By Alicja Karlic
Many years passed since the communists started a war with their citizens and imposed martial law on December 13, 1981, a few days before Christmas. I remember this time very well. When I think about this year’s Wigilia (Christmas Eve) coming to us in a few days, my thoughts go back to Wroclaw, my husband’s hometown, where we lived and worked for many years.
Strikes, demonstrations, tanks, and soldiers on the streets. There were massive arresting motions and home revisions. Cheapest from possible propaganda on television and radio all around the clock. No one single word of truth.
Many of my closest friends, neighbors, coworkers, and buddies were disappearing and deported to unknown locations. Families were left without one single word of information or news. “Where were they taken?” “What will happen to my husband? Wife?” “Why did they take my friend?” They came late at night and took Jasiek”. What will you do to him? Will I see them again?”
Similar questions were asked by many Poles all around the country. No single word of information. Nothing.
My story starts at my in-laws’ house, Witelona Str. in Wroclaw, during Wigilia dinner, 11 days after a tragic moment in Poland’s history. It is the real story—real people, real streets, real neighbors, real places.
It was a freezing day and evening. It was snowing, and a cold winter was blowing. Everybody was depressed or visibly thinking about a bad time. However, nothing could stop my in-laws from having traditional Wigilia. We were finishing our Wigilia. Our mother was serving “kutia,” a traditional Wigilia desert that must be served by any family from the Lwow area. There was only one subject of conversation: Who was taken, when, and where is he possibly?
Suddenly, somebody is knocking on the door. Very loud. Strong. Aggressive. Total consternation among all of us. In the background, you could hear silently broadcast news from Free Europe.
Our mother, an ex-officer of AK, went first to the doors and looked through the little window. In front of the doors was our street district officer (dzielnicowy) and two “young wolves” from army school. What to do now? Our deputy was well-known around the area as the “good man,” but what about these two others? They were shaking from the cold. They were not able to say one word. They did not know what to do. Why did they come here today? What is going on?
As our tradition tells us, there was an empty place at the table for “somebody who could come perhaps. ” We made two more for “young wolves.” They took off their coats. There were still not too many words from both sides. Both sides looked at each other. Only the deputy and our mother seemed to be in a good mood.
They are starting to eat warm barszcz soup with mushroom ravioli (barszcz z uszkami). Young wolves are starting to behave like people – they are friendly and grateful. Following the dishes – one of them apologizes for the entire situation. The second one began to talk about normal subjects. The atmosphere was still very tense. “Why did they come? – My brother-in-law asked me. I don’t know. Do you?” The normal conversation starts and warms up a little bit. What to talk with these guys about?
Our mother retook the initiative. She proposed to prepare some more warm soup in glass jars for all three guys, indirectly suggesting that time was over and that she was sure they would leave soon. They are accepting an offer and are very thankful. While cleaning the table and helping move some stuff back to the kitchen, the district officer was alone briefly with our mother. He tells her ear: “I have information about where they took Jasiek. Maybe somebody will go and tell his wife; she is probably getting crazy. I’m afraid I will do it myself. It will scare her even more”.
John (Jasiek), an employee of Wroclaw Politechnika, our neighbor, was one of the most prominent, front-line Solidarity activists and a delegate for the first Solidarity Unification Conference, was arrested and placed in an unknown isolation facility. His wife was left alone with a baby. She was worrying herself to death. Nobody was able to tell her where her husband was.
My husband ran out of the house briefly, and Jasiek’s wife heard the good news within a few minutes.
Although our feelings about all deputies and “young wolves” were not warm, the Christmas atmosphere melted our hearts. There were no more politics and nuisance.
The symbolic free place behind the table and empty plate waiting for “somebody” was filled with real substance. Jasiek’s wife could live through Wigilia and Christmas time with hope.
