Anca's Story--a novel of the Holocaust

by Mark Williams

  I echoed her sentiments, pulling my brother’s frail body to my own, hugging him, savouring him. My other hand stretched to meet Mama’s, but I could not bring myself to look into her eyes. Instead I turned again to my sibling.

  “Tomorrow, Nicolae, Mama and I are taking you on a special journey. On the train.”

  “The train?” Nicolae’s face broke into a smile. “Oh, Mama, can I sit closest to the window? Please, Mama? I will be good! Are we going to the seaside? Anca, where is it we are going?” His voice bubbled with the excitement that only small children, unburdened by life’s harsh reality, can extol. I found myself wishing I too was six years old again.

  “Hush, little one, hush,” I reproached him. “Our destination is a surprise for you and me both. Only Mama knows where we are bound. But you must rest now, or you will be too tired in the morning to enjoy yourself.”

  “We must all rest now, Anca. You too,” Mama urged. “Tomorrow will be a tiring day, of that I am quite certain.” I felt her grip on my hand strengthen before reluctantly letting go. She gestured to Nicolae. “Anca, would you? My back troubles me tonight.” She bent over Nicolae and kissed him gently.

  “Good night, Nicolae. God bless you.”

  “Good night, Mama. Please let us go to the seaside tomorrow.”

  I stood up, lifting Nicolae, stooping to kiss Mama. Our eyes met. “Good night, Mama. I love you.”

  She tried to reply but the words would not come. Myriad emotions swam in her eyes. Then, at last, “God bless, Anca.”

  I carried Nicolae through to our room and lay him prostrate on his bunk.

  “Do you think we will be going to the seaside, Anca?” he demanded, as I pulled his shoes from his feet.

  “I cannot say, Nicolae. Only that if you do not sleep soon then Mama may change her mind and we will go nowhere at all.”

  A startled expression crossed his face. “I am asleep, Anca. Look!” He held his eyes tightly shut, simulating slumber, fighting to restrain a smile.

  “Good night, little one.” I kissed his forehead before crossing to my own bed, slowly undressing, hesitantly slipping beneath the cover.

  Across the room Nicolae’s breathing eased as act became reality and sleep took its inevitable hold. I was not to be so fortunate, shifting restlessly through the evening, feigning sleep when Mama pushed open the door to check on us.

  Eventually I must have dozed, for I awoke some while later to the sound of crying. At first I thought it was Nicolae, but as my mind cleared itself of a cobweb of dreams I realised the sound came from Mama’s room.

  I quietly rose and crossed to the door to offer comfort, but seeing her at the table, gently sobbing before a tiny candle which desperately parried the encroaching night, I hesitated. She had a quill in her hand and was, I presumed, attending her diary, for I knew she kept one.

  I paused at the doorway a while, before returning to my bed unannounced. Sometimes it was best to be left alone, I knew. Mama believed us both to be in slumber and so it would remain. I slipped once again beneath my covers and cried myself gently to sleep.

  9.

  Morning crept quietly upon us, the dawn’s advancing light filtering through the window, inexorably consuming the night’s shadows as no candle could ever do. Across the room Nicolae still slept.

  Throwing back the covers I allowed my body to bask in the warm sunshine. Two days now of fair weather, I reminded myself. Perhaps the pattern of inclemency that had distinguished the past weeks had finally been broken. Many times recently I had awoken shivering in the cool March air, hurrying to dress. Yet today it were as if summer were upon us.

  For a few seconds I allowed memories of summers past to procreate in my mind, but they were banished by a clatter of activity from the parlour, bringing me back to the present. Mama would need help to prepare for our journey.

  Climbing from my bed I paused in the stream of dilute sunlight, stretching my body taut until the muscles in my back and legs surrendered to the strain and relaxed, leaving me limber and ready for whatever the day might bring. The splash of cold water from the basin in a still dark corner of the room provided the final incentive my body needed to cast off the dreariness residual from the night’s sleep.

