The Upside of Hunger

by Roxi Harms

  "Good morning, Mrs. Pope."

  "Good morning Adam. And I already told you, call me Anna. We're practically living like family. Here's a bit of bacon you can take over to your mom. It's not much, but she'll make good use of it."

  "Thank you, Mrs. . . Anna." Adam's mouth watered as he took the little chunk of bacon from her and thought again how lucky they were. He'd heard the snide remarks as he walked past people in the streets. Hungarian Gypsies the locals were calling them. "You think we like it any better than you?" he wanted to yell in their faces.

  A half-hour later, Adam ignored the hollow feeling in his stomach as he and George headed out to check the shops. The half slice of bread with a little drizzle of bacon fat had just made him hungry. The shop shelves were almost always bare. Hopefully today he'd find something to buy with the ration cards tucked in his pocket. He had to. The bread had been the last thing in the house to eat.

  The low-grade desperation that was constant in the back of Adam's mind didn't let up as he led George from shop to shop. Everyone was counting on him to find food. It wasn't the only thing they relied on him for. None of the relatives could read or write enough to complete the various paperwork needed to keep the ration cards coming. They didn't have enough furniture to sit on. No one knew what to do with themselves from day to day in this new place where they weren't wanted. These thoughts churned through Adam's mind as they walked out of one empty shop after another.

  When the last door closed behind them, all they had to show for the morning was a few puny turnips. They needed to look elsewhere. A little way out of town they found a garden they hadn't visited before. As George stood guard, Adam ducked in between the potato plants and pulled one up. He only had time to stuff five potatoes into his pockets before George's whistle prompted him to duck back under the fence and run down the street in the other direction before circling back to meet his brother. They stopped to leave a potato and a turnip with their grandma and grandpa, then headed for their mom's room.

  "Oh, thank goodness you're here. A man dropped this off today," his mom said, thrusting a letter at Adam. She'd already opened it and pulled it out of the envelope for him. "Does it say anything about Resi or your dad?"

  Adam scanned the letter.

  "No. It's about me and George. There's a job for me at a brush factory on the east side of Laudenbach, starting Monday. And the name of a school where George is to start attending next month."

  "I want a job too," said George. "I already told you I'm not going to school here."

  Adam and his mom looked at George and said nothing. He'd only finished grade six before the schools in Elek had shut. He was 13 now. The local German kids wouldn't be kind to a refugee kid who was behind and spoke the Eleker dialect. But still, he belonged in school.

  "They'll make you go, George. The American soldiers will come and get you if you don't go," Adam threatened.

  "I said no! I hate you, Adam, I hate you! You're not the boss. I wish you had never come back from the war! You're not my dad, and you can't boss me!" Running out the door, George slammed it behind him and took off.

  Adam sat down on the bed. No need to chase him. The only place he'd go alone was back to their room.

  "Poor George," said his mom. She carried the potatoes to the little sink and began washing them. "And a job for you. That's good, Adam. You'll be able to earn some of that new money the Americans are making."

  The Allied Occupation Marks that Adam earned weren't particularly useful, with nothing in the shops to buy. Summer trudged by, day after hungry day. Adam yearned not only for food, but for some sort of news of his sister. In between, he ached for relief from the boredom of being a 17-year-old in a place where he knew no one and no one knew him.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR

  That autumn, Adam struck up a friendship with a neighbour, Martin Edam. Martin had a garden and small vineyard just outside of town, and soon Adam was helping him out after work and on weekends. Martin showed his appreciation in the most valuable currency, food, bringing them bags of damaged noodles from the noodle factory where he worked, and sharing a few vegetables. Basic food items like milk and eggs were still nowhere to be found, and what they had was rarely enough to satisfy the bellies around their own table and the tables of the relatives. But still, it helped, and by the time Adam's father reached Laudenbach in late October, the constant gnaw of hunger had lessened somewhat.

