Under a Red Sky (25 page)

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Authors: Haya Leah Molnar

BOOK: Under a Red Sky
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TWO MEN IN RAINCOATS
and hats with turned-down rims show up two days later at our front door.
“Is this the residence of Yosef, Iulia, and Natan Natanson?”
I stand speechless at the door and nod. A soccer ball bounces into our foyer, and Andrei appears directly behind the two men.
“Look at my new ball!” he shouts, bounding into the house after it. “Let's go and play out in the yard.” Andrei ignores the two men who are standing uncomfortably in the foyer, looking at their watches as if waiting for a train. Grandpa Yosef comes out of his bedroom to see what the commotion is all about. He extends his hand to the men in greeting as I pick up the ball and run with it into the yard. Andrei can hardly keep up with me.
We play ball nonstop until we are both dripping with sweat, and Andrei finally props himself against the yard wall and slides to the ground. His cheeks are flushed, and I am completely out of breath as well as I sit next to him.
“I've got an American Indian costume with a feathered headdress,” I tell him after a while.
“No kidding,” he says. “Where'd you get it?”
“Mama and Aunt Puica made it for me with Cousin Mimi. She's a painter. The headdress is really amazing. Do you want to see it?”
Andrei nods but is too tired to get up. We sit together in silence. I am afraid to go back into the house to get my costume. I try to push the thought of the two men still inside talking to Grandpa out of my head, but I can't.
“Andrei, do you know what coco
ei are?”
“Sure,” he says, “they're young roosters. I grew up with them on the farm. Why do you want to know?”
“Those are not the kind of coco
ei I'm talking about,” I try to explain.
“What other kind are there?”
“Gold ones, coins,” I tell him.
Andrei shakes his head. “No such bird, except in fairy tales. I suppose you're going to tell me that roosters lay eggs too.”
Andrei's ball suddenly bounces off the yard wall. One of the men in raincoats is standing directly in front of us laughing.
“Too tired to play catch?” He takes off his hat and wipes his brow with a handkerchief from his pants pocket.
“No, sir,” Andrei and I answer him in unison.
The men wave when they reach the yard gate. We wave back and run straight into the house. Grandpa Yosef is sitting at the dining room table sipping tea.
“What happened?” I blurt.
Grandpa continues to sip his tea. “Nothing,” he says. “They just wanted to take a look at our bedroom, that's all.”
“That's all?” I ask.
“That's all,” he answers, winking at me. He cups his hand over my ear and whispers, ignoring Andrei. “They're going to allow Grandma Iulia and me to leave, because they can use our bedroom and they won't have to pay our pension anymore.”
“Hey, Eva, don't you want to show me your American Indian headdress?” Andrei interrupts.
“Not now. I'll show it to you tomorrow. I've got lots of homework,” I say, trying to get rid of him.
“Oh, come on,” Andrei pleads.
“All right, come with me!” I grab him by the hand and pull him into our bedroom. When Andrei tries on the feathered headdress, he looks like a prince, and I decide at this very moment that I am going to marry him. “You can keep it until tomorrow if you take care of it, and promise to return it.”
“It's a deal!” he says, grabbing his ball and running upstairs to his room, my headdress crowning his blond head with feathers.
 
