ooooookkkkkaaaayyyy.....
time for the truth.
that story you've just read there?
forget it.
yea some of you may have worked out was its true meaning was.
but
it was only 90% truth
the remaining 10% went to emotional stuff.
got it?
ok!
soooo....
i've just read a book. its called the sunflower diary and its really touching! anyway i seem to be attached to books in diary format. they have alot alot of emotional stuff. the book is about a sixteen year old girl called Slava Lenski, during the time of the Jew massacre by the Nazi, led by Hitler. she writes about her stay in a Victoria boarding school where she reluctantly conceals her Jewish identity. but the memories of war-torn Poland, her missing sister and the memory of her beloved father intrude. then the other girls in her school discover her diary and her secret is revealed. i will type out the whole book if i can. but too bad if i cant. so you people may be able to enjoy...
The Sunflower Diary.
by Lillian Boraks-Nemetz
Chapter 1
August 15, 1949, afternoon,
Cher Soleil,
Joshua gave you to me as a parting gift. Sunflowers seem to grow out of the corners of your cover, and because sunflowers resemble the sun, I have named you, Soleil.
Now, I shall start pouring out to you all my thoughts and feelings. I will create stories with plot and dialogue, and, for practice, I am going to use myself, Slava Lenski, as the main character. You will not be an ordinary diary with records of boring details and monotonous observations. You will be unique. In you I will write about life as it is and was. For all I know, you might supple ozygen for my first book, and become its breath.
I will begin immediately:
Early this morning, Mama met me at the train station and took me to her new aparment. The first thing I saw when I walked in was this photograph on the side table in the living room.
It was Mama seated next to a amnawho was not my father. She was wearing an orchid corsage. He had a carnation in his lapel. They looked as if a celebration had taken place.
"Max and I were married several weeks ago. Our new name is Steiner," said Mama suddenly.
Crash. I felt as if a bomb had fallen on my head. I didn't think Mama would marry Max so soon after she met him! So that's why she left me in Montreal and came out here with Pyza! I remember one day last summer, when Mama and Max met at the Silverman's garden party. An old friend of Mama's introduced them, and after that they corresponded back and forth. Often, though I knew it was wrong, I would sneak into Mama's closet and read some of Max's romatic letters. I had never before read such emotional declarations of love! I had shared their deep dark secret. Now they're married. So soon after Papa's death. If they had wanted me to be at the wedding, they would have waited until I came. But they didn't This really hurt.
"I don't want my name to be Steiner," I retorted andgrily, "I want to keep my old name, Lenski."
I spoke my mind with a conviction that seemed foreign even to me.
"You don't have to take the name Steiner, if you don't want to, Slava. Your sister will, because Max wwants to adopt her and y-"
Mama didn't finish the sentence because just at that moment Max walked into the living roon and sat down next to her. I sat on a hard wooden chair, facing them as if they were some sort of tribunal.
Although Max was not yet aware of how I felt about him, the matter was settled. I would never give up my father's name.
The chair I was sitting on became harder and harder. My body felt as if it were being put through a lawn mower. I had just arrived in Vancouver two hours ago, having crossed Canada on the Canadian National Railways. I wished I were back in Montreal with Miriam Silverman, my best friend. Mama had left me at the Silverman's to complete a course in English grammer, a subject I was still struggling with. The Silvermans reated me just like a member of the family. We pickened, told jokes and went to the movies. Mrs. Silverman did tell me once that Mama might marry Max, but I just shrugged it off.
While Mama was talking with Max, I looked around the aparment. It had small windows that didn't allow much light. The furniture was brown, the rug beige, the walls a mouse-frey. Though it was nicer than our aparment in Montreal, it didn't feel like home. Montreal was home. We first came to Montreal in 1947, from Polan, after the war. Papa was my lucky star. During the two difficult immigrant years, when I was struggling in school, always behind in most subjects, he guided me. Then he got very ill. His subsequent death, and having to leave Montreal and my dearest friends, makes me now feel that I belong nowhere else in the worls.
Max and Mama continued talking to one another. I didn't quite know what to do next. Should i go for a walk? Or go to my room? I was just getting ready to do something about leaving, when Mama said, "Slava dear, would you mind baby-sitting tonight for a while? Max and I have to go out."
Although I loved my sister, I hated baby-sitting. How often I wished Pyza were older so we could do things together as friends. So i could tell her about our family. Where we came from. What happened to us during the war. Mainly, I wanted to tell her about Basia, our other sister who was taken away by the Nazis and never returned to us. But Pyza was twelve years younger than I. She woulsn't understand.
I could say nothing to Mama, but mutter a waek, "No, I don't mind."
Anyway, there was nothing telse to do. I had no friends to call. Not only was Miriam far away in Montreal, but my boyfriend Joshua, whom I dearly loved, was there too. Having lost my enthusiasm for the walk, I went to my room.
It was a tiny den off the living room, but I breathed in its air of privacy gratefully. Then Pyza ran in and excitedly chriped away at everything I took out of my old brown shuitcase, particularly my sunflower ballet costume, which i had promised to let her wear on Hallowe'en. Out came my braids (chopped off on the boat to North America) still tied with red ribbons, my growing collection of stories and poems, the radio given to me by my first Canadian friend, Marie from St.Adele, and Joshua's menorah. And of course, my two favourite books, the Canadian Anne of Green Gable, and the Russian Princess Nina Dzavaha. All of these treasures except the radio I placed on the cupboard shelf, while Pyza looked on. Then i lay down on the couch-bed and daydreamed about Montreal, Miriam, Joshua and Papa.
to be continued...
