisins and almonds

Bar (Bas) Mitzvah – rite of passage when a boy is 13 or girl is 12; they become a full member of the religious community

Bisel - little

Bubeleh – darling, sweetheart; a term of endearment

Bupkis – nothing

Challah – braided egg bread

Emmes – truth

Farbisener – a sour person

Farklempt – choked up, overwhelmed

Fartik – that’s final!

Ganif – thief

Goyishe – referencing a non-Jewish person

Kinder - children

Kineghore – not tempt the evil eye

Knaiydleach – matzo ball

Kvel – to glow with pride

Kvetch – complain

Kuchen – small pastry, can be filled with various fruit spreads

Kugel – similar to bread pudding, can be made with noodles or matzo meal

Mandelbrot – almond bread; fairly traditional in eastern Europe; frequently dipped in coffee

Mentsch – good, decent person

Meydele - girl

Mishegas – nonsense, craziness

Mitzva – blessing, wonderful happening

Nebish – fool, loser

Nosh – snack, a little something

Nu - well?, so?, go on?

Nudge – pest

Oy vey – signifying distress or upset

Oysgeshpilt – exhausted

SS (Schutzstaffel) – This branch of the German military was made up of the Nazi party faithful. It was built on Nazi Party ideology and thrived under the leadership of Heinrich Himmler. Though they performed a variety of duties, principal among them the guarding of concentration camps, they were a political as well as military organization. It is likely that the SS was responsible for most of the crimes against humanity.

Schpeel – speech or explanation

Shana – beautiful

Shana Meydele – beautiful girl

Shande – shame, disgrace, tragedy

Shiker – drunk, a drunkard

Shmontses - nonsense

Shnorrer – a beggar, a moocher

Shry – shrill yelling or crying

Sonderkommando - (German: special commandos): Jewish death camp prisoner who assisted in the Final Solution. The job of a Sonderkommando was to remove bodies from gas chambers, burn them in camp crematoria, and get rid of the remains in order to hide the evidence.

Spiel – speech

Tuchis – buttocks

Tsimmes – fuss, issue

Tsoris – misery, suffering, trouble

Vey is mire – signifying distress or upset

Yenteh – a busybody, a gossip

Zaftig – a full or shapely figure

Zay gezunt – be well, good-bye, go with God

Zeeskyte - sweetie

POLES APART

Chapter 1

Chaim tried to keep his rheumy eyes focused on the paint-by-number canvas clamped to the easel. But his gaze kept returning to the window and the moving van parked below, alongside the aging brownstone. Movers came and went, crunching the multi-colored leaves, carrying their burden into the building. Chaim squinted at the sun flooding through the ivory lace curtains, reflected off the pink, plastic-covered sofa.

Straightening his sore back, he thought longingly of his recently departed friend. Weinstock was a mentsch. But good to have some new company. Chaim spoke toward the truck and the new neighbor moving in. Do you play chess, I wonder. Rubbing the ache in his left forearm, he turned his gaze back to the painting and dabbed ochre on the urn in the still life. Similar paintings hung in a continuous border around the room.

The familiar clomp of orthopedic shoes and the jingle of keys intruded on Chaim’s concentration. As he looked up, the heavy wooden door swung open and a handcart laden with groceries was shoved inside.

Chaim, Frieda called, come take this buggy into the kitchen for me. She hung her shapeless brown wool coat on the rack and removed a red Maple leaf from the collar.

I met the man moving into the Weinstocks’ apartment. Frieda followed Chaim as he wound his way through the dining room, around the heavy mahogany furniture, and set her cream-colored pocketbook on the sideboard. He seems nice enough. kind of quiet. he’s alone, no wife to take care of him. She began emptying the bags, piling items onto the gold-flecked counter.

Chaim folded the handcart and slid it between the worn formica table and the back door, hiking up his baggy brown pants and flexing his arthritic hands. Does he have a name, this lonely man with no one to care for him?

Of course he has a name, Frieda responded. Everything has a name. She steadied herself on a stepstool and began putting away the groceries.

