“I’d like to talk with you,” Mother said to him.
“What about?”
“About your list. I understand that you are to write up a list of our complaints.”
“I am new at this game, Mrs. Davidowitz; be patient. By now you probably know more about this place than I do.”
“But you are in charge. I am not trying to be difficult, but we should claim some rights. We can’t have them think that we are sitting cows.”
“Tomorrow we can visit in the other quarters. I have posted the time and limits at the front.”
“The list of things we need, Mr. Shuster. My girls saw the supplies. They have plenty of everything, but you must submit a list.” Mother ran across to Mrs. Labovitz’s place and held up the torn blanket. “This is what they gave this poor woman and child.”
Mother’s demonstration caused a commotion. All the people around wanted to know where the blanket had come from. And now they all wanted different things. About fifty people crowded around us. It took all of Mr. Shuster’s ability to get them quieted down and back to their places.
While Mr. Shuster was dealing with the people who had crowded about, Mother made some more walls, hanging the other bedspread and a sheet over the rafters. Then she took one of Iboya’s notebooks from the duffel bag, tore out a page, found a pencil, and sat down on the suitcase to make a list. Water was first, latrine walls second.
Mr. Shuster ducked into our tent-like cubicle and looked over Mother’s shoulder. “Mind putting down ‘pipe tobacco’?” he asked in a kidding voice, hoarse from his shouting.
“I’m really sorry about what happened. I didn’t mean to cause a riot,” whispered Mother, “but unless we do something, we are all going to get sick. We can’t live in these crowded conditions without some sanitary precautions. We have to get this point across to them. Scare them, if necessary; tell them that if an epidemic of typhus breaks out, it will spread to the city. They have made no provisions at all, just shipping people in here like cattle. But even cattle need water.”
“Mrs. Davidowitz, they have no intention of keeping us here. They are merely waiting for trains.”
“But some of these people have been here over a week already. They are starting to smell.”
“Get some of these women to stop letting the children use the ground between the sheds instead of taking them to the assigned latrines. When the Germans see what is happening, they say that we are swine and don’t need water.”
“The children are afraid to sit on those logs. And what happens during the night? Are we allowed out there at all after seven?”
“Not after the curfew.”
“So there is your answer. They give us no choice.”
“Make the list,” said Mr. Shuster with a resigned sigh. “I’ll see if they will consider any of our grievances.”
When he had left with the list, I felt very tired and asked Mother if I could go to sleep. As she rolled out the bedding, she decided that we all should try to get some sleep. Closing my eyes at the end of this first day in the ghetto, I told myself that the five of us were still together and that was the most important thing.
20
THE NEXT DAY was Sunday, and the rest of the Jewish population of Beregszász started to pour into the brick factory in a steady stream. Iboya, now a member of the ghetto work force, watched for the Gerbers. Mother had managed to talk Mr. Shuster into letting her stake out an area alongside of ours to accommodate them. While we waited for the Gerbers to appear, we watched the new arrivals as they came in. Mother ran from family to family, helping them settle their bundles and soothing the old and the children. Sandor and Joli remained in their corner, digging in the dirt floor, thinking up new games.
I wandered off and, keeping within the allowed limits, moved from shed to shed, asking some of the people I saw where they had come from and how long they had been in the ghetto. I was hoping to hear something more about Babi, Rozsi, and Molcha. A number of them recognized me as the girl with the water bucket, but none of them had any news for me.
For a while I stood outside the sheds and watched the groups of people coming through the gates. Had we looked like that yesterday when we arrived? Was I as frightened, I wondered. They walked close to each other, their eyes looking about as though they expected a wolf or a tiger to leap at them any moment. Hardly any men among them—they were mostly clusters of women and children, the mothers invariably carrying a child. Many old women needed support as they were being walked down the road through swirls of red clay dust.
Then I saw Gari Weiss, wearing the white arm band of the ghetto police, escorting a group of new arrivals. He looked very self-important as he pointed to a shed several yards in front of them. I felt none of the apprehension that I had felt at school when I wanted so much to speak to him and didn’t dare. When he returned from the shed he had pointed out, I went up to him and started talking, amazed at my ease in conversing with him. A few other youth police joined us, and Gari introduced me to them as his schoolmate from B.G. I was puzzled and asked what he meant. “Before ghetto,” he explained. We all laughed at the joke, and the others walked on.
“Is Judi here yet?” Gari asked, coloring slightly.
“No. As a matter of fact, I would like you to do me a big favor. If you should see the Gerbers coming in, please bring them to our shed, number 6, because my mother is saving a place for them.”
“I have heard about your mother,” said Gari.
“What have you heard?”
“That she has set up a tent inside your shed.”
“So what if she has? It does not protect us from the night’s cold winds. She just wanted to make us some privacy.”
“Hey, I wasn’t criticizing. I just said I heard about it.”
“Where are you and your family staying? Are you still in the big house in back of the factory just as you were B.G.?”
“Not exactly,” Gari answered. “The German guards now have our house. We are living in the maids’ house behind it.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, don’t be, we are still better off than the rest of you.”
