by Shmuel David
“I hope that from now on we’ll be able to sail through without any further interruptions,” said Father.
Meanwhile, the line began to move forward. Mother looked tired and leaned on the stairway rail as if about to fall again.
When we reached the lower deck, we saw that the line continued all the way to the main passenger hall, where the buffet and bar had been located back in the good old days. Father and Abraham continued to talk.
“You look so smart, as if you were about to go on a pleasure cruise.”
“Yes, we came as private passengers. We don’t belong to any of the groups. They haven’t really told us anything about this voyage. We paid well enough, so we expected a different service and different conditions,” Father laughed.
“You must have been well-off in Belgrade. Why did you decide to leave, then?”
“We were very comfortable,” said Father. “But you might say we’ve lost our assets in the course of the past year.”
“I thought there weren’t any problems in the Balkan area, only in Germany and Austria,” Abraham was surprised.
“It’s not as bad as your area. We’d heard about what is going on in Austria, but my office simply stopped getting new clients, and I felt something bad was fast approaching our neck of the woods.”
“New clients? What’s your profession?”
“I had a very successful architecture firm. I designed many buildings in the city. How about you? What’s your profession?”
“Teacher. I used to teach Hebrew and Bible studies in a Jewish school in Vienna,” Abraham answered, adding before saying goodbye, “You’re welcome to come and visit. I’m downstairs in the cabins. I have a shortwave radio. We can listen to world news together.”
I could smell sauerkraut and potatoes… I could also hear screams in Austrian German from people who were close to the distribution point. Someone cursed and another answered him, “Shame on you, punk.”
I remembered a similar food line at my last summer camp in the mountains. Meanwhile, a spoonful of pale mashed potatoes landed on the plate I was holding.
“Move along, young man. You’re blocking the line,” scolded the man who was serving.
I moved on to the next pot. A boy not much older than me, wearing a gray beret, stirred the bottom of the pot and pulled out a lump of sauerkraut. Taking a colorless hot dog from another pot, he roughly placed both on my plate.
We couldn’t find anywhere to sit. Pauli and I leaned against the wall, setting the plates between our legs. Two youths considerately rose from their seats next to the table and offered Mother and Father their places. They thanked them and willingly accepted. We ate in silence, each engrossed in his own plate.
“You’re going to miss my home cooking,” said Mother, trying to find something edible. “Maybe you and Pauli won’t be so spoiled after this.”
I kept thinking about our last days in Dedinje, about Klarie, who was still with us on our last pleasure cruise across the Danube. Everyone was so happy. Klarie, Lazar, and her friend Olga laughed and sang along with everyone. A few months later, Klarie got ill and everything changed. We didn’t go on a cruise this last summer. It was a year of mourning. Mother stopped holding her garden parties. She said it wasn’t just because of Klarie, but she really changed after Klarie died. I would see her eyes fill with tears during meals. Every time I secretly listened to her conversations with Father, I heard how determined she was about emigrating to Israel, despite her initial opposition. After Klarie died, there seemed to be nothing left for Mother in Belgrade. She was angry with Father for not obtaining immigration certificates for us. He would calm her, saying we’d obtain the certificates soon. Then we could sell the house and board a train or a boat to the Black Sea. But the certificates never came.
At school, I started to feel that the teachers didn’t really know what to do with the Jewish students. They moved me, Simon, and Nissim, the other two Jewish students, to the back benches in class. They said it was because they wanted the weaker students to be closer to the teacher, but Mother interpreted it differently.
Father said we should probably go back up on deck, because our belongings were there and we shouldn’t leave them unattended for too long. Upstairs, the atmosphere was becoming tense. Abraham said that the rumormongers were plying their stories again.
“People can’t stand them,” Abraham explained. “They go around spreading all sorts of imaginary stories. They just love getting everyone upset and nervous. Take everything they say with a grain of salt, as they say.”
“But what is it this time? Did something actually happen?” asked Father.
“The boat changed direction and headed mid-river again, as if about to turn back at any moment, but there’s nothing to get excited about, Mr.…Emil, right?”
Good thing Mother wasn’t listening. Father tried to remain calm when, suddenly, we saw the bow really was turning, and cries of despair were heard everywhere on deck. I saw that Abraham was also uneasy. Everyone raised their eyes in concern. One particularly vocal group was now certain it was the end of the transport, that we were about to return to Bratislava and it was all over.
Mother began to feel the pressure as well and used the expression she reserved for stressful situations. “Oh, my dear God, this is the last thing we need!”
Father tried to calm us down and remain optimistic, but with the general atmosphere on board, the bow changing direction, and the vocal group next to us constantly shouting, “It’s the end; this is the end,” he too began to show signs of doubt.
Someone headed up the stairs and called, “Friends, there’s nothing to get excited about. I came on behalf of the captain to tell you we were considering returning to Vukovar to pick up something important, but we’ve decided to keep going.”
He seemed very decisive, as if he knew what he was talking about. Sighs of relief were heard like a great sweeping wave from one end of the deck to the other.
