A Ritchie Boy Read online

  “Franny is so lucky to have been born in this country,” Tasa observed as she thought about her own itinerant childhood.

  “Those years must have been so difficult for you and your father. Your mother shared quite a bit with me in letters and during our visit, but I had heard about her years in Siberia from others. Horrible … dreadful to think of such a life you all had. And the miracle that you found one another after all that.”

  It seemed so long ago, and yet it had been only two years and some months since Mama’s emotional return to Poland. Tasa recalled the moment when she and Papa first learned that Mama was alive, the elation she had felt. Once reunited, the realization of lost time they had to recover hit her hard. As did all the losses they had to absorb.

  Even now, the thought that she had lived through the war, and survived it, felt surreal. She deluded herself then, never considering that any one of them could have perished, especially when Germany took over eastern Poland from the Soviets. Her father’s presence instilled her with a false sense of security. She felt protected by Danik as well, his loss even weightier than that of their homeland. To think that our beloved Podkamien is now part of the Ukraine …

  The lull of the car’s motion relaxed her. The ebb from conversation transported her into a deep trance until she bolted awake—she’d been running through a field with shots flying overhead. She must have cried out because Levi asked if she was okay. “I’m … I’m fine.” She took a deep breath and stretched her arms as far as the car interior allowed to shake off the nightmarish memory. “Where are we?”

  “Pennsylvania. You’ve been asleep for hours. We’ve driven through Maryland. You missed the Washington Monument in Baltimore. And you know the young man who works for me, Eli Stoff? Before Eli was sent overseas, he trained in a military camp near Hagerstown, Maryland, a small city we passed through two hours ago.”

  Tasa nodded casually. She had little interest in prolonging a conversation about the young man the Eisens seemed so intent for her to meet. The sun continued to descend as they drove farther west. Hours passed as they traveled through Pennsylvania, then briefly through West Virginia. By dinner, she spotted a “Welcome to Ohio” sign. Levi and Norah suggested stopping to eat before their final passage into Columbus.

  IT WAS LATE AT night by the time they parked the Buick in front of the Eisens’ house on the city’s east side. Norah thanked her friend and neighbor, Sonya, who had been staying with Franny, the child now long asleep. Tasa mumbled greetings before she tumbled into bed herself. Despite sleeping most of the day’s trip, her exhaustion seemed to come from something more than the late hour or long drive. Someplace much deeper.

  She woke to a child’s high-pitched pleas, Aunt Norah’s continued shushes, and the smell of brewed coffee. A freckled, curly-haired four-year-old in pink pajamas jumped into Tasa’s arms as she emerged, yawning, from the room they had given her.

  “Mama said you’re my cousin, Tasa. I’m Franny!” The animated child nestled her head against Tasa’s neck before she squirmed from the embrace and began bringing several toys into the kitchen.

  “Franny, you must calm down. Tasa just woke up!” Norah pulled a chair out from the table, and Tasa plopped into it. “Sorry. She’s been looking forward to your arrival. Eggs and toast?”

  “That sounds wonderful. I didn’t know I could be so hungry.” Tasa looked over at Franny, the girl now pouting sullenly. “Come here, sweet Franny. I have been so excited to finally meet you. We are going to have much fun together, yes?”

  Franny’s grin immediately replaced her sulky expression, and she bounced over to Tasa. “Can we go to the park now?”

  “Sweet child. Please help Mama and go play with your dolls while Tasa eats her breakfast. We will all go out together soon.” Norah scooped her daughter up in her arms and gave her a hug and a kiss before waving her to the family room.

  Later that morning, the three walked down the street to the 571 Shop. Franny skipped along holding her hand as Tasa took in the neighborhood—sidewalks throughout, mature trees offering shade, a smattering of gardens with daylilies, manicured lawns, mostly red brick houses that were small but in good condition, all with front porches.

  “How did the shop get its name?”