Will I ever know what it is? Chaim enjoyed the back and forth of his life with Frieda. Nothing was ever simple, but it was never boring either.

His name is Borys Chlopnicki. Are you happy now?

A bisel happier. But I am sure you know much more than a mere name. Chaim turned on the burner under the teapot and took two barrel glasses from the drainer. Frieda Schlessel would never be able to walk away with just a name. You must know his whole life story, my darling yenteh. So tell me and then I will know, too.

Finish making the tea while I put these things away. Frieda continued restocking the cupboard.

Chaim reached past her for the canister of tea just as the pot began to whistle. His hand accidentally brushed her breast and he stopped, staring into her eyes. Shana Frieda. Shana darling.

Frieda gazed into his eyes for a long moment. Alter Kucker! Dirty old man! You’re 75 years old! Go fix the tea. Smiling, she pushed him aside.

He poured two steaming glasses and sat down at the pockmarked table, trying to be patient while Frieda finished her work. Chaim set a small china bowl of sugar cubes between the two tumblers. He beamed as he watched her.

Frieda shut the cupboard door and moved to the table. Oy, the walk from the Pick ‘n’ Pay seems longer each week. I tell you, Chaim, the children I see just standing around on Coventry! If it’s not blue hair it’s boys in girls’ clothing! Or girls in the boys’ clothing! Or they’re carrying on with each other in the street! What shnorrers some of them are, with their hands out for any morsel.

Frieda heaved a deep sigh. Thank you for making the tea, Chaim. She picked up a sugar cube and bit it in half, setting the other half on a napkin. She sipped the tea, letting the sweetener do its work. Chaim could see the mark of her pink lipstick on the sugary remnant.

Nu! The story will not tell itself, Frieda. I want to hear about the new neighbor. Did he mention if he plays chess?

You haven’t played since Morty died, have you? You miss him, I know. I miss Sarah. But Morty lived a good life. And Sarah is better off with her daughter in California. Frieda pulled a tissue from the recesses of her cleavage and dabbed at the corners of her eyes.

Yes, yes. But the new neighbor. What can you tell me of him? Chaim tried to steer Frieda back to the subject at hand.

Well, Mr. Chlopnicki just arrived from Detroit. I could tell by the look of his furniture that a woman chose it for him, so I asked him.

You asked him if a woman picked out his furniture? Chaim shook his head in awe. My wife the yenteh.

No, Chaim. I asked him if there was a Mrs. Chlopnicki. He told me his wife died in 1995. They were married 49 years. Such tsoris! And they were never blessed with children.

And how did you find out that piece of news?

I asked him if he moved here to be near his daughter.

So our new neighbor lost his wife and has no children. And his interest in chess is unknown. Is that the crux of it?

He is originally from Poland.

Poland, Chaim whispered. Like me. Tears welled up in his eyes. Rubbing his left arm, he felt Frieda’s hand on his.

He is goyishe, a Catholic. Frieda finished quietly. That is all I know.

Chaim sat silently, absentmindedly rubbing his arm. His eyes were still wet.

Chaim, bubeleh, you should paint. You know how you enjoy it. Frieda patted his arm and smiled. I’m going to bake some mandelbrot for Mr. Chlopnicki. Then we’ll know if he plays chess.

************

Chaim sat up in bed, sweating. His movement was so sudden that Frieda woke.

What’s the matter? She mumbled, turning over in bed, the pale blue tissue taped to her hair crinkling and tearing.

Nothing, Frieda. Go back to sleep. Chaim patted her hip through the coverlet.

No, Chaim. You’re farklempt. What’s the matter?

Nothing. I’m oysgeshpilt.

Of course you are. It’s the middle of the night. Who wouldn’t be exhausted? Frieda patted her hair in an apparent attempt to keep the Kleenex construction under control.

I had a nightmare, that is all, he said, absentmindedly rubbing his left arm.

Ptoi, ptoi. Frieda chased the dream through her fingers and away. Alright, tell me.

I do not wish to talk about it. Chaim turned on his side, facing away from Frieda. He tried to feign sleep.