  Today, able to return to the sun’s warmth to dry, the morning wash was a welcome start to the day. Through the long winter months ablutions had not been so pleasant, on many occasions it being necessary to break ice from the basin first. My body shivered at the memory.

  I turned to see Nicolae had awoken and lay quietly in his bed, watching me. His face bore the innocent smile of a carefree child.

  I donned a hessian smock and slipped my feet into a pair of calf-skin shoes, now badly in need of repair. They had been a present for my eleventh birthday. Then I had been the envy of my school-friends, and I smiled to think of how they clamoured to be allowed to try them on themselves.

  Such fond memories.

  But only memories.

  Now, already twelve, my feet had grown such that the calf-skin was stretched to its limit, discomfort a constant feature of their wear, but complaint was pointless, for they were all I had.

  “Is that Mama?” Nicolae asked.

  I became aware of my mother singing quietly to herself as she went about her business, and as I listened a smile parted my lips. It was a welcome note of cheer which, abetted by the warm sunshine that irradiated our room, lifted my heart.

  “Arise now, little one,” I beckoned. “Mama will need help to get ready. Today we are to embark upon a new adventure.”

  10.

  I found Mama carefully packing our belongings into a small wooden trunk.

  “Anca, good morning, dearest.” We embraced. “You slept well?”

  “Thank you, Mama, yes.” I had not, but saw no value in relating this fact.

  “And Nicolae?”

  I could answer more truthfully this time, so was more liberal with my response. “He slept very well, Mama. He has just awoken and is even now dressing in anticipation of our journey. He is so excited, Mama! Really, you should see his smile!”

  Mama’s face beamed.

  “And you, Mama? You have rested, I trust? You seem so cheerful this morning.” I did not relate I had seen her upset the previous night, but hoped she might allude to it, that I might ask further. But in this I was to be disappointed.

  “We have had time enough to dwell on the past, Anca. Now we must embrace the future. Thus am I engaged, as you see.”

  “Permit me to help you, Mama.”

  Mama forced a laugh, gesturing to the half-full case. “That is hardly necessary, my child.”

  A single glance assured me she was correct in her assertion, for almost everything we owned was now packed in readiness for our departure.

  “Besides,” I heard her continue, “I have a special task for you.”

  “Mama?”

  “I want you to take Nicolae and go for a walk this morning.”

  “A walk?” This was an unexpected request. I knew we had no money to spare, and the local vendors had long since ceased to provide us with credit.

  “Around the town, Anca. To say goodbye, to your friends. To the town in which you were born.” Mama’s smile faded and her voice became choked.

  She took my hand. “Perhaps to Papa’s grave, a final time? Anca, please understand, in all probability we will never return to Medgidia. At the very least, not before this evil war is over.”

  She gestured once more to the trunk. “All our worldly possessions will be with us in this one valise, Anca. But far more important are our memories, for nothing and no-one can take those from us. Please, Anca, do as I ask. Take Nicolae with you and savour your home town a final time.”

  I watched a tear roll down her cheek and knew protest was pointless.

  Of course I must pay a final visit to Papa’s grave. Yet I could not bring myself to seek out friends as Mama suggested, for they had, with one exception, all turned against me. But then I thought of Raisa, and kn
ew Mama was right. If even that friendship had soured recently, it was through events beyond control of either of us. It was wrong of me to hold Raisa responsible for her parents’ judgements.

  “You will join us, of course?” It was a rhetorical question, for it was inconceivable that Mama would not wish to visit Papa’s grave a final time herself. Her answer was therefore all the more surprising.

  “No, Anca, I must remain here.”

  “But Mama, why?”

  She hesitated briefly, as if unsure herself, then, “Our travel documents are to be delivered this morning.”

  My surprised expression demanded further explanation.

  “An officer came last night,” Mama said. “He will be calling this morning to bring them.”

  “Last night? But...” My voice trailed. I had no recollection of such a visitor. It was not possible anyone had attended and I not be aware of the fact.