Henri and his friends came walking toward us on their way back to the gate after settling some families. As he went by, he said, “Szervusz” and I stopped the group to ask Henri if I could walk with him to the gate.
“I am waiting for a friend to arrive,” I explained.
Gari smirked knowingly and turned away, walking back to the gate by himself to pick up a new group of arrivals.
I was annoyed at Gari’s manner, but I fell into step with Henri and his friends.
“I don’t know if we will get a chance to visit my grandmother before curfew this evening,” Henri said. “It seems that they have decided to empty the rest of Beregszász today.”
“Do you know Gari?” I asked.
“Sure. We’ve been working together. He may seem conceited, but he has a good heart.”
“Did you talk to him about my mother’s tent?”
“Yes. I told him how much I admire her, trying to make you comfortable under these trying conditions. She is a very special lady.”
I smiled at him and said, “The family I am looking for are close friends of ours by the name of Gerber. There are three of them, Mrs. Gerber, Judi, who is my friend, and Pali, her younger brother. My mother is saving a place beside us for them.”
“Your sister has already alerted all of us on gate duty. One of us should spot them.”
I said goodbye to Henri and returned to our shed. The Gerbers arrived about four o’clock that afternoon. Gari saw them come through the gate and brought them to join us. They had walked all the way and were exhausted. The supply of wagons had run out, Mrs. Gerber explained, and the Germans made them walk.
“They threw our things on a wagon,” Mrs. Gerber continued. “I hope we’ll get them.”
Pulling out a few pieces of dry toast from her pillowcase under the blanket, Mother handed a slice to each of the Gerbers. �
��Eat it inside the tent. No sense in causing another commotion,” she said, and went on to relate the incident of the blanket.
Mrs. Gerber ate her piece of toast and looked around at Sandor and Joli’s new dirt sandbox, the roll-up beds made of blankets lined with sheets, the large suitcase lying flat as a table, and the remaining bundles around it as chairs. “Rise, you are playing house. I can’t believe your ingenuity and your spirit. You are an incorrigible actress. Even here you find yourself a part to play.”
“Play? I am just trying not to give in to them. I don’t want to become one of the Schwein. But we won’t go into that now. You are tired. Look at your swollen feet. You must rest. Time enough tomorrow to talk about what is going on.”
Iboya had located some of the Gerbers’ belongings, and she managed to replace the blankets that were lost or taken from supplies brought in by her friends.
“Did you take these from the supply shed?” Mother asked softly when she brought them into our tent.
“No, I could never get in there. I just did not bother to deliver these to the shed.”
“Don’t get yourself in any trouble,” Mother cautioned.
* * *
On the second day after Judi’s arrival, we were standing outside our shed observing a work detail answering Mother’s demand for water. A youth worker lined up people holding utensils and led them to the water pump. Each filled his pot in turn and then carried the water back to his shed. Another work group, using boards that had come to us from the lumber yard, was hammering up walls for the latrine. Iboya, who now returned to the shed only to sleep, came up to us carrying some old clothes. She asked me to hold them for her, dug into the pocket of her skirt, and brought out two aspirins, which she put in her mouth and swallowed.
“How can you swallow them without water?” Judi asked, grimacing.
“You learn to do all kinds of things when you have to,” Iboya replied. She lifted the clothes from my arms and started to walk away.
“Where are you going now?” I asked.
“Sorry, I can’t talk. See you later.” She strode away, disappearing among the groups of people. Then we saw the gate of the ghetto, closed since the last families arrived, open to admit a truckful of gray-uniformed German soldiers armed with rifles coming in for their daily inspection tour of the ghetto. They dismounted from the truck and lined up to begin their inspection. “Schwein,” we heard several times as they went from shed to shed.
Judi and I watched the white-arm-banded helpers like Iboya who organized the work details. They took orders from the Germans, but at the same time they tried to get concessions from them to make life in the ghetto more bearable for us. We wished we were old enough to work with them. Tired of watching, Judi and I went back into the shed. Mrs. Gerber and Mother were quietly talking and Judi joined them. But I was still thinking of being part of the work force. Sometimes we heard them singing popular tunes while they hammered or carried food from the kitchen. I dug into Iboya’s duffel bag, found her notebook and a pencil, pulled out a page, and wrote some new lyrics to one of the popular melodies I had heard—lyrics more suited to our new life in the ghetto.
Henri appeared just as I finished. He explained that his grandmother, sick in the infirmary, would like to see the girl who had given her water on the way to the ghetto. Mother gave permission for me to go with him. I left the shed, still holding the piece of notepaper on which I’d written the new words to the old melody.
“What is that you’re holding?” Henri asked as we walked.
I told him what I had written. He took the sheet from me, read it, and smiled. “Well, we will have to try these words,” he said with amusement. “You’ll be known now as the ghetto-lyrics girl as well as the water-bucket girl.”
The infirmary was a closed barracks with makeshift cots lining both sides of the long walls. As we reached Henri’s grandmother’s cot, she saw us and made an effort to pull herself up. Her dark brown eyes sparkled in her wrinkled face.
