by Roxi Harms
"Miss Krause! I got home a couple of days ago and I don't have any papers."
"Get out of here. Go straight home and hide. Tonight, after dark, come to my house and I'll explain. But stay hidden until then."
That evening, as Adam sat in the room where she had tutored him through his expedited high school studies, Miss Krause explained. She had learned a few words of the language from her Russian father, and when the Russian officials had arrived, she had been ordered to serve as secretary to the commander in charge of Elek. Only days earlier, a letter from the Komarom prison had arrived, asking if Adam Baumann had been seen. The letter was still on her desk, hidden under a stack of other papers.
Adam quickly explained what had led up to his escape from Komarom, and the two of them devised a plan. Since he wasn't on the census that the Russians had conducted earlier that year, they would say he'd been living with a relative in Budapest. Miss Krause would answer the letter from Komaron, saying Adam hadn't been seen, and then destroy it. Then she'd fill in the forms required to issue his official identification papers.
According to the papers that were issued a few days later, ultimately forming part of the archived records of World War II, Adam had never been out of Hungary and had certainly never served in any military.
CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE
No one in Elek knew much about the upcoming deportation, but as autumn deepened into winter, more and more rumours began to circulate. People were saying that the new communist government, controlled by the Soviets behind the scenes, planned to seize all property owned by anyone of German descent and send the owners back to Germany. The Germans were "enemies of the State," just like the commander at Komarom had said. The property rightfully belonged to Hungarians. All property, from family homes on small plots like the Baumanns' to the largest properties owned by the rich farmers, would be seized.
At first, people laughed and dismissed the rumours as nonsense. Their ancestors had settled this area over two hundred years ago. It had taken generations of hard work to transform it into the productive farmland it was now. It had never belonged to anyone other than them. How could it be the rightful property of someone else? And how could they be sent back to Germany, since they'd never been there? If the Germans left, the town would be empty. No, they reassured each other, it was nonsense.
Most of the radios in Elek had been stolen or smashed. They couldn't have heard the official news release about the Deportation Act that was passed just after Christmas making the deportation of German descendants from Hungary and several other countries into law. The stories that were reaching them were getting more substantial though, corroborated by sources at town hall. Slowly it sank in. Anger began to replace the disbelief of the previous months, and any gathering of family or friends was dominated with heated discussions about the outrage of it all. As the spring thaw began, the anger gave way begrudgingly to acceptance. They were being deported.
Soon after, the parties started. "Better to eat every morsel and drink every drop than leave it for the communists," the people of Elek told each other. So they celebrated not needing to do any planting that year since they wouldn't be there to harvest, and they celebrated not needing to ration since they wouldn't be here later to eat what they saved. They threw caution to the wind. Eating and drinking with abandon intoxicated the town. Families with one pig shared it with their neighbours, and landowners with quantities of livestock threw parties and invited everyone in town. They even invited the people who wouldn't be leaving. After all, the unfair decisions of the politicians were hardly the fault of the people they'd lived alongside as friends and neighbours their whole lives.
Free from his dad's scrutiny and temper, Adam submersed himself in the festivities, assisting at butchering parties nearly daily, and blowing polkas and foxtrots on his harmonica and trumpet into the wee hours night after night. Throughout those reckless months, he did his best to keep his fears about Theresa out of his mind and, despite everything, he enjoyed the heady mood that pervaded Elek that winter.
In the midst of the merriment, news arrived that Adam's dad was in a holding camp in Budapest awaiting his papers. He needed tobacco, the man who delivered the message added. Seeing his mom's tears of joy and the grin on his brother's face, Adam couldn't help being happy about the news.
The next day Adam and a cousin travelled to Budapest, traded a bit of bacon for some tobacco and delivered it to the prison. As he rode the train home, Adam whistled a tune quietly to himself. The guards had promised to deliver the tobacco. His mom would be pleased. Then he thought of Theresa and stopped whistling.
CHAPTER SEVENTY
Spring 1946
The Deportation Act was officially announced in Elek in April. The town criers and the posters at town hall explained that weekly transports would begin leaving soon. There would be six transports in total to clear all of the Germans out of Elek, departing from the livestock shipping station at the south edge of town, near Adam's grandparents' house. The Baumanns and the Bambachs were slated for the third transport.
The following week, Adam stood in the dirt beside the train station with his mom and George, watching. The first transport was almost finished loading. For the last several hours, wagons had been pulling up in front of the building that had been converted to a depot to process the deportees. People climbed down with their bundles and clung to friends who were staying or scheduled for a later transport, before being herded inside for inspection. Helplessness and despair hung over the crowd like a cold, wet fog, chilling everyone to the bone. As Adam watched through the station window, the policemen ripped open carefully tied bundles, rifling through the contents before gathering them up loosely and placing them on the scale. When a bundle was too heavy, the policemen shook their heads and watched while the owner decided what to surrender to lighten the load. Adam watched in disbelief as a policeman ripped his bayonet through a feather pillow and stirred the blade around, searching for hidden valuables.
