102
PARTISAN REVIEW
heavy makeup , even a beauty spot on my face . I thought that if I
seemed eager to attract men I would look more "Aryan," because it
would be assumed that Jewish girls had enough to worry about and
would not care to flirt with strangers. But this pose didn't last long; I
came to see that it was ridiculous . I stopped trying to bleach my hair,
afraid someone might guess I was motivated not by feminine vanity
but by the need to disguise darker , "Jewish" hair. Finally I aban–
doned all these artifices and concentrated on my expression . I forced
myself to look carefree. "It's a beautiful day," I would tell myself.
"Life is exciting."
I believe I mastered a look of cheerful confidence. The effect
was more than external : I had summoned up this optimism to con–
trol my facial muscles , and they in turn influenced my feelings.
Since danger was a constant threat , I had to keep refreshing my in–
ner powers of resistance. Later, when spring came , I would wear a
flower in my hair like other Polish girls to express the hope for vic–
tory and peace .
But now it was February, 1943, and I needed to find friends.
There were some Jews living on the Aryan side who considered it
an
advantage to remain alone : it reduced the danger of being recog–
nized and denounced . But these Jews usually had money and could
pay for their hiding places. Many of my Polish friends had been
socialists and were now in Russia. My friend Stefa was deeply in–
volved in the underground and so asked me not to contact her.
There was myoid headmistress, Mrs. Uklejska, who had already
done so much . She and her family were also active in the resistance,
helping other Jewish friends and former students and teachers. I
knew I could count on her. However, she couldn't take me into her
apartment . I had to find more Poles who were ready to give me a
hand. This was extremely dangerous for them; if they were caught
sheltering aJew, or helping one in any way, they could be put to
death . Even those who did nothing, but only withheld knowledge of
a Jew's hiding place, risked deportation to a concentration camp.
I was embarrassed, looking up myoid schoolmates after seven
years ; I had been too preoccupied with a boyfriend then to get to
know the girls. I would never have approached them if I hadn't
needed help. They were sympathetic but frightened, like most Poles.
They were astonished that I was alive , and I felt that it had been
somehow "unfair" of me to have survived, since now I posed a prob–
lem. I listened to stories, true and untrue , about their own
predicaments. I was passed along from one acquaintance to another
