Unravelled (15 page)

Aliz looked up to Mary, who sat right in the middle of the classroom. Her black Mary Janes hung several inches off the floor, a purple ribbon decorating her bobbed haircut. She smiled her toothless grin and waved at Aliz who nodded back. Apparently, all had been forgotten on Mary's front and she was ready to welcome Aliz to her classroom.

"Class, this is Aliz Stern. She's new and is all the way from Hungary. Say 'Hello'."

"Hello!" the class called in unison, none of them taking their eyes off of Aliz. She moved uncomfortably in their stares.

"And, in celebration of Aliz, we learned how to say "Hello" in her language. Are you ready class? 1, 2, 3…"

With the wave of Mrs. Smith's slender finger, the class, not-quite-in-unison yelled, "Jo napot kivanok!"

Aliz's face instantly brightened and she looked up at my mother, who returned her smile.

"That’s very good," Mother said with a nod, the same thing every Hungarian said when a foreigner even attempted to speak their difficult language. The class beamed at their new skill. 

"Hello," Aliz sputtered in stilted English. "Thank you.”

She gave a quick nod and scurried to her seat next to Mary. Mary gave her an assuring tap on the back and Aliz smiled. Sitting next to Mary, who was quite small for her age, Aliz looked like a giant. The school officials had assured my mother that Aliz would be able to catch up with her peers. I silently hoped this would be the case. I didn't mention it to my mother, but I hoped Aliz wasn't ashamed.

"I'll pick her up at 2:30?" Mother asked Mrs. Smith, running her gloved hand over the handle of her black leather purse over and over again. Her nervousness was palpable, worse than my first day of kindergarten. Or perhaps it was only because now that I was older and could see the twitch of her lips and clicking of her tongue.

"Yes, she'll be ready at 2:30. Don't worry, Mrs. Horowitz. We'll take good care of her. She's been assigned a buddy to show her around school today and eat lunch with. She'll be fine."

The two of us nodded and filed back toward the Studebaker in silence, the hallways of the school looking barren and dead, dotted every so often with pictures and drawings. We walked in silence, but I squeezed my Mother's hand. I didn't know if it was to reassure my mother or myself.

My school day lagged on endlessly. I moved from math to biology to history in somewhat of a daze. I ate my lunch with the regular crowd, unable to stomach my peanut butter and jelly sandwich I had packed that morning. Usually it wasn't enough to satisfy my rumbling belly, but now it was too much. I threw away a whole half of it, letting it go to waste, along with an apple, carrot sticks and some potato chips. I gave Joe Enriquez, the school garbage can (or so they called him because his stomach hung over his jeans) a slice of vanilla cake. Joe smiled gratefully and all but swallowed it whole.

By the time English rolled around, I realized I had forgotten to throw away my college applications. I reached into my backpack to find the essay on Thoreau's speech "A Plea for Captain John Brown" I had written over the break when my fingers brushed the paper just slightly. I took a deep breath, angry at myself for worrying so much about Aliz that I had forgotten to dispose of the wretched, selfish things.

Mrs. Booth, my English teacher, stood up to collect the essays, her blue floral pattern skirt swishing against her knees as she stopped by each student's desk, collecting their scrawled notes. Her heavy, sensible shoes thudded against the floor of the classroom as she made her way back to her desk.

"Miss Horowitz," she bellowed sternly, looking in my direction. I felt the blood drain from my face. Had I turned in an essay on the wrong speech? Was there something else to the assignment? Had I accidentally done something disrespectful as I rummaged through my things. "I want to see you after class."

All I could do was nod, and then join the class as we took out our copies of
Walden.
My throat felt dry, my face flushed. Mrs. Booth was one of those teachers, of middle age, who many kids thought was a crabby old miser. She was strict, yes, her half-moon glasses that sat just on the most bulbous portion of her upturned nose. Most of the students clamored for Miss Baylor to be their English teacher, the sexy 20-something that the boys adored and the girls modeled themselves after. But I liked Mrs. Booth. Her strictness attested to years of mastering the art of teaching. She was effective and eager to help. And when you were alone with her, she was even really encouraging, if not actually sweet. She always praised my writing and would sometimes offhandedly encourage me to continue studying English. I would simply offer a blush and a shy smile.