  "Some stranger living in our family house! And a German woman if you can believe it! Says she's the new owner of the house, and who was I? Hungarian husband killed in the fighting, so she decides she's a communist, and gets a free house. My house!" Adam's dad stopped and pulled a rolling paper out of the pack on the table where he sat with one of Adam's uncles, and filled it with tobacco from the little bag.

  His dad had arrived unannounced the night before. It had been a joyful reunion until he'd asked where Theresa was. They still had no idea whether she was alive or where she might be.

  Adam sat at the table, with his dad and uncle, working on the forms to register his dad and apply for his ration cards. He'd lost track of how many times he'd heard about the new owner of their house in Elek and how his dad had managed to locate them in Laudenbach. And worst of all, he was missing choir practice. When Martin had first invited him to join the choir, he'd been hesitant, but once he'd seen all the pretty girls in the group, Adam had quickly forgotten that he'd sworn off church.

  "Our father was born in that house, just like we were. And little Anni was born there." Adam's dad spoke a little more softly when he mentioned Anni, rolling the cigarette between his fingers before licking it. "And, goddammit, Adam's kids should be born in that house." He sat back, stuck the freshly rolled smoke in his mouth and struck a match. Touching the end of the cigarette with the match, he inhaled deeply before he continued. "I walked all the goddammed way to Gyula after I heard that woman's story. Figured if she got to stay because she had a Hungarian husband, maybe Florian was still there too."

  Uncle Florian had helped Adam's dad find out where they'd been assigned to live and bought him a train ticket.

  Interrupted by a tap on the door, everyone stopped and waited to see who it was. An aunt appeared when the door opened.

  "George! Oh, thank the Lord, it's true! Maria came over and told us you were here. How did you find us?"

  Adam sighed and looked back down at the papers.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE

  "Hello, Adam," his landlady said, as he came in from work a few days later. She looked up from the pot she was stirring to smile warmly at him.

  His dad was sitting at the kitchen table with the landlord, having a smoke.

  "We've met your father. You must be so relieved to have him with you finally. And what a terrible story, the way they've given your house away," she said, shaking her head. "Your mom brought some noodles over today. It's so good of her to share. She was telling me how grateful that fellow has been for your help with his grape vines."

  "Well, I'm glad to hear that, son," his dad interrupted, and then spoke to the landlords. "I taught Adam how to look after grape vines in Elek when he was a young boy. I looked after the grape vines for every farmer in town. They all wanted me. And I showed Adam how to prune the vines to get the best crop. Adam's a smart learner." His dad smiled at the room.

  "Yes, you have a smart son, Mr. Baumann," the landlady responded. "We are enjoying having him and George here. Adam plays a bit of music for us once in a while too. It's a pretty gloomy world these days. Between the sharing and the music, it cheers us up a bit."

  "We're happy we can help you, Anna," said Adam. "You've been so good to us. Not everybody in Laudenbach was welcoming, but you were kind from the start. . . ," Adam's voice trailed off as he noticed his dad scowling at him.

  "A pleasure to meet you both," his dad said, standing abruptly. "I'm grateful to you for giving my sons a bed. I'm sure they are grateful as well, and I want you to know that we raised them to be respectful." He walked o
ut the front door and pulled it shut hard behind him.

  Adam looked at his landlords in the silence that followed. "I guess I should wash up and get over there."

  A few minutes later, Adam pushed open the door of his mom's room and stepped in.

  SLAP! His dad's open hand connected hard with the side of Adam's face. Adam felt his anger rise as he put his hand to his reddening cheek.

  "What was that for?" he said.

  His dad yelled into Adam's face, "You know what it's for! Who the hell do you think you are? A smartass kid is what you are. Is that how we raised you? I'm ashamed of you."

  "What the hell are you talking about?" Adam asked, his throat tight.

  His mom walked softly over to the door and shut it so that his dad's yelling wouldn't be so easily heard in the street. George cowered on the bed.

