“It will never leave my person. I promise, Raisa.”
“You will write?”
“If at all possible.”
“Goodbye then, Anca. Dearest friend.”
“Farewell, Raisa.”
We exchanged a final embrace and I followed Raisa’s father from the room. I turned in the doorway to offer a final wave as he drew the door to behind me. Raisa wiped away a tear as she waved back. The door closed and I knew we would never see one another again.
“Anca.” Raisa’s father, Maxim, paused at the main door. “I want you to know how sorry I am, that it should end this way.”
I looked up at him. Lugubrious features returned my gaze.
“It was not my wish to separate you two,” Maxim said quietly. “I treasure my daughter, and value her friends. You, Anca, more than any other, for you must know how close your father and I were, before...”
He took my hand. “You are much too young to understand, Anca, but please believe me when I tell you that my actions were for the best. To allow your friendship with Raisa to continue after what happened to your father would have been foolhardy, benefiting neither party.”
I looked into his eyes, trying to understand, wanting to believe his actions were well-intentioned, but unable to make sense of his reasons.
“Before we moved to your country we suffered persecution in our own homeland, Anca. We have seen it happen before. Please understand that I terminated your friendship with my daughter to protect her, not to grieve her.”
I knew not how to respond, so I just listened.
“You are a wonderful child, Anca, and deserve so much better than the cruel hand fate has dealt you. But we cannot change things. Only sit quietly to one side and hope the worst will pass us by.” He clasped my hand tightly, staring earnestly into my eyes.
“That was the mistake your father made, Anca. He was a brave man, but bravery means nothing to these barbarians. Your father was a hero. You can be proud of him.”
He had my full attention now.
“But he paid the price. It was a salutary lesson to us all, Anca. One day you will understand, that I have acted only in Raisa’s best interests. To put her safety before her childhood friendship. Please forgive me, Anca, as I hope Raisa will do one day. Now go. Good luck with whatever the future may bring. Wherever you may go, be assured Raisa will remember you.” His long fingers took the amulet around my neck and tucked it gently inside my coat. He forced a smile. “Be sure to return this when next you see her.”
If it was a difficult speech for me to take in, how much harder for this man to make it. I saw tears well in his dark eyes and knew every word was heartfelt. He was frightened. Frightened for his family, for his wife Catherine, and for his only daughter.
Just an hour earlier I had been filled with hatred for this man, who had dared come between me and my friend. Now I felt only sympathy.
As I clutched his hand I stretched up and kissed him on the cheek. “I am trying to understand, Maxim. I am trying so hard. Please, let no harm come to Raisa. My heart will always be with her.” I turned and, taking Nicolae by the arm, walked into the street without a backward glance.
The journey home was slow and sombre. Nicolae was by now tiring, entreating me to carry him, but I was in no mood for such activity, my thoughts elsewhere. As we arrived at our own home I stopped outside, ushering Nicolae through.
“You go on ahead, Nicolae. I will join you shortly.”
Nicolae looked up at me. “Why are you crying, Anca?”
I struggled to maintain my composure. “I have a speck of dust in my eye, little one, that is all. Now go on in and see if Mama needs any help to pack. It must be nearly time for the train.”
At this reminder Nicolae sped off into the house, leaving me alone with my thoughts and once more the tears flowed.
14.
We arrived at the station in good time for our departure. The fine weather had succumbed to cloud as the morning progressed and by noon the sky hung menacingly low, a tapestry of hysterical grays that forebode storms to come. Already the wind was beginning to strengthen, callously swirling dust before us and I found myself longing for rain to dampen the ground once more. In this, at least, I was not to be disappointed.
On arrival Mama took receipt of the travel documents from the Station Master’s office. I briefly considered challenging her earlier story, that they were to have been delivered to our home that morning, but decided against it. From recent experience I knew such queries would only cause friction between us.
I glanced at the papers as they exchanged hands, but they were written in German and meant nothing to me. The Station Master made clear we must first take the train to Bucharest, our once proud capital.
I lay our trunk on the ground beside the rail track to form a seat for Mama, but she preferred to stand, so I sat down with Nicolae to try and occupy him. This one valise contained all our worldly belongings beyond the clothes we wore. All that we possessed of our past, to see us into the unknown future. It was a sobering thought, for I remembered how we had taken three such trunks on our holiday to Constanta for what had only been a few days away from home.
But these melancholy deliberations were quickly dismissed as Nicolae’s excited cries brought my mind back into focus. Keen eyes and ears, undimmed by events that had dulled the senses of his elders, had identified a flume of steam in the distance and, even above the developing storm, the unmistakable sound of an approaching locomotive.
“Do not allow yourself to become too excited, Nicolae,” I cautioned him gently. “It may not be the train we are waiting for.”
“But it is, Anca. I know it is.” My brother was determined in his supposition. His voice bubbled excitedly, “Look! Can you see it! Mama, I can see the smoke!”
“Steam, Nicolae, steam,” I corrected him, almost without thinking. It was an unimportant point, but Papa always said that lax use of language was the sign of an indolent mind. As with so many things Papa had told me, his words somehow assumed new significance once he was gone.
