by Ann Alma
“Be strong, Eva. Canada is a good country. Everybody says so. They say it’s a land of opportunities for refugees.”
That might be true, Josie thought, but today she felt like Mother. What she wanted to do most of all was to race the old, rusty bike down the hill with Greta.
“Will we ever go back home, Vati?”
“We have no home. We’re refugees. That means we are homeless, countryless. But Canada will be our new home soon enough.”
*
They started their trip to the Vienna airport on Tuesday afternoon. Because they travelled on stand-by to London, they had to wait for five hours before seats became available.
The parade of rushing people, short and tall, young and old, light and dark, fascinated Josie. They all walked and talked differently, and in her mind she imitated some of the more interesting ones. But after a while this game became boring. Mother wouldn’t let her walk around by herself, so she stayed in the chair and waited and waited.
When they finally left Vienna, Josie watched from the plane window. Below her the buildings got smaller. It was dark out. The lights from the buildings and the moving cars created a miniature world.
At first the flight was exciting, but after a few hours Mother began to cry and Father just stared straight ahead.
There was a funny feeling in her ears, as if they were plugged and needed to pop. She sat quietly, her hands on her lap. Bored and tired, she yawned, which made her ears feel better. If only Oma were here.
In London they waited for another three hours before they got onto a plane to cross the Atlantic Ocean. By this time it was the middle of the night, so Josie slept for most of the flight. In the morning she looked out the window. She wished she could get out, stretch or lie down on the clouds below her. They looked soft, like Oma’s feather tick.
They landed in Montreal when the city was still asleep, even though it felt like daytime to Josie. Father told her it was because they were on the other side of the world now, where it was nighttime. In East Germany it was already the morning of the next day.
After hours of long line-ups and meetings with officials, at last they were allowed to leave the airport and continue their journey. The Red Cross had helped Father buy plane tickets to Montreal, because they were cheaper than a flight to Calgary. They now had to take a local bus from the airport to the bus depot.
“I hope we have enough money to buy tickets to Calgary,” Father grumbled.
Mother didn’t say anything. Josie just walked along beside them, too mixed up and tired to notice the city.
They did have enough money. Then Father spent the last of the funny-looking coins on a loaf of bread, a bottle of drinking water and six apples.
For the next two days, while they raced along the Canadian highway, Father gave each of them a third of an apple and two slices of bread three times a day. The bread was already cut into thin slices, something Josie had never seen before. Canadian bread smelled different and she could fold a whole slice into one mouthful; it chewed into nothing but a tiny lump of tasteless dough.
Josie stood up and wriggled her stiff body. “Vati, when will we be there? We’ve been on the bus for two days now.”
“Soon, I think.”
“I’m hungry.”
“Get used to Canadian meal times, Josephine. We eat when everyone else does.”
Josie didn’t understand why her father spoke to her in such a harsh voice. Was he angry at her? Perhaps he too was frightened. Josie put her hands on her empty stomach and pressed down. There was no food left, so they had to wait until they got to Uncle Fritz’s before they could eat again.
Stepping her feet up and down, Josie pretended she was a hungry soldier on a march. Then she flopped back into her seat.
Yawning, she stretched her arms above her head. For three days and nights they hadn’t slept in a bed. Josie’s body felt like a rolled-up sleeping bag straining to spread out on a flat surface. If she could only run around the bus a few times, like she’d done before. Her body twitched so she swung her legs back and forth for a while. And even though the bus roared along smoothly, not like in East Germany, where the roads were narrow, winding and uneven, she wished they could go faster.
Mother was right—Canada was far from home.
“Are you okay, Mutti?”
Mother coughed and said, “I’m tired of this bus ride too, liebchen, but we’ll be there soon and then we’ll all feel better.”
Stretching, Josie stood up again between her seat and the one in front of it. Looking over the chairs in front of her and out the front windshield, Josie noticed a city up ahead. Canadians left so many lights on at night, the sky around a town or city glowed like a giant yellow ball in the darkness.
