Mr. Shuster shrugged his shoulders. “If you come up with a good solution, I would like to hear about it.”
“We just might,” said Judi, taking my hand and leading me away. She seemed more troubled than angered. “Mr. Shuster is not as simple as I imagined he was. He lets the Germans use him as an errand boy not out of stupidity but because he’s given up fighting them. All his fighting energy went into trying to trace his family. And now that he’s failed, he has no fighting left in him. So he accepts what has happened as the will of God. Well, that may be his answer, but it isn’t mine.”
“So what will you do?” I asked, hoping that she wouldn’t give in, the way Mr. Shuster already had and the way that my mother was starting to.
I felt sorry for Judi. She had been misled by her liberal upbringing to believe that she did not have to live by restricting rules. She had been taught she was a Hungarian, but now found out she was a Jew. Her false security was crumbling and she had no identity to hold on to.
Her shoulders sagged as her expression grew more concentrated. “I wish I were a man! I wish I were older! I hate to be left out of things!” She spoke harshly and kicked at some pebbles as we walked back to our mothers and the children.
The shed was filled with silent people, sitting on their bundles. Once we were in our space, Mother quickly handed us each a last piece of toast. We chewed on the morsels until they were moist and then swallowed them down through tight throats. Sandor and Joli gathered up their toys, and Mother packed the pails, shovels, and the old spoons, cleaned of their ghetto clay, into a bundle. Iboya took her notebook from her duffel bag and began to draw pictures of animals to amuse the children.
Henri came by before supper. “No sign yet of the trains,” he told us. “We doubt that they will come today.”
“Would they board us after dark?” Mother asked anxiously.
“No,” Henri said, “they wouldn’t take the risk of letting some people slip away. If the trains don’t come within the next hour, chances are that you won’t leave until tomorrow.”
“It will be some night, then,” Judi said bitterly. “We are all packed. We will have to sleep sitting up; the earth is too cold to lie on. Where is Gari?” she added, changing the subject.
Iboya put down her notebook and joined us. “Have you seen Shafar?”
“They are both listening for the train. They will be able to hear it two kilometers away.”
“How?” Mother asked.
Without the hanging sheet walls of our tent around us, I felt exposed, and all eyes and ears seemed to be directed toward us as we crowded around Henri. He answered Mother’s question, speaking very softly, “They just have a way of listening.” Looking at his watch, he then spoke in a normal tone of voice, “No, I don’t think the trains will come today. Most likely it will be tomorrow.”
I looked at the people sitting all around us. Their bodies seemed to sag in disappointment, and I could hear fragments of comments: “How shall we sleep?” “They told us to pack.” “What about supper?”
Judi and I followed Henri outside, and as soon as there were no people around us, we both asked simultaneously, “What has been decided?”
“We have not reached a decision.”
“Then why are they listening for the trains?” Judi snapped.
“So that we can have some advance notice,” Henri answered her in an even voice.
“Could you tell Gari that I would like to see him before curfew?” Judi asked in a gentler tone.
“I’ll tell him,” said Henri, “but I can’t promise you anything.”
Judi took a letter from her pocket and handed it to Henri. “Please take this to him, but tell him not to open it until after we’re gone.”
Henri put the letter in his pocket and walked away. We went back to our families in the shed. Mother and Mrs. Gerber were quietly talking; Iboya was again drawing pictures and writing words for the children. Judi and I sat down on our bundles and both of us were suddenly without energy, even to talk to each other.
Shafar and Gari came into the shed shortly after supper and told us that a large reinforcement of German guards had arrived from the city. The night watch force of the ghetto was also being doubled. Gari and Henri were to be stationed at assigned posts alongside the Hungarian police. Judi asked Gari if he could get himself assigned to our barracks.
“I have no influence with the Germans.”
“You speak their language and your name still is Weiss,” Judi retorted.
“I have some packs of cigarettes left if you think that would help,” Shafar offered. Gari took the two packages of cigarettes that Shafar held out and put them in the breast pocket of his shirt. Shafar told Iboya he would try to get back to us, but they now had to go. We watched them until they disappeared from view beyond the back exit of the shed.
The atmosphere in the shed was more depressed than ever. Children, overtired and confused, began to cry. Mother and Mrs. Gerber started to unpack blankets and stopped when they realized that they might not have time to repack them. Mother flattened down a few of the bundles and put Sandor and Joli on top of them.
