CHAPTER V

Alone Among Her Own

For a long time Jadwiga could not accept her mother's death, still trying to deny what had happened. Yes, she knew that the irrevocable had come, and yet she went on waiting for a miracle. Then one night she woke in terror, crying, "No, Mama, don't come anymore!" The sight of her mother's enormous figure kneeling beside her bed, with a bleeding wound above one eye, shook the child's mind. Terrible as it was, that dream became a turning point. Jadwiga knew then that she was alone: an orphan left to the mercy of others.

In keeping with her mother's dying fears, Dziunia's further fate was not easy, and for a long time it hung in the balance. Her uncle Kazimierz Kiliś wanted to take the child in, but he met resistance from his wife, who had already taken in a niece of her own. The Chojnackis, in turn, were kept from caring for the orphan by poverty. The couple lived only from keeping a few beehives. Stanisław also earned a little by cutting the hair of local men. Their income was enough to survive only because of Marianna's uncommon thrift and skill.

"When Chojnacka buys potatoes, she has a little ring she puts every potato through. She only takes the ones that fit," the farmers mocked. No one, while inventing the story of the metal ring, thought that behind her choice of tubers of more or less equal size lay a concern that they should cook evenly. In much the same way they laughed at Stanisław, who, when chopping firewood, tried to make every piece even. It was no oddity, but a way of ensuring that the wood burned steadily and directly beneath the pot, not too near the chimney. Only in the early nineteen-fifties did he find work rebuilding the bridge over the Vistula at Nowy Dwór. That work ended, however, in a complicated injury to his leg, and consequently in his death.

In the end Jadwiga was formally admitted to an orphanage, though in reality she remained in the care of her aunt Jadwiga Kamińska. Living in Szczypiorno, she began attending school in Kosewo, where she completed the rest of her primary education. The Kamińskis, who already had nine children of their own, did everything they could so that their young cousin would not feel discriminated against. Still, she had to earn her keep, especially during the summer.

The first rays of sun appeared above the forest across the river, on the far side of the Wkra. Thirteen-year-old Jadwiga had just set out from home, carrying a twelve-liter pail full of blueberries. Beside her trotted her much younger cousin Lech. He, too, carried fruit picked earlier, in a three-liter milk can. They did not keep to the road. By walking along the river they would reach the woods at the end of the village more quickly, then turn right, straight toward Kosewo. From there it was only a few more kilometers to the market in Nowy Dwór. If they were lucky, they would find customers among people on their way to work. With the money they earned, they would be allowed to buy themselves a roll. When they returned home, some sort of dinner would be waiting: pancakes, perhaps, or a bowl of soup. A moment's rest, and then, together with their aunt, they would set off again into the woods near Janowo. Blueberries had to be gathered for the next day. So it went for the whole season.

"Dad's home!" little Wanda cried out. She had good reason to rejoice, for it was payday, and on such days her father came home with a long white loaf and sausage. So it was this time as well. Jadwiga Kamińska, as always, set about dividing these goods among the children. She sliced the bread, laid meat upon it, and handed the pieces to the hungry mouths around her. There was only one loaf and many mouths to feed, so the portions had to be small. It was hardly surprising that Innocenta's daughter, when her turn came, asked, "I'd rather have sausage with ordinary bread." She was counting on a larger piece.

"What are you doing?" Uncle Czesław shouted when he saw his wife giving his niece different bread from the other children.

"Uncle, I asked for it," Dziunia broke in, without explaining the reason for her request.

There were tears as well, as on the day when the girl received from her aunt's husband a new satchel for her school things. The unexpected gift filled her with joy — for a time. Her aunt was displeased that Kamiński had bought a satchel for their son Leszek and for the orphaned Jadwiga, while there had not been enough money to buy the same for their daughter Hania. Jadwiga, telling no one that she had overheard the quarrel, had to accept the bitter gift. With the passing years the memory of the incident did not fade, but there remained, too, an understanding of the position in which her cousin had found herself. Whatever hurt remained was strongly rationalized.

Jadwiga's completion of the seven-year primary school in Kosewo coincided with the Kamińskis' departure from Szczypiorno — and hers with them. The couple had bought a plot of several hundred square meters in Brody, near Pomiechówek. At first they planned to buy the neighboring plot as well, for their niece, but before the transaction was made, another family bought the field.