  “After you had gone to bed, Anca. Very late.” Mama’s voice quavered and she fought to control it. “You were asleep, my child.”

  My eyes searched hers and she looked away. I could only conclude there had been no visitors. But why would Mama fabricate such a story?

  Confused, perhaps feeling betrayed, I let Mama continue with her fiction. All would be explained eventually, I was certain, and my mother would surely stand justified in her actions.

  11.

  At that moment Nicolae appeared in the doorway, his smiling face beaming at us. “Is it time to go on the train yet?”

  Mama seized upon the interruption, turning to embrace her son, and I let the matter pass. Soon afterwards, having said an emotional farewell to Papa at the cemetery, Nicolae and I were walking hand in hand around Medgidia. While my little brother babbled excitedly about the pending train journey I looked about me with keen eyes, trying to convert to memory the scenes that for all my life I had taken for granted.

  Suddenly the town had assumed a new appeal, for all the ravages of recent decline, and I felt disconsolate to be leaving. As we approached Raisa’s home I became more despondent still. Where once I had had so many friends, now only Raisa stood worthy of the name. I consoled myself with the thought that, if friendships were so easily broken, perhaps they had not been true friends at all.

  But Raisa was more than just a friend. She was my best friend, and I knew that meant I must risk the wrath of her parents to see her one final time.

  As we arrived outside her home the prospect was indeed daunting. Our companionship had been forbidden after Papa’s arrest and we had since met only infrequently, clandestinely, after school. Now I paused at her door, hand poised, not quite able to muster the confidence to knock.

  “Anca, come on! Knock on the door!” It was Nicolae, with child-like impatience, blissfully ignorant of my dilemma. He reached up, standing on tip-toe, and clasped the brass knocker in his tiny hand, rapping it against the plate. The deed was done.

  “Thank you, Nicolae. Thank you.”

  While my brother skipped about the path I stood in sombre silence, dreading the confrontation. How to explain to Raisa’s parents? That I would never see my best friend, their daughter, again. What did such childhood friendships mean to adults? They were as nothing.

  I prayed her mother would attend, thinking I could argue my case more easily with a woman than a man, but before I could decide upon a strategy the door opened and Raisa’s father, Maxim, stood before us.

  For a moment I stood in awed silence, unable to mouth my wishes. He stared back, clearly stunned by my temerity, that I would defy his authority so brazenly as to attend his doorstep in broad daylight after what had happened.

  “Anca?”

  “Please, I must see Raisa.”

  He stood across the doorway, his posture confirming his words. “I believe I asked you not to come here, child.”

  My eyes filled with tears and I reached out an imploring hand. “Please, just this once. We are leaving today. Forever. I must say goodbye to Raisa.”

  Obdurate to my lachrymose appeal, my friend’s father responded with a silent shake of his head and began to step back inside, his hand on the door to close it. “Go, Anca. You are no longer welcome here.”

  “No! Please, no!” Tears flooded my cheeks as reality dawned, that I would never see Raisa again. “I have to say goodbye. Raisa is my best friend... My only friend.”

  My words must have had some impact, for Maxim hesitated, then stepped forward and looked up and down the street. He turned to me again, and pushed the door open. “She is in the back room. Go quickly, and bid your farewell, child. Then be gone.”

  12.

  I needed no further encouragement.

  I knew my way about the house from many visits in halcyon days past and hurried through, aware Nicolae was being beckoned into the house behind me, to avoid drawing unwanted attention by remaining at the door.

  If Raisa’s home had fared better than our own, still there were signs that recent events had taken their toll. Much furniture had gone, presumably sold to make ends meet, and I knew that, if times had been hard for everyone, it was especially difficult for Raisa’s family.

  They were Russian immigrants. Refugees from our giant neighbour during the upheavals there. It was strange now to think that it was Papa that had made them welcome in Medgidia when first they arrived, without a home or work, barely able to speak our language. Thus it was that I had first met Raisa. We had been friends now for so many years I could hardly remember a time when we did not know one another.