By the time the school bell rang, I was too deep in thought about Aliz and Mrs. Booth calling my name to even remember a word that was read in class. I couldn't recall what any of the other students had come up with as major themes in
Walden
, nor could I think up any of my own. I took a deep breath and swallowed a lump in my throat as I approached Mrs. Booth's desk. It was bare, but organized, unlike Mr. Pritchard's desk that was three or four inches under his papers. A simple, framed picture of her late husband was the sole decoration on her desk, his eyes squinting as he stared into the camera. He stood next to a nondescript tree, wearing a linen suit. Like her, he wasn't handsome, but he wasn't ugly either. He was average. Nondescript.

"So Miss Horowitz," Mrs. Booth began, plopping onto her chair. "Do you still have those applications to San Francisco State and Berkeley?"

I nodded slowly, fishing them out of my satchel.

"I do. Thanks for your recommendation, too. But, I, uh, I was going to throw them away.”

I shifted my weight uncomfortably in my seat, her gaze boring holes into my cheek.

"Why?" she asked, leaning forward, her ample breasts grazing the neat and clean wooden desk.

"Because, it's-it's," I stammered for a moment before looking away. I turned my head so fast that a piece of hair escaped from the bun I had placed in my hair earlier that morning. It dangled right over my nose and threatened to fall into my mouth. "It's stupid."

She pushed her glasses onto the bridge of her nose, where glasses are made to sit. Her gray eyes were magnified heavily behind them, as if I weren't looking into her eyes, but more an illusion of them.

"College isn't stupid," she shook her head, taking the papers that had been sitting in my satchel from me. She put them on her desk and began to shuffle through them, glancing over my essay, my scholastic accomplishments (I had made the Honor Roll every year since 5
th
grade, something my parents loved to brag about, but I always sank down in my chair when they mentioned it) and my grades. She lowered her glasses to the end of her nose, looking at me over the half-moons once again.

"You have the grades. And certainly the intelligence. Why don't you want to go to college? Is it because your friends don't want to go?"

"Eva Stein wants to go," I answered without thinking, an automatic reflex. "She wants to be a journalist. Or a secretary."

"And what about you?" Mrs. Booth leaned forward, beads of sweat apparent on her brow, even though it wasn't hot in the classroom. "Didn't you write an essay at the beginning of the year about wanting to be a lawyer because of Eva's cousin and, you know, your family in Europe?"

She spoke the last part in a hush, as if mentioning them above a whisper would make me burst into tears or screaming hysterics. Instead I just shrugged.

"You'll just give it up? Come on, Isabelle. There has to be a reason."

She looked at me intensely over her glasses. I tried to turn my head away, but I felt forced to meet her eyes. I offered a tiny smile as I looked down into my hands and then up at her.

"It's because of my family in Europe," I answered clearing my throat. "Only they're not in Europe any more. They're all dead, or at least we think they are."

A moment passed. I could hear the clock that was mounted above the doorframe ticking in the distance. Students shuffled passed the classroom and giggled. 

"Then, isn't that why you should go on to be a lawyer? To protect others from dying in vain?"

I hadn't really thought about it that way. Sure, I wanted to help the innocent and those who needed to be avenged, but most of all, I wanted to be on my own. I liked the idea of getting paid to argue. And even more, I liked the freedom being a lawyer would give me. I could get in my own car and drive to work early in the mornings, letting my heels clack against the pavement as I walked into my office. I would be the boss, no doubt, at least that's how the scenario played out in my mind. I would work late into the evenings and then come home to a dog like Gable, or a cat that would rub against my legs. Maybe I'd flip on the radio or curl up with a good book. But I would feel fulfilled, like my presence in the world actually mattered. And when that crossed my mind, the whole fantasy seemed kind of selfish. Silly really.