The man in the chair ahead turned and said something. Sitting down quickly, Josie realized she’d understood one word. Calgary!
“Mutti, Vati, this is Calgary,” she whispered. “Now we can go to our new home.” She felt a flutter of excitement in her stomach.
Mother gave a weak smile, but said nothing. Father looked out the window, then began talking in English to the man in front of him.
Reaching for their paper bag in the overhead rack, Father stood up and said, “Yes, we’re here.”
FIVE
The bus came to a stop at the Calgary terminal. Eager to be the first one out, Josie jumped up, but her mother still sat in the seat next to hers, blocking the exit.
“Komm, Eva.” Reaching, Father took Mother’s hand. “We’ll soon be there and then you can sleep and get rid of that awful cold.”
Mother struggled out of her seat. Josie watched her mother shuffling to the front of the bus like an old lady.
This was it; they were home! They needed to find Uncle Fritz, and he would take them to their house.
While Josie jumped off the bus a stranger in a red jacket, jeans and a funny red cap with a flame on it hurried towards them.
“Karl. Doch! Is that really you?”
“Fritz!”
He spoke German? Josie watched, a smile on her face, as the man hugged Father. They kissed each other on the cheeks.
“Oh Fritz, endlich, finally...” Father’s voice broke. Clearing his throat, he pulled Mother closer. “This is my wife, Eva.”
Fritz hugged Mother too, then turned.
“And you must be Josephine.” Josie’s feet almost left the ground as her uncle gave her a bear hug. She felt his moustache tickle her ear while her nose picked up an unusual, woodsy smell from his face.
Then holding Josie at arm’s length, while his brown eyes danced over her, he said, “You look like your Oma Grün. That same small build, although you’re skinnier. Same dimple on the left side when you smile.” He hugged her again. “This is wonderful. My own family at last.”
“Let me get your suitcases. You must be exhausted,” he said.
“We don’t have any luggage,” Father said. “Just this paper bag from Vienna.”
“Oh, of course.”
Uncle Fritz led the way to a car. Just as Josie expected, it was big, new, had soft seats, and even a radio and a clock.
Father and Uncle Fritz sat in the front. With Mother beside her, Josie looked out the window. The streets were wide here: two trucks could drive side by side in the same direction. The buildings looked newer and brighter than the ones at home.
“Do we get a nice house?” Josie asked Uncle Fritz.
“I haven’t found you a place yet. I want to let your parents look around first. For now you’ll stay at my house.”
They turned onto a street with large homes, each separated by stretches of grass and trees.
“There’s so much space here,” Father said. “How many families live in a place like that?”
“Just one.”
“One? Then they must have big families to have such huge homes,” Father said.
“No, some have one or two kids, some couples don’t have any.”
Father was as surprised as Josie. “Two people,�
�� he gasped. “Imagine.”
Unlike East Germany, here the houses had many different shapes and were painted all kinds of colours, like pictures in stories Father read to her.
They turned into a driveway of a one-storey home. Josie had never seen this much grass between the street and the house. Even though it was past midnight, lights shone everywhere. Candle-shaped lanterns burned brightly at each side of the front door, although there was a street lamp nearby. Lights were on in most of the rooms. Would Father say anything? At home, if she ever forgot to turn something off, he told her not to waste electricity.
The door flew open before they even got there, revealing a smiling woman in a bright-blue robe that looked as if it was made of soft towels. The robe came down to her slippered feet and was held closed by a long belt tied into a bow at the stomach. Was it a coat? Or a long dress?
“Hello...Canada...welcome.”
Josie knew those words, but the rest she didn’t understand.
Uncle Fritz laughed. “My wife is so excited to meet you. But she doesn’t speak German.”
Everyone shook hands.
“This is Aunt Beth. This is Josephine. Come in; sit down.”