Chaim Schlessel. You never want to talk about it but you know that talking always helps. Tsoris shared, Chaim.

Frieda, go to sleep. I am not discussing it. I will not hear another word.

Oy! Frieda turned over, as always making one last comment.

Chaim listened as Frieda’s muttered grumbling faded off to a gentle snore. That is it, then - thank god. Chaim closed his eyes but it was impossible to get the image of the vicious dogs, jaws dripping drool, out of his mind. He could still hear them growling along with the guttural shouts of their handlers. Exhausted though he was, Chaim could not put this image behind him.

As Frieda’s breathing evened, Chaim slipped quietly from the bed. Shaking, heart pounding, he slid his feet into worn slippers and pulled on the plaid flannel robe retrieved from a velvet-covered occasional chair. Frieda moaned softly but did not stir. Chaim gently closed the bedroom door so the light from the kitchen would not disturb her.

He pulled a tall glass from the drainer and retrieved the lemon juice and seltzer from the old, harvest gold refrigerator. Rummaging through the flatware for a long-handled spoon proved a noisy endeavor and Chaim did his best to be quiet. He added two cubes of sugar and stirred the concoction vigorously to create the desired effect.

Moving to his chair in the corner of the room, Chaim set the glass gingerly on the table. Removing the spoon he laid it neatly on a napkin, careful to capture any drip. Leaving no detritus was important. Frieda would know how tormented he had been if she found evidence of his vice.

Chaim raised the drink to his lips and felt the sweet cool liquid flow. Oh, the delicious nectar! Lemon-ade was a delight of the heavens and Chaim could feel the demons of his dream recede.

Slowly sipping the drink to savor every drop took Chaim back to his childhood. Whenever something bothered him Mama made lemon-ade, lime-ade, orange-ade. Whatever she had in the house would suffice. But it would always be sweet and wonderful. And she would sit at the table with him and talk about his problems. Oh, how good it felt to have Mama’s eyes on just him. Whatever the matter had been, it would disappear when he sat with Mama and drank a glass of lemon-ade. And when the troubles came... Chaim would sometimes think if he could only have a glass at the table with Mama he could manage anything. Tears stung his eyes at the thought.

Chaim tipped the glass back to be sure to get the last drops. Then, using the spoon, he scraped the bits of sugar from the bottom and sides toward the mouth of the cup so he could slurp them up. Moving back to the sink Chaim washed away the evidence of his midnight treat, arthritic hands aching with the water and movement. As he set the glass in the drainer he noticed the plate of mandelbrot, covered in plastic. For the goyishe neighbor, he supposed. He hoped Frieda made extra.

Chaim turned out the light and made his way back to bed, trying not to bump into anything, his eyes not used to the dark. When he got into bed, Frieda snuggled against him. As always when the nightmares came, Chaim hoped the last fleeting images of dogs and men would recede once and for all, finally allowing sleep.

Chapter 2

Annie put on a pot of coffee, knowing the aroma would wake her husband. She pressed her hands flat on the white tile countertop to still her shaking. She didn’t relish the idea of bringing up therapy again, but she didn’t know what else to do. The kids were old enough now to resent his distance ... Oh, face it, Annie. You’re doing this for your marriage.

It felt good to admit the truth. The walls that David built were isolating him from her as well as the kids. She couldn’t take any more of it. And if this would help...

After several minutes she heard him; feet hit the floor ... toilet flushing ... water running. She smiled at his predictability. Annie removed the twice-folded sheet from her purse, filled two cups and waited. Moments later David trudged into the warm, sunlit kitchen, sat down at the glass-top table and hid behind the Sunday paper.

Morning, he sounded hoarse.

Annie set a steaming mug before her husband and sat opposite him with her own, placing the folded page beneath her cup. Squinting from the golden rays streaming in through the bay window behind him, she scooted into his shadow. I want to talk to you before the kids come in for breakfast.

Sure Hon, whatever you need. David remained veiled by the newspaper.

Come on, David. Annie reached out and crushed the paper barrier. This is important.

He didn’t hide his exasperation. I was listening, Annie. You didn’t have to trash the Plain Dealer. He made a production of smoothing out and folding the newsprint, setting it beside the cup.