"My cousin, Aliz," I began, swallowing the words in the back of my throat. I hadn't told Mrs. Booth, or any of my teachers for that matter, about it. I didn't want their sympathy. I didn't want to see them wear the looks of shame as they handed me clothes their daughters couldn't fit into anymore. I didn't want leniency on my assignments because of Aliz. All I wanted was to be treated like any other student. "She was in Auschwitz. And, well, she's here now. She's the only one in my family who survived. Or we think, we don't know for sure. She lost everyone. Her parents, her sister, even her twin. She came over here all by herself, well she had an escort with her. She's been living with us since a little bit before Christmas. My parents had to dip into their savings to get her over here. I've heard them talk about it on the phone, never to me though. They do talk about it though. It's a big strain on them. And now they have to pay to feed her, clothe her, school fees, all that stuff. I knew I'd never be able to afford college before Aliz, but I thought I could work while I was in school. I didn’t know what I'd do, maybe work at a bookstore or something. But now that this has happened, I can't even begin to think about it. My mother needs me. Aliz needs me."

There was another long pause, maybe even longer than the one before. A few more students shuffled past the door. I heard a boy call out to another one and a ball bouncing down the hallway before Mrs. Booth spoke again.

"You know, you could live at home and go to college. A lot of people do that. It's not like you're applying to Yale. These schools are right near you. You could get a ride from a classmate and come home for the evening."

She was right. I could. But what was the purpose of doing that if the goal was to get away from home, to leave the corpses at Auschwitz behind? No matter where I went, when I was with my mother or Aliz, they seemed forever present. They lingered above me, even now. Besides, college wasn't free. I'd need money even to go to classes. And then thinking about law school after that, well that seemed as fantastical as me pulling a dragon out of my backpack and riding it home.

"College is free but living expenses aren’t," I spat. I shook my head again, trying to mix up all the thoughts in my head so that I couldn't find a single one. I put my head down, facing my satchel. My hands were kept busy as I played with the buckle on it, fastening and then unfastening it.

"Well, it's your choice. Can I keep these?" Mrs. Booth asked, holding them up.

"Yeah. Are you going to throw them away?" I asked, running my hands through my hair.

"Yes. I just hope you think about it a little bit more, Isabelle. There are a lot of bright young girls I see come through my class who throw it all away to get married to some toadstool on the football team."

I let out a small laugh, wondering whom she would be talking about.  It was true, though, only a handful of girls each graduating class stated that they planned to attend college. Usually, they weren't even really that intelligent, just came from wealthy families who could afford to send their child across the country to some stuffy east coast school while she looked for a husband. Maybe one or two of that group would have a legitimate career beyond being a housewife.

"During the war, we had a lot of girls graduate and then go to work. A few more than usual went to college, too. But now it seems to be back the way it was before the war and all of you smart ones are doing the same thing."

I chewed on my lower lip. Mrs. Booth saw my going to college as a statement, a way to stick it to the men who had always seemed to dictate the way women lived throughout the ages. Knowing my motives were selfish made me feel even worse. I lowered my head again, licking my lips.

"I'll save these for a couple of weeks. Then I'll throw them out. It's just in case you change your mind. I want to see you go as far as you'll allow yourself to go. You've got the world by the tail, Miss Horowitz."

She winked at me and opened a manila folder, carefully laying my applications in it. I stood up and slung my satchel over my shoulder, tears stinging in my eyes. My thoughts began to drift to my cousins, the ones I had never known. Lujza, the girl about my age, the one with the fiery red hair. I couldn't remember what was reported that had happened to her, Mother had it written down somewhere. Whatever had happened, everyone seemed pretty confident she was dead. Growing up, I received pictures from her parents and from my mother's sister and her three children. Attila, Ben and Laci, all three tall boys with angular faces. They were all a bit older than I was, my aunt sending me pictures of them with their girlfriends under trees, posing with their schoolbooks on picture day and the last one, a picture of a beaming Attila and the woman he had proposed to. We hadn't heard any news about Attila, Ben or Laci, but because of this, Mother assumed they were dead. These strapping boys should have been able to beat the SS, but they couldn't. And then there was Hajna, little Hajna, who was Aliz's exact double, always with a mischievous look in her eyes as she posed for the camera. She was always captured at a moment when she was thinking about something naughty, I could tell by the sly grin on her face. These five young people were nothing but ashes now, if the SS had even the mercy to turn them into that. Maybe they had simply stacked up their dead bodies, hairless bags of bones, throwing them on one another as carelessly as a bag of potatoes. They had been robbed of a future, a career and children. For the first time my throat closed up and hot tears spilled down my cheeks. I collapsed under the weight of these boneless bodies knowing Aliz was the strongest person I had ever met.