by Roxi Harms
"This tastes better than last year George, you must have remembered the salt this time," someone jested as they ate, triggering a burst of laughter around the big wooden table.
"He may have remembered the salt, but I think he forgot the paprika. The sausage looks a bit pale," someone down at the other end quipped.
"You just want my recipe," Adam's dad responded with a laugh.
"No, we don't, then we'd have to make the sausage ourselves," the heckler answered without missing a beat.
One by one, people pushed back their chairs from the table, praising the food for the umpteenth time. Soon the gramophone was out, and as the wine jug was passed around for refills, the adults took turns dancing. Eventually the yawning would start and good-byes were said amongst conversation about whose pig would be next.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Christmas 1942
"I call all women Baaaby," crooned little Anni as she twirled around beside the kitchen table, holding the worn hem of her dress out like a ballerina.
"Why are you singing that?" laughed Theresa from where she was leaning over the kitchen table rolling out cookie dough. Shadows from the light of the lantern danced on the walls, and the smell of ham soup filled the warm little kitchen. They'd helped the Mahlers butcher a small pig that morning and Dad was still there, finishing up the sausage.
"It's Horst Winter! Haven't you heard him on the radio?" Adam asked Theresa from where he sat on his bed cross-legged, his back against the wall, reading a book about explorers he'd borrowed from Mr. Post.
"We should sing a Christmas carol, Anni," his older sister suggested, ignoring him. "These cookies will be ready to paint after supper and put threads through for hanging. You're going to help paint them, right?"
"Yes!" Anni exclaimed, as she stopped twirling and came over to peer onto the table at the shapes Theresa was making with the little tin cookie cutters that their mom had used every Christmas as long as Adam could remember.
"Anni, what's wrong with your neck? Come here for a minute," their mom interrupted from where she sat at the end of the table darning a pile of socks. "It's a bit red. Does it hurt?"
"No," said Anni.
Their mom lifted her five-year-old's hair and inspected her neck more closely. "Have you been scratching it?" Anni shook her head as her mom placed the back of her hand against Anni's neck. "It's puffy and warm," she said.
"It's okay, Mama," said Anni, pulling away gently to return to Theresa and the cookies. "Can I make one?"
"Sure," said Theresa, handing Anni the little horse-shaped cookie cutter.
Anni carefully pressed out the shape, then held the cookie cutter out to the room. "Adam and George should make one," she said.
"The swelling looks worse this morning," Adam heard his mom say as he drifted awake the next morning. His parents were talking quietly at the table. The house was dark. The sun wouldn't be up for another hour. Adam lay still, eyes closed. He loved the Christmas holidays. Everything was covered in snow, which meant no garden, no grape vines, and no crops to tend. Over the winter they kept only a few animals, and chores didn't take long. He had time to wake up slowly and savour a few minutes in bed listening to his mom rustling around in the kitchen fixing breakfast.
"There's a little red spot on her shoulder, like a little bug bite," his mom continued. "That's all I can see. But her whole arm is swollen and her shoulder and neck. I think you should get the doctor."
"It's only a bug bite. It will go down," his dad answered.
The swelling worsened through the day, and when their dad fetched the doctor, his best guess was an insect bite too, but he wasn't sure how to treat it. The following morning, Anni was listless as their parents bundled her up and climbed into the Mahler's wagon to drive to the hospital in Gyula. Hopefully the doctors there would have medicine to treat the swelling and the fever Anni had developed overnight.
When they returned a few hours later, Anni wasn't with them. There hadn't been any doctors on duty due to the holiday season and the nurses had insisted on keeping her until a doctor could examine her. Staying with Anni hadn't been an option either. Against the rules, the nurses had said. Uncle Florian had promised to check in at the hospital regularly and bring Anni home when she was ready, or at least come and give them an update if she had to stay longer.
The next day was Christmas Eve. All day they waited anxiously for news, and when none came, they went through the motions of hanging the cookies and lighting the candles. But no one's heart was in it. Anni should have been there to enjoy it. Christmas Day passed similarly.
Early the day after, there was a knock on the door.
"Florian, it's about time. It's been three days," said Adam's dad as he opened the door wide to let his older brother in. "Come in so I can shut the door."
As the two men walked into the kitchen, Uncle Florian took off his hat. His face was drawn and his eyes brimmed with tears. Adam felt his chest tighten. His uncle just stood there, his hat against his chest.
"What's wrong, Florian?" Adam's mom demanded sharply, standing up when she saw her brother-in-law's face.
"What the hell is going on, Florian?" his dad repeated the question, his voice rising.
"A nurse from the hospital came to the house very early this morning." Uncle Florian stopped talking for a moment, still not raising his eyes. Adam held his breath. Uncle Florian looked up at the family around the kitchen table in front of him. "Anni died last night."
Adam's mom let out a guttural sound, like someone had slammed a fist into her stomach, forcing all her breath out.
"What?" Adam's dad said, confused. "She just has a bug bite."
Adam jumped up, knocking his chair over backwards, and strode around the table towards the men. "No! That's not true! Why did they say that?!" he yelled at his uncle.
