AFRICAN BRIDE

Polish bride, 60s style (author's parents)

AFRICAN BRIDE (year unknown)

Once I knew Anna -Marie (not her real name). Or should I say Anna-Marie once knew me, as she is the one pretending that we have never met. Anna-Marie was a teacher at my son's school, and one day she asked me to do her a favor. Her Polish-born mother just died, and her family in Poland needed to be informed. "I'm sorry for your loss, of course I'll translate a letter for you," I said, and that was how the relationship started.
A short letter turned into a longer one, then another, and then another. In the meantime, letters from Poland started flowing in. These needed to be translated into English. After a while, the letter exchange became …an everyday routine.
Letters came from Hanna Nowak (not her real name), a friend of Anna-Marie's deceased mother, and some other letters came from Beata and Alexandra, Hanna's two granddaughters. These were appreciated ones, but from time to time letter from Aunt Scholastyka (a real name) came and these were less than desired. Auntie's living conditions were bad, and she needed some financial assistance. Either way, I was a person, thanks to whom (I can say it now), both families kept in touch for about two years.

By Christmas I knew the whole family: each member separately, their husbands and wives and whether I liked it or not, I shared their troubles and happiness. Their moments of quarrels and moments of joy.
So when Anna-Marie decided to send them a package, I knew who was getting what and why. Since the agencies that operate at Polish markets charge less for shipping than the US post office, the package was dropped in my car at the beginning of the week, even though Anna-Marie knew that I wasn't going to the Polish store until Saturday.
Frankly, I was growing tired of the situation. I also felt trapped, and Anna-Marie's childish character gave me the impression that if I asked her to stop, she may get back at my son for my refusing to help.

So I drove around with this huge box inside my car, the box that did not belong to me nor would it be received by any of MY relatives.

Yeah, about that box… When Anna-Marie learned that Alexandra was getting married, this great idea popped into her head: she would present the future bride with her own, old wedding gown. Splendid! The gown, that "Dynasty's" Crystal Carrington would not be embarrassed to wear to her wedding to Blake! It was every American bride's dream gown! Pure white with puffed sleeves, and when I say puffed sleeves I mean sleeves that you can make a couple of Sunday dresses out of or hide a robin's nest in it. A handful of pearls sewn into the fabric, lace or whatever, was there. Of course, it came with gloves and a veil that stretched for miles. All of it was sent by me in that special box, and extra insurance was required. Prior to that, the gown was professionally cleaned and pressed into that expensive box for years of storage.
Did I like it? No!! But I figured that if the Nowak family doesn't like it, they could always sell it or turn it into curtains or something useful. Time went by and then one day, a photo album came. Anna-Marie handed it to me with this awful look on her face as if the plane carrying the gown fell into the ocean or some other disastrous event took place. "Please, explain to me what this means?" she said practically in tears. Inside were pictures of Alexandra at her wedding, wearing …a beautiful but rather plain (although decorated with some English lace) dress.

The explanation came later and I was challenged with telling Anna-Marie that Alexandra wanted something different for probably the most important day in her life. Something different from that gorgeous gown from fairy tale. Forget that it wasn't the right size or the fact that it was hot summer day… this modest girl wanted something that resembled her character. She looked beautiful, very feminine but she truly looked as if she was wearing the dress not the other way around.
Oh well, I thought, Anna-Marie will get over it, she may throw a tantrum now but later on, she'll realize that Alexandra did the right thing. But of course, the question remained about the whereabouts of the gown… Did the Nowak family sell it or turn it into some slipcovers?
As I was reading the letter from Hanna...Here came the really hard part…how do you prepare Anna-Marie for this news? Should I kill her slowly, give her pieces of information in small doses or just throw it at her and watch her have a heart attack? Hm, yeah, that would have been my way of revenge for all those days when I sat at night translating her stupid letters because she could not pick up a few simple Polish words.
I chose the second option, to kill right away without torturing the poor woman.

Let's rewind to the wedding scene. The guest of honor at the wedding was Alexandra's uncle Romuald who is a priest, and he also conducted the ceremony. Some Polish Catholic families have all the luck! Or are they stingy? Father Romuald, present at the family discussion about the future of the gown, volunteered to take it and make use of it, and considered giving it to a young bride in his parish. How wonderful! Anna-Marie at this point was getting heart palpitations, but she could not stop me now…I was having such a good time poking holes in her overgrown ego.

As a good Christian woman, Anna-Marie should be happy that her wonderful gown is used by some poor girl in some village who otherwise could never even dream of having such an elegant dress for her wedding.

But that's what I think and obviously my opinion did not matter. Soon I was going to deliver the final blow. But then again, oh let her destroy herself, I waited for her to ask "So where is it then?" "Where is what?" I played with her mind a little. "You mean, the village or the gown?"

"Well, it says in the letter that after Alexandra's wedding, Father Romuald took the gown with him, back to ...Zaire. And it also says that the gown is hung on the altar in the church that he built in this village in Africa, and it will be presented to every bride that has a desire to wear it from now on. Isn't it the greatest idea, Anna-Marie?"
She did not faint as I was hoping for but her pale face got dead serious and then dead red. She started walking in circles, tried to find words but just shook her head and wave her arms at me and left. She left me standing there. See what happens when you give perfectly good stuff to Poles, they're a bunch of unappreciative morons who instead of wearing your gown and praying for your health for the rest of their lives, send the gown to some place in Africa and let the whole village wear it, or at least the female population of it. Bad, bad, bad people…
Several days passed, and I thought we were done with the translating business. But surprisingly enough, the American – African gown did not kill her, as I found blank Christmas cards in my son's backpack.

It was the second holiday season, and once again, I found myself translating Christmas cards to the Nowak family while the pile of cards to my own relatives in Poland waited on the side. And when a new load of cards arrived with my son, I sent them all back without opening. I attached a little note explaining that I was sorry but I simply did not have time to do this. Thinking that by now Anna-Marie, a grown woman, a teacher, should learn some Polish to be able to say "Merry Christmas" in her mother's tongue. Oh, shoot me but I finally realized that I was being used.

I never heard from her since. Weeks later, she was diagnosed with cancer, so for a while I felt like a jerk, a bad, bad person and from time to time, I had to knock myself in the head and say: no more stupid letters, I need to live my life. Later, Anna-Marie beat the cancer, lost weight, and looks great. I see her at different events. She prefers to pretend not to know me or my children for that matter. But the idea of that gown sitting on the altar in some village in Zaire cracks me up laughing everytime.

C'mon, how many wedding gowns from the Brookfields have traveled so far?