On the corner of North 4 and Bedford lived Mr. Mark, who worked as a tailor at the Metropolitan Opera. After hours, he had another job. At home, under his sewing machine, he had hidden printers on which he printed Social Security number cards. These cards cost $60. Mr. Marek was a wonderful man. He communed with great art on a daily basis, and after work, he simply helped his people. So I was able to get hired „legally.”
We had a good time in Poland. Until a certain point. My husband, a musician, played in a symphony orchestra and often went on tour, but he always returned. Our parents bought us an apartment in Olsztyn. We had enough money to enjoy ourselves.
Our daughter was born when I was 18. How old am I now? After 50, I stopped counting. Regardless, my daughter is 36 years old.
My husband started cheating on me, so we moved to New York to save our marriage. My mother-in-law was already living in America. First, my husband left, and then I followed. After a few months, we brought Karolina, who was over 5 years old at the time.
We rented a two-story railroad apartment on Driggs Avenue. My husband quickly found work at a music bar on the corner of Driggs and Newell, where he played with Polish musicians. Meanwhile, I started learning English, realizing that the language I learned in school in Poland was of little use here.
Life in America was a jump into deep water. In Poland, I had caring parents, but here my mother-in-law insisted that young people must fend for themselves. Despite our challenges, compared to other Polish immigrants, we had a decent apartment, and we also enjoyed a diverse social circle because my husband started playing in Polish bars and other venues. Our daughter attended a Polish school.
However, we struggled financially. I vividly remember Karolina’s sixth birthday: I planned a party for her, but it turned out I had only $20 in my pocket. Nothing more. That was the moment of first doubt for me. I wondered, “What am I, daddy’s daughter, doing in this dump? Why I wasn’t pursuing a university education in Poland?”
My mother-in-law, who cleaned apartments for a living, helped me find cleaning jobs to supplement our income. Although I lacked experience, I managed, it’s not rocket science. I was able to read the labels. God, they had four bathrooms! When I finished cleaning the fourth one, the first one was already dirty. I knew from the first day that this was not the job for me, so I found a job at a clothing store on Manhattan Avenue.
As soon as we arrived in the US, we applied for permanent residency, for which we waited 13 years. During that time, we were getting by like everyone else in Greenpoint. On the corner of North 4 and Bedford lived Mr. Mark, who worked as a tailor at the Metropolitan Opera. After hours he had another job. At home, under his sewing machine, he had hidden printers on which he printed Social Security number cards. These cards cost $60. Mr. Marek was a wonderful man. He communed with great art on a daily basis, and after work, he simply helped his people. So I was able to get hired „legally.”
Despite the challenges, I enjoyed our life in America. I’m naturally cheerful and make friends easily. Within two weeks, I befriended an Irish policewoman who worked at our intersection. We shared laughter and jokes. My husband was also happy, playing in reputable clubs. Some friendships from that time endure to this day.
The worst part of the move to America was endured by our daughter, who is stubborn by nature and doesn’t like to compromise. She was angry with us.
However, our peace was short-lived. My husband’s infidelity resurfaced, and he began staying out all night. It turned out to be a brief affair with a singer, then a brief affair with a guitarist. He didn’t even spin when I asked him about it. He reluctantly promised that it wouldn’t happen again.
In the end, I found it hard to bear. But I had to, I was still financially dependent on him. Our naturalization process was underway. Karolina was going to school. The idea of packing up and returning with the child to Poland did not seem rational to me. I was supported in the crisis by friends. One flew in from Germany when she knew I was in despair.
Finally, the spell was over. A couple of our friends from the Polish city Olsztyn came to Greenpoint. A married couple. He could not stand the emigration pressure and returned. She stayed. She lived nearby, and I treated her as a good friend and helped her. She enrolled with my husband in an English course. They would leave in the morning, then both return to our house, where she would bathe to be fresh before going to work for the second shift. I lent her clothes, our daughter considered her a good aunt.
What caught my attention? Once when she was visiting us while evening had fallen, my husband had offered to walk her home. While she was getting ready, he was waiting in the hallway, eating an apple. She walked up, took the apple out of his hand, bit off a piece, and, looking into his eyes, gave it back. It was a gesture of extraordinary closeness. When they left — I went to my daughter’s room to turn off the light. Instinctively, I looked out the window that overlooked the street. They were standing there and kissing. I stood there paralyzed.