Jadwiga then tried to fulfill one of her dreams. She enrolled in the four-year Teacher Training Lyceum in Pułtusk, which would allow her to become a teacher. At first everything went well, and after the first year everyone could see the goal drawing nearer. Even life in the dormitory seemed to offer an interesting change, though there were frightening moments too. From the Nasielsk station in Pieścirogi, a narrow-gauge railway ran to Pułtusk, carrying people to one of the larger towns in the area for work, school, and even shopping. Once a week Jadwiga traveled on it as well. The train moved slowly, but it always reached its destination — always, except on one winter morning when, after passing two stations, the locomotive became stuck in the snow-covered tracks.

"Get out. You'll have to walk to Pułtusk," the conductor called.

The doors were opened, and an icy gust burst into the carriage. Even so, everyone set out through the drifts toward the nearest station. When the first buildings could be seen in the distance, someone caught Jadwiga by the hand just as she was about to rub her face.

"Don't touch it — you'll tear the skin off," cried a young man in a soldier's uniform. "Your face is frostbitten."

When the passengers reached the little station, people passing by began taking them onto their sleighs. There were few places.

"I'll manage somehow. Take the girl," the soldier declared when a ride was offered to him.

Lifted onto a sleigh and wrapped in blankets, Jadwiga slowly began to come back to life. In the dormitory, hot tea and a warm room were waiting.

The next school year brought surprises of its own. The Kamińskis, whose family had grown again, could no longer support the orphan's needs to the same degree, and over the previous year their attachment to her had cooled somewhat. At the same time, the growing Jadwiga began to feel her difference. She felt isolated among girls her own age and was often mocked because of poverty. "A person had only one pair of underpants, and they had to be washed every evening," she later recalled many times. "When I hung them over the bed rail so they would dry by morning, all the girls saw them and laughed, because they weren't new."

"Write down everything you need," her classmates advised when Jadwiga confided that she had received a letter from her cousin Mieczysława Szcześniak offering help. The girl followed their advice and sent a long list of the things she lacked most. In the reply she read: "I don't have those things myself."

Jadwiga gave up. She no longer wanted to study; she no longer wanted to be pointed at and ridiculed. Through her years in primary school and her first year at the lyceum, she had collected a considerable number of commendations and book prizes for good marks. Her second-year report card at the lyceum was very different from the earlier ones. It was the last.

More and more clearly, Jadwiga understood that if she did not win a place of her own through education, she would have to seek it through work or through marriage.

Soon afterward, at the invitation of her aunt and uncle Szcześniak, she spent eleven months in their home in Świeszyn, near Koszalin. Good care, new acquaintances, and friendships did not persuade Jadwiga to remain there. Her worsening health likely played a part in that difficult decision. Medical examinations conducted in Warsaw revealed rheumatic disease of the joints at a degree rarely seen in so young a person. One possible cause was the influence of the damp coastal climate. She returned to Brody, and soon after turning eighteen she took a job at the Soda Water Works in Nowy Dwór. From her first days, the new employee was assigned to washing bottles.

"You mustn't work there," Aunt Kamińska cried.

When the girl would not listen, her aunt decided after a few weeks to take action. By the time she arrived at the plant, her niece was already working at mixing the ingredients needed to make the drinks; but even that work the woman considered too dangerous for Jadwiga.

The search for a new job did not last long. One day her cousin Edmund Pawelski brought word that a shop in nearby Błędówko was looking for a replacement for a saleswoman who had run up a considerable shortage. Here, however, financial security or guarantors were required. Once that problem had been solved, and the long-widowed Aunt Marianna Chojnacka agreed to take her niece under her roof, Jadwiga was able to begin the new work.

After her husband's death, the aunt no longer kept bees. She did not keep hens either, though she had saved one. Well fed, the bird could be counted on to provide an egg a day. For two women that was usually enough.

"What is Auntie doing?"

Jadwiga could not hide her astonishment at what she saw on entering the house. Her aunt, usually calm and dignified, was standing astride the hen. The fowl lay belly-up; its wings were pinned down beneath the woman's legs, and grain was being forced into its beak.

"Just imagine — I feed her nothing but wheat, and she goes over to Jankowska's to scratch in the rubbish. Let her stuff herself!" the woman complained.

