by M. Ben Yanay
“I’ll ask the soldiers,” Eva answered instead.
They left the barn as Terry stretched her arms and lay on the hay. Elinka opened her suitcase and produced a tin cup. An experienced farmer, she grabbed one of the goats’ udders and milked it. She filled the cup halfway and let Andre drink. “Here, yingele.” [Yiddish: small boy]
Sandor’s and Terry’s eyes met. She nodded. He produced a tin cup of their own from their suitcase, and Elinka milked the goat once more.
The girls returned with a red-faced Russian soldier, who was all smiles. He opened the canned jam and margarine for them and accepted their invitation to have some milk. His gestures and speech suggested they could stay in the village and sleep there. He left them, allowing them to continue nibbling on the crackers dipped in milk and jam.
*
The women and children spent the night in another village, after marching quite a bit. Two Russian soldiers, who had volunteered to help them, started groping the girls. At first, they were clumsy about it, but then they turned violent. Elinka and Terry tried to get them off Elinka’s daughters, but having failed to dissuade them with words, Terry grabbed a pitchfork and waved it over their heads. Her threats managed to scare them off. Elinka then said, “You’re a real heroine.”
In the morning, it turned out the entire village had been abandoned. They walked into one of the houses and found packed bread and vegetables on the table. Terry gathered a cabbage and a few carrots. She left the turnip and beat there. Along with Elinka, she went over to the closet and began to sort out the clothes they found there. Terry felt the fabric, laid a thin blouse over her face and looked through. “Look at me! I’m a spider watching through the cobwebs.” She sent the boys to bathe in the yard, where they happily filled a large pail with water and jumped right into the cold water. Upon hearing Andre’s cries, Terry rushed out and wrapped him in a woolen blanket. She rolled him within the blanket on the soft grass and then dressed him up in clothes much bigger than his size, tying his pants on with a rope around his waist.
She laid the clothes she found suitable for the boys right before them. Shivering, they put them on quickly and ran outside to keep warm in the sun. She looked at them with excitement. The four boys, who threw off their ragged camp clothes, suddenly seemed like new children she had never met.
Eva and Klari emptied the trough and poured fresh water back into it. The four women entered the water carefully. Terry’s teeth rattled, so she was the first to finish washing herself and come out of the water.
After months without a shower—aside from hurriedly washing her face now and then and the occasional rub down with a moist rag over her body—Terry’s bright skin now shined. Nevertheless, her fingernails remained black. Ashamed, she clenched her fist in an involuntary gesture. She wrapped herself in a sheet and made her way back into the house in order to get dressed. She gazed at her reflection in a small wall mirror and attempted to smile. Large steel eyes burned bright deep from within her lean face. Her wet hair, which had been cut short back at the ghetto, now reached down to her shoulders. The girls and Elinka entered the house and looked at her compassionately. They dressed slowly, relishing each moment. Their prisoners’ clothes remained on the floor.
Terry handed them a hairbrush. “I already did my hair,” she said. “All the veins in my head are awake. In fact, it even may have woken the lice up…” She laughed. “I’ll deal with all this…” She pointed at her hands and fingernails. “…when I get home.”
Elinka and her daughters had very short hair, cropped like men’s hair. They were shaven before being sent along in work details. Elinka had sad lines around her mouth, and her fallen cheeks had networks of wrinkles. Terry heard nothing from Elinka about her husband, the father of her daughters. She preferred not to ask, knowing she was preventing Elinka from asking her about her own husband. Each of them kept her own personal story to herself.
*
Bathed and dressed, the three older boys wrapped themselves in borrowed coats. Terry had Andre wrapped in a thick woolen blanket which covered him from head to knees. She cut two large holes for him to put his arms through. She made such cape for Eva and Klari as well. She and Elinka wore men’s woolen coats, which they found on the kitchen chairs. Her able hands came through yet again. Using a kitchen knife, she quickly cut through the coats to shorten them and used each woolen ribbon as a waistband.
