Ancient Furies
Page 23
“No, I don’t think I loved her. We were both so very young, unable really to understand love, both completely alone, surrounded by tragedy and disaster. But I am certain that I love her now, more than anything. She is so terribly independent, and yet at times she acts like a completely helpless little girl. She has a big heart, a very generous heart. It’s such a shame that you and she have never grown close.”
Father leaned over, kissed my forehead, and left the room as I remained to ponder what he had said.
September 1944: Anne Frank and her family were transported to the concentration camp at Auschwitz.
The frenzied pace of packing and destroying papers at headquarters continued, and at the beginning of October, with the booming artillery sounding as though it were at the gates of Belgrade, Father came into the living room at Roach Manor and again said that he had something important to tell me.
“Asya, you remember our talk a week or so ago? The time to leave is here. I have spoken to the Colonel you’ve been working for at headquarters, and he has agreed to take you as far as Vienna. When you go to work tomorrow, you will have to stay there. The Colonel and his staff will leave tomorrow night or early the next morning. Do you remember the address of Countess von Holzen?”
“Yes, Papa,” I replied, repeating the address for him.
“Good. Then tonight you’ll have to pack a few things to take with you. When you go to work tomorrow, they will not allow you to leave the offices.”
“But, Papa, what about you and Mama? Aren’t you coming, too?”
“No, it’s a military train, and they won’t let us go with them. Mama and I will come to the office to say good-bye before you leave. We will be driving to Vienna. I’ve found some old trucks that we have been fixing up. Some other couples from Russkii Dom have been helping and are going with us, and we will meet you in Vienna. Now, tell me again the Countess’s address.”
I repeated it. Satisfied, he left and I started putting things into a pillowcase. I packed the camera that the German boy had given me a few weeks earlier. As I packed—a dress, a small jacket, and a change of underwear—I started to cry, my emotions ranging from terrible sadness at leaving Mama and Papa to a curious mix of excitement and fright at the prospect of being “on my own” at fifteen years old, even for the day or two I thought it would take to reach Vienna.
The following morning, I left for headquarters carrying my pillowcase. The periodic boom of artillery sounded closer, but less frequent that morning. At the office I found the barrels still burning—papers still being brought out to feed the flames.
“Good morning, Miss Popova. Don’t forget that you cannot leave today.”
“Yes, Colonel. Father told me.”
There was really nothing to do that day. I carried a few more papers out to be burned, amazed at the ashes that stood in piles where the barrels had been emptied. As they loaded the last boxes, the room cleared and the Colonel called me to his office, where I found another officer.
“Miss Popova, this is Lieutenant von Staate. Lieutenant, Miss Popova. You have seen her in the office. She has worked for the past few weeks as my translator. I have given her parents my word that we would see her safely to Vienna. You are to stay with her on the train and do your best to see that she arrives safely.”
“Of course, Colonel,” the lieutenant replied as he turned to bow slightly and extend his hand. I had seen him in the office, but had never had occasion to speak with him. He excused himself and left the office as the Colonel turned to me.
“Lieutenant von Staate is a very nice young man. Try to stay close to him during the trip. He will know what to do in case of any trouble.”
“Thank you, Colonel.”
I left the office and looked out of a hallway window. People scurried in both directions out on the streets. Someone came and found me in the hallway and told me that there were people to see me in the front courtyard.
Mother and Father stood at the iron fence, at the gate, but were not allowed to enter, and I ran to the gate.
“Here, Asya,” Father said as I reached the gate. “These are a few things I think you forgot. Put them in your pillowcase.”
“Thank you, Papa,” I said as I took the small package through the fence.
“Now, tell me the Countess’s address again.”
I repeated the address, and as he nodded, I turned to Mother, surprised again to see tears welling in her eyes. “Mama, don’t cry. In only a few days we’ll be in Vienna,” I said as we embraced as well as we could through the iron bars.
“I know, Asinka,” she replied as she removed two rings and the gold watch she was wearing and a brooch I had always admired, and handed them to me.
“Don’t wear these. Pack them, maybe tie them around your neck. They can be traded for food if you are delayed.”
“Yes, Mama,” I replied, tears now rolling down both our cheeks.
The air raid alarm sounded again, and a bomb exploded. Not close, but we could not tell if planes might be heading toward us.
“You should get back inside the building, Asya. Mother and I should try to get to a shelter. We’ll see you in Vienna in a few days.”
“Yes, Papa,” I said and began to run to the building entry. When I turned to wave a final good-bye, they were already gone.
An air raid alarm went off as I reentered the building, but no one moved toward the basement shelter. I went back to the hallway window to see a few people out on the street still hurrying toward shelter, and then I returned to the office, now almost empty as darkness fell outside.
