My Canary Yellow Star (16 page)

“Pretend they’re not here!” Judit whispered fiercely, linking her arm through mine.

“I can’t!”

Judit didn’t answer – there was nothing to say. We watched in silence as the Arrow Cross murderers marched off, leaving behind armed guards at the two entrances to our block.

Mama, Aunt Miriam, and I helped to drag Mrs. Kaufmann’s body into the building. By the time we returned to our apartment, an eternity seemed to have passed. We lifted the shattered front door and leaned it against the frame. As we went into the kitchen, we were careful to avert our eyes from the parlor’s open door.

“What will we do? What will we do?” Aunt Miriam moaned.

My mother, dry-eyed, didn’t answer her. “We must take care of Grandmama,” she finally said. She got up from the table with a deep sigh.

First Mama and then Aunt Miriam said goodbye. I kissed Grandmama’s icy hands and tried to memorize the texture of her skin, the softness of her cheeks. Together we
straightened her lifeless limbs. We tidied her clothing and combed her hair tenderly. Grandmama had always been so proud of her thick and curly hair.

“We have no water to wash her with,” Aunt Miriam said, weeping.

Mama was shaking like a leaf. “We have no shroud either, so we’ll have to wrap her in a white sheet.”

The only white sheet she could find was the one Grandmama had brought with her when we’d moved into the yellow-star house. She had appliquéd it for her trousseau before she had married my grandfather.

“She must not be left alone.” Mama spoke quietly. “We’ll take turns sitting with her and reciting the psalms.”

“We have no prayer book,” said Aunt Miriam. “I put it into Laci’s knapsack when he was taken away.”

“Perhaps one of your neighbors would have one,” Mama suggested.

“I can’t think of anybody. A prayer book is dangerous these days.” Aunt Miriam’s tears were turning to hysteria.

“Maybe you should take her to lie down, Mama. I’ll stay with Grandmama first. I’ll say Psalm 23 for her.”

Mama looked at me gratefully and led Aunt Miriam to her bed, then I sat down on the floor beside my beloved grandmother and whispered my farewells to her for the last time. “Goodbye, my darling Grandmama, goodbye. I’ll never forget you. I’ll love you forever.”

When I was finished, I began to recite the words Grand-mama had taught me:

I repeated the psalm until I was so hoarse that I could hardly form the words. Then I must have dozed off because a light tap on my shoulder startled me back to consciousness. It was Mama coming to relieve me.

“Go and get some sleep, darling,” she said.

I returned to the room I had shared with my grandmother. Sadness overwhelmed me when I saw her empty bed standing next to my mattress, but I was so exhausted that sleep claimed me as soon as my head hit my pillow.

When I awoke a few hours later, I thought for the first time about the necklace I had hidden in my shoe. So many terrible things had happened over the past few hours that I had forgotten all about it. Where to put it? I looked around the room, but no hiding place called out to me. The necklace was too precious to let out of my sight. I liked the idea of having it with me all the time, so I lifted up the insole of my oxford and carefully put the necklace into the very bottom of my shoe. Then I smoothed the insole over the necklace and patted it down. Only the faintest outline of the six-pointed star was visible. I was certain that once I’d worn my shoe a few times, even this faint mark would disappear.

Our food ran out after the second day of our imprisonment. I was so hungry that even the murky liquid in which we had boiled noodles tasted delicious when I greedily slurped it down. But soon it was gone too. By the fourth day, I wondered how much longer it would be before gnawing hunger would claim us and we too would be lying with the dead in the cool cellar of the building. The cellar had
become a make-shift morgue for a toddler and a grandfather, the Lazars’ pretty young daughter, Grandmama, and Mrs. Kaufmann. Every day someone we knew was carried down the dark steps.

We became weaker and weaker. Sores had formed inside my mouth, and my lips were cracked and bleeding. We spent most of the day sleeping in a semi-stupor. On the fifth day, as I was dozing listlessly, loud knocking woke me. I tried to stand up, but the room whirled around me. The next thing I knew, someone was supporting my head and forcing a spoonful of potato soup down my throat. I opened my eyes and found myself looking into Madam’s stern face.

“Welcome back, Marta,” she said in her usual formal manner. She allowed her lips to relax into a smile.

“Madam, what are you doing here? Who let you in? And Mama and my aunt…”

“One step at a time, Marta. Let me explain. When I heard that the yellow-star houses had been sealed, I knew your family must be hungry. I’ve tried to get in to see you every single day, but the guards at the gate wouldn’t take a bribe. Thank goodness new guards were posted this morning. They turned out to be much more co-operative.”

Madam fed me soup as she talked. Soon the room stopped spinning and I began to feel like myself again. I spooned soup into Mama’s mouth, then she fed Aunt Miriam. Madam had also brought a block of cheese with
her and a loaf of dark rye bread. We shared them with Judit and her mother.

Every single day for the next five days, Madam smuggled in some kind of food – a loaf of bread, potatoes, and beans to make soup. We were still hungry, but at least we were alive. On the tenth day of our captivity, however, a dozen Arrow Cross soldiers stormed our building. Once again, everything changed for the worse.

T
his time when we lined up in the courtyard, there were fewer of us. The faces around me were more haggard and much thinner than before. We had remembered the bone-chilling cold from the last time the Arrow Cross had descended upon us, so now everybody had put on winter clothing even though it was four o’clock in the morning and we’d been given only a few minutes to get dressed. I also remembered to put my Schutz-Pass in my pocket. Judit had even thrown a winter blanket over her coat for extra warmth, but in her haste, she had forgotten to pull on her shoes. She hopped up and down in one spot to keep her feet from freezing in the flimsy bedroom slippers she was wearing.

