Two Princes and a Queen

by Shmuel David

  I drove to Baruch’s stationary shop in Acre. There, I bought a large notebook, just like the one Mother had given me for my birthday almost forty years before and that I’d used to write my first diary. I reread my childhood diaries, which brought about a powerful reawakening of the rest of my memories, memories that demanded to be written down on paper.

  The Tzar Nikolai, December 1939

  A thick blanket of fog covered the water when we reached Vukovar harbor on the banks of the Danube. The far bank was almost invisible, and we could only guess that it existed at all.

  We enjoyed the two-hour train ride from Belgrade. Father had been told ahead of time that the boat would dock briefly in Vukovar at the Hungarian border, where we would board. Both he and Mother were in a cheerful mood, making plans for the future and talking about what they’d do once they reached Haifa.

  The occasional horn of a passing boat could be heard in the distance. We stood there in the mid-December cold. Father wore his long winter coat, a blue wool scarf wrapped around his head, along with a brimmed hat that hid his growing bald spots. In his suitcase, he’d packed just a few clothes, toiletries, and a small photo album he’d put together at the last moment before we left. Mother also wore a long wool coat, light leather gloves, and a kerchief on her head. In one hand, she held a large handbag, while the other held tightly to Father.

  Mother had told me and Pauli to pack warm clothes and extra underwear. We packed clothes for a week or so in the backpacks we’d used for summer camp. The voyage wasn’t supposed to take long. Just two to three days down the Danube. Then, at a port in the town of Sulina on the Black Sea coast, we’d board a real ship and sail all the way to Haifa.

  This is our second move in just two years. The first move was from the house on the hill in the Dedinje neighborhood, on the outskirts of Belgrade, to Kralja Petra Street in the city. Our first move was from our large mansion to a small apartment in a house in front of the Ashkenazi synagogue. It had a dark stairwell that always smelled of cooking. This is our second move. We’d sold a lot of our heavy furniture before the first move because the apartment in the city was too small. The remaining furniture had been packed to be shipped to Haifa. Just as he’d done for the previous move, Father had arranged for a moving truck and a gypsy driver. We’d wrapped the furniture in brown packing paper; every armrest of each sofa and every table leg was carefully wrapped and tied.

  Father packed his photos with great care. He placed the framed ones in a separate box. He wrapped them in paper and marked the box “fragile,” both in Serbo-Croatian and English. He asked me and Pauli to put the rest of the photos and photo albums in cardboard boxes. There were photos I’d never seen before. There was one of Father in the uniform of an officer in the Austro-Hungarian army with Mother standing next to him looking young and beautiful. I guess she’d come to visit him at the front. In her arms, she held little Klarie, all curls and smiles.

  At the end of August, a few days before the Germans invaded Poland, Father went to Budapest by train. He told Aunt Emilia he’d be coming for a short evening visit. Mother was very angry with him and said he should be concentrating on getting us immigration permits to Palestine so we could get out of here, not going all the way to Budapest for a few photos.

  “Emil,” she’d said. “I’m frightened. The ground is burning under our feet.”

  Mother herself had packed the expensive tableware sets and crystal glasses. Each glass was wrapped in a thick layer of soft wrapping paper. Pauli and I were responsible for packing our own things. It was very difficult to decide what to take to Palestine, because each of us was allowed only one box. I left the tennis clothes behind, as well as the good racket Father had bought me two years before. Father said we probably wouldn’t have time for tennis in Israel. There was no point in taking any of my books, certainly not the history books. After all, in Palestine, they teach everything in Hebrew. Besides, history is being written at this very moment. That’s what Father said on the first day of school, when the German invasion of Poland was announced on the radio. Father was very upset and said history was repeating itself. Once again, the world was in confusion. It just didn’t make any sense to me and Pauli; what exactly did this war have to do with us? Poland was so far away. But Father’s agitation was contagious, and we realized something really big was taking place. I said that perhaps we shouldn’t go to school, but Father wouldn’t hear of it, stating that for now, we need to maintain our daily schedules as usual. Mother, who still hadn’t recovered from the tragedy of Klarie’s death, was mostly indifferent to the news. The next morning, Father cut out the large headline announcing the beginning of the war from the front page of the Hungarian newspaper Ageinlusag. He hasn’t been the same man since.