When the hen had rested a few minutes after such brutal feeding, her first chicken steps carried her straight to the neighbor's. In a moment there came a tremendous shriek: "She keeps a hen and won't give it anything to eat!" cried Jankowska. She was a woman who did not step into anyone's path herself, but had her own sense of the boundary that no one was allowed to cross. It was not an easy neighborhood. What is more, these qualities passed to the next generation as well, making life harder for others. This time neither Chojnacka nor her neighbor understood that a hen fed on grain had gone in search of another sort of food. The next day there was broth on the table for Chojnacka and her niece.

Walking six kilometers to and from work every day, whatever the weather, was no pleasure; but the work gave a measure of stability. With her first wages she bought herself a coat, and with the second she was able to buy a cap and a scarf. Only warm boots were still needed, the kind that would let her walk to work and back without freezing her feet. Before long she could afford those too.

Work brought not only money but other changes in the young woman's life. One of those changes was a young man from neighboring Janowo, Feliks Otowski. It is true that while Jadwiga was still living in Brody, a soldier serving at Fort III had begun visiting her. When his service ended, however, he went away and, as rumor had it, was killed while working in a steel mill. Now everything promised to be more interesting, and the new acquaintance brought hope. He began speaking of marriage; she dreamed of the warmth of a family of her own. They began making plans together.

Days passed, then weeks, and after them months. She went on making plans; she kept seeing the two of them in a shared house, among shared children. He grew quieter, and spoke less and less often of marriage. He loved Jadwiga, but for his family an orphan without a dowry was no good match.

He dodged and delayed; she decided to teach him a lesson.

"Mrs. Chojnacka, you're coming to our wedding," an unfamiliar young man called, entering Marianna Chojnacka's little room.

The surprising visitor was a guest at a wedding being held next door after the marriage of Barbara Jankowska and Tadeusz Mamaj. The bridegroom's cousin had unceremoniously decided to bring the Jankowskis' neighbor to the festivities, and when he saw her niece there, he persuaded her to come as well. For Jadwiga, it was the perfect occasion to spite Feliks.

Twenty-seven-year-old Adam was determined. A few days later he appeared again in Szczypiorno. From Dziekanów Polski he had about thirty kilometers to travel. With only a bicycle, and later a borrowed moped, he began visiting Jadwiga every few days.

He was determined; she was still filled with anger at Felek. Time passed, and events seemed almost to happen by themselves. On November 23, 1963, Adam and Jadwiga entered the Registry Office in Pomiechówek. Word of it reached Janowo as well. Feliks decided to act.

"What is that noise?" Jadwiga called amid the chatter of relatives after returning from Pomiechówek.

When no one reacted, she looked out the window. The noise was the falling of a carelessly set gate that closed off the path to the little front garden before Chojnacka's house. It had fallen because Feliks, instead of entering the building, had tried to look inside through the window. When he realized he had been discovered, he tried to withdraw quickly. Jadwiga saw only the back of the man she loved. Had he come a few hours earlier, the miracle they had both dreamed of would have taken place.

Preparations for the church wedding did not last long. The parish priest, Father Stanisław Mazurczak, held only a brief conversation with the betrothed, giving the future bride just one piece of advice: "You must teach him a great deal about religion. Speak to him of God," he asked.

When Adam asked about the offering for the wedding, the priest answered with a question:

"How much can you give?"

"Eight hundred złoty," came the modest answer.

"Will there be alcohol at the wedding?"

"Uh... no, there won't."

"A large wedding?"

"Only the closest family. About twenty people."

"Very well, let it be so," the priest agreed.

Yet the marriage ceremony might never have taken place. When Feliks's clumsy visit failed to prevent it, warnings came from Heaven. Adam had arrived at the Kamińskis' house earlier, for they had to go first to confession. The road to the church was not long, but if it could be shortened... One could, of course, cross the railway bridge stretched over the Wkra, but was it not more pleasant to walk across the frozen river? When they reached the middle, the thin December ice began cracking beneath their feet. At the first sounds, Adam rushed forward without even looking back at his fiancée. Jadwiga, suddenly alone, presented a much smaller burden to the ice. Slowly, careful with every step, she reached the bank.