The two women loaded the wheelbarrow, and Terry tied herself to its band. They hurried the boys, who played in the yard, and they all set out in the direction of the railroad.
Though the first road sign they saw was riddled with bullets, they could still make out the W and N. Those were the two remaining letters from the word WIEN, Vienna, where they were now headed.
*
They kept walking and stopped to rest every now and then by the side of the tracks. When evening set in, they sought shelter in a nearby village. All the houses appeared to be deserted. The yards filled with Russian soldiers. They stayed clear of them and squatted in one of the houses, where they slept on beds complete with covers and pillows.
The road took them three or four days. The nights proved a source of rest, comfort and solace. One night, after the boys fell asleep and the girls were whispering among themselves, Elinka asked Terry, “Where did you find so much strength?”
Terry did not know what to answer her. She was unaware of her own powers. “And you, how did you come by yours?” she asked her friend.
“I,” Elinka replied, “have been working hard my entire life. I grew up in the country. As a villager, ever since I can remember myself, I tended to the vegetable garden and livestock. My mother was sickly, and my father was a peddler. He used to return home only in the evening, and I took care of my two younger brothers. They went to school. I only got to attend two classes, because I had to drop out when my mother got sick. I thought that if I got married my life would be better. My man liked drinking and gambling, and all in all, was a bum. He’s the reason we had to move to Debrecen.
“Things were no better in the city either, so I had to work. I was a cook at a tavern and did the cleaning for a few families. I was on my feet the entire day, serving other people. My feet got swollen during each pregnancy, but I kept working. The girls were born one year apart from each other. I learned my lesson and kept my legs closed. When my husband began hitting me, it turned out he had serious debts. I wanted to run away, but then a miracle happened. One day, he simply never came back. I have never seen him since. I continued to work hard all those years until we were told to move to the ghetto. I worked there as well and sent the girls away to my parents’ village. My mother had died the year before, and my father was never home, so they became my sisters in-laws’ maid. One of them was a Christian. It seems the fascists arrived in their village because the girls were sent back to me after a few weeks. I saw that they had suffered there. They had scars across their backs.” She wiped her eyes. “Poor girls, if only I knew, I would have kept them with me. But how about you, Terry, don’t you want to tell me about yourself?”
Terry lowered her eyes. “We had similar lives. I too grew up in the country and worked hard. But I did go to school. I attended six years of school and went to summer camps. After my father taught me how to make wicker baskets, I worked with him in our shed. He used to sell them in the market fairs, and I joined him. On one of those, I met a photographer, a Jewish fellow. I met him at a fair when I went to get my photograph taken. He’s a kind man, very skillful, with very able hands. Everything he made with his hands turned out exquisite. He knew how to read and write in many languages. He courted me in each trade fair, week after week, until I noticed. But then, my father objected to our meeting. I really loved him, and he loved me, so we decided to get married although I was a Christian. My father was very displeased, and so I was forced to disobey him.
“I joined Janos, and we went on trade fairs. We hooked up with this gypsy family, so we had a tent of our own. We slept there at ni
ght, and by day, he took photographs. It was a good business. I knew how to sew, and sold embroidered ribbons. When we discovered I was pregnant, we decided to part from the gypsies and relocate to Debrecen. I began working for a Jewish widow. I got to know the local Jewish community and wanted to convert to Judaism. At first, I ironed clothes. Then, I began to sew and make alterations. When Sandor was born, he was already wearing baby clothes I had made myself. Janos kept working as a photographer at both Debrecen and Budapest. He always had orders.”
Terry sighed. “We had a good life.”
“When did you convert?”
“Before Sandor was born. I studied with the local community’s rabbi, and he converted me. Janos and I then had a proper Jewish wedding.”
“And where did your husband acquire all those languages he spoke? What languages does he speak?”