  He deliberated whether or not to take the camera with him in the suitcase as well. He used to take it everywhere with him. Finally, he gave up on the idea and said better it get to Israel in one piece, safe from the hardships of the transport. He carefully wrapped it and found a place for it in one of the boxes. I saw that at the last minute, Mother had decided to take the wooden box with the cherished memento of Klarie’s beautiful curls.

  After Father told us we’d be boarding a ship to Palestine within the week, I went to part from all my friends and teachers at school. Mr. Marimovich was the teacher I admired most. He was fond of me and often praised my hard work and accomplishments. When I went to say goodbye to him, I found him sitting as usual in the teachers’ lounge, holding a glass of tea and absorbed in a history book. I thought he’d be happy for me that I was going to Palestine, so I came especially to tell him about it. But he just sat there silently, not even raising his eyes from his book, as if I didn’t exist.

  “Mr. Marimovich, I came to say goodbye before leaving for Palestine.”

  He raised angry eyes from the book and said, “Go then. Go to your Palestine, and take all the rest of the Jews with you.”

  Deeply hurt and insulted, I turned my back on him and left.

  We waited at the docks for the arrival of the Tzar Nikolai. That was the name written on Father’s papers, four members of the David family will board the Tzar Nikolai.

  It wasn’t our first time there. But this time was very different from our Sunday afternoon cruises during the summer holiday. Back then, it was a pleasure cruise. Who knows, maybe we’d even sailed on board the Tzar Nikolai. Father would sit with his friends, wearing white shorts and a fashionable straw hat, talking to them about soccer or politics and drinking slivovitz. They’d invite the gypsy sr to accompany us on the accordion, and he’d start singing louder and louder while everyone clapped their hands and stomped their feet. Mother, Mrs. Steindal, and a few of her friends would sit on the other side, chatting comfortably, drinking tea, and eating cake. Pauli used to stroll about the boat and try to befriend the captain or ask the helmsman to let him hold the wheel for a moment. I used to sit next to the large paddle wheel that rotated slowly, pushing the water, and watch the colorful spray splash into the air. I could sit like that for hours, until Mother called me to come and eat with everyone.

  And so, we stood there with our suitcases and waited for two hours, but the boat didn’t appear. Every now and then, Father asked me or Pauli to run ahead and see if we could see anything on the horizon. Mother started worrying that something wasn’t right.

  “Something’s wrong, Emil,” she hissed. I guess she thought I couldn’t hear her. “Perhaps you’ve bought tickets for a trip that doesn’t even exist,” she voiced her doubts.

  “That’s impossible,” Father said confidently. “Everything was arranged by envoys of the Mossad L’Aliyah Bet. They’re very reliable people.”

  The mists began to clear, allowing us to see twinkling lights on the far bank. Two horn blasts were heard, and we saw the mast lights of an approaching boat. As it drew nearer, our excitement grew.

  “I told you there was nothing to worry about.” Father smiled
in satisfaction.

  The boat that arrived bore the name the Kraljica Marija.

  “That’s not our boat,” said Father. “According to the papers, ours is the Tzar Nikolai.”

  And indeed, the Kraljica Marija sailed on a bit and approached the dock. Crew members ran about the boat and loud shouts were heard. It appeared that they were waiting for two fish barrels, as well as coal for the remainder of their cruise.

  Mother was just beginning to lose patience again when the lights of another boat appeared.

  “Nothing to worry about,” said Father. “I was told there are three boats, a total of eleven hundred passengers. It’s either going to be this boat or the next. We just need to wait patiently.”

  The next boat was the Tzar Dusan and it, too, sailed on.