"Dear God, what have I done?" Jadwiga cried inwardly when, on December 26, she first saw her future in-laws. No, not in-laws — he, short and quiet, was distinguished only by a visible hump. But she, though tall and healthy, inevitably called to mind a witch: very thin, with a great hooked nose, forever making a commotion around herself and railing at everyone and everything. "People will say she did the same as her mother," the girl thought, recalling the rumors she had heard so many times about Innocenta, who had run away from her husband. Fear and shame prevailed, but in these thoughts she was not alone. The looks of her relatives, especially Uncle Szcześniak, spoke for themselves.

The in-laws, however, tried to keep up the forms of tradition. They brought vodka for the wedding — one bottle for each table, gathered from neighbors in Dziekanów. The food for the guests was brought by the bride.

The "courtesies" between the families began already during the reception, though at the time they still had a comic aspect — comic, at least, to one side. It was already after midnight when a young man from Dziekanów ran up to the table occupied by the Kiliś and Kamiński clan, trying to reach for the still unopened bottle of alcohol standing there.

"We don't have any left," he explained when Antoni Szcześniak held the bottle down with his hand.

"That is your problem. This bottle is ours."

With that answer, the unfortunate fellow returned to his people. They drank no more that night. The next day, however, the leftover wedding food was divided equally among everyone.

The young couple decided to live in Dziekanów Polski, where Adam's parents had agreed to make a two-room dwelling available to them. But that had to wait. Before the New Year, Adam returned to his home village, from which he had to commute daily to work in Warsaw. Jadwiga also went back to Szczypiorno. It did not last long, for on January 9, 1964, she settled the accounts of the shop she had been running and was able to set off toward the capital.

There was a large plot, number 54, right by Lake Dziekanów, and on it a fairly spacious three-room house in which, besides Władysław and Zofia, Adam's parents, lived two of his sisters: nineteen-year-old Teresa and sixteen-year-old Wanda. The third sister, Ludwika, had died as a four-year-old near the end of the war — as people said, because her matted hair had been cut off.

In front of the house stood an old, spreading walnut tree, beneath whose shade a well had been built. To the left, right along the boundary of the plot, stretched a row of sheds, behind which, always on a chain, some mongrel led a sad existence. Just beyond its kennel, a fence of stakes separated the yard from the field. After passing through the forever crooked gate, one could walk along the balk to the lakeshore. The family had a boat there, in which Adam often went out, not only to fish but also to take his ease.

To the right of the walnut tree, a new section had some time earlier been attached to the main building. The whole now began to resemble the pattern of a knight's move on a chessboard. The two tiny rooms thus created were no luxury. Even so, they were meant to give the young couple a sense of independence. Those hopes proved vain.

Zofia, with the same firmness with which she had once stood up to her father the village headman, now stood in the doorway of the young couple's room — and from the first day tried to arrange their life according to her own will.

"What is this for?" the mother-in-law cried in indignation when she saw, in her son's little room, a table covered with a white cloth.

"The priest will be here any moment for the Christmas blessing," her daughter-in-law replied.

"Then why a white one? Use this."

So she decreed, handing her another cloth, colored and checked. The girl, not wanting a quarrel with her husband's mother, changed the covering, but that did not soothe the older woman. A moment later Zofia's eye fell on the fifty-złoty note waiting for the priest. For her, the amount was unacceptable. Jadwiga yielded this time as well, though not entirely. On the corner of the table she placed two twenties, arranged so as to look like a single banknote.

Meanwhile, the performance had only just begun.

The expected priest had just run out from Adam's parents' side of the house, and as Jadwiga welcomed him at the door, he called from the threshold:

"What the hell is going to come of this!"

The young man, probably not long out of the seminary, realized the impropriety of his outburst, for a moment later he muttered "I'm sorry" and fell to his knees, praying for quite some time. When he rose, he showered the hosts with questions about their church wedding, about confirmation, and more. Having cooled down, he revealed the reason for his agitation:

"For a sixteen-year-old not to know who created her!" he asked rhetorically, not knowing what a difficult parish he had found himself in.

Zofia not only made sure her daughter-in-law did not squander too much money on the Church; she also had to check whether her son behaved properly when he was not under his mother's eye.

"Jadzia, do you know what Zośka does in the evenings?" a cousin living nearby asked one day.

Without waiting for an answer, he added with a laugh:

"When the light goes on in your room, she takes a stool, brings it to the window, and climbs up so she can see over the curtains what you two are doing."

The woman was also concerned for the conditions in which her son was to live. As soon as she learned that the young couple were going to Warsaw to buy some furniture, one of Adam's sisters announced that she would be joining the trip.