  "The generous woman who is allowing you and your brother to sleep in her back room is your senior and she's a respectable woman. What the hell are you doing using her first name? She's Mrs. Pope to you, and you will show her respect! A good licking will beat some respect into you!"

  "She asked me to call her by her first name long ago." Adam's voice was controlled. "She insisted. I wasn't being disrespectful."

  "No son of mine is going to talk to his seniors that way." His dad turned to pull the leather razor strap down from where his mom had hung it beside the stove when she'd first moved into the room.

  Adam stood perfectly still, his fists clenched at his sides and his eyes trained on his dad. He spoke in a low voice, emphasizing each word. "Dad, I was doing as I was asked. A licking will not be necessary."

  His dad stopped and slowly lowered his arm, leaving the strap hanging on the nail. Turning, he met Adam's gaze. Neither moved. A few moments later, he strode around Adam and out the door. The windows along the front of the summer kitchen shook with the force of his slam.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX

  The attempted spanking was never mentioned again. To the casual observer, the relationship between Adam and his dad seemed back to normal. But something had shifted. The fierce control his dad had always tried to exercise over him was gone. The continuous demands to do this or that, listen, pay attention, and come straight home so that his dad would always know where he was no longer dominated their interactions.

  While his dad worked hard digging ditches and unloading trucks all day, and raged about the injustices of the situation in the evenings, Adam's social life was taking off. He'd struck up easy friendships with the kids in the choir, and once he'd found the nerve to ask girls out, he was rarely at a loss for pretty female company at the dances and parties they all frequented on weekends. The absence of Theresa and any word of her was a dark cloud in Adam's world, but when he wasn't thinking about that, he was happier than he'd been since before the war.

  "A man from city hall brought it this morning," said his mom, handing Adam an envelope when he arrived for supper one night in February. "Can you read it please?" His dad was sitting at the table smoking quietly, an apprehensive look on his face.

  Adam took the envelope and shut the door behind him. His heart sped up. A Red Cross logo. Good news or bad? Tearing it open, he pulled out the single sheet of paper inside, unfolded it and began to read quickly.

  "She's alive. . . ," he continued to scan, ". . . and she's fine!"

  His mom clapped her hands over her mouth. "Oh, thank God," she said, tears welling up in her eyes.

  "What else does it say?" said his dad, bumping the table as he jumped up, scattering his tobacco.

  "Where is she?" said his mom.

  "Is she released?" his dad said at the same time.

  "Hang on, hang on, let me read it properly," said Adam, studying the paper as he walked to the table and sat down.

  "Resi's alive and she's fine," his mom repeated, looking into his dad's face as he wrapped his arms around her, his own tears of joy wet on his cheeks.

  "Is that letter from Russia?" George said from where he sat on their parents' bed, his back against the wall.

  Adam read quietly for a few moments, digesting what the letter said as melting snow puddled around his boots.

  "At the labour camp in Russia she became ill. They transported her to a place called Bittstadt, just outside of Arnstadt in the eastern part of Germany, in the Russian zone. She's living with a family, working on their farm." Adam lowered the paper to his lap and grinned as tears slipped down his cheeks.

  "I've got to go tell Grandma and Grandpa," said his mom a few minutes later, laughing as she wiped at her eyes with the heel of her hand. Untying her apron, she hung it over a chair and threw on her coat. "I won't be long," she said over her shoulder as she left.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN

  February 1947

  Pedalling along on the rickety old bicycle he'd bought for almost nothing from a boy in the choir, Adam pulled up in front of the farmhouse where Petra lived. She was waiting on the front porch.

  He'd met Petra at a dance. She was a pretty girl, but oddly no one had been asking her to dance. When she got up to use the washroom, he understood. She had a limp. One short leg, like Metzla back in Elek. When she'd returned from the bathroom, he'd swooped in and asked for a dance, then another, and another. They'd become good friends since that night.

  "Did you find out anything about when the labour camp victims will be able to come home?" Adam asked. Petra worked at city hall, in charge of ration cards.