  “Here’s another one,” Pauli called happily and pointed at the approaching lights. This boat was the largest of the three, the Tzar Nikolai.

  “Just like two princes and a queen,” Father said, trying to bring a little humor to our nerve-wracking wait.

  After the gangway was lowered, two crew members wearing uniforms and black caps decorated with gold stripes disembarked from the boat.

  Father handed them our paperwork, which they carefully examined before allowing us to board.

  A sharp smell of salted fish mixed with the sour smell of sweat and vomit hung in the damp air. As I walked on board, I felt a growing sense of nausea and found it difficult to breathe. In that claustrophobic space, I heard an unfamiliar murmur, the jarring sound of different languages spoken at once. At first, I only heard German, which we spoke at home, then an Austrian dialect. Finally, I heard more voices speaking in Hungarian and Slovak. A cacophony of languages, like the Tower of Babel.

  Shouts in Serbo-Croatian were also heard now and then from crew members running along the deck or rolling huge wooden barrels emitting a strong smell of fish. Others pushed trolleys filled to the brim with coal. A multitude of people were crowded on the small deck, like industrious, restless ants. Their unwashed clothes testified to several days of traveling. In our luxurious wool coats, scarves, and gloves, we immediately stood out.

  Father held Mother’s hand and tried to stay calm. He looked about him, as if wanting to ask where to turn or what to do. Mother’s face expressed her anxiety, turning as white as a blank piece of paper, and her lips trembled. I wanted to support her. I tried to reach out my hand to her, when she suddenly fainted and fell to the floor. None of us was able to stop her fall in time. Father kneeled beside her. He seemed to have lost his confidence. I shouted in panic, “Mother, Mother!”

  Her eyes were wide open, staring at a fixed point high above. Her face had turned even paler.

  Father said, “Go quickly and get a doctor.”

  Before I could obey, someone in the crowd, which closed in on us like a hangman’s noose, placed a hand on my shoulder to stop me and said, “Don’t go running. The only doctor is on board the Kraljica Marija.”

  I felt the blood drain from my body.

  A girl emerged from the curious crowd. She looked only slightly older than me, but still managed to act and sound both practical and adult. She instructed me and Father to raise Mother’s feet a little and keep them raised. Meanwhile, she leaned next to Mother and massaged her temples with quick and agile movements. Someone handed the girl a metal cup with water, but she refused it and said, “Not now. She simply fainted because of the transition and the tension. That’s quite natural. There’s nothing to worry about.”

  And indeed, a minute or two later, Mother’s eyes focused, and she looked at us and tried to raise her head.

  “You can lower her feet now, but carefully, and have her lie down with her knees bent for a few more minutes until she recovers. My name is Inge,” she introduced herself. “And I’m here with the Mizrahi5 group.”

  She sat at Mother’s head, gently stroking her forehead and continuing to soothe her. Father, now more himself, stood up and straightened his coat.

  “I’m going to get the doctor anyway,” he said and tried to make his way through the crowd that still surrounded us. When he saw how difficult it was, he turned on the curious onlookers, calling angrily, “Let her breathe, for pity’s sake! Why must you stand here and watch us?”

  “Here comes Dr. Bezalel. Good thing we haven’t sailed yet,” a voice sounded from the crowd.

  A tall man wearing round glasses and holding a black, square leather bag briskly approached us.

  “Anyone who isn’t family should move along and go about their business. You’re interfering with my work,” he commanded as he approached.

  He kneeled beside Mother and skillfully placed two fingers on the back of her wrist, his eyes fixed on his watch.

  “Are you her daughter?” he asked Inge, who continued to place her hand on Mother’s forehead.

  “No, I’m here with the Mizrahi youths. I just came to help,” she said gently.

  “Very good. You’ve done a wonderful job.”

  He turned to Mother and started asking her a lot of questions. The word “panic” was repeated several times. Had she suffered similar attacks in the past? When? And how many times? Finally, he said, “Madame Louisa, I don’t think this trip is for you. It would be better for you to get off this ship with your husband and send your children with the other youths. You and your husband should join another, perhaps more organized ship, at a later stage. I don’t think your condition is going to improve later on.”