You know, I’m a calm person, I don’t get angry or rowdy. Once I was able to move, I walked over to the phone. I called her apartment. She had already managed to arrive at her apartment“I don’t want to see you again in my apartment, for me you don’t exist,” I said. “But why? What is the point?” she played dumb.
“You know very well what it’s about,” I answered.
When my husband came home, I told him that we were divorcing, I couldn’t bear it any longer. He initially also tried to pretend that nothing happened. And then started explaining that he was helpless, as she fell in love, she was unhappy, and he just wanted to help. Later I found out that they had been together for six months. He visited people with her and introduced her as his wife.
That evening I was already acting like a robot. I dialed the number of my mother-in-law, who also lived in Greenpoint. I told her, “Mom, I want to inform you that I am terminating my marriage.” 15 minutes later, we heard the doorbell ring. The mother-in-law came in and started yelling at my husband. She called him a moron and told him to fix everything immediately. She also called the woman. She yelled that by Saturday (it was Sunday) the woman should get out of the United States, and that she must return to Poland. Otherwise, the mother-in-law would shoot her. She said that it was no problem for her to buy a $400 gun. I have never seen her like that.
On Monday, when I came to the store where I worked, it was my employer, a good Jew, who asked if a steam roller had run over me because I looked so terrible. I said that my husband had cheated on me again, and this time it wasn’t some musician’s fling. He instructed me to go home and he would pay me for the whole week. I went back. At home, I had another conversation with my husband, who didn’t seem to understand anything. He certainly didn’t understand what I was feeling. He also brought this woman, who told me what a terrible life she had, and now it would be further broken. They were throwing their weight around on me, and I didn’t have the strength to throw them out of the house.
On Thursday, I stopped getting out of bed. I just couldn’t move an arm or a leg. I didn’t comb my hair or change my clothes. My friends called me, because I wasn’t making a secret of what was going on. So they started taking care of me. An upstairs neighbor walked my daughter to school. A friend from Germany showed up. Finally, I went to the deli: unclothed, with my hair each in a different direction. As I was selecting goods, I saw that my husband’s lover was entering the store. She was dressed, made up, elegant. I watched her from behind the shelves and thought, “I’m not going to give up. I’m going to continue living on my terms.”
In the end, this woman left for Poland. Perhaps she was scared of her mother-in-law, I don’t know.
But the separation didn’t happen right away. We started going to a therapist with my husband after my mother-in-law insisted. We lived under the same roof as friends. But there was no closeness between us. It lasted for months. I think my daughter was very much affected by these years of crisis. She was very capable and very sensitive. She got into Hunter College, she got accepted to Stuyvesant High School, and to the Fashion Institute — people spend years trying to get into these institutions. But at one point, she said she wasn’t going to study. She just wouldn’t.
When my husband finally said he wanted a divorce — it was very difficult for me. Did I still love him? Maybe I still thought he would change. Maybe I remembered how the three of us used to go with our daughter to watch the stars in places where they could shine beautifully. Maybe I had guilt that it was my fault. That I hadn’t controlled him before, knowing that he was a musician, that he met lots of women and had temptations? Today I can’t understand why I put up with his infidelities for so long.
When he was about to move out, my friend Ania said: I’m taking you to the Guggenheim Museum for the day. When we return his will be gone, he will leave the key with the neighbors.
Only then I start a good life. I changed my job to an office job. I ran a construction company and it turned out that I was good at it. Especially since the boss had problems with alcohol and there were times when I had to make decisions myself. He appreciated me a lot for this and paid me well. I started to meet men and stopped being shy. I had a few sex buddies but I didn’t want to get tied down, it was still too painful for me.
With my friend Anna, we started going to the nudist beach and we liked it very much. I met some nicely built men there, who became my lovers. You know, on such a beach there is nothing to hide, people play open cards.
My friends threw me a celebratory birthday party. We were all in ball gowns, we laughed and felt we were together, I guess that’s when I felt I was free and happy.
I met Barry at a concert I attended with one of my friends from the beach. He played the saxophone. We caught each other’s eye, but he had to leave, he was finishing a tour. He called me every day and eventually, we started dating. He’s from New Orleans, part Blackfoot Indian, part Creole. Calm, patient, and warm. We are celebrating the 20th anniversary of our acquaintance soon.