The travellers decided to take a bath and have a late-night snack. Since they left Vienna, three days ago, they hadn’t washed. After eating cheese and meat on crackers, Josie walked down the hall with Uncle Fritz. She stopped in the open door to the bathroom and stared. Instead of bare walls and a floor made of grey cement, like at home, this room was bright and colourful, with a toilet, a sink, space on a counter top, and both a tub and a shower. She had never seen all these things together in one room, not even in the hotel in Vienna.
Josie felt shy, but she wanted to ask questions too. “Why is the toilet in here?” she whispered.
Uncle Fritz smiled. “Because this is the bathroom. I guess you’re not used to having everything in one room.”
“But what if I’m taking a bath and someone else needs to use it?”
“We have another one, off our bedroom.”
Two toilets for one family? Josie could hardly believe her ears. While Uncle Fritz ran water into the tub, he put something in it that made the whole room smell nice.
“Do you have clean underwear and pajamas?”
“No. I have to sleep in my summer dress. The Red Cross gave me one extra pair of panties and I wash them every night in the sink.”
“Here, use Aunt Beth’s spare housecoat.” Her uncle gave her another long robe, pink this time. “A housecoat,” Josie mumbled to herself.
While she waited, Josie looked around. She had never seen a toilet seat with a lid. The toilet paper was soft, not rough like at home. The towels hung on straight rods. And the mirrors: there were so many of them. In East Germany they had one small mirror, as big as a plate, that hung by the kitchen sink. They had only had two showers, no tubs, to share with all the families on their floor in the apartment block. And of course the toilets, to be shared by everyone, were in a separate room down the hall.
Her uncle brought in a long, red nightgown with white flowers.
“This one is warm. You can keep it.”
“Aunt Bez doesn’t mind?”
“No, she said it’s yours. But her name is Beth, not Bez.”
“Bez,” Josie said.
“No, no. You need to stick your tongue out between your teeth. Look. Beth, Beth.”
“Bez.”
Leaving a dish of thin, crunchy things called chips for her to eat, her uncle closed the door, so Josie undressed while chewing on her snack and sank down into the water. Bubbles sprang up all around her. At home she and Greta had blown soap bubbles outside, but they always burst. Scooping up handfuls, she spread them on her hair, face and shoulders.
*
“Can’t we see it yet?” Josie looked at the houses and fields flashing by the car window as they left Calgary behind.
“No, not quite,” Uncle Fritz said.
Father, Uncle Fritz and Josie were on the way to their new home. For the last few days the two men had looked at places while Josie slept, helped her aunt, watched TV and cared for Mother, who was still sick. Now they were going to clean their new home and get it ready. Slowing down, Uncle Fritz turned into a long driveway.
Josie stared. “Is that it?”
“Yes. Just for now,” Uncle Fritz said.
“It’s so small. And old.”
A shack no bigger than her uncle’s garage leaned on the earth like a tired, old cow barn. It had no big windows, no colourful paint, no flowers or grass. Rejected, it stood at the end of the rutted drive in a field of weeds that stretched as far as Josie could see. Josie got out and followed the adults, kicking at the wild grasses that came up to her knees.
“Why don’t we get a new house?”
“Because we’re refugees,” Father said, his voice barely loud enough to be heard. “Uncle Fritz’s friend will let us stay here for free until we can build ourselves a new life.”
“But you promised a new house.” As soon as she said it, Josie knew she shouldn’t have. Father was already angry.
Now he stamped ahead, yelling, “No, I promised you a new life, a better life.”
Uncle Fritz put his arm around her shoulder. “As soon as your father finds a job things will get better. It’s hard for him to sit by and do nothing.”
When Father shoved it, the door screeched in protest. A cloud of dust lifted from the floor, choking the stale air with tiny particles that sparkled in the sunlight.
“Okay, let’s air it out.” Her uncle tried to sound cheerful. “We’ll clean it up, give the thirsty hinges a drink of oil and nail these floor planks down so the door opens all the way.”
“Let’s get going.” Grabbing the tool kit, Father started hammering the floor boards, making cobwebs quiver on the beams.