"What are you saying, Florian?" his dad interrupted in a low voice, shaking his head as if to clear up the misunderstanding.
Adam's mom had dropped back into her chair, and sat there silently, her hand still over her mouth. George sat still, his eyes big. Theresa was beside him, tears already streaming silently down her face.
"I don't know much more," Uncle Florian said in a desperate, apologetic tone. "The nurse came and knocked at the door, and said that she died last night, and could I notify you. She said there was too much infection. I'm so sorry, Anna." He walked over and put his hand on his sister-in-law's shoulder. At his touch, she made a strangled sobbing sound and closed her eyes, tears overflowing down her cheeks.
"She just has a goddammed bug bite!" their dad yelled, startling everyone. "A goddammed bug bite! You can't die from a bug bite!" He turned and strode out the front door, slamming it so hard the house shook. A moment later, he strode back in. "It's gotta be a mistake, Florian. They said not to worry. They said they would look after her!"
Uncle Florian looked at Adam's dad silently, his cheeks wet
with tears.
"Goddammed useless Hungarian nurses! Useless, all of them!" his dad roared as he strode back out the door onto the porch.
Adam sat down on the edge of his bed, dazed. He shook his head. This didn't make any sense. Anni. Perfect little Anni. How could she just die? Around him the noise continued. Theresa had started sobbing loudly, and Adam was vaguely aware of similar noises coming from his little brother.
"I should have stayed with her." His mom's words came out all broken. "I shouldn't have left her. They wouldn't let me stay. I should have stayed." Her words trailed off, replaced by a low, primal wailing sound. She began to rock forward and backward on her chair, arms around herself like a straitjacket.
Adam's dad stormed back into the house, sobbing as he hurled profanities about the doctors and the nurses and that it was crazy to say someone could die from a little bug bite. Adam sat on the edge of the bed, cradling his head in his hands as the noises ran together around him.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
A week later, Adam sat wedged in between the rabbit cages and
the house. The sky was heavy with dark grey clouds. It was snowing lightly, but he didn't feel cold. He didn't feel anything. People were still coming in the gate every few minutes. Inside the front door they would turn right and go into his parents' room to look at Anni, lying there in her little coffin. He'd been in there with her when people started showing up. Everyone loved Anni. They all cried as soon as they saw her sweet little face. Theresa had curled her hair. He kept remembering what the nurses had told Uncle Florian about the night she died. How she had been crying for her mama and repeating the same few words over and over until she lost consciousness. None of the nurses on duty spoke any German, but they remembered the words and repeated them to Uncle Florian. She'd been crying for a drink of water.
When his dad wasn't sobbing, he was in a rage. He raged about having to beg for money to pay the government fee to have Anni's body released to him, and five minutes later he sat at the table wracked with grief, sobbing about buying a nice coffin for his baby. The coffin he got had a little window in the top, where you could see Anni's face. She looked like she was sleeping.
After a while, Adam could hear people coming back out of the house and down the front steps. He stood up and looked around the corner of the house. Everyone was walking across the street to the cemetery. His dad and his Uncle Florian came last, except for his mom. They carried Anni down the steps and out the front gate, his dad leading the way and his uncle carrying the back end of the little box where Anni's feet were. Finally, his mom came out, wearing the black dress one of her sisters had brought over, and followed them across the road, the tears that hadn't stopped since that awful morning still streaming down her cheeks.
Adam crossed the road and stood beside his mom as they placed the little coffin beside the frozen hole. He'd heard the caretaker chipping and scraping at the frozen ground all day yesterday and again this morning. Now the man carefully attached ropes to the handles on the ends of the box and then stepped back so that the priest could start. Adam didn't want to hear anything the priest had to say. God was a bunch of lies. If he could really create the world, then he could have saved Anni.
From where he stood, Adam could see the corner of Anni's face through the little window. Love and loss filled his 13-year-old body to the brim, so big and aching, he thought he would split open. He'd never forget how she looked when she stood with her fists planted on her hips, scolding him. She knew when their dad was in a bad mood, and when a licking for Adam was likely to come. And she knew how to soften Dad up. Since she'd figured this out, as often as not, her chiding would put a smile on their dad's face and Adam would be off the hook. Five years old and she had it all figured out.
The droning of the priest's voice had stopped and been replaced by music. It was Anni's farewell song. Fresh tears warmed Adam's cheeks as the man's voice rose and fell. He had a beautiful singing voice. They were lowering Anni into the frozen hole. His mom buried her face in her hands and shook with sobs. Someone grabbed a handful of dirt and threw it down onto the coffin. Another followed suit, then another. When the song ended, people began to drift away. Adam bent down and picked up a handful of frozen mud. He held it a minute and then let it fall from his hand back down beside his feet.
The priest was going to talk again.
