Backstory

A Family in Exile, Part 2

BACKSTORY

Place: Benghazi, Libya. Time: 1947-1956. A Family in Exile, Part 2.

BACKSTORY is a collection of imagined conversations with characters that stretch from one project to the next. From memoir to novel. From Poland and Romania during the Second World War to Benghazi, Libya and finally to Tunisia, between 1946-1957. Drawn from fact and shaped by fiction, these characters occupy a generation of Europeans that fell between the cracks. Stateless and political refugees, this family of Poles find themselves living together in Benghazi’s Villa Derna, grappling with a new life at the end of the Second World War and at the beginning of political change in North Africa.

The second two monologues presented here are of Count Tarnowski and his daughter-in-law, Beatta. The monologues are read by actors Stephen Martin and Marley Kabin.

The Count

The Count is wearing a three-piece suit, despite the searing temperatures. He sits in a well-worn armchair on the large verandah of Villa Derna, the house he occupies in Benghazi. An overhead fan is turning. He speaks haltingly.

You must understand. I left Poland for Anna. After Germany invaded us, she was against my decision to send our son to South America but we concluded this was for the best. I paid for Jan’s passage. I arranged his papers. I found the liaison to take him to the ship. He had a new name. Another identity. I knew he would be safe. What? Of course. I had a cousin in Santiago de Chile whom I trusted. A ship builder whose family had settled there many years earlier. A bachelor. I trusted him without hesitation. Absolutely. In my mind, I had no choice.

With Anna? We argued and argued. After Jan left, Anna fell apart. She had trouble working, she stopped going to the hospital for her shifts. She entered a state of despair. It was a terrible period. There was no word from our son. The war made it impossible for letters to reach us. Everything was confiscated. Anna refused to leave the house in case a message was to reach her. She began to think everyone who came to the house might bring news of his death. I was frightened for her. She took in a family of Jews, hiding them in our shelter. The Germans began to investigate. They demanded papers from my factory. She grew more and more desperate. And, well. You understand. It became impossible to stay.

As I said, I am an engineer and once we left Poland, I followed the needs of my unit. We went first to Hungary and then Yugoslavia. Predejane for almost two years. After, to Istanbul. Then the Warsawa, the Polish ship, to Palestine. Finally, I was sent to Benghazi by the British Army. My job? It was to de-mine the city harbor. Yes, by the time we got here, we were overjoyed. Can you imagine we had been in transit for four years. We were given this magnificent house. Anna could work at the local British hospital. Our young daughter was able to run free. To our great joy, one day, not long after we arrived, we received a letter. Our son was returning. It had been four years! Four. What we did not know is that when he left us for South America, he turned around almost immediately and returned to Europe. My cousin never laid eyes on him.

The Count becomes distracted here, losing his train of thought.

After Jan arrived in Benghazi, Anna told me he needed time to heal. He’s young, she kept repeating. Give him time, she begged. But our son did not heal. He was angry. He was broken. The war had changed him. In our first year here, my wife had taken in a young Romanian soldier, a Saxon from Transylvania. He lost his leg during the war and my wife was helping him to recover. She is especially trained in these things. His name is Otto. Well, Jan turned against this man. To Jan, he was a foreigner. A German soldier. There were daily arguments. We suffered. he made fights. My son began to spend more and more time sailing, at the yacht club. He took small jobs and one day…one day, he did not come back. His wife was a young Pole who was pregnant at the time. Only one year later, their child died. It was a terrible tragedy. After that...

The Count falls into a deep silence. He knits his fingers together.

Please. Let me start again. My name is Andrez Tarnowski. Count Tarnowski. I am sixty-seven-years old. I come from a place near the city of Tarnow, in Southeastern Poland. As a boy? I was a sickly boy, beloved by my grandmother. She was a storyteller. Oh, wonderful stories!

A smile. He wipes off perspiration.

Folktales. Fairytales. The Glass Mountain. Szklanna Góra…The Hare’s Heart. Serce Zajaca. Maybe these names don’t translate so well in English?