THAT NIGHT EVERYONE GATHERS in excitement around the dinner table. Tata is pressing tobacco into the bowl of his pipe, and Mama brings her knitting with her. The needles make a rhythmic clicking sound.
“Can't you stop that for just one minute?” Aunt Puica says, looking at the sweater that my mother is knitting. “The sound of your needles gets on my nerves.”
“Everything gets on your nerves,” Mama answers.
“Children!” Grandpa Yosef says, clinking his fork against his glass. “This is no time to argue.”
“Who's arguing?” Aunt Puica asks.
“Darling”—Uncle Max turns to her—“I think Papa has an announcement.”
“Well, I wouldn't say it's an announcement,” Grandpa Yosef begins. “It's just a hunch, but it's a good one. Given the visit we had earlier this afternoon, I believe that Iulia, Natan, and I will be granted passports for Israel soon, but we'll have to wait and see if I'm right.”
Everyone starts to talk at the same time. “Do you mean you're leaving without us?” Aunt Puica screeches.
“It's not like we have a lot of choice, darling,” Grandpa Yosef says.
“How dare they!”
“How dare they what?” Grandpa Yosef asks.
“How dare the Securitate separate our family!”
Tata snickers and excuses himself from the table. Mama runs after him, grabs him by the elbow, and starts whispering. Tata pulls her into our bedroom, where they remain for the rest of the evening.
Grandma Iulia continues to sit in silence at the dining room table next to Uncle Natan while Uncle Max shoots one question after another at Grandpa.
“Why didn't you tell them they'd be better off if they granted passports to all of us? That way they can have the entire apartment. There are two additional bedrooms, Papa.”
“You want me to argue with the Securitate, Max? I was happy they didn't come here to look for the coco
ei.”
“What about us, Papa? Do you expect us to live with a bunch of goy strangers in this house once you're gone?” Uncle Max's question hangs in the air.
“I expect they will let all of you go in due time as well.”
“But why wait? Why not let us go now if they're going to let us go at all?”
Grandpa sighs and speaks in a patient and calm voice. “I don't know. I don't have the answer, but I believe and pray that you will join us in Israel soon.”
“You'd better pray hard,” Uncle Max says, getting up and leaving the room. Grandpa remains at the table sipping his tea and smoking cigarettes even after Grandma Iulia retires for the evening. I sit with him, but we do not talk. This quiet time between us is enough. I cannot imagine my grandparents leaving without the rest of us. I cannot imagine my life without Grandpa Yosef and Grandma Iulia. Uncle Natan's wheezes and snorts can be heard from his cot.
 
EVERY SPRING around my birthday Grandpa Yosef comes home with a large box wrapped in brown paper. He unwraps it with as much care as if the box contained something of great value, but what emerges are flat square crackers that are as dry as dust and completely tasteless.
“Matzos,” he says, delighted, cracking one of the matzos and handing me a piece. I take a bite because I don't want to hurt his feelings.
“It tastes a lot better with a little butter and honey,” he says, laughing. “Eat, little Leah.”
Tata comes into the dining room and breaks off a piece. “And why is this year different from all other years?” Without waiting for Grandpa Yosef's answer, Tata continues, “This year in this flea-infested Communist country, next year in Yerushalaim.”
“Gyuri,” Grandpa says, “I didn't think you knew anything about Passover.”
“Aha, but I do,” Tata tells him. “During the war, between serving in the army and being sent to the lagers, I attended a Seder in a shtetl in Hungary where the Jews set up a table right in the middle of the main street. Anyone who passed through was welcome to join them at the table and eat. That was my first and last Seder.”
“And where are those Jews now?” Grandpa asks.
Tata's smirk disappears. “You know the answer to that, Papa.”
 
ANDREI INVITES ME to paint Easter eggs. He brings several enameled metal bowls into our kitchen, and we dip the hard-boiled eggs into different bowls of food coloring and wait for them to dry. Andrei then shows me how to paint flowers and geometric patterns on each egg.
“This is just like helping my mother with her Romanian gift boxes,” I confide, but Andrei is too engrossed in admiring the eggs to listen.
“The most important part, Eva, comes now,” he says, taking the most beautiful egg out of a basket he has lined with a purple cotton napkin. “Pick any one you like,” he says.
I figure if he can pick a beautiful egg, then so can I, so I choose a light blue egg with pink hearts and hold it in the palm of my hand.
“Now the entire idea,” he explains, “is for us to knock the two eggs together, head to head, and shout with enthusiasm, ‘Cristos a înviat! Christ has risen!' The egg that cracks the least, wins. The one that's all cracked up, loses.”
“Cristos a înviat!” we shout in unison and crack the first two eggs.
“I win!” Andrei declares.
“I don't think so,” I tell him, pointing at the cracks in his shell. “Look at how cracked your egg is.”
“Yours is even more cracked,” he says, peeling the shell off my egg and taking a big bite. “Here, have some,” he offers, revealing crumbs of yellow yolk stuck on his front teeth. “Do you have any salt and pepper?”
I hand him the shakers from the counter. “Andrei, my grandparents are leaving for Israel.”
“Oh yeah? Where's that?” he asks between bites.
“I don't know,” I tell him. “It's far away. Let's knock some more eggs.”
 
GRANDMA IULIA AND UNCLE NATAN are bundled up in their winter coats even though it is spring outside. They are sitting uncomfortably at the dining room table, with two huge valises next to their chairs. Grandpa appears out of his bedroom wearing his winter fur hat.
“The armoire's completely empty, Iulia. It's time to go,” he says.

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