“Only he knows. He was a soldier in the French Foreign Legion, that’s where he picked up French. He was in Africa, in a country called Algeria. He was then sent to another country, Syria. That’s where he learned Arabic. I think he has a knack for languages. That’s because right after his release from the French Army, he went to Paris, their capital city, where he met people from all over the world. He shot movies and traveled with them to England, where he learned English as well as a little German. He used to speak to me in all sorts of languages, make me laugh using difficult words I didn’t understand.”
“You were so lucky,” said Elinka. “I wish you would find him soon.”
“Yes, I hope so.”
Terry began to sob. She was overcome with tears. Elinka didn’t understand what the matter was. “You’ll find him dear. Don’t worry.”
“But…” cried Terry.
Elinka rose and put her arms around Terry. “There, there, Sister. What’s wrong?”
“My son,” Terry said in a broken voice. “My son, Arno. He was murdered. I’m going back home with only two kids. How will I explain to him what had happened to Arno? How will I face him? He trusted me.”
Elinka was crying, too. The two women embraced. Terry was overcome with waves of pain; she was shaking all over.
“I lost Arno. He’ll never forgive me for this.”
22. Bob—From “Sentinels” to Sky Guards
The stars shined like precious stones through the branches as they swayed in the light breeze. Janos stretched on the tarp, holding his arms under his head as he lay there. He looked up and muttered, “Under the wide and starry sky / Dig the grave...”
Ina opened her eyes. “What did you just say?”
“I remembered a verse from a poem. Never mind. Go back to sleep.”
She sat up. “I’m awake. Repeat what you just recited.”
“Do you know it?”
“Know what?”
“It’s a line from a poem by Robert Louis Stephenson, a Scottish writer and poet.”
“I know who he was. He wrote Treasure Island.”
“Have you read Treasure Island? I didn’t realize it was translated into Russian. I’m quite surprised,” Janos said.
“I read it, too,” Bob said. “So many adventures! I remember I was sure it was all true—the buried treasure, the pirates. What a wonderful story.”
“I remember now,” Ina said. “The boy who found the map, his name was Jim Hawkins.
“Stephenson’s grave bears a line from his own poem. It’s an epithet,” said Janos. “The words haunt me, unrelentingly. ‘Under the wide and starry sky / Dig the grave and let me lie. This be the verse you grave for me; “Here he lies where he longed to be, Home is the sailor, home from the sea And the hunter home from the hill.’ He had tuberculosis. He died very young, and they buried him in Samoa. This poem is like a will.”
“I’m so tired,” Bob said, “but now that you’ve mentioned Treasure Island, I keep thinking about it with my eyes closed, and I won’t be able to fall asleep.”
*
Bob was reminded of the ship’s log and the map Jim and his mother found in the old captain’s chest, which ultimately led to Captain Flint’s legendary treasure on the desert island. His thoughts lingered on two of the characters: John Silver, the tall man with the wooden leg who worked as a cook on board the Hispaniola and became the leader of the mutineers, and Captain Alexander Smollett, who led the loyal crew members against Silver.
He saw the Hispaniola right before his eyes, besting the waves on its way to the West Indies. He envisaged himself as a young cabin boy observing the events as they unfolded. He dreamt of becoming a sailor for many weeks. It never occurred to him that when he was older, that whim would be all but forgotten, and he would find himself sailing across the sky.
Bob had his own string of adventures. After his brother Marshall died, he formed a secret gang with four of his close friends. They referred to themselves as “The Sentinels.” Their goal was to protect the African American folks in town, in particular kids and youths in and around their neighborhood. They chose five lookouts and they set each member’s station for the day to report there at a specific time. They also decided on a unique whistle for each of them to be used as a special sign in case of some violent encounter or any development that called for intervention. The area could be pinpointed according to the particular sentinel’s whistle, and the members would rush over to the scene to resolve the matter.
They armed themselves with wooden sticks and practiced by hitting tree stumps; they went on long runs and taught themselves how to jump off roofs. Their arms and legs grew stronger and bulkier. Although they wore ragged shoes, their tread was fast and light.