“Josie, you attack the windows.” Uncle Fritz gave her arm a friendly little squeeze. “I put rags and a bucket in the trunk of the car. See that creek? Get water from there. We’ll fix this place up in no time. Then we’ll all feel much better.”
Uncle Fritz whistled while he swept and mopped up the worst of the dirt. Father finished the floor, repaired a broken window and hung up curtain rods. He pounded and measured as if he were in a terrible rush. Glad to escape the noisy shack, Josie went to the creek to get clean water.
The dirt on the windows was dry and caked. The spider webs were sticky. When one stuck on her hand, Josie watched a big, grey spider scurry off to safety under the sill.
“Now you’re a refugee too,” Josie thought. At least the spider didn’t mind living here. They were not the only ones who had nothing.
They spent most of the morning nailing, scraping, scrubbing, sweeping and wiping. Then Uncle Fritz brought in an armful of material. They sorted and measured until they found three small pieces about the right size for curtains. They used a big sheet to partition off a corner of the room, so Josie had her own tiny bedroom. Finally they hung a colourful piece on one bare wall for decoration.
“It looks so much better,” Uncle Fritz said. “Now, we’ll get furniture from the second-hand store. And a wood stove that’ll keep you nice and warm. And you can borrow dishes, pots and pans and blankets from us. You know, Karl, you’re a lot better off than when I first came to Canada.”
“Yes, I know, Fritz. Thanks. We couldn’t have done all this without you,” Father said. “It doesn’t look too bad, does it?”
The shed had no electricity, no running water, no bathroom, not even a kitchen. How were they going to cook food, or wash, or see in the dark? But Josie didn’t ask, wishing instead that they could stay longer with her aunt. Father had said they needed to get on with their own lives now, after spending a week with their relatives.
She and Aunt Beth couldn’t understand each other very well, but her aunt had shown Josie so many things that she had never heard of before. There was: a small stove that heated food quickly; a kettle you plugged into the wall instead of heating it on a
stove; a jack-in-the-box that toasted bread and popped it up when it was brown; a machine that dried clothes. Josie was amazed they didn’t hang the laundry on the line when the sun was out. She also had a bicycle with different gears and no rust.
And then there was the magic bathtub. Aunt Beth showed her how to turn a knob that made water shoot out the “jets”, little holes around the side of the tub. Once when she wanted to take a hot bath she added lots of the crystals Uncle Fritz had used that first night to make bubbles. She turned the jets on and closed her eyes, dreaming of underwater adventures.
When the soap dish fell to the floor, she opened her eyes and jumped up. Bubbles popped everywhere around her, over the edge of the tub and onto the floor. Josie stared as bubbles crept up the wall.
“Halt, halt,” she yelled, jumping out of the tub, almost slipping. English maybe. What was the word? Oh yes. “Stop!” she cried. The bubbles invaded her clothes on the floor.
“Stop, stop.”
Aunt Beth knocked on the door. Quickly Josie put the housecoat on and unlocked the door. Her aunt walked in, her eyes wide with surprise, and turned the jets off. She started laughing. Josie looked from the bubbles to her aunt, who was laughing so hard she had to lean against the doorpost.
“With the jets...no bubbles,” she said, chuckling some more. Josie understood: the jets were mouths that blew bubbles faster than she and Greta ever could.
By the time her aunt had helped Josie dry the floor, most of the bubbles in the tub had popped and....
Uncle Fritz tapped her on the shoulder then pushed the shed door shut. “Are you listening? I called your name twice, but I guess you were dreaming.”
“Yes, Uncle Fritz?”
“Let’s go.”
They returned to the city where, after lunch, they borrowed a truck to look for second-hand furniture.
“Keep all the bills. I’m paying you as soon as I get a job,” Father said.
“Yes, yes, Karl.” Uncle Fritz lifted a kitchen table above his head, then slid it onto the truck. “If we fix this broken leg it’ll work just fine.”