  “That’s the address. It’s at 571 Rich Street. A wealthy Jewish couple from Columbus created the shop. Offered employment to the many female refugees arriving here in the thirties. It’s managed by the Hebrew Immigrant Aid Society.”

  As they slowed behind several others on the walkway to the shop, Tasa noticed that 571 looked like the other brick houses and apartment buildings along the residential street. “What kind of work do the women do?”

  “They’re expert bakers and seamstresses. People from all over Columbus come here to have their clothes repaired. Some request a new suit or dress. They bring in a special pattern or fabric they like. And the cookies here …”

  Just inside the door, Tasa inhaled the aroma of buttery pastries, her eyes first settling on a tall metal unit, each shelf covered with trays of freshly baked butter cookies and loaves of braided challah. The bakery took up half the open space, with glass cases displaying the edibles for sale. Customers lined up in front of it, one woman lowering herself so she was eye to eye with a Sachertorte. Tasa assumed the door behind this selling area led to prep space and cooking equipment. Several ladies walked in and out of the door just in the minutes Tasa stood mesmerized by the array of delicacies, her eye on a peach Kuchen.

  Franny asked her mother if she could greet a teenager standing in the back of the line. Perhaps a neighbor or babysitter, Tasa thought. Norah nodded her approval just before she called out a greeting to a pleasant woman wearing a blue apron coming out of the back kitchen.

  “Lila, here you are. The shop is swarming with customers today.” Norah waved for Lila to come over to them. “Tasa, I want you to meet someone.” Lila was about her mother’s age, her brown hair in a bun, a thin dusting of flour on her bib, just parts of a flowered dress exposed. “This is Lila Stoff, Tasa. She works here with me. Lila is known for her scrumptious apple strudel, among her other talents.” Norah’s face lit up as she faced her friend. “Lila, this is Tasa Rosinski, my niece. She’ll be living with us for a while.”

  “Ah, Tasa. I’ve heard about you. Polish, yes?”

  Tasa began blushing, wondering what had been said in advance of her visit. Just beyond Lila, Tasa viewed the other half of the space—the sewing machines sitting on rows of tables and women bent over a myriad of fabrics and clothing items while talking to the person on their right or left. This shop was clearly a central gathering place of Jewish women and no doubt a fair share of gossip.

  “Yes, I came from a village in eastern—”

  “Mama—sorry to interrupt.” A tall, dark-haired young man nodded his apologies to Tasa. She noticed the cleft in his chin. “Hi, I’m Eli.”

  She smiled and reached out her hand. “Tasa.”

  And just like that, they were introduced.

  He turned toward Norah. “Hello, Mrs. Eisen, I’m sorry to barge in, but I have a quick question for my mother.” Eli pivoted to face Lila. “Mama, do you need me to transport more bags of apples? The grocer said my purchase weighed twenty pounds. Is that enough for today? I do have to get back to work.”

  Tasa noticed a gentleness in his demeanor. The deep timbre of his voice. His slight accent.

  “That’s fine. Go.” Lila gave him a peck on his cheek.

  “You should know that Lila introduced me to her son because I was trying to find someone to teach me how to drive.” Norah looked up at Eli. “You were a wonderful instructor.” Then, to Tasa, she said, “I was so fond of Eli that I told Levi about him. Next thing I knew, Eli was working at the supply store on Saturdays.”

  “On Saturdays? Uncle Levi is open on Shabbat?” Before Norah had a chance to reply, Tasa turned to Eli. “And you work on Shabbos?”

  “Yes, we’re not religious Jews. We belong to the reform synagogue
down the street. We don’t follow strict customs.”

  Several customers excused themselves to get past the four who were standing in the middle of a growing line for the pastries. Franny ran back and put her arms around Tasa’s waist.

  “Let me get some strudel for you to take home for Franny.” Lila walked with resolve toward the door in the back.

  Norah and Eli moved to the side of the glass display. “Just one question before you go, Eli. Tasa doesn’t drive, and she is interested in possibly enrolling in the university. Might you have time to show her around?”