By now, to my brother’s delight, the locomotive was upon us, screeching wheels and hissing steam deafening as the engine passed us by, trailed by a snake of grime-ridden carriages until, at last, the cumbersome procession shuddered to a noisy, grinding halt. Little Nicolae was utterly enthralled by the sight, his eyes wide, his mouth open, desperately trying to count the carriages that passed us.
As the steam dissipated the carriages suddenly burst into activity, doors opening and slamming shut, people mounting or disembarking according to their need. I felt Mama tugging my arm, urging me to follow her.
Grabbing our trunk and pushing Nicolae before me, I hurried to match Mama’s steps as she made her way to the most distant part of the train and opened the door for us to board. I heaved our case onto the step, lifting Nicolae on behind it, urging him to quickly find a seat.
The only other passengers this far back were a family of Jews, instantly identified as such by the yellow star they were obliged to wear sewn to their clothes. They huddled together in the far end of the carriage from us, studying our embarkation with suspicious eyes.
Mama appeared not to notice them, or if she did she gave no indication, and directed us to the opposite end of the carriage where she elected to sit with her back to her fellow travellers. Nicolae and I sat opposite her, by chance affording ourselves a clear view of the huddled family, although out of politeness I tried to appear disinterested.
15.
Barely had we settled into our seats than a loud whistle shrilled and the train lurched forward, the locomotive’s wheels screaming, desperate for traction against the wet rails. Then suddenly we were moving, the carriage adopting a gentle sway as we gathered speed.
At first the steam from the engine threatened to engulf us, but as our momentum increased the steam was whipped away by the wind and through the rain-spattered windows we were able to slowly watch Medgidia disappear from sight, forever.
I felt afraid.
Alone and afraid.
I leaned over and took Mama’s hand, the action serving to distract her from deeper considerations. Her eyes focused on me and she smiled. Her fingers clutched mine.
As if reading my thoughts, she said, “A new beginning, Anca. A fresh start. It will not be easy, my precious, but if we stick together, and have faith in the Almighty, everything will be for the best, you will see.”
I relaxed, warmed by these sentiments, as sanguine as any I had heard expressed in recent months. Of course we could not know the future, but we had every reason to be hopeful. It would, after all, be difficult to find ourselves in circumstances more dire than those we had just left behind.
I sat quietly, watching the changing scenery through the window.
“Nicolae, don’t stare so. Have I brought you up so badly?” It was Mama, cautioning my little brother for his curiosity. Fascinated by the garb and style of our fellow passengers, Nicolae had been watching them intently, making occasional eye-contact with a child, a girl of perhaps eight or nine, that formed the youngest member of their party.
Nicolae shuffled uncomfortably in his seat at Mama’s admonishment and stared sullenly out of the window.
My attention too had been directed at the family, although for different reasons. Through chance rather than design, our family had never occasioned acquaintance with the few Jews in Medgidia, and for me it was an opportunity to try and see what it was about these people that invited the ridicule and abuse they seemed so readily to attract.
But such an analysis seemed doomed to failure, for beyond their attire, and in particular the telling brassard they were obliged to wear on their sleeves, they seemed quite unremarkable.
Nicolae had quickly become bored with the view from the window and his attention was turning to our fellow passengers once more. I could fathom no harm in this and elected to conspire with him in his innocent ambition, seeking to draw Mama’s attention with casual confabulation.
I remarked variously on the view, or the train’s motion, but my efforts were to ill-effect, for her mood just then was not one to enter into talk for the sake of it. Eventually, I was obliged to pursue a more substantive conversation, partly to occupy her, partly through boredom.
“Mama, where is it again you said we were bound?”
“Bucharest, Anca. Surely you have not forgotten already?”
“No, I mean after Bucharest. The strange sounding name you mentioned.”
“Really, Anca, why this sudden interest? Does it matter where? It could be in the very heart of the Transylvanian mountains for all I care, just so long as we can make a fresh start and begin to live normal lives again.” She clutched my hands with gentle fingers. “I honestly cannot remember just now, Anca.”
I shrugged. “I am curious, that is all. Is it not on the travel documents you were given?”
My persistence paid off, for with an impatient sigh Mama reluctantly rummaged through her purse and produced the relevant papers, passing them across. She smiled triumphantly at me, her point made. “You see, Anca, they are as meaningless to you as to me, unless you have suddenly acquired fluency in German.”
“I can read German, a little.”
It was a man’s voice, from the end of the carriage. I looked up to see the bearded Jew hesitantly addressing us.
“Forgive my intrusion, but the carriage is small and I could not help but overhear. If... If you will permit me, perhaps I can translate the document for you.”
I saw Mama freeze at his words, not daring to turn and confront him.
I whispered, “It is okay, Mama. Trust me. Please.”
She declined to answer, but rather looked away, a sudden keen interest in the scenery. But she did not take back the papers, and I took this to be assent. I got up and hesitantly made my way along the carriage to where the family of Jews sat, holding out the documents before me like a peace offering.
The man smiled as I reached him, taking the papers in one hand and gesturing with the other for me to sit down. I did so hesitantly, my eyes dancing from the man and his family to the door adjoining the next carriage, fearful that we might be interrupted.