The younger women and children were quickly separated from the rest of the group and marched out of the courtyard at gunpoint. There were no goodbyes. The Arrow Cross
guards prodded us with the muzzles of their guns while Judit and I clung together in a futile attempt at protection. Despite the men’s threats, our progress was slow. If anyone stopped or even paused, a deafening shot rang out. We learned to step over the bodies and keep moving. We had no choice. The streets were littered with hundreds of corpses whose faces were covered with sheets of newspaper. I wondered if I knew any of the victims. Could Ervin and Gabor and Adam be among those lying on the ground? I looked and looked with morbid curiosity. I couldn’t help myself.

The long march continued. At least a hundred more young women and children joined us at different points. The rays of the rising sun escaped the glowering clouds like punctuation marks, emphasizing the desperation on our faces. We finally stopped at the foot of the Chain Bridge, spanning the Danube River. By then, choking fear had gripped my hands, my belly, and my feet. Several people on their way to work had gathered around our group, chatting, laughing, pointing fingers in our direction. One fat old woman in a black babushka broke away from the crowd and walked up to Judit. Without looking into her face or acknowledging her existence with a glance or a word, she grabbed the blanket off Judit’s shoulders, turned on her heels, and walked away with it. Judit stood staring after her with an open mouth. I squeezed her arm.

“Don’t say anything! Pretend nothing happened”

“But I …”

Her voice trailed off as two of the Arrow Cross brutes dragged a young mother and her twin sons to the front of the crowd. One of the little boys was crying and the other sucked his thumb. Both were clinging to their mother, who tried to shield them with her arms. The guards tied a thick rope around the waist of each of the little boys, then wound it around the waist of their protesting mother. They next bound the mother’s feet with a heavy metal chain. Using the barrels of their guns, they shoved the pathetic trio to the very edge of the Danube. Three of the Arrow Cross guards then lined up in a straight line and pointed their guns at the distraught mother and the frightened children. She covered her boys’ eyes with her hands just before a loud shot rang out. Blood spurted out of the mother’s mouth as she catapulted into the murky river, dragging her screeching little sons after her. The bubbles on the turgid waters were soon erased by angry waves. A gray seagull looked on for a moment, then lost interest, flapped its dirty wings, and was gone. Everything was so quiet that the sudden collective intake of breath of the Jewish captives could clearly be heard. Suddenly, the loud clapping of the onlookers broke the silence. The skies wept in sympathy.

We marched at gunpoint in the pelting rain for hours. We were soaked to the skin, and Judit’s plaid bedroom slippers were in tatters. Finally, we arrived at a cavernous brick
factory on the Buda side of the river. Our guards led us into a dark warehouse used to dry bricks. The huge space was dimly lit by a few grimy windows near the ceiling. I tried to get my bearings, but it was too dark to see. Slowly, I was able to make out what seemed to be hundreds and hundreds of bodies lying on the floor or leaning against the walls. Suddenly, I tripped and fell. My leg was caught in a deep hole. Judit yanked me out with all her might. As my eyes became accustomed to the semi-darkness, I saw that the entire floor was dotted with air vents like the one I had stepped into. Those who lost their footing in these holes were in danger of being trampled by the surging crowd.

We pushed our way to a corner of the vast room. Brick dust covered the walls and even the ceiling. It stuck to our clothes, giving us a ghostly appearance, made our eyes sting, and got into our noses and our mouths, making it hard to breathe.

“I feel as if I’m under water, as if I’m choking,” Judit said.

“Me too! I’m afraid I’ll throw up.”

My stomach grumbled, but there was no water or food. When anyone asked to go to the washroom, a rifle butt or a kick by a polished boot signaled a quick refusal. Before long, the stench of urine mixed with the smell of stale sweat made my stomach turn over.

The hours dragged by. Judit and I huddled together, holding hands. I must have dozed off on the hard floor, for a sudden, loud clanging startled me. I looked around and saw
that the wide steel gates leading into the warehouse were being pushed open. A dozen figures were silhouetted against the outside brightness. I shaded my eyes to see them.

The sea of prisoners parted in front of a slightly built man with an air of quiet authority. He was dressed in a long, black coat, gray fedora, and hiking boots. He was carrying a brown rucksack in his right hand. It was the man we’d met in Percel Street. Close behind him was a burlier companion, similarly dressed. The second man was carrying a large megaphone under his arm. They were surrounded by eight armed Arrow Cross guards. The group stopped in the middle of the crowd, and the cavernous room grew still.

“I am Raoul Wallenberg from the Swedish embassy,” announced the first man through the megaphone. He was speaking in a heavily accented but easily understood Hungarian. “I am here to identify all Swedish citizens. Those of you with a Schutz-Pass in your possession will be released immediately.”

I patted my coat pocket. The bulge made by the document was comforting under my fingers, but Judit’s sudden intake of breath reminded me that she didn’t have any Swedish papers. A desperate murmur broke out in the crowd.

“What about the rest of us?” an old woman cried.

“Please help my child! Please help my baby!” begged a wild-eyed young woman in a tweed coat. She held her baby in Wallenberg’s direction.

The noise of the crowd grew louder. I saw an Arrow Cross guard smile and make slicing motions across his throat. Wallenberg waved his hands for quiet. His face was a study in sorrow.

“I am very sorry, but I can’t help the rest of you. I have no authority,” he said in a quiet voice. “But I do have the authority to acquire the immediate release of all Swedish subjects,” he added firmly. “All Swedish citizens, anybody with a Schutz-Pass, please line up along that wall.” He pointed to the far end of the room. Only then did I notice that a long wooden table and two chairs had been set up under the grimy windows. Wallenberg and his companion walked over to the table and sat down. The Swede opened up his rucksack and took out a black ledger and a fountain pen.