Survival

by M. Ben Yanay

  20. Terry—Getting Acquainted With Janos

  When Terry turned eighteen, she was allowed to join her father as he toured the trade fairs, attempting to sell the wicker baskets he had made so skillfully. They harnessed the old oxen to their cart and took to the dirt roads leading to the adjacent towns. There were times when they went as far as beyond the forest and had to stay and sleep in the cart, which they covered with a sheet of cloth and parked for the night in an alley. She spent the entire evening laboring alongside her father, in the dim light of the oil lamp, cutting off any pointy bits and sewing the handles to the basket with a piece of rope. She would sometimes adorn them with chicken feathers, creating a small pattern of a flower in the front.

  She loved those journeys. They used to begin at daybreak. She relished the morning breeze, the sky of promise lighting up into a new day. She was excited to meet the people in each market, haggle with them and engage in conversation. This was all so different from her daily routine back home, her chores, sitting endlessly in the workshop, doing laundry by the stream, her endless work starting at daybreak and never ending.

  Her excitement increased when she sensed the young men gazing at her, openly watching her from head to toe. Some were even bold enough to gesture their intentions. Her strict father stood and kept watch, often berating her angrily to stop smiling, as this had called that undue attention to herself.

  “But Father, they are interested in the wicker baskets, not me,” she would try to appease him.

  After a while, she had come to learn that the most interesting goings-on used to take place at the gypsy camp. They had come to the trade fair with donkey-led buggies and horse-drawn wagons, settling in for long periods at a time. She was very curious about them. After asking her father’s permission to roam the fair, her feet carried her to their lively camp.

  The gypsies she met were dark skinned. The youngsters played the drum and danced in the spacious grounds in front of their tents. The elders set up the stalls and displayed their wares, furs, jugs of wine, glass necklaces, medicinal herbs and embroidered cloth. Their small children ran around in rags, their noses running. The old gypsy ladies sat in front of their tents. They invited her to sit with them and promised to tell her future for her.

  One time, she was tempted, so she gave the old lady a few pennies. Upon asked, she stretched out her hand, trembling with excitement. The old woman took her hand and inspected it briefly. She then closed her eyes and began to speak. The words flowed from her like a river. Terry listened to the barrage and barely kept up. The old lady opened her eyes after a long while and smiled. “He’s here, your man. You just have to find him.”

  Terry lifted her head up. “What man? There are so many guys here…” She laughed, abashed, thanked her, and returned to her father.

  “You know, the fortune teller told me my man was here at the fair. But she didn’t tell me who he was.”

  “You ought to avoid such silly things,” he scolded her. “Those foolish old women can cast a spell on you. It can be quite dangerous.”

  “I do not believe them. It’s only a game.”

  “But it can be a dangerous game,” he reiterated his warning.

  “Fine, Father. I do not wish to upset you. I won’t go there anymore. But I do need to take my photograph for my identification card. They told me at New Korush city hall to bring them a photograph. Over at the gypsies’ compound, I saw a tent with a sign that said there was a photographer there. When can I have some money for that?”

  “Next week,” he promised. “But no monkey business!”

  On their way back home, she recalled the attractive young man who bought a wicker basket earlier that afternoon. She was sure she had seen him before, in the previous trade fair, as well as on the one before that. This fellow had already bought three wicker baskets. She was sure this was the very same person. He always smiled at her, never haggled, and his hand seemed to linger over hers when he gave her his copper coins.

  “Wait. I wish to tell you something,” her father said right before they got off their farm cart. “Do you remember Marietta’s son? The young man who drowned last winter?”

  “Yes, Father, I remember.”

  “They say the old gypsy women cursed him to death after he got into a fight with someone and injured him.”

  *

  That week went by so quickly. Terry told all her friends she was going to get her picture taken at the coming fair. All the girls went idly by into the forest together to pick raspberries. Wild geese flew away in the sky above. Old men sat by the river with their fishing rods, women hung wet sheets, and children played in the trees. She wrapped a piece of cloth round her hands and began picking the fruit, watchful for any thorns. She filled her basket quickly, took the protective cloth off her hands and sat by one of the trees. He friends joined her. They had all turned eighteen already, and some already had been issued their own ID cards. She was charmed when she had seen their photographs back home. It’s so beautiful, she marveled. I’m going to have one too soon, with my own profile.

  “You need to smile when they take your picture,” Rosa said to her.

  But Anna thought differently. “No, that’s not a good idea. You have to be natural. Don’t smile intentionally.”

  “Well, I think I’ll look at the photographer. If he’s old, I shan’t smile. But if he’s young, I believe I won’t be able to resist smiling.”

  The next day, Terry got up very early. The sky was bright, and pink light shone all around. She loaded the piles of wicker baskets she had made over the week onto the wagon. Then, she entered the house and had a glass of milk. Her father was already seated at the table.

  “Father, do you remember you promised me I could I have my picture taken today?”

  He nodded.