I was saying. As a young man, I made my way to Warsaw and joined the army. I was already finished with my degree in engineering. Of course. Yes, I wanted to defend my land against the Russians. It was our territory, after all. That day, I was in front of the University when I met Anna. I can remember it now, sitting here, as clear as day. I was standing next to her during the speeches. It was 1920. There were many hundreds of people. We were crushed together. It was a cold day. She must have thought I was her friend and in her excitement, without looking, she reached down and grabbed my hand. I will never forget. She turned as soon as she felt my hand. She must have been thinking. Who was this stranger behind her? And. Well. Our eyes met and, that was the beginning.

…that was the beginning

Read by Stephen Martin

Beatta

Letter to Magda.

Magda, Drogi...

How I miss you. It seems impossible that only eight months ago we were in London and before that in the darkness of Warsaw. I saved your last letter. I received it when I arrived and have carried it with me until I felt strong enough to write. You wouldn’t recognize me. I am enormous, Magda! I can feel the baby kicking sometimes, but I am no longer so sick.

I have so many questions but you ask about my life. And Magda, there is so much to tell. Jan and I arrived almost two months ago. First, I must tell you that the sun here is so strong I wear both a hat and scarf to cover my head. It is not the sun we know in Poland. She comes into the room like a sea of angry yellow. Sometimes I want to hide. When I come back in from outside, my eyes see the same orange color that we saw when we came from the sewers. From the darkness. You remember, Magda, don’t you?

And it is not only the sun but the sand! I wrap the scarf around my head to protect myself and let the fabric fall loose so I can use it to cover my face. The sand is everywhere. Sand in my nose, underneath my nails, in my eyelashes. I begin to taste it on my tongue, small beads that I swallow along with every word. A feeling of grit against the back of my throat so that I can never forget where I am. And everywhere, everywhere, there is dust!

Jan and I have a small room attached to the restaurant where Jan’s parents have started to work. There is already so much excitement about this restaurant. People stop me to ask when the restaurant will open. They call me ‘Madam’ or ‘Missus’ and I am not used to it.

Jan’s parents also have a young daughter. She is called Maya and she is 5 years old. Jan’s mother lets her run wild. She comes to me often to talk, to hear stories and to show me her drawings. We are already like sisters. When she is not with me, she stays with the gardener and works in the garden. I don’t understand why they don’t send her to school. Maybe because she is still too young?

You ask about Jan. I know what you are thinking. But, Magda, he is not unkind. He is always quiet with me. I don’t know what will happen when the baby comes. How will it be? He has started to leave early in the morning, saying he needs to walk, but he goes for hours, coming late in the evening. Lately, he has been taking odd jobs on a boat that he wants to buy. He asks me for money and I give him what I have, but it is not much. There is always something the boat needs.

And for me? Well. I found an old bicycle that I have been riding into town. The local movement is very active here. Independence is coming, Magda. It is coming. I have already met a few people here, those who are fighting for freedom. Remember, Magda, when we first met in Warsaw? Both in our unit, proud in our uniforms. There were six of us chosen. Magda, do you ever think back? I confess, sometimes I dream. I am back. There. The air is closing in, the damp, that velvet darkness and the sounds—you remember, the drip, the grenades. And the stench. Oh, the filth. But we were like cats, climbing down the rungs as if we could fly. And then, in the darkness, we were tied to one another, all six of us.

All six of us… moving as one.

I have a friend here. She is a Libyan woman named Ayesha. She reminds me of you. She brings me dates and figs and makes me special meals that she tells me to eat whenever I go to the kitchen. She cooks for the family. She is our age but already she has two children. She cries whenever she sees me ride a bicycle. She says it will damage the baby. She brought me the scarf I am wearing today. I tell her about you and she says for you to come to Libya! She teaches me Arabic. Already I know a few words…

And then, Magda, there is the strange man from Romania. A German-speaker. He even fought with the Germans for a few months. He works as a tailor for the family. I don’t know. Who is this man? Why is he here? Jan is very upset about this. He cannot understand why his mother brought him to their house. Whenever we are together, Jan becomes furious but truly, I find him kind and he has already shown me some clothes he is making for the baby.

You already know the name of the little one, don’t you? And, even if it is a boy, (you mustn’t laugh) I will still call him by your name.

Twoj ukochany,

Beatta

Read by Marley Kabin

www.MarleyKabin.com