"And what are you going there for?" Jadwiga asked.

"Because Mama is so good at buying things," the girl replied.

"I can buy things too."

Such an answer did not cool Zofia's family feelings. On the day before the planned journey, Adam's sister came again with news.

"Tomorrow we are going to buy your furniture."

"You are going to buy our furniture? Have you got the money?"

"Well... no."

"Then I suppose you are not going," Jadwiga answered firmly, bringing about a decided chill in mutual relations.

Family relations deteriorated day by day. Zofia wanted to accept her daughter-in-law, but she had her own model of family life, in which she was head of the whole clan and her son's first duty was to care for his mother and her needs. She assigned a similar role to her daughter-in-law. In this way she tried to build an environment of her own, cut off from the outside world, with which she had long been in bitter conflict.

She was said to come from a good family. Her father, Władysław Choroś, was a village headman widely respected, but his wife Marianna had lost her reason while still young, becoming a burden to the whole community. Mother and daughter hated one another. When the mother lay dying, the daughter pulled the pillow from under her head.

"Am I supposed to sleep on that later?" she asked, seeing the reproachful looks of her relatives.

She treated her brother Jan no better; for decades she fought lawsuits with him over land. She did not come to say farewell when he was dying, nor did she attend the funeral. She also drew her son into the battle against her brother, his chief task being to dig wolf pits in the road. She did not force him to go to school. It was enough that by the age of sixteen he had finished two grades, after which he could go and earn money in Warsaw's "doll factory."

Zofia chose for herself a husband over whom she had complete command. He was a man without any education, yet unusually gifted. From found parts he could assemble a bicycle for his son's daily rides to the capital; and long after his death the family still kept wooden dolls that climbed along a string, and little carved wooden birds for the Christmas tree. On the kitchen wall hung a saltbox on which he had written, in large letters, "SALT," except that the letter S looked almost exactly like a question mark. He had learned to keep out of his wife's way. When she told stories she had made up, she would ask her husband for confirmation: "Władek, right?" Władek always answered the same way: "Yes, right."

In her own family, Zofia was a kind of exception. In character and appearance only her sister Marianna resembled her, though even Marianna, who never founded a family of her own, waged war against no one. The others among the ten Choroś children who lived to adulthood led ordinary, quiet lives among their loved ones. The fate of Stanisław is less known; after the war he settled permanently in Perth, Australia, and died there in 1979.

At that time Zofia increasingly devoted herself to making life difficult for her brother Jan, her neighbors, her husband, and her daughter-in-law. For Jadwiga, the family life she had once dreamed of was becoming less and less acceptable, at least under the conditions in which she found it. When she learned she was pregnant, she began speaking of the need to move away from the omnipresent mother-in-law. Adam, called at home by his second name, Władysław, accustomed to absolute obedience to his mother and loving her without criticism, did everything he could to delay that moment. At last he faced a choice: to find a new roof over their heads, or to remain by his mother.

Adam chose his wife and the child who was to be born in six months. On an August afternoon they set out. In Kępa Kiełpińska, right by the Vistula embankment, stood an old shed. In that ruin, surrounded by an orchard, distant relatives had kept a cow not so very long before. Earlier, for a time, a woman had lived there who had become entirely infirm and had found shelter under the roof of her kin. Now, when the beast had gone to slaughter, they agreed to let Adam use it.

Although life grew noticeably calmer, poverty still stared them in the face, edging toward destitution. Jadwiga, expecting a child, did not work. Adam, as an unskilled laborer, not only earned little, but could lose his pay before he brought it home. Even so, going off to hard physical work, he had to have sandwiches with margarine and some sort of cold meat. His wife was often left with dry bread.

Their first Christmas together offered at least a brief change. Aunt Chojnacka, who had invited them to her home, still lived very modestly, but her house could be pleasantly warmed, and she had bought enough food for the time to stand apart in that respect as well.

During her husband's day-long absences, Jadwiga had company. Another little shed adjoined their room, and in it the woman decided to raise a piglet. In time the animal became so attached to his mistress that he would tap his hoof against the wall to call her, counting on a scratch behind the neck. Unfortunately for him, the pen in which he was kept was too small for a rapidly growing pig. When his legs began to bend, and Jadwiga had not the heart to turn him into sausage, he went to the yard of Joanna Pacholak, Adam's aunt, from whom he had come as a little piglet.

