Jadwiga story
One day a tall gaunt woman arrived at our door with her meagre possessions in a little bundle. My mother exclaimed, "Boze mój! Jadwiga!" (My God! Jadwiga!) They fell into each other's arms, had a little cry, and sat down for a long chat. Now an old lady, Jadwiga was on hard times. I asked my mother who this old lady was, and this is the story she told me.
Jadwiga was my mother's wet nurse and after my mother was weaned, she stayed on in my grandmother's house to work as a maid. Jadwiga had a brother working in the coal mines near Liege. He was a bachelor. He asked her to join him and keep house for him. She went to Belgium and stayed there many years. After his demise, she came back to our town and looked up my mother. I was about twelve years old and Jadwiga was about sixty by then. She came to my mother and said, "Rivke, I would like to work for you." Mother took her in. We had only two rooms but there was always room for another person. Mother prepared a straw mattress. During the day it was stored under my bed in the kitchen. At night, we pulled it out and Jadwiga slept in a corner. She had very few clothes and kept all her things in a little footlocker. She became our maid. You can see her here washing the heavy laundry.
Jadwiga worked for us for less than two years. She got very sick. We called the doctor and he suggested that she go to the local hospital. I knew then that she would never return. In our town people went to the local hospital to die. Knowing what I know today, I believe she had stomach cancer. She craved sour milk. My mother fermented milk for her every day. The cream would rise to the top and form a beautiful yellow layer. You could not buy sour milk in the local stores. Because I was the oldest, I was delegated to take the sour milk to the hospital every day.
On the way back, I would step into the morgue, a little building next to the hospital. A chapel was in the front of this little building and tables were in a backroom. The cadavers of those who had died in the hospital were placed on those tables, waiting to be picked up by relatives. I was fascinated. The bodies were just lying there. It was summertime. I remember the corpse of a young boy. He was seven or eight years old. His body was not even covered. There were flies were all over him.
After a few weeks, Jadwiga passed away. She left a note and a little money. In the note, she requested that my mother use the money for a decent funeral and a requiem mass. Jadwiga did not trust her relatives. She did not want to be buried like a dog. Mother went to the local priest and said, "Look, this is the situation. Whatever it costs, I have the money she left and she wants a proper funeral." Mother ordered the coffin from our neighbor, Mr. Wojciechowski. His workshop was next to Kulniew's tavern on the marketplace. He made coffins exclusively for the Christians in town, as Jews did not use coffins. Every morning, on opening his shop, he would display an unfinished coffin outside of his establishment. I don't know why he had to advertise. He was the only coffin maker in the city. We got a very nice casket. In this way, we arranged for Jadwiga's funeral according to her wishes.
There were no funeral homes. Since Jadwiga had no relatives in Apt, I am assuming that the nuns who worked in the hospital prepared her body in the morgue. We went to see her laid out in the chapel. Normally, if someone died in the hospital, the family would come to the morgue and take the body home, where they would lay the body out on a table and dress it up. I remember seeing a young woman decked out in a white wedding gown, lying in her coffin, in her family's home. How did I get to see this? Her family lived near the cooper, on the street leading to the river. I did not know the family, but from the death notices posted around town, I knew a young woman had died. As I was passing by their house, I saw people walking in. I followed them, stepped into the house, took off my hat, stood there solemnly with my head bowed, took a good look, and left. I had to see everything. Several years earlier, when I was about nine years old, I saw the father of one of my Christian friends lying in a coffin in their home. The man had committed suicide.
There was no hearse in town, so several men would normally carry the casket. However, the hospital was on the outskirts of Apt and too far from the church to carry the coffin, so we hired a horse and wagon to bring Jadwiga's body to the church. The coffin was closed. All the honors had been done in the hospital chapel. The mass for Jadwiga was held in the church. Whatever family was left, her cousins and relatives, came to town from a nearby village. Mother and I did not go into the church to listen to the service. I feared that I would surely be struck dead if I so much as entered the church. We waited outside. After the service, the coffin was placed on the wagon. Mother, my brothers, and I followed the wagon to the cemetery, where the priest said a prayer at the grave and sprinkled holy water. There wasn't a big crowd, just a few people: my family and a few of Jadwiga's relatives. We gave them her few belongings. She had the funeral she wanted.
After a while, my mother arranged for a simple cross to be placed at her grave. Every so often, mother and I would lay a few wild flowers on Jadwiga's grave. However, we were not able to take our leave of Jadwiga when we left Poland for Canada. It was January during a very cold winter and the cemetery was covered in deep snow. Jadwiga was such a wonderful, kind person. Mother was always busy at the store. Jadwiga looked after us. She was the one who fed us and bathed us. She was a surrogate mother to us. If there is a paradise, she must surely dwell there.