Annie pushed her unruly red hair out of her face for what seemed the hundredth time that morning. She slowly opened the flyer her cup had been resting upon, determined to make this the last fight on the issue. I saw this notice at the bakery the other day. I think you should go. She slid the sheet across the table.

David picked it up and scanned the text:

2nd GENERATION SURVIVORS

We are forming a support group for

2nd generation survivors of the Holocaust

Help create a group that will meet your needs

Initial Meeting:

Wednesday, September 25th @ 7:30 p.m.

Jewish Community Center of Cleveland

Meyer Center conference room

for information call Adult Services

What the hell is this?! David’s voice boomed through the spacious house.

Shhh! I don’t want you to wake the kids.

Fine. David lowered his voice to a normal decibel. You want to tell me what you mean by this?

Annie braced herself. She didn’t want to push but she had to make him see where he was headed. Look, you’ve always said you wanted to deal with this thing. I can’t count how many times we’ve discussed it. But you won’t go to therapy. You won’t talk to your father, you –

Are you kidding?! I can’t talk to Pop. You know he won’t talk to me. And my mother doesn’t want me to push him.

As I was saying, Annie countered, not letting his outburst dissuade her, You’re not doing anything about it.

Maybe not right now. But I’m going to.

You’ve had a million opportunities. You’re not in this family alone, you know. The kids and I feel how far away you are, and it’s getting worse. Just the other day, Judith –

You’re talking to my sister about this!

Judith and I had lunch on Tuesday. She’s very concerned about you, you know.

Judith is a flake.

She is not a flake. She’s just more the ‘go with the flow’ type.

Drives me nuts, David mumbled.

Annie gulped her coffee. I love you, David. Do you think I would have stayed for nineteen years if I didn’t? But these walls you surround yourself with are getting thicker and I can’t get through anymore. Is this really what you want out of life? Keeping everyone out? Doing to your children what your father did to you?

David flinched, as if the accusation slapped his face. I ... am not ... my ... father. The growl so deep it must have come from the abyss.

Honey, when the kids were little they didn’t see it. You played with them. You were closer. But Adam is starting to date. He needs you to set an example, show him how to be a good man. And Sophie. She’s not going to be your little girl much longer. She paused, then whispered, and you won’t let me in at all anymore. She closed her eyes for a moment and tried to regulate her breathing.

Taking a different tack, she continued. When was the last time you went with us to the lake? Do you remember we used to go with the Schneiders? When the kids were little.

Yeah, so? What does the cottage have to do with anything?

"The year before Adam started kindergarten, remember? You sat inside and read the entire week. Didn’t even eat with us half the time. The Schneiders turned down our invitation every year after that. They didn’t say anything, but we both know that was why. And you haven’t even come the past four years. Summer isn’t a big tax season. We miss you when you don’t come.

So, I don’t like the lake. Somehow that translates into me being the bad guy? What do you want from me?

Annie took a deep breath, determined. I want my marriage back. I want you to be a part of this family, not someone we tiptoe around because we’re afraid to upset you.

I’m a part of the family. No one tiptoes around me.

You really have no idea. I wish I had a tape recorder. You’d be amazed at the difference in this house when you’re here versus when you’re not.

Bullshit.

Bullshit, nothing. You need to go to this group. You need to work this stuff out.

How can you expect me to sit with a bunch of strangers and talk about ... about my feelings? I’ve talked to you. That’s enough.

You told me all about your Pop when we were dating, more than twenty years ago. Whenever we’ve talked about it since then you put up your walls, pay lip service to whatever ideas or suggestions I have, and then you clam up even more. Talking to me hasn’t changed anything.

Annie reached across the table but David didn’t respond. Look, I know it won’t be easy. But these people already get it.

I’m not the only one with problems. Why is it so important that I examine mine with a magnifying glass? He paused, mumbling, what if it’s only me?

Her heart ached with love and pity. Oh, no, Honey. That can’t be true. If it were, why would the JCC form a group? She grabbed his hand from where it rested on the table.