  Still in earshot, Tasa straightened up quickly, her hand firmly on Franny’s shoulder. “I … I don’t want to be a burden. I can take public transportation, Aunt Norah.” To Eli, Tasa rolled her eyes so he hopefully knew she had not put her aunt up to this arrangement.

  “No burden. What day works for you, Tasa?”

  WHEN THE BELL RANG early Saturday morning, Tasa trotted down the steps to find Levi already opening the door.

  “Eli, what brings you here?” Levi turned to Tasa, a surprised look on his face.

  “Your wife enlisted me as a driver. That’s why I asked for the day off.”

  Tasa couldn’t see Eli’s face when he answered because the door was only partially opened. She assumed her new friend’s expression was self-assured and imagined him sporting a sly grin. There was something fetching about him, but Tasa offered no opinion in response to her aunt’s repeated questions at breakfast. If Eli was her driver, then she was a girl with a purpose. Excited to see the college campus, she hoped to find a few classes she could sit in on just to see if the school was right for her. And she needed to visit Hillel, where she had learned there was a rabbi who could help translate documents from her Vienna schooling.

  Saying their goodbyes, Eli and Tasa set off toward the car, Eli slightly ahead. He opened the door for her, she slid in, and before she knew it, he pulled the car out and was turning west onto Broad Street, a boulevard with planted trees that reminded her of the streets in Vienna.

  “Where did you get this car? Seems a bit of an extravagance for a starving college student.”

  Unperturbed, Eli kept his eyes on the road. “I worked in a junkyard fixing engine blocks of Chevrolets to save for college. Did that for two years, including summers. The owner told me he’d give me this jalopy for one month’s pay. Let me fix it up with old parts he had on hand. You wouldn’t have driven in it the way it looked then.”

  He turned the wheel right, and she saw the sign: High Street. “This will take us straight into campus.” At a stoplight, her eyes lingered on a scar on his forearm. He caught her look and slid his sleeve down to cover it.

  “What was that?”

  Eli was quiet.

  “From the war?”

  He nodded.

  “My uncle called you a decorated member of the Army. Said you trained at a camp we drove near on our way to Columbus. I was sleeping. In Maryland, I think he said.”

  “Camp Ritchie. It was a military intelligence training camp.”

  “What did they train you to do?”

  “Analyze documents. Translate. Interrogate prisoners. Stuff like that.”

  “Sounds important.” Tasa took in his profile while trying to discern his temperament. He was direct, polite. Easygoing. And unruffled.

  “I suppose it had its value. Understanding German came in handy. That’s why I was at Camp Ritchie in the first place.”

  With a neutral affect, Eli shared that he was drafted in ’43 after nearly three years at Ohio State. At first, he had enlisted as a ski patrol in the Colorado Mountain division, he said, but he got sick and missed shipping out to Italy with his peers. Tasa wondered what illness he had but didn’t want to ask too many questions. She was also curious about what happened to the group that had left without him. Before she could ask, he told her the delay may have saved his life, since intelligence officers weren’t called on to fight at the front lines so much.

  “Really, my Austrian background saved me,” he added.

  “How so?”

  “Anyone who understood German was useful to the Allies. Like I said, I did lots of translation.”

  She hoped he didn’t see her blush in embarrassment, silently chastising herself for not paying closer attention to his earlier explanations. Her English comprehension still suffered when she became distracted, and she found herself somewhat flustered in Eli’s presence. She turned her head away from him, noticing at once the charming brick houses and novelty shops. As they passed a bookstore and a couple of bars, she couldn’t help but remember her first drive through the Vienna neighborhoods with her parents after the war. She’d spotted a pack of young people walking briskly along the streets back then as she did now. Their car slowed in traffic, and she watched two students enter a cozy diner.

  “So, when you returned, you went right back to school?”

  “On the GI Bill. I’m graduating the end of this school year.”

  “What was it like when you got here? You were pretty young, yes?”

