Steve directed me from his perch; this was his show; I was his stand-in. Are the bricks loose? he said. Are you able to pry them off? They were not. Steve got up and rummaged around the attic to see what he could find to help me pry the bricks off. He came back with a nail, which he passed to me through the hole.
Using the nail as a chisel and a brick I’d found on the floor as a hammer, I chipped away at the mortar that secured the top brick. I did this for a while and made some progress but it was very incremental, and very painful. My fingers began to burn; my legs and my back, too, because I could get at these low bricks only from a crouching position. I was also increasingly uneasy. We’d galloped way past “deception.” We were literally destroying someone’s home, and someone who had been nothing but welcoming. False pretenses were one thing; unsanctioned brick removal felt like quite another.
So it didn’t feel right and also we weren’t really making progress; I put down the nail and brick and Steve and I discussed our next move. What if, I said, you offered her a cut of whatever you find? Like one of the eggs. Ten percent. Steve demurred. He wasn’t greedy but he was nervous that if Justyna understood we were literally looking for treasure she’d get rid of us pronto. She’d been very gracious until now, it was true, but who knows what would happen if she understood that in her attic might be ten golden eggs worth $120,000. So we tweaked that plan: Steve would offer a bit of money, say we’re searching for something, the implication being that it was something sentimental, but that we would have to remove bricks, and if we actually did find the eggs we’d nonetheless give her a cut.
Steve went downstairs to Piotr and Justyna.
I continued to chisel away, slowly and painfully. It was scorching in the attic. I was filthy, drenched in sweat, but focused and determined and feeling bizarrely content. I kept laughing to myself. Here I am in Będzin in a stranger’s attic, chipping away at bricks, searching for ten golden eggs. Of course this is how my story has to end, I said aloud to myself.
Steve returned ten minutes later. Great news, he said. He’d offered Justyna $100 to search in the attic, to remove a few bricks, and she agreed, gave him carte blanche, didn’t ask any questions, was incurious and gracious about it. She’d even given him a hatchet, which was the only tool she could find. Steve passed me the hatchet through the hole.
I chopped away at the mortar with the hatchet. It was easier than it had been with the nail, but it was still slow going. Steve had a better sense of brick-removal than I did, and directed me to use the hatchet as a wedge, to drive it between the bricks until they popped off. I used a brick to hammer the hatchet. It was very painful. My palms began to blister and my fingers were starting to give out; I was having trouble gripping the brick. But we were making progress. We were approaching the point where the eggs were either there or not-there, as opposed to maybe-there.
Steve and I talked throughout. Steve commented how wild this was, how he’d gotten so much further that he had ever expected. Then he said, Maybe don’t write about this part, the searching. It’s your call, I said, but that’s the whole thing, that we’re searching. I can’t excise that part. If you don’t want me to put that in then I would have to omit everything. Which again is your call. Steve thought about it for a moment. If we find anything, Steve said, don’t put that in. He was nervous for two reasons. First, he was nervous that if we found something and I wrote about it he wouldn’t be in control, and he saw this, had always seen it, as a very private story. This story belongs to me, is what I understood Steve as saying to me in that moment. And second, Steve, a practical guy, was already thinking about taxes, import duties, etc. Of course, I said. It’s your treasure. It’s your story. I’m just your accomplice.
I got the first brick out. I was exhausted, my hands were shaking, I could barely bend my fingers.
Piotr called to Steve and Steve went downstairs. I continued to work, making painful progress on the next brick. A few minutes later Steve returned and told me that Justyna had offered Steve the whole apartment for $10,000. Steve seemed actually to be considering it. Then he shook his head. I don’t want the apartment, he said. I didn’t come here for the apartment. I came for the eggs. Actually not even the eggs. I came here to search for the eggs. And if we find the eggs I’ll give her $10,000, gladly.
It took me another twenty minutes, painful minutes, until the next brick was ready to come off. I looked at Steve, on his stomach, staring. Oh my god, he said.
Acknowledgments
This book would not exist if not for the kindness and generosity extended to me by so many people.
It doesn’t always come through on the page but virtually every person mentioned in the text—everyone I spoke to, interviewed, bothered—was exceptionally accommodating and patient, no matter how annoying or uninformed I was. Joanna Lamparska, especially, opened every door for me, and did so over the course of a very long time: the chronology in the book is a