He pulled away. Do they have a group for nagging wives, too? Maybe we can go on the same night. The look on David’s face said he knew he went too far.

You know what? We’re done with this dance. Any pity she felt evaporated. Deal with it or pack it, David. I quit being the one who tries. It’s your turn.

Annie, I ...

Annie felt a tear trace a path down her cheek. Ordinarily she’d swat it away, hating the weakness. But she let this one go, let David see what this meant to her. He always claimed she’d dig her nails into her palms and draw blood before she’d let anyone see her cry.

He watched her, no sound except the ticking of the grandfather clock in the foyer. What do you want from me?

Go.

But ...

Go.

If I do this, I can’t promise I’ll ever go back.

Annie sat, arms crossed, silent.

I’m not the touchy-feely type.

I know.

The silence breathed. If I try it, it’ll be for you.

No, David. You have to try it for you.

Don’t push it, Annie.

Well, the first time you can go for me, then. After that, it’ll be for you. Annie moved toward David and kissed him on the temple. There was something about her lips pressed in the tender spot above his cheek that always seemed to soften him. She breathed deeply, loving the mix of soap and sleep he wore in the morning.

I’ll think about it. David slumped, spent and defeated, and left the room, coffee untouched. She heard the screen door bang and, with no one around to witness, finally gave in to the tears that begged to flow.

Chapter 3

David pulled the blue Saab into a space at the far end of the lot, the JCC brightly lit in the distance. He sang with Led Zeppelin, unwilling to turn off the car in the middle of the tune. As the next song started he began to sing, but forced himself to turn the key.

He slammed the door, hard, and made his way through the parking lot. The cool autumn air was a pleasure, devoid of the usual Cleveland humidity. He chuckled as he noticed the sports cars and sedans in the lot, knowing that earlier in the day it was filled with minivans. It’s like two different worlds here, night to day. This thought reminded him why he was there and he shuffled the rest of the way.

He hesitated, hand on the door. But, seeing the lobby empty, he breathed deeply and pulled the handle.

What’s the name of that damned conference room? he mumbled, knowing the flyer was in his jacket pocket but unwilling to retrieve it.

Can I help you?

David swung around, startled. Behind a counter across the lobby a 30ish woman appeared, pleasant in voice and appearance. No. Thank you. He cringed inwardly at the stilted sound of his words.

Okay. She paused, as if considering him. If you change your mind let me know.

Behind her he noticed a sign indicating the conference room and direction. He moved slowly down the hall, dragging his fingers along the pale green cinderblock wall. As he neared the entrance to the conference room he hesitated. What am I doing here? Why did Annie have to push this? Shit! I should --

Hi! I’m Jack. You here for the meeting? The man was tall and thin, older than David, and revoltingly exuberant.

No, I ... Excuse me. David took off down the hall.

He saw the men’s room and burst through the door. He splashed cold water in his face several times, wetting his shirt. The face staring back from the mirror looked old.

How long you going to keep this up, David? He harangued the face in the mirror. What if she’s right? What if your kids resent you the same way you resent him? What if you lose her over this?

Deep down David knew he was defeated. Obviously he couldn’t go on like this forever, no matter how hard he tried. What a cosmic fucking joke! The longer I put this off the harder it is to deal.

David took a deep breath, opened the door and left the bathroom, still wet. It was an effort to lift each leaden foot as he walked back toward the meeting room. Just inside the double doors was a table with coffee and pastry and as soon as he grabbed a cup Mr. Happy appeared.

Remember me? Jack. I figured you were here for the meeting. Jack paused, cocking his head. You ok? You’re ... ah ... wet, you know.

Yeah, David tried unsuccessfully to laugh it off. Sink in that bathroom’s out of control.

Oh, well, I’ll keep that in mind. My Mom’s a survivor. Won’t shut up about it. How about you?

My Pop. Really, she talks about it?

All the damn time. Won’t let the past get a minutes rest.

Good evening, everyone. Please take your seats.

David and Jack turned toward the woman across the room.

I’m sitting near her. She’s a hot tamale. Jack moved toward the other end of the