“So you kept your promise, Henri, and brought me a visitor,” she said softly in Yiddish, sounding a lot like Babi. “But you did not tell me that the young lady would be the very same girl who climbed on the wagon and quenched my thirst. What a pleasure to have such a special guest. I only wish that I could offer you both some tea and cakes.”
I patted her old, freckled hand. “We came to see you, not to eat. You remind me very much of my Babi.”
“What a proud woman she must be. Is she well, your Babi?”
“I don’t know. She is not here with us…” I could not say any more because I felt the tears welling in my throat.
Henri began to tell his grandmother about his work in the ghetto and assured her that he was taking good care of his mother. She smiled as she listened, and then lay back with her eyes closed, and we left.
The next afternoon when Henri came by, Gari was with him and asked Mrs. Gerber if Judi could go walking with us. Our mothers watched in surprised amusement as the four of us set off. We walked toward the Weisses’ old house, located within the confines of the factory. A Hungarian policeman guarding the gate to the house allowed us to pass through after making a few sarcastic comments about young lovers. As we walked past the house, the sound of German voices reached us through the open windows and Gari shrugged. We continued until we came to a much smaller house.
“This is where we live now,” Gari said.
We went up the porch stairs and Gari told us to sit down on the wooden chairs and wait for him. He entered the house and after a few minutes came out with a pitcher of breakfast tea, a plate of sliced bread, a jar of gooseberry jam, and four cups. Judi and I were shocked and impressed at the extravagance of food as we watched Gari lower the tray onto the porch table, pour the tea, and spread the jam on the bread. Remembering our manners, we carefully nibbled the bread, sipped the bitter herb tea, and talked. Judi used quotes from different authors and important political figures as a commentary on our possible fate. Gari seemed to admire her extensive book knowledge, and they got into an animated discussion.
Henri and I did not participate much in the conversation, but sat quietly and listened. It was the first time that I had ever sat near a young man so grown-up who was interested in me. After a while we stopped listening altogether and sipped our tea, looking into each other’s eyes. Then it was time to go, and we walked back to the shed behind Gari and Judi, who were still talking and gesturing.
After this first meeting, we became a foursome. Henri and Gari came by after they had completed their work detail to take Judi and me for a walk. Mother and Mrs. Gerber had decided to permit us to associate with these older boys.
“I think,” Mother said to me after the first night of our being together, “that you know how to behave like a nice girl.” I replied, “Certainly,” even though I wasn’t quite sure what she meant.
Judi and Gari exchanged books and ideas while Henri and I simply enjoyed being together. One day Judi surprised me by saying, “You’re so lucky to be at the stage of holding hands. I think that the war will be over before Gari gets the courage to hold mine. He is so shy.”
“Shy!” I exclaimed. That description did not fit the Gari I knew.
“The worst part of it,” Judi continued, ignoring my comment, “is that he really cares for me. But if I make the first move, I’ll hurt his feelings.”
“There you go again, making guesses. You read too much!”
One evening, as Henri and I walked holding hands a slight distance behind Judi and Gari, I asked Henri if he thought Gari was shy.
“No more so than your friend, Judi. If she would only stop talking and be natural, and he could see that she is just a girl, it would be easier for both of them.”
I don’t know which one of them stopped talking first, but later that evening, as we sat on Gari’s porch, I realized that Henri and I were talking and that Gari and Judi were quiet. The sky was cloudy, and we sat in the shadows of dusk. Gari had his arm around Judi’s shoulder. A sudden
gust of wind carried the German voices toward us, and I shuddered. Mistaking my shudder for a shiver at the chilly wind, Henri took off his jacket and put it around my shoulders.
When the factory whistle that used to signal the end of the workday blew to mark the beginning of curfew, we got up reluctantly to walk back. Gari and Judi led off, walking a few paces ahead of us. Henri pulled me close and locked me in his arms. This time I shuddered from a new emotion that moved like a current through my body. Henri released me and held my face in both his palms for a moment, kissing my lips briefly in a gentle caress. I did not know where I was until we had walked past the German voices in the big house and the Hungarian policeman at the gate.
By this time we had been in the ghetto over a week, and Mother’s spirits had begun to show signs of weakening. Although she still tried to help wherever she was needed, she saw that her efforts to demand human treatment from the Germans were futile. She no longer chased after Mr. Shuster with requests and complaints from the inhabitants of shed number 6. She also had to accept the fact that reasoning with the women to keep up appearances at all costs was useless. These people were hungry, frightened, and exhausted. The spring rains kept the earth underneath them damp, and almost all of them suffered from colds and rheumatism. Their bodies were constantly wet despite the thin layers of bedding they had. Mother realized that her demands to keep up appearances might be adding to their misery and discomfort. Over the last few afternoons I noticed that she frequently read from her book on the theater, the only book she had brought from home. Mrs. Gerber was always tired and napped a lot. Judi said that was her way of escaping the reality of the ghetto.
But on this evening of my first kiss, as Judi and I came into the shed, we heard our mothers absorbed in conversation. We stood outside the tent and listened.
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