Kanada (4 page)

Tuesday, May 9, 1944 –
Thursday, May 11, 1944

P
osters appeared ordering Jews into a ghetto located between Bastya Street and Korwin Street. We had one week to find new lodgings there and to transport our belongings. Mama had friends who lived in the area, but none of them had room for us. They had relatives from other parts of the city moving in with them. We were desperate, until I thought of Agi Grazer.

“Her father is in the same forced labor regiment as Papa and Dezso. Perhaps Agi and her mother will have room for us?”

“My brilliant daughter!” Mama cried. “Let's go over to the Grazers' immediately and ask them.”

Number 6 Petofi Street was a shabby house that would have fit into a corner of our large home.

“It's much smaller than I expected,” Mama said.

“We have nowhere else to go.”

“You're right.” She sighed. “Ring the doorbell!”

Agi opened the door.

“Jutka! Mrs. Weltner! It's nice to see you. What are you doing here?” She ushered us into a tiny hall.

“We've come to see your mother,” said Mama.

“She's in the parlor. Let me take you to her.”

I could sense Agi's curiosity as she led us down the hall, past a modest kitchen. The door was open, and I saw two women cooking on an old-fashioned, wood-burning stove. The smell of sauerkraut made my nose twitch.

The parlor was a small room made even smaller by a large upright piano beside the window. Mrs. Grazer was ironing pillowcases on the dining-room table.

“Look who came to see us, Mother,” said Agi. “Mrs. Weltner and Jutka want to speak to you.”

“What can I do for you, Mrs. Weltner?” asked Mrs. Grazer in a reserved tone.

Mama explained that we needed a place to stay in the ghetto.

“I wish you would have come to me sooner,” said Mrs. Grazer. “We have no room. My husband's cousins moved in with us yesterday. They're using Agi's bedroom and Agi's sharing my bed.”

Mama's face fell. “You were our last hope, Mrs. Grazer. We have nowhere else to go.” I could see that the words had not come easily.

“Mother, what about the parlor?” asked Agi. “If the police find out that we have an empty room, they'll force strangers on us.”

Mrs. Grazer set the iron on its stand. “You're probably right, Agi.” She turned to Mama. “If you think you can manage, Mrs. Weltner, you are welcome to stay in the parlor. You must bring your own beds with you. We don't have extras. And I must ask you to allow Agi to practice the piano.”

Mama pumped Mrs. Grazer's hand enthusiastically. “Of course, Mrs. Grazer. At least she won't have to go far for her lessons.”

The doorbell interrupted our dinner.

“Who could that be?” asked Mama. Her fingers tightened on her fork.

“It may be Klari,” I offered. I hadn't seen Klari since her mother had slammed the door in my face. When Mama heard that Tamas had joined the Arrow Cross, she said it was too dangerous for me at their house. No matter how much I argued, she would not be dissuaded. I missed Klari terribly.

The doorbell rang again.

“It must be her!” I jumped up. “I'll get it!”

Mama put down her fork and knife. “I'll come with you.”

“So will I,” said Grandmama.

We crowded into the tiny foyer by the front door.

“We should open the door,” said Mama, not moving.

I ran to the sitting room that faced the street and peeked through the curtains. Miss Szabo was on the front porch. She
was tapping her foot, her eyes restlessly searching the street.

I returned to the foyer and told Mama whom I had seen.

“What could she want?” Mama asked.

“Only one way to find out,” said Grandmama.

“Open the door.”

I lifted the latch.

“What a pleasant surprise,” said Mama to Miss Szabo.

“May I come in?” Miss Szabo sounded frightened.

“Of course, of course,” said Mama, pulling her into the hall and carefully latching the door behind her.

Miss Szabo followed us down the hall. She looked around the parlor.

“Can we be overheard, Mrs. Weltner?”

“There are only the three of us in the house,” said Mama. “Please, sit down. Perhaps you'd like a cup of what passes for coffee nowadays?”

Miss Szabo shook her head.

Mama looked at her curiously. “It must be something important if you risked coming to see us.”

“You're quite right. I want to discuss something with you, but first, I have to talk to Jutka.”

She turned to me and began to speak. “Klari brought your assignment to me, Jutka, and I read it with great interest.” She clasped my hands in hers. “You deserve to receive the certificate for the best story in the fifth form, but I can't give it to you. You also deserve to have your story displayed on the classroom wall for your friends to read, but I can't put it up.” Her grip tightened until she was hurting my fingers.
“I am so sorry, my dear, but Principal Nemeth has forbidden me to give the prize to a Jewish student.”

“It's not fair!” I broke away from her grasp.

Mama put her arm around me. It made me feel even worse.

“Of course it isn't fair, but it's very kind of Miss Szabo to let you know in person,” she said.

“It breaks my heart not to be able to reward you. And I agree with the sentiments you expressed. I hope you will be able to rejoin us very soon.” She dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief before taking my hand again. She was so distressed that I felt sorry for her. At the same time, my disappointment threatened to overwhelm me.