  “Fifteen. I guess I was just happy to be in a place where I could make friends. For the most part, I was welcomed. At school, at the temple youth group. We lived with a family before we were able to rent our own apartment. They had a son my age who introduced me to his friends.”

  “Was it difficult for you to learn English? You barely have an accent.”

  “I went to lots of movies. I liked going, but I also liked that I could hear people talk. That helped me learn quickly.”

  Tasa had so many other things she wanted to ask him, but they’d have to wait. Eli parked the car at the edge of Ohio State’s campus, and they got out and began walking. She had to work to keep up with him, his long strides outpacing her short legs. Soon they were upon an expansive grassy area marked by walks going in every direction. Eli told her all the freshman students would gather there later that week for an “orientation.” She wasn’t sure what this meant. He called the area where they stood “the Oval” and said it would be organized into as many sections as faculty members who showed up. Faculty would be assigned about thirty students each, and they’d take those students to various classrooms in the buildings that surrounded the Oval. When she asked how many students that might be in all, he said more than five thousand. She now could see how this sizable campus could handle that many.

  The administration building was closed. Tasa hadn’t considered what was open or closed on a Saturday and realized Hillel would be closed as well. It was Shabbat.

  “You didn’t have much of a religious upbringing in Vienna?”

  “No. Many of my parents’ friends, and my friends, weren’t Jewish. We didn’t live in a Jewish area.”

  Tasa slowed her pace, considering whether to probe further, then decided against doing so. “You lived in the city your whole life?”

  “Yes, in District Sixteen.”

  “What did you do for fun?”

  “I liked to ski and went on school trips, skied the Alps. I enjoy music, especially jazz and opera. We went to concerts regularly.”

  Of course he would love music. Vienna was suffused with it. Tasa’s favorite composers came from Vienna or ended up there. “I’m a musician, a violinist. I’ve played since I was a child.”

  “Really? I’d love to hear you play.” Eli’s cheeks flushed with excitement.

  It was the first time he exhibited true enthusiasm since he had picked her up. When he smiled, his brown eyes sparkled, and his whole face took on an innocence that appealed to her. She couldn’t deny that he was extremely good-looking. That tall, dark, and handsome type. Lean but rugged. “Since everything is closed here and it’s getting late, why don’t we go back to your aunt’s apartment and you can play something for me? And maybe later we should go to a place that has music. Do you like to dance?”

  Tasa beamed. “Yes, I love to!”

  As they drove from the university, he told her about Valley Dale and its grand ballroom, where big ban
d names like Frank Sinatra and Tommy Dorsey often performed. Tasa forgot that she’d gotten nothing accomplished that day—she hadn’t even gotten a course catalog, hadn’t gotten her transcripts translated to explore what her credit transfer and thus class placement could be—as she was busy answering Eli’s questions about her background in Poland. She began to share some of the things that happened during her teenage years under Soviet then German rule, and the year she hid underground with her father and other relatives. She didn’t mention Danik. Eli’s interest was genuine, his query gentle, and she found him easy to talk to. Distancing herself from the horrific reality of her experience, she spoke as if telling a story about someone else.

  THEY FOUND NO ONE at home. Tasa called out, then peeked her head in the various rooms. As she took her violin from its case and walked to the living room where Eli was patiently sitting, she considered what to play for him. She thought of her last week in Vienna, the prolonged walk she took one Sunday morning before the city awoke, the stroll in Stadtpark that brought her face-to-face with the lifelike statue of Johann Strauss Jr., the Waltz King.

  Her choice became clear.

  As she set her bow on the strings, the melodic notes conjured images of the wooded eastern foothills of the Alps, the sounds of birds in song, and the flowing water of rivers—the countryside, the Vienna woods. She could hear that distinctive plucking of the zither and imagined the world of peasants dancing wildly at first, their whirling movements and gaiety. Then the graceful waltzing. It was Eli’s shouts of “Brava!” that broke her trance.