The team proved its mettle in a number of incidents of assault. One time, it was two elderly African American ladies on their way to church. Another time, it was a ten-year-old boy working at a bakery. There was also a time, when his neighbor, Rosalyn, was coming back from her parents’ home pushing the baby’s pram. Both she and her baby boy were fortunate to have The Sentinels at hand. Otherwise, who knows what would have happened to them.
Bob tried to recall additional instances and noticed that in his anger, his hand clenched to a fist. Within two or three months, it became apparent their goal had been achieved. The rules had changed. The semi-overt message had been received. Harassment on the streets ceased. Aside from one case of robbery and a breakin on July Fourth that occurred when they were away celebrating in the remote woods, there were no additional incidents. Bob opened his fist. Having mobilized so young had strengthened him mentally as well. He learned first-hand how to fight evil. He also learned how to hold back. They never pitied the aggressors. The Sentinels would break their arms and legs but never hit them in the head. Then, when he embarked on his struggle to join the Air Force, Bob realized struggle comes in many forms. He had to come to terms with the fact that he had to fight even for the right to defend his own country.
*
The low level of confidence both the Joint Chiefs of Staff and Congress had in African Americans’ ability to fly was now a thing of the past. Bob and his friends were convinced they had already crossed the point of no return, but then they realized they were grounded and that the war over the sky in Europe was raging on without them. After a short stint in England, Bob and his fellow Tuskegee Airmen were sent over to Sicily. It turned out they were grounded there as well. Once again, they had to struggle for their basic right to fight as pilots.
“We are not going to be like that bird that got caught in the net and said ‘never mind,’” Bob told the senior Joint Chiefs of Staff when he was invited to speak as a representative for his squadron. “We won’t be like the bird they put into a cage that said, ‘Well, in the meantime, I’ve got my water and seeds.’ We will not agree to have our wings clipped. We will not have it. We will not remain caged. We wish to spread our wings and fly.”
Bob had not realized this was a crucial meeting. Fortunately for Bob and his friends, racial perceptions began to crack at that point in time. He succeeded in winning over the JCS members. They continued debating the issue af
ter he left the conference hall. The reversal of the position they had held came a few days later. Amid all the pressures of war, he and his comrades were recalled to report to HQ, where they were told their issue had been decided. From then on, their “Red Tails,” the new Mustang P 51B fighters, were to escort the B 17, aka “Flying Fortress” bombers.
From the beginning of 1944, when the long-range Mustang fighters arrived at the squadron, they embarked on dozens of combat raids. Bob and his fellow pilots had taken part in numerous air battles with relatively few losses and were credited with many downed enemy aircraft. Bob himself had hit numerous aircraft on the ground and downed a dozen in air battles. They accompanied the heavy bombers in the framework of strategic bombing missions of military, industrial, and civilian targets deep in German territory. On March 6, 1944, they even reached Berlin.
Fighter Squadron 332, Bob’s outfit, succeeded in knocking down several Me 262 aircraft [Messerschmitt Me 262], the German Air Force Luftwaffe’s new jet combat aircraft. They succeeded in downing them despite the fact that the Me 262 jets were much faster than the American P 51B propeller-engine fighters. The difference of two hundred kilometers an hour (124 miles per hour) in speed was supposed to play out in the German jets’ favor, but their pilots were less skilled and their aircraft less agile. Bob had come to the conclusion the Luftwaffe’s reserves of highly trained pilots had dwindled in the course of previous air battles. He had no doubt that the loss of those fine veteran pilots affected the balance of power in favor of the Western Allies. He took pleasure in reconstructing the Germans’ air maneuvers, the way they juggled and executed all sorts of evasive moves, as well as the hits they took despite their highly professional performance.
*
Bob got up from where he was sitting, rubbing his eyes in a weary gesture. “I don’t know how to explain it,” he said, “but my thoughts wandered off from Treasure Island to the personal treasure I lost.”
“What were you thinking about, what treasure have you lost?” Janos asked.