“I would appreciate it if you would not tell anyone about this conversation,” Miss Szabo continued, “since it would cause problems for me if it became known that I visited you. I would certainly lose my job.”

“I won't tell anybody.”

She released my hands and turned to Mama.

“Mrs. Weltner,” she said, “there is something I must speak to you about, but perhaps alone?”

“You can speak in front of Jutka,” said Mama. “She has had to grow up over the last months, and I have no secrets from Grandmama.”

“If you insist.” Miss Szabo's voice dropped so low that we had to lean forward to hear her speak. “I am very sorry to hear that you and your family were ordered to move into the ghetto.”

“So are we,” said Mama. She exchanged puzzled looks with Grandmama.

Miss Szabo lowered her voice even more. “Mrs. Weltner, I believe that this order is the first of many more terrible ordinances to come. I have cousins in Germany, and I have heard some rumors. The Germans, with the help of the Arrow Cross, will deport you from Hungary.”

“I was born in Hungary. So were my parents. I have my father's medal for bravery in the First World War. He fought on the side of the Germans.”

“But, Mrs. Weltner –”

“We've heard the rumors too. We may be taken to a work camp. That's happened in Poland. If we have to go, we'll wait out the end of the war there. The war can't last forever.”

Miss Szabo paced across the flowered carpet. “Work camp? You speak of work camps, Mrs. Weltner?” She stopped in front of Mama and leaned close. “Do you know what will happen to you? The Nazis will torture you, or worse!”

An expression of distrust flitted across Mama's face. She stood up. I could see by the flush in her cheeks how upset she was. “I expected more of you, Miss Szabo,” she said evenly. “I would have thought that a woman of your intelligence would be the last person in the world to worry us with such nonsense!”

Miss Szabo caught hold of Mama's arm, but Mama shook off her hand and held the door open.

“It was kind of you to visit,” she said. “Good-bye!”

“Fine, throw me out, but listen to me first,” Miss Szabo pleaded. “Please, don't be offended by what I'm saying. My sources are trustworthy. I want to help you. My cousin owns the Petancy Water Works across the border in Austria. Two of his workers died recently in an accident. We'll put your photos into their workbooks. The Jews from that area have already been deported. If you go there, nobody will suspect you are Jewish.”

“What about Grandmama?” I asked. “Can you get her papers too?”

“I am sorry, Madam,” Miss Szabo said to my grandmother, “but nobody would believe that a person of your age works in a bottling factory.”

“You are quite right, my dear,” Grandmama said. “Kornelia, you must listen to Miss Szabo. This is an opportunity for both you and Jutka to get out.”

“I refuse to listen to ridiculous, alarmist rumors,” said Mama. “Nor would I dream of leaving you behind.”

“What if the rumors are true?” Grandmama cried. “You must save yourself and Jutka!”

“Listen to Miss Szabo, Mama!” I said. “She must know what she is talking about … but we can't leave Grandmama.”

Mama walked over to the window and stared outside for a long moment. Then she squared her shoulders and turned around, her expression set in stone.

“All of you are foolish,” she said. “It's not possible for such horrible rumors to be true. I would never leave you behind, Grandmama, and Jutka, you are too young to go anywhere
by yourself. What's more, how would Papa and Dezso find us when they return?”

We had no answers for her.

She turned to Miss Szabo. “Thank you for coming to see us. I know you mean well.”

Miss Szabo looked defeated. “Is there anything I can say to change your mind?”

“Nothing,” said Mama.

With a few words of farewell, she ushered Miss Szabo out of the house.

Tuesday, May 16, 1944 –
Wednesday, May 17, 1944

J
anos and his horse cart arrived in the tender spring dawn to transport our belongings to the ghetto. The parlor at Agi's house was so small that we could only bring along the absolute necessities. It had been difficult to decide what we couldn't bear to leave behind. Mama's old-fashioned, carved bed was so heavy that Janos couldn't carry it by himself. Mama and I grabbed one end while Janos hoisted the other. We pushed and shoved until we were finally able to get it into the buggy. As I leaned against the cart to catch my breath, I noticed Mr. Kristof watching us from his porch next door. I waved, but he turned on his heels and went inside without waving back.

“Forget him,” Mama said. “People show their true colors in these terrible times. Let's get the rest of our things.”

It didn't take long to fill the cart. In addition to Mama's bed, which she planned to share with Grandmama, we moved the mattress from my bed. We'd packed clothing, sheets, comforters, pillows, pots and pans, and the few sup-plies from our pantry.

“The cart is full,” Janos said. “I'll make another trip.”

“That's kind of you,” Grandmama said, “but the parlor is so small that we don't have room for anything more.”

“Is there something else you want to bring before I lock the door?” Mama asked me.

Before I could reply, I heard running footsteps. It was Klari. She bent over, panting, trying to catch her breath. “I didn't want you to go without wishing you good luck. I would have come sooner, but Father locks me in my room after school every day to stop me from coming to see you.”

“How did you get out?”

She giggled. “The window.”

“Your father will be furious.”