"I'm going," he croaked and turned away. He didn't want to hear it.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Christmas holidays ended a few days after the funeral. Adam walked a different way to school so he wouldn't run into Franz. He didn't want to talk to anyone. A lot of kids knew about Anni, so no one really wanted to talk to him anyway. As he sat at his desk, staring at the chalkboard, Adam was glad to be away from home. He tried to concentrate on what Mr. Post was saying, but Anni swirled around in his head, twirling like a ballerina, scolding, giggling, and then lying dead under a little glass window. He swallowed hard every few minutes, trying not to cry. He had to hold back his tears until he got home.
The next day wasn't any better, nor the next.
"Adam, can you stay for a minute please?" Mr. Post called out a few days later, as the kids filed out at the end of the day.
Adam sat back down in his desk as the room emptied. Mr. Post came over and perched on the desk in front of Adam's, concern on his face.
"You're not yourself this week, Adam. Do you want to talk about it?"
Adam shook his head, suffocated by the lump of tears in this throat. He had to get out of there. Standing, he headed for the door.
As he walked through the schoolyard and into the street, he regained his composure and stopped. He wanted to tell Mr. Post. Turning around, he walked back across the yard and up the steps, breathing deeply as he walked back into his class. Mr. Post had his back to the door, cleaning the chalkboard. He turned when he heard Adam come in.
"Mr. Post, my little sister died. She was five."
"I'm sorry to hear that, Adam," Mr. Post said after a moment. "Thank you for telling me."
Spinning on his heel, Adam left again. This time he let the tears run down his face as he walked home, staring straight ahead, not caring who saw him.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
The days passed. Slowly, very slowly, it got a little easier to stay composed through the day, but the pain arose unexpectedly, stabbing him in the chest. Going home after school was the worst part. Anni wasn't there to greet him, just the gaping hole she'd left. Adam's mom stood at the counter and cried silently while she cooked, and while she mended, and while she washed up after supper. Theresa cried through whatever she was doing. A suffocating silence filled every inch of the house while they ate. George was quiet, maybe quieter than usual. And when his dad wasn't cussing and yelling, he sat, his shoulders heaving with silent sobs.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
1943
Anni had been gone a couple of months when Mr. Post approached Adam with a request. Would he be willing to help Mr. Post in the evenings for a while, marking grade six and seven papers? He could do the work at Mr. Post's house in the evenings, at a spare desk in his study. Adam's heart leapt at the idea. It was the first time he'd felt anything other than grief or emptiness since Christmas.
With a resigned shrug, Adam's dad agreed.
Carefully, Adam read through the assignments in the stack Mr. Post placed in front of him each evening, using a red pencil to mark answers that didn't match the answer key. As he completed the stacks night after night, Mr. Post's quiet companionship a salve to his raw, broken heart, slowly he began to feel a stirring of his old self. He thought about returning to band practice and wondered vaguely what Franz and Tony had been up to.
"Adam, what are your plans when school finishes for the summer?" Mr. Post asked casually one night as the two of them sat in comfortable silence, each busy with their work.
"The usual. Work in the vineyards, then wheat harvest and corn harvest. And I guess I need to start thinking about getting a job of my own." Thinking about the future invariably reminded him that Anni wouldn't be in it, and so far he'd managed to avoid it.
"The principal was asking me the other day how I was managing to keep up teaching three grades. I explained how you've been helping me and also how you led the primary class last year when Miss Krause was sick. He thinks, and I agree, that you should consider going to college. You're a smart young man, Adam. You should get an education. If you want one that is."
Adam looked at his teacher solemnly for a moment before he answered. "I didn't take the academic stream so I don't think I can, and we wouldn't have the money for it anyway."
"I thought you might say that. The principal and I would like to speak to your father about this, if it's okay with you. We also took the liberty of speaking to the local leader of The Party, since he knows you from the youth group. We thought that if the three of us met with your father together, we might convince him. You'd have a lot of work to do to make up your academic courses and complete the grade nine and ten requirement. As for costs, sometimes there are scholarships available for br
ight students. What do you think?"
Adam stared at Mr. Post again. "That would be great, Mr. Post," he said finally. "Thank you." He turned back to the paper he was marking
to hide his tears. Mr. Post was definitely the best teacher anyone could ever have.
Adam listened quietly while the visitors complimented his parents for raising a fine boy and went on to explain the purpose of their visit. With Adam's potential, it would be a shame if he didn't get a college education. Mr. Post and Miss Krause were willing to tutor him through the necessary studies and assist with scholarship applications. If he worked hard he would be ready for college in a year. The college was in Budapest, so living arrangements would have to be made. As they spoke, the party leader nodded his agreement.
When the visitors finished explaining, Adam held his breath. His dad was hesitant, but in the end, there were too many important people in the room who obviously thought this was a good idea, for him to disagree. Mr. Post's strategy had worked.
That summer was different than any other in Adam's short life so far. Lessons in Mr. Post's study and completing assignments at the kitchen table at home filled his days, while his dad, mom, Theresa, and George worked in the fields as usual. Often his dad grumbled that Adam was wasting his time with his nose in a book while the rest of them did his work. But when the neighbours and relatives teased Adam about being a big shot, too important for normal work, his dad was quick to jump in. "I told you," he would say. "They said he's smart enough to finish up two years in one and then go to college. He's going to get a college education. My son's got a good brain."