I sat at a desk. One soldier remained at another of the desks completing something, and the Colonel was still busy in his office. I suddenly felt very hungry and went to knock at the Colonel’s door to ask if I could get something to eat. The Colonel looked up from his desk and smiled, as he answered, “No, I’m afraid our kitchen was closed right after lunch, and all the cooks have been dismissed and sent home. But you could run across the street and get something there.”
“I don’t have any money.”
“Oh, I can help with that. Your papa left a little money with me just for things like that.” He smiled and handed me some money.
“But I thought you told me I couldn’t leave?”
“Yes, but I meant not to go far—like home or someplace. But this is just across the street, and you’ll still have time to get something. In fact, now that we’re talking about it, I’m a bit hungry myself. I’ll go with you,” he said, as he reached for his cap.
We walked across the street to a tiny restaurant that catered mainly to German troops because of their location. I had not been inside a restaurant since the first bombing of Belgrade, what seemed a lifetime ago. So much had changed. As we entered, the proprietor stared at me with a poisonous look, mumbling in Serbian that I should be ashamed and that my “hours were numbered.” I was devastated. My appetite immediately disappeared, and I ordered just a cup of tea.
“What’s the matter? I thought you were hungry,” said the Colonel.
“Not really, I guess.”
“What did this man say to you?” he asked, gesturing toward the proprietor. “It seems you suddenly lost your appetite after his mumbling.”
“He just said that he hoped we would be able to finish eating before the air raid alarms sounded, and I guess the thought of sitting in the basement again spoiled my appetite.”
The proprietor was watching carefully, and as we left he extended his hand to say that he was sorry, that he was wrong. Evidently he understood German. As we left the restaurant, the Colonel looked at me, puzzled. “Do you know this man?”
“No.”
“Well, he seemed very friendly just now, shaking your hand.”
“No,” I answered, “he just said that he hoped his cooking wasn’t the reason I didn’t eat, and that the next time he would have something good on the menu.”
“I’m afraid there won’t be a next time. We will be leaving very soon now.”
“Time to go, Miss Popova. Hurry now.”
FIFTEEN
Farewell, My Belgrade
The streets through which we were racing were all dark. It must have been about midnight. The ruins looked even more menacing with small fires burning throughout the city. The boom and flash of artillery in the distance made the scene even more frightening.
I could hear the crack of rifle fire. I guessed it was Serbs, firing wildly at the Germans finally retreating from Belgrade. I could not recognize the streets we were driving through. The only familiar sight was my last look at the silhouette of Kalamegdon. The old fortress looked majestic lit by the flash of explosions, either bombs or artillery.
Since the beginning of Rat Week on September 1, Soviet forces and Yugoslav Partisans had pushed toward Belgrade. They passed Mt. Avala and were within ten miles of Belgrade by October 1. The artillery and rifle fire I heard as we were rushing to Zemun may have heralded the arrival of their advance units entering the city.
“Colonel, where are we going?”
“We are going through Hungary, and if we’re lucky we shall reach Vienna in just a few days. There is a military train waiting for us. At least it should be waiting. We will board here in Belgrade, and the train will stop on the other side of the river to load equipment and troops.”
The night air was chilly, and a cold drizzle was falling when the truck stopped beside a train. The Colonel jumped out, hurried me along to the waiting train, and helped me up to reach the step. I followed him into a passenger car occupied by only a few soldiers. The train lurched forward immediately, clearly waiting only for the Colonel to board. It took just a few minutes to reach the next stop, Zemun.
“All right, Miss Popova,” the Colonel said as the train began pulling to a stop. “We will be here for some time loading men and equipment, and there should be hot coffee on the platform. If we get separated, we should meet at the coffee station. Take your things with you because we may be on a different car when we get back on.”
“Yes, Colonel. Thank you.”
The Colonel helped me down from the step, into the same cold drizzle that had been falling when we boarded. The whole area was a mass of confusion. A table under the eaves of the tiny station house held a large open kettle filled with steaming hot coffee, a dipper hooked at the side of the kettle. I walked toward the table with the Colonel, confused and a bit frightened, and poured a dipper of coffee into one of the mugs, holding it with both hands, grateful for the warmth it offered. The faces around me were all soldiers, looking haggard and bewildered, as though they were no more sure of what was ahead than I.
Trucks, tanks, and field guns were strung along the other side of the tracks waiting to be loaded onto flatcars. Freight cars stood empty beyond the flatcars, the whole, chaotic scene lit by floodlights. I thought I could hear the occasional distant boom of artillery, but none of the soldiers around me showed any concern or indication of hearing it.
Civilians held back by armed soldiers stood beyond the equipment, their meager belongings flung across their backs or lying on the ground at their feet. Stuffed burlap sacks, baskets, pillowcases, small suitcases tied with a bit of rope, even a small wagon could be seen. A seething group of people, women with small, screaming children, old people looking exhausted and frightened, waited in the rain for a chance to rush for a place on the train.
Brisk military commands could be heard over all the noise, accompanied by the click of German heels saluting. No one in the military seemed at all concerned with the milling mass of refugees waiting to board. As the last of the military personnel began to board, I heard my name.