  "I talked to the manager of that department," Petra responded as she climbed onto the cross bar in front of Adam. "He said the negotiations with Russia are taking a long time. He's not sure when it will be. Maybe another year. But he said not to worry, they will be bringing them home and reuniting them with their families."

  With Petra balanced on the crossbar, steadied by Adam's arms on either side of her, they pedalled into Hemsbach, a little village near Laudenbach that had re-opened its theatre. The old bicycle clattered along the bumpy road and then over the slush-covered cobblestones until they came to a stop in front of the movie theatre. Once they'd settled into their seats, Petra opened the bag she was carrying. Biting into the sandwich she'd handed him in the dark, he let out an appreciative mmmmmmmm. Ham on schinkenbrot, same as last week. He chewed slowly, savouring the delicious bread and the smoky taste of the ham, thinking about what Petra had found out.

  After supper that night, Adam pushed back his plate and looked at his mom and dad. They weren't going to like this.

  "I'm going to get Resi."

  Everyone stared at him, uncomprehending.

  His dad broke the silence. "What the hell are you talking about?"

  "I'm going to get Resi and bring her home."

  His mom was studying his face, her eyes narrowed. "You can't go to the Russian zone. It's not permitted."

  "I'll sneak in and get her and bring her home. I've thought about it and I'm going. We don't know how they are treating her and we can't leave her there. I'm not waiting another year, not knowing."

  "You want to go back to jail?" his dad asked, a hint of anger in his voice.

  "No, I don't. And I won't. I won't get caught."

  His mom tried logic. "Adam, it's the Russian zone. If they catch you, they'll see your tattoo. Like at Komarom. You will be sent to prison."

  "Or shot," his dad added, taking a hard pull from the cigarette he'd just lit.

  His mom got up and began clearing the table. His dad smoked in silence. George got up and moved from the table to sit on the bed.

  When she'd wiped and put away the last of the dishes, his mom came and stood in front of him. "Adam, please. They shoot anyone who tries to cross the border. Do you want Resi to get shot after all she's been through? I can't lose you both."

  Adam didn't respond.

  The topic wasn't raised again that night.

  The next afternoon, Adam stopped by his grandma and grandpa's rooms to drop off a half loaf of bread and an onion. He'd been trying to find a second chair for their room, to replace the
wooden crate his grandpa sat on, but no luck so far.

  "Not to worry," his grandma had said, giving him a hug. "You're such a good boy, Adam, bringing us food every day." He'd keep looking for a chair.

  Back at his mom and dad's room, Adam went to the sink to wash up. His dad and George were already there. The kitchen was quiet as his mom divided up the last of the cabbage soup.

  "I'm sorry, there's not much tonight," she said, placing a bowl in front of each of them. Adam looked down at his supper. A little bowl of soup.

  "I think the bakery by the station might have some bread tomorrow, Mom. And Martin hasn't brought any noodles in a while. Maybe he'll have some soon," he said, smiling up at her.

  As she sat down with them, conversation turned back to Adam's plans.

  "I think it would be better to wait until the people are all released from the Russian zone officially. The letter said she's fine," said his mom.

  "Mom," he looked at her gently. "I've decided."

  "You're not allowed to go, Adam! Mom and Dad said ‘no'," said George, his confusion and annoyance evident.

  They continued eating in silence.

  "I'll leave on Friday," Adam said as they finished eating.

  "Adam, can't you hear? Your mother and I said you're not going. That tattoo under your arm makes you a target for the Russians. I'm not going to have my goddammed son walking straight into their stinking red hands. It's ridiculous!"

  Adam looked at his dad and took a deep breath. "Listen to me carefully everyone. I . . . am . . . going."

  Standing up, his dad pushed his empty bowl away, knocking it over. As it rolled across the table, he sat down heavily on the bed and lit

  a cigarette.

  His mom cleared up and did the dishes in silence. When she returned to the table and sat down, her cheeks were wet. She looked at his dad.