The anxious atmosphere eased as the bow straightened and the boat continued to sail on down the river.
Mother and Father suggested we go for a little walk on deck to calm our nerves. We passed among the people, and everyone greeted us politely and asked if we’d found a decent place to sleep for the night. Father said we had, and Mother added, “Although, I don’t know if you could really call it ‘decent.’”
“It’s not so bad here,” said a young couple, sitting on a sack of flour or sugar.
The woman, in her last months of pregnancy, said she hoped to give birth after reaching a safe haven. Everyone continued to greet us and ask where we were from and if we recognized the views on the opposite bank.
“Yes, this is Belgrade,” said Father, explaining that we were sailing south toward Belgrade and that the houses we would soon see were its northern suburbs.
Two Serbian crew members passed by, wearing peaked caps and gold stripes on the epaulets of their white shirts. They turned to Father in Serbo-Croatian, “We couldn’t help but hear you’re from Belgrade. We’re from Belgrade as well. Pleased to meet you.” They introduced themselves as Ulrich and Kreinovich and shook hands.
They must have been impressed by Father’s appearance; he stood out among the other passengers because of his height and elegant clothing.
“Pleased to meet you too,” said Father. “Allow me to introduce my wife, Louisa, and these are my children,” he pointed at me and Pauli.
They gently kissed the back of Mother’s hand like two real gentlemen.
The conversation quickly turned to the subject of mutual acquaintances and finally to soccer and the fact they were all Red Star Belgrade fans. They invited Father to visit them on the bridge, parted from him with a pat on his shoulder, and promised to treat him to a drink and a bite of fine mackerel.
Father wasn’t in any hurry to visit the two crew members on the first day. Perhaps he didn’t want the
others to think he was over privileged because he had connections with crew members. We returned to our spot next to the chimney, and Father tried to make the place ready for sleep.
“It’s better if we organize everything before the sun goes down,” he said and opened a suitcase to take out some warm clothes. “Let’s see what we need for the night.”
Mother suggested we each prepare a pillow out of our clothes to elevate our heads a little, and we followed her advice.
Meanwhile, the sun began to set, and purple-pink clouds hung above the river bank. I looked at the glittering lights, which suddenly seemed familiar.
“Hanne, Pauli,” Father called with excitement. “See the lights up ahead? That’s Kalemegdan.”
Entranced, I looked at the lights. Kalemegdan is a beautiful park on a hill overlooking the junction of the Sava River and the Danube. We used to go there on weekends with our parents when we were children and roll on the grass and play war games among the high walls of the fortress while they walked hand in hand along the pathways. Later on, when we lived in the city, I used to go there with friends from school. I knew every pathway and each green hill. The park was also where I’d first met Eva, the year before; she was the most beautiful girl in our class. We walked together in the park. It was twilight time at the end of summer. Then I invited her to our house for a game of tennis, but she feared we were still too young for such an intimate friendship and that her mother wouldn’t approve. Eva wasn’t particularly excited when I told her I was leaving for Palestine. She just asked where it was and said she’d see me next year.
I stood in the stern, staring at the glittering lights and felt the spray splashing up from the white water, rising to mix with the tears flowing from my eyes. I knew I wasn’t going to be in Belgrade next year, or the year after that.
***
I waited impatiently for evening to fall. I hoped Inge would come. After all, she’d told me she might come. I simply had to see her again. Oh, how I wished she’d show up. She simply had to.
It was a dark, starless night. I told my parents I was going out for a walk and they shouldn’t worry. I took my good pair of pants from the small suitcase and made sure they were smooth and wrinkle-free. I put them on, together with my wool jacket. I took the steps leading to the upper deck two at a time. Perhaps she was already there, waiting for me.
The command bridge is the tallest point on the ship. It’s where the ship’s navigator sits, and no one is allowed to go in. But there was a roped-off balcony from which one could enter the command cabin.
The chill crept through my wool jacket and seeped into my bones. My thin pants couldn’t stop the cold, either. My cheekbones ached, but I still stood there expectantly, thinking perhaps she’d come up in a moment or two. I heard someone running up the stairs and thought it must be her. I was overcome with joy and my heart began to race, but then I heard the sound of a man’s voice humming a familiar Serbian song. It was only the ship’s navigator returning from the dining room in a good mood. I looked at my watch. I’d been waiting for twenty minutes. I realized that Inge probably wasn’t coming. Alert to every rustle, I decided to wait five more minutes. The only sound I could clearly distinguish was the creaking of the ship’s paddle wheel. I counted the rotations of the wheel. I decided to wait twenty more rotations, and if Inge didn’t appear, I’d leave the bridge. But every time I reached twenty, I’d count again, until finally, I gave up and descended, filled with disappointment.