As the children slept, we all sat up, dozing from time to time, whispering to each other, and above all listening for the train. Mother and Mrs. Gerber began, once again, to reminisce about their lives. We sat listening to them, amazed to discover how little we knew about the girlhoods of our mothers. How surprised we were to hear that their feelings when they were girls had been very much like ours. Mother spoke about our father, the first man she had ever loved. Mrs. Gerber talked about how much she had wanted to be a writer and how she had kept a diary hidden in her drawer. All their secrets and hopes were discussed in the darkness of that night.
For the first time, Iboya even talked to Judi and me about Shafar. She did not think that she would see him again, at least not until the war was over. “We said our real goodbyes last night and promised to wait for each other.”
Judi told us what she had written in her letter to Gari. “I asked him not to take chances with his life because I want to meet him again when the war is over and to continue our courtship on an adult level. I want to experience with him all the sensations of a mature romance—all the things I have read about in books. I don’t want to be cheated of any of life’s promises.”
Once again I envied Judi’s sophisticated attitude toward romance. Henri and I had simply promised to try to stay in contact with each other from wherever we were sent.
By listening to us and sharing her feelings with us, Iboya had treated us as her equals. But she was two years older than we and restrained in temperament. She did not easily discuss her feelings with anyone. When Judi asked her what it was like to be with a grown-up man, Iboya answered simply, “I don’t think age alone decides; individuals and circumstances make the difference.”
“But you and Shafar are old enough to get married,” Judi persisted. “You can do anything. You don’t have to stifle your desires.”
I could see that Iboya was slightly annoyed at Judi’s persistence, but she answered her patiently. “Shafar is a sensible and reserved man.”
“Sensible,” Judi hissed in a loud whisper. “Why should we be sensible when nothing around us makes any sense? What if we never see them again? Think of what we’ll miss. Won’t you be sorry then?”
“I can’t read the future,” Iboya said, with less patience. “I can only do what I think is best right now.”
Suddenly we were aware of a rustling sound around us. We had been so absorbed in our discussion that we had not noticed the dawn beginning to break and the gray light piercing the shadows. Throughout the barracks, people were stirring, standing up from their hunched positions and moaning as they stretched their stiff bodies. Mr. Shuster appeared, making his rounds to see if we had all survived the night; he looked haggard, his eyes sunk into deep hollows.
Iboya, Judi, and I were just walking back from our turns at the latrine when we heard the clacking sound of the train
approaching the brick factory. I heard it with all of my being—not as a sound, but as a total experience—and was filled with terror. A tremor shook my body. We tried to run but found ourselves planted in the ground, and as the train pulled into view, we saw that it was not the kind of train we had expected. Instead of the usual passenger cars with windows and seats, it consisted of a long line of rust-colored cars like the ones cows were loaded into. The cars of the train were tall, closed up, with only small openings near the roofs.
When we were finally able to pick up our feet, I ran back to Mother feeling my body grow hot as the sweat poured down my face. She was not in our space. All the people had gone up to the front of the shed to watch the train. I found her in a cluster of women, one of whom said, “So it is true … I thought it was just a rumor.” But no one had the time to ask what she meant, because the German soldiers had started to push their way through the crowd at the entrance. As I looked at one of them, my eyes first made contact with his black, shiny gun belt, then slowly traveled up his gray uniform, arriving at the ice-blue stony gaze that recognized nothing.
“We are all God’s children,” Babi used to say, meaning both Jews and Christians. Did she mean Germans, too? I wished that I could ask her. They did not look like anybody’s children, and they looked not at us, but through us as if we didn’t exist.
With a shock, I realized that I had looked forward to going to Germany the way one anticipates a new adventure. Now I did not want to know anything about the coming adventure.
“Mach schnell! Make ready to depart. You can take only what you are carrying on your person. Your belongings will be sent by the next train.”
I no longer believed anything they said about us or our things.
“They are not going to separate us!” Mrs. Gerber whispered in relief.
We all moved empty-handed out of the barracks, merging with the crowds from the other sheds as we walked toward the train. The white-arm-banded guards were trying to organize us into lines of five abreast. The five of us—Mother, Iboya, Joli, Sandor, and I—held hands as we walked. Mrs. Gerber, Judi, and Pali were right in front of us, with Carla and her mother completing their line of five. I noticed Judi turning her head around as I was doing, and realized that she was looking for Gari just as I had been trying to spot Henri. With so many people everywhere, it was impossible to distinguish one person. An exodus of families moved through the fields, German and Hungarian officers walking between them. Nothing seemed real.
We slowed down, stopped, started to move again, inching along. Joli began to whimper, and Mother picked her up. Gari appeared out of the crowd. He tapped Judi on the shoulder with his stick. She moved out of her line, stood aside, and took his hand. “Did you read my letter?” she asked with concern.
