The Upright Heart Read Online Free Page A

arms.
    Wolf twirls a pink string given to him by baby Leah around his left fingers and tries to remember the Polish word for “spirit.” In Russian it is
dusha
, and in Hebrew,
ruach
, like the wind. In Polish, it is
dusza
. This language is so difficult to learn but even harder to forget. Wolf plays with languages the way other people play with cards.
    What kind of person would I be if I didn’t go back to see?
He asks himself, nodding off as the surrounding scenery fades into the background. The train lulls Wolf slowly to sleep, and his glasses slide down to the tip of his nose, so they might easily fall and shatter, but never do they let go.
XI
    Running beside a train, you would normally feel the strength of steel as it barrels across the land. You would know your vulnerability, and would sense, suddenly, the fragility of your body as it pales in comparison to a great machine, to a product of man’s imagination and not a figment of nature. But without a solid body, things are different, and running beside steel is no different than running beside a stream. You are like water, the steel is like a chariot waiting to take you in its arms. You can swim together. In fact, you could just as easily unite with the whole world. It is almost like flying. Wiktor feels that ecstasy as he leaps aboard the local train to Katowice. Not even a thought is needed to make it happen. Just the slightest intention, and he is already there.
    Wolf’s reflexes are fast enough to catch his eyeglasses before they fall to the floor of wagon number four, but it takes him longer to come to terms with his surroundings, and for a time he still hears a baby crying, still sees delicate pine needles pricking at his peripheral vision, as if his dream does not yet want to release him back into reality. The first signs of pink are appearing along the horizon in prelude to the dawn.
    Having taken the leap from the fields that surround Rybnik onto the train, and then swiftly jumping to the Białystok train as it passes through Katowice, Wiktor walks through the corridor ofwagon number four looking for the one who is calling him. Wiktor recognizes him immediately. Though he isn’t wearing his kippah, he still looks like a stranger. (Not wearing a kippah is the one concession he felt he had to make in returning to Poland—that and leaving his tefillin and his tzitzit at home. This decision came after a big internal debate, though he felt he was making the right decision in the end.) Alone in the darkened car, Wolf sits below a small brown leather bag placed on the metal rack above his head. His dark beard is thick, and his wavy hair is carefully parted. He wears a lightweight brown woolen suit and a starched collared shirt. There is a discreet tear on the pocket of his shirt, barely visible as he leans against the window, asleep. He flinches, grabbing his glasses before they fall to the floor. Wolf’s eyes open in a blurry manner that reminds Wiktor of his grandson, Mateusz, who always grins absentmindedly while drifting off to sleep. Wolf smiles in the direction of the open train car door, and Wiktor smiles, too, feeling for a moment that he is being seen. Wolf rallies himself and returns to gazing out the window at the last vestige of the night and the passing fields. He questions the world that streams before him.
Now I know
, he thinks.
Now I know that whatever you are away from feels like a dream
.
    Wiktor comes to sit beside Wolf on the lumpy old bench. Just as it was with the soldiers in Rybnik, he feels compelled to be here with this man.
    Now Rybnik is behind him. Now Rybnik is everywhere.
    Wolf looks out the window, and Wiktor watches Wolf. The world drifts away as night gives way to dawn and heartbreak, their backs turned toward the future.
XII
    There are three faded photographs stuffed into Wolf’s suit coat pocket. No handkerchief, no dash of color, only three smallcrumpled photos to commemorate a life that has already split in two. The still,