There Are No Songbirds Left in Italy Part II

It’s still 1969 and my family’s in the Pension Balducci, right across from Hadrian’s Tomb. We have to climb a small ladder to get in the antique beds. Breakfast is more than coffee and rolls. Italian rolls are cute little round bricks you push the food around, not eat. I’m writing something when my daughter invades the room with, ‘ Boom Pa! You gotta come out here and meet this lady. Now!’

The lady is a very tall, rather stout all over, with a very aristocratic nose. She is in her fifties, maybe. She smiles, holds out her hand and introduces herself. She doesn’t tell me she’s an ex- baroness, that she holds a double Ph D in Physics and Biology, is a survivor of three Nazi murder camps, acquainted with three Popes, and the wife of the Polish commander who took Monte Casino, one of the toughest assignments in World War II until two days, and six shared meals later. She orders coffee for my wife and I; cocoa for our kids, whom she always describes as American Writer’s Children. When Wanda discovers we have a car, she volunteers to show us Rome after asking if we have good guide books. She laughs at the one we’re carrying. ‘ You cannot come to Europe without Books,’ is how our relationship begins. I have obeyed since.

Next day we visit Hadrian’s Villa and she takes us to a wonderful Trattoria for lunch. Four different cheeses and bread that melted in the mouth! So did her claim that she knew the Popes. I must have made a face. When we got back, she brought out the photographs with she and her husband appearing with each! ‘ My Peter grew up with this one. He is good one.’ she adds.

The next day it’s the Castle Gondolfo, the Pope’s summer home. I am learning. We’re visiting all the places from her honeymoon here, back before World War II. Peter and she stayed at the castle. They also had a couple of weeks with King Zog in Albania. ‘ He is bandit who called self king,’ was how she explained his status.

Then came the bomb. I’ve asked why she is living in a pension, and she says, ‘ Look into my eyes American Writer Father. What do you see.” I tried to punt. ‘ These are eyes of mad person.' she says. 'All people who survived Nazi camps are mad. Not crazy. . But it is furious mad. And a mournful mad. And a guilty mad. ..that we are here and so many others went to the gas or the firing squads or just starved to death before our very eyes. I’ve survived three murder camps because one, I was very attractive, and once very lucky.’ Stand for hours with Nazi Commander while fifteen people are machine gunned every five minutes. Machine gun is like clock. Only louder ticks.

After he is finished with me, I am put on train going to Auschwitz. Everyone knows this is end. ‘There is tiny window. The bars pulled out. If thin enough, who wants has choice of going feet first, head first, head up or head down. I say feet and head up. I land on body of dead man who has jumped from a train some days before. He is terrible stink. I roll over, to stand and run. I am hit in stomach and pass out. I come to. There is male naked baby crying beside me. Someone threw it out. It is unhurt. I left it by side of road. Woman with baby in prisoner dress is doomed and so child too. I have never forgiven myself for doing this. I move only at night until I am very sick. I hide in barn. Polish woman find me, with fever. She uses old cure. Buries me up to neck in hot cow dung. Fever break. Family hides me. I am human horse. Pull plow. When Russians come I think I am now free. Is joke. Russians worse in ways than Nazis. Nazi takes down whole family history before he shoots you. Russian looks at your furs and jewels and points to ditch. No records. My PhD in physics sends me to Russian A Bomb. Now am prisoner in white lab coat.
I escape. But will tell that some other time.’

Wanda brought me back to Italy three more times. Curing each time she revealed more of her history to me. My wife wrote a play about Wanda without ever meeting her. In 1986 a letter I had written her was returned. By then she was back in Warsaw. I could not read Polish but a former student could. It said, "addressee deceased." I shall miss her forever, but I will tell you more about her later.