“Yes,” he answered, “I read it last night. Just a moment, I want to ask Mrs. Davidowitz something.” He turned to Mother.
“Mrs. Davidowitz, I overheard two trainmen talking, and one mentioned the word ‘Auschwitz.’ You speak German better than I do. Do you know what it means?”
“No,” she answered. “I’ll try and ask Mr. Shuster.” He turned back to Judi and they stood talking to each other until one of the German guards came up and waved Judi back into line. Gari walked off toward the front of the lines. I was not sure that I wanted to see Henri right now. I felt sweaty, light-headed from lack of sleep, and my mind reeled with fears of the future.
The lines in front of us started to disintegrate, and we moved forward until we could see a group of German soldiers stop the line in front of the Gerbers and search the people, reaching in and under their clothing. Then the Gerbers were next. One of the soldiers grabbed Judi and put his hand inside her blouse. Mother put Joli down and clutched Iboya and me to her sides.
“Nein! You will not touch my daughters!” she declared in German and repeated in Hungarian, her voice filled with anger and fear.
They laughed at her, and as we came into the first line position, Iboya, Mother, and I were pulled apart by three of the leering Germans. The back of my neck was suddenly in an iron grip, and a coarse, rough hand brushed down my chest and over each of my breasts, bursting the buttons of my blouse. Bending over me so close that I could smell his sausagy breath and see the tobacco stains on his teeth, the soldier reached into my bloomers and felt inside my private parts. I couldn’t tell if the stinging in my eyes was more from hurt or shame. He shoved me on. When I looked up toward the train, I saw Henri down the platform, about four meters away, and I quickly turned my head, hoping that he had not seen us being searched. The Gerbers and Carla and her mother had by now boarded the freight car. They stood looking down at us, frightened and silent, Mrs. Gerber with one arm reaching toward Mother. It didn’t seem that the car could hold any more people, and we stood still. But the German guard motioned us to climb up. Mr. Shuster and some of the white-arm-banded youths, Gari among them, boosted us up until we stood in the car with our backs tightly squeezed against the others. Mother leaned down and asked Mr. Shuster, “Do you know what ‘Auschwitz’ means?” But before he could answer, the German guard yelled, “Achtung! Rein! Rein!” and Mother pulled her head back just in time to avoid being struck by the door as it closed with a loud metallic clank.
Afterword
Mrs. Davidowitz, Iboya, Piri, Sandor, and Joli arrived in Auschwitz on May 9, 1944. Iboya and Piri were separated from the rest of the family on that day and never saw them again. In September, they were selected to work in the kitchen of the concentration camp at Christianstadt, where the inmates worked in a munitions factory. This accounted for their eventual survival. With the Russians rapidly approaching, the Germans made them leave there in January 1945 and walk to Bergen-Belsen, a journey that lasted until the beginning of March. On April 15, 1945, Field Marshal Montgomery’s First Army liberated the camp. In June, Iboya and Piri were taken by the Swedish Red Cross to Sweden, where they began to rebuild their lives. They immigrated to the United States in 1948. Aranka Siegal, the Piri of the story, now lives in New York.
Books by ARANKA SIEGAL
Upon the Head of the Goat
A Childhood in Hungary 1939–1944
Grace in the Wilderness
After the Liberation 1945–1948
An Imprint of Macmillan
UPON THE HEAD OF THE GOAT. Copyright © 1981 by Aranka Siegal.
All rights reserved. For information, address Square Fish, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.
Square Fish and the Square Fish logo are trademarks of Macmillan and are used by Farrar Straus Giroux under license from Macmillan.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Siegal, Aranka.
Upon the head of the goat : a childhood in Hungary, 1939–1944 / Aranka Siegal.
Summary: Recounts the bewilderment of being a Jewish child in Hungary between 1939 and 1944, and relates the ordeal of survival in the ghetto.
ISBN 978-0-374-48079-0
1. Siegal, Aranka—Juvenile literature. 2. Jews—Ukraine—Beregovo—Biography—Juvenile literature. 3. Holocaust, Jewish (1939–1945)—Ukraine—Beregovo—Personal narratives—Juvenile literature. 4. Beregovo (Ukraine)—Biography—Juvenile literature. 5. Beregovo (Ukraine)—Ethnic relations—Juvenile literature. [1. Siegal, Aranka. 2. Holocaust, Jewish (1939–1945)—Ukraine—Beregovo—Personal narratives.] I. Title.
DS135.R95S547 947'.718 [B] 81-12642
Originally published in the United States by Farrar Straus Giroux
First Square Fish Edition: August 2012
Square Fish logo designed by Filomena Tuosto
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eISBN 9781466832589
First eBook edition: October 2012
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