“Miss Popova,” the Colonel called loudly, motioning me to rush and follow him.
I ran to follow him, and he helped me to jump into the train. I stumbled as he brushed past me and turned to grab a handrail by the door. When I turned back, the entrance to the car was blocked by other soldiers, and the Colonel had disappeared.
The train lurched suddenly backward and then began to slowly move forward. The lower half of the door was closed and locked into place, and I stood at the open upper half looking along the platform, now crowded with civilians rushing to find a place. None were allowed on the passenger cars. They ran toward the rear of the train trying to jump into one of the open freight cars as it moved along, gathering speed.
The platform was covered with sacks and packages, discarded as people jumped into the open freight cars, others running after the open doors with their arms outstretched in a last attempt to jump on. Perhaps the freight cars were included as part of the train to accommodate desperate civilians, but German efficiency, or disregard for the plight of civilians, would not let the train wait for them to board. The train just kept gathering speed, as the platform and those left behind became smaller and smaller.
I stood by the open upper half of the door, holding my pillowcase in one hand and the handrail with the other, with terrible chills going through me. I didn’t know which way the Colonel had gone, and I was afraid to move through the group of soldiers between me and the door to the car. The night was cold, clearing, and moonlit, and unidentifiable shapes rushed past. I stood there, shivering, when the train whistle blew sharply and startled me. Somebody grabbed my arm, and I looked up to see Lieutenant von Staate.
“It’s better to be stuffed in here. At least you get to stay alive,” he said, closing the upper door. “Don’t you know how dangerous it is to stand by the open door?”
“I was holding on.”
“It’s not a matter of holding on. The train is being shot at.”
I didn’t answer; my thoughts were back in Belgrade, wondering about Mother and Father and whether they had left for Vienna, whether I would ever again see my beloved Belgrade. I stood leaning against the closed door now, beginning to warm up a little and thankful that the Lieutenant had closed it.
“Where are we?” I heard someone ask.
“We’re heading north toward the Hungarian border,” another voice answered.
“Come with me, Miss Popova,” the Lieutenant said, taking my arm lightly. “The Colonel has a seat in this car.”
I looked around as I followed him through the aisle. The car was filled to capacity with a mix of soldiers and officers, some playing cards, some writing letters, others just staring out the window as the train rushed through the night. I felt so strange, so uneasy and out of place as the only girl among all these military men. As we made our way along the aisle, I saw the Colonel ahead of us, leaning over to look out of the partially opened window.
“Come on, Miss Popova, there’s plenty of room,” he said when he saw us.
I sat next to him and smiled up at the Lieutenant.
“I’m sure there is room for the three of us,” I said, moving closer to the Colonel.
“Are your parents already in Vienna?” the Lieutenant asked as he sat down.
“No, they are still in Belgrade.”
“When we get to Vienna, do you have a place to go?”
“Yes, we have some friends in Vienna, and I’m to meet my parents at their home.”
“Well, you are very young to be taking such a trip alone, especially with all these men.”
“I’m not afraid,” I answered, looking closely at him for the first time. He was not any older than Kolya, I thought, about twenty, very handsome with dark hair and dark blue eyes. He looked up, saw me looking at him, and smiled, and I looked away quickly, feeling my face start to blush. By this time in the war, I was undernourished, skinny, with lifeless hair, and I was embarrassed at the Lieutenant’s attention. The Colonel’s head had fallen forward, and he began to snore lightly.
“Is he a friend of the family?” he asked, nodding toward the Colonel.
“No, I was working in the
office as his translator, and Papa asked him to take me across the border. He thought it would be the safest way to get out of the country.”
“Oh, are you German?”
“No, we are Russians.”
“I was almost sent to Russia, but, luckily I guess, I got caught in the confusion on the way. I came from Salonika to get my final orders in Belgrade when all this started. That was only a week ago.”
“You are very lucky. A good friend of mine was killed in Russia.”
“Oh, do you have German friends?”
“No, he was a Russian volunteer.” I did not want to think about Kolya and what had happened to him. The Lieutenant’s accent sounded Austrian, and I quickly asked, “Where are you from?”
“I’m from Graz.”
“Oh, then you are not German. You’re Austrian.”
The Lieutenant shifted in his seat and cleared his throat.
“Well, I was born in Austria, but we are all German now.”
“Well, I think that’s silly,” I said, not understanding what was behind his apparent unease. “If you are Austrian, then you’re Austrian. Just because Austria was absorbed by Germany doesn’t mean you’re suddenly German. It would be like me saying that I am German because we are now occupied by Germany.”
The Lieutenant looked very uncomfortable and shifted his feet. “We became German by choice. There’s a big difference.”
Exhausted, I had drifted off to sleep when the train suddenly slowed to a stop. The Colonel, awakened by the halt of the train, raised his head.