“Do not worry, my friend. I understand your concern, but we will have ample notice should a guard venture this way, rest assured. Now, let me see what you have here.”
His eyes scanned the documents briefly, then he put the papers down on his knee and smiled again. “My name if Chaim,” he announced. “This is my wife, Golda, and our daughter, Elone.” He glanced at the document again. “And you must be Anca, accompanying your mother and brother. Do not fear,” he added, seeing my look of surprise. “Your names are listed on the document, that is all. And as to your question – your destination is the same as ours. We are all bound for Krakow.”
“Poland?” Mama’s reticence was forgotten at this announcement. She looked anxiously across the carriage. “You are mistaken, surely?”
16.
Chaim referred to the document again, to reassure himself. “No, it is clearly stated. You are to be met at Krakow and taken from there to the resettlement camp, just as we are.”
“As you are? But you are Jews.” Mama could not hide her incredulous tone.
Chaim took no offence at my mother’s observation. “My understanding is that it is a temporary measure, providing us with employment and a means of supporting our families, until the war is over. I am given to believe people are being brought to such camps from across Europe. Jew and Gentile alike. At any rate, we are to be travel companions for the duration of this journey. Will you then not sit with us?”
“Come, Mama, there is plenty of room here.” I gestured to my mother to join us, but she declined the offer. Nicolae, however, had no such reservations, and ran across to take a seat next to the young girl, and in an instant they were playing as if life-long friends. The man’s wife, Golda, entreated Mama further, and reluctantly my mother joined us.
Thus befriended, the journey became a far more pleasant experience, despite the many hours that passed. Whenever we stopped for fuel or water, or pulled into a station, our families instantly separated, without notice or resort to explanation, fearful that a third party might enter the carriage, but we quickly re-joined as one as the journey continued and a bond of unlikely camaraderie was formed.
The family were better prepared than we, for they had brought refreshments with them, and these they shared with us without hesitation, although only little Nicolae, unburdened by the politics of manners, felt able to partake whole-heartedly given that we were unable to reciprocate their kind gesture.
As day turned to night and the train thundered through the still countryside our two families slowly became more open with one another until, at length, we were all, even Mama, relaxed in one another’s company.
17.
The Jewish family, it transpired, were themselves from Constanta, and they delighted in my retelling of my holiday there to convalesce after my malady some years previous. Even Mama became enthused as our discussions continued.
The execution of Papa received a genuinely sympathetic hearing for perhaps the first time, Golda clasping Mama to her, sharing her tears, and I could tell Mama felt better for this. In turn we heard of how the Jewish family, their relatives and friends had suffered persecution by first the Iron Guard, then the Nazis.
Until now I had thought the execution of my father to be the single most unpleasant event I might conceivably experience, but the stories Chaim related to us served to remind me that Papa’s death was no isolated incident. That across the world what were once civilised countries were fast degenerating into barbarism.
“I pray to God that I am wrong,” Chaim finished, taking my hand in his, his grip gentle and reassuring, his eyes apologetic to the heavens above. “But I fear we have offended Him, for He does not answer our prayers. Perhaps our resettlement will be a new beginning for us all. I dearly hope so.”
He turned to me. “But Anca, my child, ta
ke nothing on trust. We are Jews, I know, and our way is not yours, but listen to my words carefully and heed them always.”
His grip tightened, as if to add weight to what he was about to say.
“Whatever you see when we get to Bucharest, child, divert your eyes. Do not let your emotions dictate to you, no matter how much it hurts to look away. Do as you are told, when you are told, without question. Nothing more, nothing less. Promise me you will keep your little brother constantly at your side, and your hand clasped always to your mother’s arm.”
I looked into his eyes and saw tears forming. I had never seen a man cry before this day, yet first Maxim and now Chaim did so before me. Tears flooded my own eyes in empathy.
“Perhaps, my child... Just perhaps... We will see each other again when this war is over, and we can be friends openly, as the two children are already.” He gestured to Nicolae and Elone, sleeping peacefully against one another.
Then he released his grip, glancing out of the window. “But for now, we are shortly to arrive in Bucharest. Hereon we must act once again as if we are total strangers. Goodbye, my friends. And God bless.”
Before I could gather my thoughts to construct a reply the lights of Bucharest station were illuminating our carriage, parting salutations were being hurriedly exchanged and I felt Mama anxiously dragging sleepy Nicolae and myself away as the train ground to a shuddering halt. Nicolae objected loudly, his friendship with the girl abruptly and inexplicably terminated, but Mama’s harsh words of admonishment ensured he stayed at our side, while Elone was likewise directed by her own parents, though not without noisy protest.
We sat quietly, awaiting instructions from the guard.
18.
The station at Bucharest was a far more substantial affair than that of Medgidia, with an impressive architecture of balustrade, column and canopy that appeared somehow to keep the worst of the weather at bay whilst still efficiently dissipating the steam and smoke from the myriad locomotives that had converged beneath its vast ceiling. Even so the smell of creosote and engine oil combined to assail my olfactory senses in almost overpowering fashion.
Anca's Story--a novel of the Holocaust Page 4