dining hall. I thought it was a pillowcase at first, but up close I later realized it was a satchel. Dirty, but well made and canvas. He was protective of it. He didn’t let me carry it when I offered.
On the other side of his bed, there it sits, propped against the wall.
After only a moment’s hesitation, I unbutton the flap and empty out the contents: The shirt he was wearing when he arrived. Two spare sets of underthings. A spare pair of socks. A crumpled piece of paper with painstaking handwriting providing directions to Foehrenwald.
Another sheet of paper, which I unfold. The handwriting on this one isn’t familiar, either, but the words are: It’s the notice about Abek I composed for Sister Therese at the Kloster Indersdorf. I can’t tell whether this is her handwriting, or whether it’s one of the copies she promised to dictate to personnel at the other facilities for children.
Did I ever even ask Abek exactly which one he’d come from, which one he’d seen the notice at? I don’t think I did. I don’t think I wanted to ask too many questions. I remember physically blocking the doorway with my feet because I was so afraid he’d leave. I needed so badly for this story to end the way I wanted it to.
The bag is empty. There’s nothing else inside. I turn it upside down to be sure, shaking and shaking it, sweeping my hand over the bottom lining to be sure.
The lining—could something be sewn into the lining?
I rush to my nightstand and open the drawer, tossing all my belongings onto the floor until I find my scissors, leaving the drawer open as I take them back to the satchel. I hold the scissors aloft. I’m about to stab through the canvas when I stop and picture what I must look like. Hair wild. Breathing heavy. Scissors held in the air.
What am I hoping to find? What evidence could possibly answer my questions either way? A detailed confession letter? A diary? None of that would be sewn into a lining. There’s nothing. What am I doing?
What am I doing?
What am I falling back into? My body feels, all at once, the way it did in the hospital months ago. My heart is heavy with nothing. My brain is aching with nothing. I have nothing, I weigh nothing, I am nothing except for the weight and grief I’ve been carrying around for what feels like forever.
I slump against the wall, sliding to the floor, my head scraping against the plaster.
And that’s when I see it: a dingy triangle. A scrap of cloth, peeking out from between the mattress and frame of Abek’s bed.
I crawl over to it on my hands and knees and take it between my fingers.
Muslin. I immediately recognize the material as muslin. But it’s older, tattered, dirty. White at one point, now rust-colored and stained. When I pull it out, I see it’s a much bigger piece of fabric than I expected. The bundle looked tiny because it was rolled into a small tube. I spread it flat on the ground and begin to unfurl it.
Happy birthday, my little snail! May you never forget who you are; may you always find your way home.
A is for Abek, the youngest Lederman, the spoiled son of Helena and Elie, and younger brother of Zofia, who is making you this magnificent present…
B is for Baba Rose, the grandmother whose fingers are nimble and whose mind is more nimble, who holds the family together with patience and love in the beautiful apartment where we all live. She is the best seamstress in the city, and also the most exacting one…
C is for Chomicki & Lederman, the company that will be yours one day, which makes the most beautiful clothing in Poland. It was founded by Zayde Lazer, and his best employee was a young man named Elie, whom he invited home for dinner one night. That’s the night when he first met—
It goes on. It goes on, all the way to Z. It’s my whole family story. More detailed than I remembered it. Everything about my family that a person would need to know. I forgot how small and pretty my handwriting could be, how much I managed to fit on that one piece of cloth.
I don’t know exactly how this fabric ended up under this mattress.
All I know is this: The morning before we left for the stadium, I took this fabric from the