  They wrapped themselves in a blanket and got on the loaded wagon. They left the yard, crossed the bridge over to New Korush and continued along the railroad until they reached the neighboring village. They exchanged pleasantries with the official at the train station, crossed the tracks, and entered the woodlands on the outskirts of the town where the fair was held. Terry’s legs jumped up and down in the air. She was hoping to sell plenty of baskets and meet that handsome young man. Maybe he’ll buy another basket today as well. Her heart leaped as she thought of her upcoming visit to the tent where she would get her picture taken. She wanted to cherish the experience and recount it to everyone.

  The regular peddlers met on the way to town. Mules, oxen and donkeys towed their carts dutifully. The wheels made their usual sound on the road. All the yards seemed to be busy. “We’re just about there,” her father announced, patting the oxen gently with his whip. He removed his scarf. “You may go this afternoon, once we get rid of the baskets.”

  *

  The bright sun that day was good for sales. Her father collected the copper coins they received and waved the pouch he filled with them. He liked their clinking sound. “I’ll buy a small lamb,” he said with a twinkle of joy. “We’ll keep it in the pen and it’ll produce milk.”

  “That’s great, Father!” Terry was excited. She looked at the cart, which was nearly empty. Only three more baskets to go. “Our usual buyer didn’t make it today,” she said in disappointment. “I’m going to get my picture taken now.”

  She went over to the gypsies’ compound and passed by their stalls on her way. She then saw the tent with the sign, “Photographer.” Hesitant, she went over to the tent with the black cover.

  “Excuse me, may I enter?” she asked, lifting the cover slightly.

  “By all means, please do,” a man’s voice replied, obliging.

  She lifted the black tent cover over her head and entered.

  A young man stood behind a wooden box standing on three legs. She looked at him quite surprised, barely believing her eyes. It was the frequent buyer, who always smiled at her so brightly.

  “So it’s you? You’re the photographer?”

  “Yes, miss, I’m
Janos St. Claire, and I am the photographer. And who might you be?”

  “Oh, I’m Terry,” she replied, embarrassed, and turned all red.

  “I was going to buy another basket from you, but I had customers all day until now.”

  “Yes, I waited for you. I mean, I thought you might need another one.”

  He burst out laughing and approached her. “I hardly need another. I’ve already got five of them. Here they all are, empty and ashamed. I bought them all from you. I made quite an effort to gain your attention, but I don’t know whether you even noticed me.”

  She looked down at the ground. “My father is expecting me. I’ve only come to get my picture taken, you know, for my ID card. Could you…” She took a deep breath. “Yes, I did notice you. I thought you… I had no idea you were the photographer.”

  “I’m an international photographer,” Janos said proudly. “I learned photography in Paris. I’ll take your picture for free. That’s because I like you.”

  21. The Russians Are Coming

  The camp was eerily quiet. Night crept by, advancing like a poisonous snake. It ruled over the barbed wire, the watchtowers and the sheds. It terrified the pitiful dwellers. The moon shone in the middle of the night sky as though it had already reached a safe haven. It stuck by its faint light and would not budge an inch toward the horizon. Even when the first rays of sunlight finally burst, it was still there, observing the world as it awoke to a new day.

  Sandor was awakened by strange sounds from outside. He got out of the shed quietly and rubbed his eyes. The dew dripping from the roof reflected the fleeting moments in colorful rays of light. Much to his astonishment, he saw right before his very own eyes three soldiers, marching and chatting loudly. They were walking toward the water trough.

  He stepped toward them quickly and fearlessly. “Who are you?”

  The soldiers had uniforms on, under their green woolen coats. Their berets had a red sign on them. They were carrying long rifles.

  Surprised to see him, they asked in Russian, “What are you doing here, boy?”

  Sandor tried to understand what they were saying but could not. He hurried back into the shed and then shouted, “There are soldiers out here! I think they’re the good guys.”

  Terry woke up immediately. “What’s going on? Why are you shouting?” She then instantly added, “What soldiers?” The last remnants of sleep were now gone. “Where did you go, what did you see?”

  “I’m here. I didn’t go anywhere. Get up. Come and see,” he called her. “They are walking by the big shed. I’ve seen them.”

  The camp gates were open. Their usual wake up time, accompanied by the shouts of the capo on duty, was long gone. They heard the sound of nearby engines. The three soldiers, who had arrived in camp as an advance force, now went over to the gate. They waved at the inmates, who were coming out of their sheds shuffling about dazed, calling them.

  Terry took Andre into her arms. “It’s the Russians,” she whispered. “Just like I promised you, they have come to liberate us.”

  “It’s all over, the war is over,” she heard people mumble behind her.

  The inmates could not be more joyful. Those who were able to stand on their feet looked on, while those who could not sat on the muddy ground and stared. Terry walked into the shed and woke the twins. “Get up; the Russians have come.”

  Soldiers jumped off the truck that had just pulled in. They looked at the inmates in a mixture of curiosity and pity, as though they were circus animals in some roving tent.