  I pushed the door open and saw Raisa at the table, sewing. She looked up in surprise as she saw me, then leapt to greet me, at once delighted and confused, for it had been an indeterminable time since I had been allowed to visit her. Her father had forbidden any contact between us after Papa’s execution, yet now here I was in her own home once more.

  “Anca! Anca! What are you doing here? If Papa finds you he will—”

  Raisa’s father appeared in the doorway. “It is okay, Raisa. I invited Anca in. I am given to understand she will be leaving today. This will be the last time you will see her. That is correct, Anca?”

  I nodded, almost as confused as Raisa by her father’s sudden change of heart. “We are to be at the station at noon.”

  “The station? But Anca, where? Who else is going? What will become of you?” Raisa choked out the questions as if fearing her father would rescind his decision before she could complete her enquiries.

  As she spoke she moved across to me and we embraced as the friends we had always been. She began to cry, and I knew I could not long control my own emotions.

  “Nicolae, come through with me, child,” I heard her father say. “Let us give these girls some privacy.”

  I watched over Raisa’s shoulder as her father led Nicolae away, pulling the door closed. For a moment we leaned against one another, savouring the physical contact, then I clasped Raisa’s shoulders and pushed her to arms length, studying her face.

  She implored me, “Anca, tell me it is not true. You are really leaving?”

  “It is so, Raisa. Mama, Nicolae and I... It is for the best.”

  “But where? Where are you bound?”

  I shook my head. “I forget the name. It is a resettlement camp of some sort. We will be given a place to live, to work, until the war is over. Far from here, I know that much, for we are to travel by train. And then...”

  I looked deep into her eyes as words failed me. “And then, I do not know. But it cannot be worse than staying here in Medgidia. There is nothing left here for us, Raisa, please understand that. You are the only friend I have left, and I am forbidden to see even you.”

  “But Papa let you in this day, Anca. Perhaps he has had a change of heart?” Her eyes shone with hope.

  “To avoid a scene at the door, Raisa, nothing more. That and to allow his daughter a final farewell to her friend.”

  Raisa embraced me again, saying, “No, Anca, not final. We will meet again, sometime in the future, when the war is
over. I promise you we will. One day it will end, and people will live together peacefully once more. It must end, Anca, for otherwise what point is there to life? Wherever you go, whatever happens, promise you will remember me. Remember the good times we enjoyed together.”

  I clutched her to my breast and we cried together, as only best friends can.

  I recall once Papa asking me what it was that distinguished a friend from a best friend. I answered that, in the company of a best friend, there was no need to act. One could be true to oneself and not fear to lose that friendship.

  I knew now, as we held each other close, that Raisa was and would always be my one best friend.

  As we cried together, without embarrassment or shame, I savoured her presence, as she mine. And as the tears expired we began to talk, one to the other in desultory fashion, speaking meaningless phrases, asking questions that had no answers, relating stories that had no point, enjoying the very act of communication as only children our age could.

  13.

  At length the door pushed ajar and Raisa’s father made his presence known with a discreet knock. We had by now exhausted our emotional distress and were smiling and laughing once more.

  “Anca, I must ask that you leave us now.” He added, “Please.”

  “I understand.” I turned to Raisa once more and we embraced a final time, hugging each other tightly.

  “Remember me always, Anca,” she said. She retrieved a chain and amulet from around her neck and placed it over my head. I had never known her remove it before. “Promise me you will wear this always, Anca, so that you will always have me near your heart.”

  “But Raisa, I cannot...”

  “You must, Anca. You can return it to me when next we see each other. Isn’t that right, Papa?”

  I turned to her father, seeking permission to accept this gift of friendship. He nodded his reluctant assent.

  “I will treasure it always.”

  “I will immediately demand to see it when next we meet, Anca, no matter how many years may pass between.”