Unspeakable Things

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In the drafty reading room of the New York Public Library, Herbert opened his latest letter from the little Rat, his old friend Anna Zygorzka. Her letters were slow to arrive, and each one bore the marks of a censor, who dutifully opened and read and then indicated the readership before sending it on to New York. Even David, who worked in the war office somewhat connected with censorship and foreign mail, could not predict the letters that arrived occasionally, tattered and humble, addressed in fine, studied handwriting. Herbert smoothed the paper, which crackled as he spread it out in front of him. He fixed his spectacles more firmly onto his nose and bent down happily. “J’arrive!”

Beside him on the bench, his grandchildren sat quietly. Philip studied his toes while he held a green balloon. And Maria, in her ruffled smocked dress and little sweater, bent over her English book as seriously as Herbert now bent over the handwriting of his letter. Maria’s lips did not even move as she read; she was concentrating. Although the first signs of spring were coming to New York, the interior of the library was cold and drafty. Herbert wrapped his coat more tightly around his shoulders, looking over to smile at the children. How good they were! So quiet and dear. He went back to the letter.

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