The crowd at the station consisted mainly of old men and women, as well as children. The few young adults he could see were Hungarian. A handful of times he spotted a German man or woman who had obviously returned from Russia, emaciated or disfigured from a labour camp accident. His eyes settled on a young woman seated on a bench waiting for her father to carry her to the train. She'd been a few years ahead of him in school. The sharp points of her collarbone stuck out through her dress, and blank eyes stared out from her gaunt face. A kerchief covered her shorn head. Still, at least she was home.
Car by car, the heavy doors were slammed shut and barred. As the wheels began to turn, pulling the line of boxcars away, a chorus of good-byes and good wishes arose from the throng of tear-streaked faces lining the platform.
"They have robbed you. This is not right," a female voice called out from the crowd in Hungarian.
A Romanian man chimed in. "Come back to your home someday, friends."
"We will search for you in Germany. May God keep us all safe," said a German voice.
The next day strangers began to appear in town, filling the empty houses and rifling through the belongings left behind.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE
The squeak of bicycle brakes in the street made Adam look up from where he was sitting on the porch with his mom. One of the local policemen who had patrolled Elek for years slowly leaned his bike against the fence and opened the front gate. At the sound of the policeman's arrival, George came in from the back yard and stood protectively on the porch beside their mom.
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Baumann," the policeman said in Hungarian, touching his fingers to the brim of his new communist police hat. "I'm sorry, but I have the details of your transport here."
Adam stood up and took the paper the policeman was holding out. They hadn't gone to watch the second transport depart.
The policeman stood at the bottom of the step, his arms at his side, then cleared his throat and continued. "Transport Three leaves the day after tomorrow. A wagon will
come by to pick you up. And I'm supposed to remind you about the 20-kilogram limit, and any gold or valuables you own are to be surrendered at town hall before you leave. It's all on the paper. . . ," he trailed off and looked down at his feet. He was silent for a moment, then looked back up at the three of them. "Well, I guess that's it. Best of luck to you. May God keep you safe," he said, then turned and let himself out of the gate.
"And you," Adam's mom called out softly as he took hold of the handlebars of his bicycle. At the sound of her voice, the policeman stopped and met his mom's eye, then touched his hat again before riding away.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO
The boxcar smelled of manure and animal sweat. It had already gotten stuffy since they'd shut the doors. Forty people and just one small window on each side, eye level for Adam if he stood on his tiptoes. Most others wouldn't be able to see out at all. He could see Uncle Florian through the little window, standing beside the station with his wife. She was Hungarian, so they would be staying. Adam's throat ached from saying good-bye to his uncle. The rest of his relatives were in the boxcar with him. Adam had helped everyone climb on board, passing up the heavy bundles, the pots filled with roast meat covered in lard to keep it fresh, and various other food items. His grandma and grandpa had been the last of his family to load, shuffling out of the station with their bundles. Now his grandma sat awkwardly, balanced on a bundle of bedding, glancing around nervously as people talked quietly.
The process was slow. Another hour or more had passed and as far as Adam could tell there were still another dozen or so cars to load to make up the 1,000 people scheduled for Transport Three. Idly, he pulled on the handle of the door he was standing next to, on the opposite side of the train from the one they'd loaded through. It moved. They hadn't locked it! He didn't speak for a moment, thinking about how best to take advantage of the open door. No point in escaping. He couldn't leave his family now. And where would he go anyway? He scanned the view through the little window on the side of the unlocked door. Everything was quiet. A small field and then forest. He couldn't see any movement. Everybody was busy on the other side, inspecting, directing, and saying good-bye. His grandma and grandpa's house wasn't far from here.
"Adam, no," said his mom when he whispered his plan. "They'll catch you and who knows what they'll do to you?"
"I'll be fine, I promise," he said, smiling down at his mom reassuringly.
Quietly Adam explained to the others in the boxcar that he had to go back for something, slipped out the door and eased it shut behind him. Crouching down, he looked around and ran across the grass into the trees, then scanned behind him. No sign that anyone had noticed.
When he got back, the train had moved forward to load the next bunch of cars. Even better, Adam thought to himself. Now there was less chance they'd spot him through the gap under the train. Running to the car number his family was in, he eased the door open a couple of feet and passed up the pillow cases he'd filled at his grandparents' and neighbouring houses, then turned and took off once more.
On his third trip, he handed his grandma's rocking chair up through the open door, then climbed in and pulled the door shut. They were loading the last couple of cars. He couldn't risk another trip. He grinned and wiped the sweat off of his forehead as he rearranged a few bundles so he could place the chair in the corner, then waved at his grandma to come over.
"Adam, you're cheeky, but you're a good boy," she said as she sat down with a sigh and a weak smile.
Not long after, the train began to move. This time it didn't stop. They were on their way. Calls of good luck and good-bye could be heard in the distance. Adam peered out the little window, trying to catch a final glimpse of Uncle Florian, but they were too far from the station already.
