The Chimney Tree by Helaine Helmreich

Since no one in her family was in the house, Miriam was able to sneak off to the woods without using any of the excuses she had already invented. Tadeusz was there, waiting. He showed her his latest sketches, all drawings of his family members, telling her about each one in turn. Miriam listened, entranced. Katya rarely talked about her family. Yet here was Tadeusz, describing them affectionately as if they were characters in a favorite story: Vladek, with his love of sports; Anton, who played practical jokes; little Yadwiga, who liked to eat sour things like lemons.

The sunshine played hide-and-seek through the branches, warming the young couple as they sat on the bed of needles at the base of the chimney tree. Miriam laughed and talked more freely than in her kitchen, since people rarely walked to this spot during the week and the Jews of her village almost never came here. She found it impossible to tell Tadeusz that she couldn't meet him again. And so, week after week, they met on Tuesday evenings at the chimney tree, with Tadeusz showing Miriam his paintings and sometimes sketching her face as she gazed up at him. Soon she no longer withdrew her hand from his, and when he first kissed her, she surprised both of them by kissing him back. That had been in May. As summer waxed and waned, their feelings for each other grew stronger. When fall came, each clung to the other with a desperation that told of their concern for the coming winter, when it would be too cold and snowy to meet in the woods. Miriam was tortured both by guilt over their relationship and fear that it might end.

"Look, Miriam," said Tadeusz, interrupting her troubled thoughts one day. He unfurled a small, rolled-up piece of paper. Miriam gasped. It was a small painting of herself, unmistakable, with her red hair coiled about her ears. Yet the figure wore no clothes at all. This naked, painted Miriam stood with uplifted arms, fastening her hair. While Miriam tried to recover from the shock of seeing herself so painfully exposed, Tadeusz unrolled two more paintings. With delicate brush strokes and warm-toned pigments, each showed a naked Miriam in a graceful pose; her face expressed no shame at her body being revealed in a way no one had ever seen, not even Dina. Each painting bore his signature: Tadeusz Zbirka.

Tears sprang to Miriam's eyes and she blushed to the roots of her hair. "Tadeusz, how… why…what is this?" she gasped. "What do you mean?" Never very fluent in Polish, she could barely choke the words out.

"Don't cry, Miriam. Oh, please, I didn't mean to upset you. All great artists paint this way. Their models pose for them in the nude. But I knew you'd never do that. So I imagined how you would look. You should be proud of your beauty. In art the body of a woman isn't shameful." He put his arms around her trembling shoulders. But Miriam would not be consoled. She pulled away from him and began rushing blindly through the woods.

Tadeusz quickly gathered up his paintings and began racing after her, tripping over the tangled bracken along the path, but soon gave up because of the lengthening shadows and rising wind. Tucking his paintings back into his worn leather portfolio, he started for home. He would visit Miriam's house next Monday afternoon, as he used to, and perhaps leave her a note.

He made his way quickly through the woods to the river, hunching his shoulders against the chill autumn wind. His eyes did not catch the flutter of the small, rolled-up paper that lay at the foot of the chimney tree. Nor did he see the slim blonde figure slipping silently through the pines as she bent to retrieve it from its bed of twigs and dried pine needles.