“Never mind him. I have to show you something.” She pulled a crumpled envelope out of her pocket and gave it to me. It was addressed to her, and the postmark was from Italy. “Read it,” she said. “Father didn't give it to me when it arrived. I found it by chance on his desk when I was looking for something else.”

I pulled the letter out of the envelope. It was a short note.

I felt as if a great weight had been lifted off my shoulders.

“Thank God, Miri is all right!” I cried.

“I have to go home now before my father gets back,” Klari said and hugged me again.

“Wait! Tell me who won the writing contest.”

“It hasn't been announced yet. I really have to go.” With a last embrace, she set off at full speed. “I'll come to see you!” she called over her shoulder.

“You're lucky to have such a loyal friend,” said Mama.

“I know, Mama.”

“Well, we should be going too.” She took a key out of her pocket. “I'll lock up.”

I helped Grandmama climb to the front seat of the buggy beside Janos. Mama and I set out on foot to Agi's. It was a beautiful day. The May sun was so warm that Mama kept wiping her forehead with her handkerchief. The street was
eerily silent, curtains drawn. Nobody was outside calling for the children to come home. No one was sweeping the front steps. We were about to turn the corner when I grabbed Mama's arm.

“My Canada book! I forgot to bring my Canada book with me.”

“Never mind! It'll be there when we go home.”

“Please, Mama! Let me go back and get it. I don't want to leave it behind.” Somehow it seemed important to have the book with me.

She sighed. “This is nonsense …”

“Please, Mama!”

She handed me the key to the house. “Don't be long! I'll wait for you here.”

I ran back home. It was so quiet inside that I could actually hear my own ragged breathing. The Canada book was in its place on the top shelf of the bookcase above my desk. I tucked it under my arm and turned to leave. Before I closed the door, I looked back. I tried to memorize the way the sunbeams danced through the window, the color of the ink in the bottle on my desk, the brightness of the first cross-stitch sampler I ever made hanging above my bed. “Home Sweet Home,” it read. It was the last thing I saw before I shut the door.

The parlor at Agi's house was even smaller than I remembered, but we knew we were lucky. We had somewhere to stay. Most of the floor space was taken up by Mama's bed. We
had set it up under the window, next to the piano. My mattress was on the floor. There was no wardrobe, so we arranged our belongings in neat piles in a corner of the room. Mama placed photographs of Papa and Dezso on top of the piano. The room began to look like home.

The kitchen was down the hall. It was so tiny that there wasn't enough room in it for all of the cooks, so Mama, Grandmama, Mrs. Grazer, and the cousins drew up a cooking schedule.

By nightfall, we were exhausted. The mattress on the floor proved to be comfortable and I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

The next morning, Mama announced that she was going to give Agi and me a piano lesson. The little house was soon ringing with a four-handed Kodaly sonata. As we played, I thought about Castle Hill, sliding down the snow on a toboggan, with my arms tight around Tamas's body. The piece ended with a deep crescendo. Agi and I looked at each other without speaking. Joy flooded my heart, and I could see by Agi's expression that she felt the same way.

Mama walked over to the window and opened the curtains.

“It's a beautiful day,” she exclaimed.

“I'll show you around the neighborhood, Jutka,” Agi offered.

“I'd like to walk home to get more music books. It would be fun to practice different pieces together.”

“That would be great,” Agi said.

“I don't want you on the streets!” said Mama.

“We'll be fine, Mrs. Weltner. We'll be careful.” “All right, but don't be long.”

Agi and I left before Mama could change her mind. We walked down Petofi Street, to Bastya Street, then over to Korona Street in the direction of my house. A tall wooden fence with barbed wire on top of it halted our progress.

“This wasn't here yesterday!” Agi cried. “They must have built it during the night.”

Despite the soft May day, I shivered. “Let's try another way!” We went back to Bastya Street and walked to the very end. Again, we were stopped by a fence edged with barbed wire. Soon we were running up and down every crowded street in the ghetto. Each time we were stopped by a fence topped with barbed wire. Finally, in the middle of Kossuth Street, the very first street into the ghetto, we came upon a large gate guarded by armed policemen and several Arrow Cross men. One of them was Tamas. The Tamas I didn't know. The Tamas with the cold eyes.

I whispered, “Let's go back.”

“Are you crazy? Tamas was in my class at school, and his sister is your friend. He'll let us out.”

Before I could stop her, Agi walked up to him. I had no choice but to follow her.

“Hello, Tamas,” she said cheerfully. “I haven't seen you for a long time. How are you doing?”

Tamas turned his head away and did not answer.

Agi plucked at his arm. “What's the matter with you?” she asked. “Jutka and I want to go to her house to fetch her piano music. We won't be long.”

Tamas shook off her hand, walked over to one of his cronies, and whispered something in his ear. The policeman pulled his revolver from his holster and pointed it at Agi's head.

“Stop bothering us, Jewish bitches! Don't you understand that you can't leave the ghetto? Why do you think we put you here?” He waved his gun. “Now, get out of my sight while you still can!”

We ran as fast as we could. I thought that my heart would jump out of my chest. The laughter of the men at the gate echoed after us.