Air from the little windows cooled the inside of the car a little as the train clattered along. The women dabbed handkerchiefs at the tears rolling down their cheeks. Someone was sobbing out loud. Suddenly one of the men that had been leaning quietly against the wall turned around and threw a vicious kick at the wall.
"Goddammed Russians. First they kill your son, then they take your home." He kicked again and then fell silent, slumping down to the floor with his back to the wall.
A few minutes later one of Adam's aunts spoke quietly from where she sat on the coat she had spread out on the floor near his mom. "Where do you think they are really taking us?"
The boxcar was quiet for a moment. Then Adam answered loudly.
"We're going to Germany, and it's going to be nice there. The flowers will all be in bloom this time of year, and the crops will be growing, and it'll be beautiful. Nicer than Elek. Any place will be nicer than Elek," he laughed, "where the meat's all been eaten and the wine's all gone. And fewer mosquitoes. There's sure to be fewer mosquitoes in Germany." A few people smiled. "And there won't be any Russians there," Adam continued.
"Or communists!" one of his uncles piped up.
The sobbing had subsided and the silence that followed was slightly more comfortable.
"What do you see outside, Adam?" one of his cousins asked a little while later.
Adam stretched and looked out the vent.
"We're on the route to Budapest. I recognize it. And the fields are all empty, just like Elek. No crops planted. Wait, what's that over there? It's a communist trying to plough the field, but he's got it attached to the wrong end of the ox team. Guess these fields are going to be empty for a long time." Adam smiled broadly as a few people chuckled at his silly joke.
As the afternoon wore on, the occupants of the boxcar intermittently
chatted and rode in silence.
"I'm sorry, everyone. I'm so sorry. But I can't wait any longer, I have to relieve myself," one of the older ladies near the middle of the car said after a couple of hours, as she stood up from the bundle of blankets she'd been perched on. "I'm sorry. . . I'm very sorry." Wringing her hands, she glanced toward the back corner of the car, where a large tin bucket sat.
"That's nothing to be sorry about," Adam responded quickly. "Heck, I bet half the people in here have to go, and the other half will definitely have to go before we get to Germany." Once again, he was rewarded with smiles and a few laughs. "Let's all turn and face towards the front when someone has to use the bucket, to give them some privacy. Go ahead, Mrs. Klassen," he said, turning to face the front wall of the boxcar himself.
They'd passed through Budapest without slowing down when the light in the boxcar began to fade. Someone lit a lantern. Soon women began opening bundles of food and carving off small helpings for each family member. The mood had turned sombre again.
Adam peered through the little window, looking for clues about their location. ‘Tata Banya,' he read silently from a big sign as they rolled past it. Some sort of mine. Then more fields, some forest, more fields, a little village, more fields.
"I wonder how long this food really has to last," asked a woman who had lived on their street.
At that prompt, one of Adam's aunts voiced the fear that he guessed was in most people's minds. "I bet they're taking us to a labour camp in Russia."
Adam scanned out the window again for a clue to reassure her. "I can see the sunset up ahead in the direction we're going. That proves we're still going west." With that he pulled his harmonica out of his pocket and began to play. After a few minutes one voice, and then a few more, began singing the words to the old song.
Later, when people began spreading their coats and blankets on the floor, preparing for sleep, he stopped playing and tucked his harmonica away.
PART THREE
Germany
"Some changes look negative on the surface but you will soon realize that space is being created in your life for something new to emerge."
Eckhart Tolle
CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE
Summer 1946
As the early radio broadcasts had described, Germany had been divided into four zones, American, French, British, and Russian. Until the countries that had
defeated her judged Germany ready to function effectively again, they would each govern a zone and support the rebuilding process while ensuring no chance of a Nazi resurgence. Fortune smiled on Transport Three. They were assigned to the American Zone.
The journey in the cattle car took nine days, with frequent stops to let higher priority trains pass. Next was a week in a tent camp in Hockenheim, and then another short train ride to Laudenbach, where residents of the relatively undamaged town had been required to identify rooms they could spare to house the displaced Germans from Hungary.
Summer in Laudenbach was almost as hot as in Elek. It was late July and Adam had settled into a routine centred around finding enough food for the three of them and their relatives. The rooms assigned to him, George, and their mom were comfortable enough. Two army style cots in the back room of one house for the boys, and across the street and down a block, the summer kitchen of another house, with a bed squeezed in against the end wall, where their mom could sleep and cook for the three of them. The authorities had organized for accommodation for the deportees to be rent-free until they were working.
"Get up, George. Mom will be waiting for us," Adam said, sitting on the edge of his cot. He swung a foot forward and kicked at the canvas under George, making his little brother grunt.
"Don't," came George's sleepy voice.
"I'm going." Adam stood and walked out into the kitchen of the house where he and George slept.
The post-war coalition that had unilaterally decided to move all German descendants back to the motherland might have thought they belonged there, but the locals couldn't have disagreed more. Already struggling with the post-war conditions of their country, and now forced to share their homes and the meagre food supply, the people of Laudenbach were bitter. Of course, there were exceptions. Adam's life so far had been blessed with many exceptions and now he was blessed with one more.