  “Food. Food,” people called. “Do you have any food for us?”

  No one could actually communicate with the Russians. They only understood a few words here and there, but it turned out they had no food. The soldiers went over in pairs to the sheds’ locked doors. No one had prepared them for the harsh sights or to the stench. They were obviously taken aback by what they saw, quite literally unable to fathom what was before them. After the first few moments of sheer disgust, they waved their arms in midair, gesturing their helplessness. They were indeed very sorry. One soldier, an officer with numerous medals, climbed into the truck and shouted a few sentences. The other soldiers reiterated his words enthusiastically.

  “Svoboda! Svoboda!” [Russian: Freedom!]

  The inmates looked at the officer and the soldiers as he ended his speech. “Yest Woprosi?” [Any questions?] He then added, “Schastlivogo puti!” [Bon Voyage] and pointed at the open gate.

  “He’s saying we are free to go,” Terry guessed. “He’s liberating us.” She quickly went over to the shed and gathered their stuff into the little suitcase. She cut a band out of her woolen blanket and wrapped it around her shoe like a ribbon. She folded the three blankets carefully and shoved them in the suitcase.

  “Tibi and Shulman,” she called the twins who were standing outside with Sandor and Andre, “Come on, we’re going, and you two are coming along with us. Where’s your bag? Get a move on; we’re leaving any moment now!” She could not hear herself clearly. Her breathing quickened, and she swallowed her words.

  “But where shall we go?” The twins asked as one.

  “I don’t know that yet,” she replied quickly. “But it’s very important we go. Don’t worry, I’ll watch over you.”

  She had a bad feeling. She never second-guessed her intuitions. Her concern the camp might be bombed was part of what war entailed. She heard about it from Janos. She did not wish to take that chance and pay the price for such a mistake. We’re all going to die in the long run anyway, she resolved in her heart, but now, having survived this ordeal, I must do everything I can to save myself and my children.

  Terry began walking over to the gate. She lifted her head and looked on. This small woman, who kept her figure even after three pregnancies and births, was now even smaller, a mere slip of a girl, after years of wartime starvation and hard labor. She walked in front, Andre and Sandor holding hands right behind her, Tibor and Shulman walking after them.

  She did not look back, so she did not see the flock of people following her like a shepherd. She knew her destination but did not know what road to take. She did not mind wandering off as long as her feet could carry her and as long as her children were able to walk with her. When they approached the railroad, she paused to consider her next move.

  “Terry, Terry!” she heard a familiar voice. It was Elinka, her friend from the night before. She tried to catch up to her, her two daughters walking right next to her.

  “Oh, Terry!” Elinka gasped. “These are the tracks we followed on foot. If we walk on, we will reach Vienna and see the bombed cars on the way.”

  The other inmates who followed them slowly gathered there, and they all went over as one to the abandoned depot. Five train cars stood in silence on the rail. The inmates rallied before them, broke the locks and stormed in.

  *

  The first car consisted of luxury items, from oil paintings through bronze and marble statues to jewelry boxes made of ivory. They also found Rosenthal-made porcelain dining sets, crystal vases, and velvet. The second car had musical instruments and books. The third comprised heaps of uniforms, digging tools and wheelbarrows. The fourth car was bursting with clothes, and the fifth had crates of jam, tinned cans of margarine, sausages and crackers. The inmates went from one car to the next. Luckily for Terry, Elinka and her daughters stood next to the doors of the third car, so they were able to unload a metal wheelbarrow. She and her daughters struggled to hold on to it. Terry was standing by the clothes car, grabbing stuff without checking what it was. Sandor and the twins quickly leaped toward the fifth train car, shoving their hands here and there, pulling out cans. The commotion lasted a long while. People trampled each other, kids got into fistfights. There was shouting and howling everywhere. The last two cars were emptied very quickly, whereas no one touched the first three.

  Terry and Elinka found each other. The boys arrived. Klari went to fetch Andre, who was standing on the tracks, all by himself, crying. The
y loaded their loot and their suitcase onto the wheelbarrow. Terry tied three shirts together and made a wide band. She tied both ends to the barrow’s handles and tied herself to it. Elinka put Andre on the top suitcase and patted him on the head. Terry steadied herself and carried the wheelbarrow. Elinka marched briskly next to her. The boys and girls hurried to catch up with them along the tracks.

  Terry was feeling a sharp pain in her shoulders after four hours of walking. She slowed down, so everyone followed suit. “Let’s enter that village,” she said, pointing to a group of houses beyond the tracks. “We’ll sit there and eat. After all, we’ve got food.” She smiled, very tired, and walked on.

  The Russians had already taken the small Austrian village. They were roaming the yards, having parked their trucks in the surrounding fields.

  Terry and the rest of her group entered one of the yards and went over to the barn, where they were greeted by two happy goats tied to a long rope. The goats kicked the straw about, bleating loudly with joy. The boys hopped on the hay. Terry sighed and unburdened herself.

  “How shall we open the cans?” Klari asked her.