  Mother, who had meanwhile managed to straighten up a bit, glared at him.

  “How dare you tell me to leave my children now? After we’ve sold the house and packed our boxes and suitcases, now you tell me this voyage is not for me?”

  The doctor saw the determination in her eyes and said, “Excuse me, Madame Louisa. It was just a recommendation, not an order. I’m just not sure you’ll be able to deal with the conditions here. I recognize a weakness in you. It might be because of the sudden move, but it might also be a real problem. I merely made a suggestion.”

  He rummaged in his black bag, placed a jar with valerian pills in front of Mother, opened it, and placed a few pills in a small packet.

  “Take one a day. It will help you relax and regain your strength.” He turned to Inge and me and said, “You two should remain by her side until she recovers.”

  Inge turned to speak with Mother. I didn’t really listen to their conversation. I only heard Mother saying that thanks to her resourcefulness she was now recovering. Inge laughed and encouraged her by saying she would have recovered anyway, only a little slower. Inge told her she’d taken first-aid classes in school, and before the world had turned upside down, she’d planned to study nursing.

  Then she asked Mother, “Tell me, what chased you out of Belgrade? Isn’t it peaceful there now? I wish things were like that in Germany. I thought the restrictions against the Jews hadn’t yet reached this country.”

  Her accent reminded me of Martha, my German teacher, and I realized she came from the Berlin area.

  “If I were living here, I might not be in such a hurry to leave. I’ve left my sick mother at home.”

  I noticed her sharp features, her thin lips, stretching up into half a smile, and the freckles around her nose. Her auburn hair was tied back with a ribbon and swung from right to left as she spoke. It gave her face a light and playful appearance that completely contradicted the mature, responsible behavior she’d demonstrated just a few moments ago.

  Supported by Father, Mother was able to stand. Inge volunteered to help us find a place on board that would serve as our sleeping quarters. A cabin of our own was out of the question. The boat was full and crowded. Inge told us it probably contained ten times more passengers than it was officially allowed to carry. She took us to the resting and sitting areas on deck. There, between the benches, or sprawled upon them, families gathered with their few belo
ngings, each family trying to create its own small territory with bags or suitcases.

  “Here, on board the Tzar Nikolai, you’ll find many young religious and conservative people, among them youths from the Mizrahi Movement from Vienna and Germany, like me,” Inge explained. “Emil Shechter is in charge of us here on the Tzar Nikolai. But the younger members, the children, are overseen by a young man called Teddy. You’ll get to know him in time.”

  “What about the other boats? Who is in charge there?” I asked.

  “Emil Shechter’s brother. And the boat with the best organization and the most social activities is the Kraljica Marija. There, you’ll find all the Hechalutz and Blau-Weiss6 youth. Their ship is always neat and polished, and you can hear an interesting lecture every day. They are also the first to dance the hora whenever we get a bit of good news.”

  She fell briefly silent.

  “I have an idea. Maybe you could stay next to the chimney? The nights are getting colder now…”

  “Good thing it’s only for a few days. The smoke and soot would probably kill us,” said Father, trying to find comfort in something.

  We carried our suitcases to the little corner we’d found. Suddenly, our suitcases seemed too large, or perhaps it was other people’s suitcases that were too small. I really couldn’t tell. We pushed the backpacks and suitcases under the bench and sat on it.

  “About the chimney, don’t worry, it’s tall and the smoke rises high into the air.”

  We approached the chimney area and saw that it was indeed still vacant. Maybe people were really afraid of the rising soot. Father said it was better to breathe soot than die of cold.

  “You’ll need blankets. That’s the most important thing now,” said Inge. “I’ll show Hanne where the storage room is. You look so different from all the others on board, as if you were going on a pleasure cruise rather than a Hechalutz immigration operation,” she added laughingly.