Father had spread the brown wool blankets I’d brought up from the storage room on the deck. Inge said that all the blankets, equipment, and supplies had been sent by the Federation of Jewish Communities in Belgrade. Each of us received one blanket to spread on the floor and two blankets with which to keep warm. The cold penetrated the thin wool blankets. I tried to fold my jacket into an improvised pillow and closed my eyes, attempting to digest the events of that fateful day. The rocking of the boat and irritating sound of the engine coming from below drove sleep away. My thoughts kept drifting back to our boarding, Mother fainting, Inge’s beautiful face, and how she’d suddenly appeared out of the crowd like an angel. She was so practical and vigorous, and I thought to myself, I wish I had these qualities. She always knew exactly what to do, how to calm situations. She even managed to calm Father down, and I’d never seen him so stressed.
Time passed and I couldn’t sleep. The chill gradually worsened. The sound of Father’s regular snoring reached my ears. Mother was lying next to him, but seemed very uncomfortable and kept tossing and turning.
“Why aren’t you sleeping, Hanne?” She suddenly sat up, the blanket covering her knees.
“I’m cold, and I keep having lots of thoughts.”
“Try to think a little less. We need to save our strength for the morning.”
I must have fallen asleep for a little while, because I woke up with icy-cold feet and a full bladder. I remembered Mr. Goldman showing us where the restrooms were that morning. I was afraid to go there by myself in the dark. I thought about waiting for morning, but the pressure worsened and I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I felt my body grow rigid from lying on the cold wooden floor without a mattress. The mere thought of going downstairs in the dark to search for the toilets was enough to send chills down my spine. But I tried to get up and discovered I had to gently step over the sleepers, carefully directing my feet like a tightrope walker. When I finally reached the restrooms, I saw a long line of nervous people. So I finally decided to try and hold it. Perhaps I could wait till morning; perhaps it’d pass. I tried to ignore the pressure and closed my eyes. I guess it helped; I was so tired, I wasn’t even aware of falling asleep. But not for long. I woke with a start on the cold hard deck, a wet warmth spreading beneath me.
Oh, no. What was wrong with me? What a baby! How could I ever face the embarrassment? How would I hide it? How would my clothes dry? How would I get rid of the smell? And what would Inge say if she found out what had happened? She’d probably think me a child, that I may look like a nice boy, but one who still wets his pants…
I considered my options, rummaging deep in my backpack. Luckily, everyone was still asleep, and I managed to find a change of clothes. Rolling up the wet clothes, I placed them next to the backpack. I decided I’d go and wash them early in the morning, before everyone else was awake. But what would I tell Mother and Father? Pauli would laugh at me for sure. What could I do? I simply had to hide the shameful evidence.
In the morning, as the first light of dawn rose above the east bank of the river, I took the rolled-up bundle and hurried to the engine room; I remembered the sink with the bar of soap and the coarse brush.
Luckily, no one was there. I washed the pants and wet underpants with water and soap, and then hung them to dry on one of the hot pipes carrying steam from the engine. I sat huddled below the pipe, warming up my frozen bones. I was afraid to leave the clothes unattended, but when I saw that no one came near the engine room, I decided to go back to our spot, thinking that perhaps Mother and Father were awake and worried about me.
When I returned upstairs, everyone was awake, and Mother worriedly asked where I’d been. I told her I’d gone to warm myself under the steam pipes because I’d felt cold during the night. An elderly man wrapped in a tallit prayer shawl walked among the passengers, looking for a minyan of ten men to hold the Shacharit morning prayer. Father told him he only prayed Shacharit on religious holidays and festive days.
After breakfast, which consisted of a cup of lukewarm coffee and two slices of bread spread with jam, I hurried downstairs. The clothes were there, but still a bit damp. I remained by the steam pipe and waited for them to dry.
When I returned upstairs, I invited Pauli to join me for a walk around the boat. Pauli said we might as well stay with Mother and Father instead of wandering about. They might need us. Mother was very upset by the crowded conditions and the sight of so many people just lying on the floor
with their belongings. I said that perhaps they would feel less stressed without us. “We don’t need to spend all our time with them, you know.”
Finally, he relented and we set off. I tried to recall the way to the secret place Inge had shown me. We went down the stairs next to our sleeping area, all the way to the lowest level. There, we turned right along a corridor lined with wide pipes and full of deafening noise, but I couldn’t recall which door led upstairs to the resting area. I tried one door, but immediately realized it wasn’t the right one. We went on, and I tried another door, which led to another corridor without any stairs. The third door barely opened, just like the previous morning, and I was pretty sure it was the right place, but wasn’t entirely sure, because I could hear laughter and obscenities in Serbo-Croatian. I began to hesitate, and Pauli, who had paled slightly, said we should probably get back to Mother and Father because they might be worried. I tried to convince him that these were the right stairs and that we could always hide if we felt threatened. Pauli said I should go up and check if the place was empty. After climbing three stairs, I saw four burly sailors in sleeveless undershirts with cards in their muscular hands. I was just beginning to quietly retrace my steps when a voice suddenly rasped, “Hey, kid, what are you doing here?”
I at once started to run, screaming for Pauli to follow me, and that’s how we reached the deck again, pale and frightened.
Mother was lying on the bench, her face as white as a sheet. Father rolled one of the blankets into a pillow and placed it under her head.
“Perhaps you should drink more water. It will refresh you,” he urged her.