Joanna was one of the few relatives who maintained good relations with the young couple, and certainly the only person who was always close in every need.

"When your time comes, call me," she reminded Jadwiga many times.

The kindness and frequent help of this tiny woman met with Jadwiga's great gratitude. "She was German, but a true angel," Jadwiga used to say of her.

The day of the birth was drawing inevitably nearer, but before it came...

Adam had already gone to work. The winter dawn had not yet arrived, so his wife slipped back under the quilt. After a few minutes an old woman unknown to her appeared in the doorway. Slowly, without a word, she glided toward the bed, and since the distance was small, she was soon standing beside it.

"Don't come near me!" the pregnant woman cried, and covered her head with the quilt.

When she dared look out from under it, there was no one there. "That must be the old woman who died and came to frighten me," she thought of the woman who had once slept in that same bed and could not imagine that anyone might live there without her consent. Jadwiga dressed and, soon after breakfast, went to visit her husband's relatives. As soon as she crossed the threshold, she saw that the older woman living there lay peacefully in her bed and, though unable to walk, was still quite alive.

Before the birth, the child's name also had to be chosen. If it was a daughter, she was to be Ewa. For a son, Jadwiga wanted the name Cezary. That was the name of the child of a friend from the time when she had lived in Świeszyn.

"Oh no!" her husband objected firmly.

"What don't you like about that name?"

"Cezary... why not Caesar? I'll call, 'Come here, heel!'" Adam replied, recalling the common call to a dog.

Seeing such determination, Jadwiga suggested:

"Then perhaps we'll name him after his grandfather? He'll be Piotr?"

"A fine name."

The winter at the beginning of 1965 was not kind. Long frosts and heavy snow made life difficult not only for people but for animals. Wolves from the Kampinos Forest, unable to find food where they were, began venturing into human settlements. They were seen more and more often even by the Vistula. Even so, when in the middle of the night from February 20 to 21 Jadwiga felt labor coming on, her husband set out on foot to fetch his aunt. Soon, in a sleigh drawn by two fine horses, Jadwiga was traveling toward Żoliborz, where a new hospital had recently been built. A few hours later, at 10:20, Piotr was born.

After several days, on the same sleigh, only in the opposite direction, one more person was traveling. It was a bright day, but the wild animals had become increasingly bold. After the travelers passed Łomianki, they saw wolves drawing near. The animals did not give up the possibility of food for a long stretch of road, and worse, they soon attempted an attack. The frightened horses became nervous and unpredictable. The situation grew dangerous. Fortunately, the driver's firm conduct, his skill with the reins, and especially his use of the whip saved not only the horses' lives, but perhaps the people's as well.

Everyone reached Kępa safely. The surprise awaiting Jadwiga came only inside the building. Sensing the approaching birth, she had cleaned the room several days earlier and washed the bedding. Now a pitiful sight struck her eyes: dirty dishes, a floor trampled with mud, and bedding in the same condition. Fleas and lice in the bed. During his wife's absence Adam had stayed at his parents' house, while the key to the dwelling he had given to his older sister, who had arranged herself a place for assignations there.

When he was only a few days old, Piotr was baptized on March 2 in Łomianki, although as late as the evening before there had been no certainty that the ceremony would take place at all. Wanda, the Kamińskis' daughter, had been chosen as godmother. The godfather was to have been a man from Dziekanów, but he changed his mind the day before the planned baptism. He gave no reason, though people whispered that Zofia, Adam's mother, had threatened not to repay borrowed money if he agreed to hold the child at the font. Whether that was truly so, no one can now confirm. After a hurried search, the child's father found a replacement. Beside Wanda Kamińska stood a distant relative, Ryszard Michalak. After the ceremony had happily taken place, the family could go to a modest reception at Aunt Janina's house.

The young couple had applied early for a municipal apartment from Łomianki's housing stock. To their joy, already in April they received a letter confirming that such a dwelling had been granted. Their joy was brief.

"You won't get that apartment," an unknown man said to Jadwiga as she crossed a street in Łomianki.

As he later explained, he was a municipal employee who knew the inside of the matter.

"Your mother-in-law sent us a letter claiming that she is making two apartments available to you, and even a 'pica,'" he revealed. "You are not entitled to a municipal apartment."

Jadwiga understood then that even another person's roof could be used against her.