Two Princes and a Queen

by Shmuel David

  “That’s easy enough to understand,” said Father. “Simple arithmetic. He buys stuff cheaply from the market peddlers, and then sells it at inflated prices to anyone with money on the boat. I didn’t like the man from the moment I laid eyes on him…”

  “I never meant to say you should behave like him. You were the one who mentioned him. I meant to tell you something entirely different.”

  “What did you mean to tell me?”

  “That you’re the only one here who can contact Mr. Sime Spitzer. Talk to him.”

  “Don’t you think he wants to give us more?” said Father. “I’m sure he’d give us more if he could.”

  “Emil, forty dinars a week is nothing. It’s not even enough for two days.”

  “I’m willing to try and check in with him. I’m sure he’ll come to update us about the situation soon.”

  “Please promise me. If you won’t do something, I will. Now I’ll try to go to sleep again. I’ve hardly slept at all the last few nights.”

  I think Father promised just to make Mother feel better, but he didn’t really mean it.

  The next day, I got to the classroom early, before Zeev’s lesson, to draw the crossword puzzle I’d prepared with Petrović on the blackboard. Efraim volunteered to help me, and together, we drew the outline of the crossword puzzle and filled the black squares with X’s. When Zeev came in, he was very pleased with what he saw and tried to solve some of the questions.

  “I can see it’s not going to be easy,” he said.

  During the lesson, he divided us into three groups, according to boats. The Kraljica Marija group with representatives from the Kraljica Marija, and so forth. I didn’t participate, of course, but nonetheless, the Tzar Nikolai group was winning, thanks to the knowledgeable Haim’ke. Still, there was a lot of tension, and it seemed as though an experienced judge was needed to determine which group should get the points. Each group received two minutes to solve a question. If the group didn’t know the answer, the next one got the chance to answer. Everyone thought the crossword puzzle was a great idea, both for memorizing the subjects we had discussed in class and for creating an interesting competitive atmosphere. I was asked to bring another crossword puzzle for the next lesson.

  ***

  Saturday morning. I was lying down wrapped in three wool blankets and still felt the cold. I suddenly felt a blow of yearning for Saturday mornings back home in Belgrade. I remembered how I used to spoil myself in bed on Saturday mornings and stay under the covers, even though the house was heated and warm. Lord would nap too, sprawled comfortably beside my bed. Soon, Mother would come to knock on our doors, Pauli’s first, then mine, and tell us to come down for breakfast.

  I lay on the hard floor, and my thoughts wandered back to Inge.

  I really felt bad about her asking me to stop seeing her. Except for Mother, perhaps, she’s the one I feel closest to in this living hell. I can talk to her for hours and hours. We have so much in common—except for our disagreement over matters of faith and religion. I just can’t understand how an intelligent girl like her could blindly believe everything written in those books, and I don’t like the fact she’s always trying to draw me into her faith. I just can’t accept that. But then I remembered how we’d embraced two days ago and looked at the moon together. We felt so close to each other then that I was willing to forgive her.

  I was lying down, in no hurry to get up to another breakfast of lukewarm tea, bread, and butter. People were saying we’d run out of butter soon and started rationing the jam as well.

  Some people had already written to their relatives, asking for food. I stayed there, snuggled up and thinking of the good life in Belgrade, a life I’d never appreciated enough. Here on the boat, Mother doesn’t come knocking on our doors like she did back home. It had all happened just three months ago, but the apartment in Kralja Petra now seemed like ancient history, and the large house on Dedinje Hill, a lifetime ago.

  Mother was also curled up in thin wool blankets. She’d set off on a short trip of a few days with a small suitcase, leaving her warm, comfortable house behind, and now here she is, stuck with three hundred people, struggling to survive the cold nights on her narrow bench. She’s no longer the fragile woman who boarded the boat. Now, she seems more confident, maybe because of the appreciation she’s been getting for her work in the storage room. I’m proud of her ability to cope with everything that’s happened on the boat. But from the conversation I heard last night, I realized everything could crumble in a moment. Her face had become gaunt, and black circles had appeared under her eyes. Even Father, who used to put his arm around her when they walked together on the deck, now seems distant and self-absorbed.

  He’d also lost a lot of weight in the past few weeks. The heavy coat his body had always filled so nicely now hangs on his shoulders like a sack.

  Eventually, all four of us went to eat breakfast together. Pauli was self-absorbed, angry at the whole world. I think he sometimes forgets he has a younger brother on board, because he spends most of his time with youths from the Hechalutz movement.

  “Nice of you to finally remember we exist,” I said, deliberately, so he’d know how I feel about being abandoned.

  “Why do you have to go on at me all the time?” he said angrily. “You’re not a child who needs a babysitter anymore.”

  The Pomeranz couple stood before us in line, Max and Elisheva, with their little son, Yost. Yost was a quiet, dreamy boy. Elisheva, or Ellie, as we called her, was a handsome woman with a trim figure. In the mornings, she used to sit on deck, next to the boat helm, and draw. She draws the views from the deck and, lately, portraits of people in our group. Mother sat for her one morning, on the bench next to the boat helm, and received a flattering portrait. Max was a bald, grim-faced man, who wasn’t seen much around the deck, except once a day, when the three of them would stretch their legs. According to Ellie, it was the crowded conditions below and lack of fresh air that caused all the illnesses on the boat. I heard Ellie telling Mother how much she enjoys drawing, how it improves her mood and makes her feel better about herself, especially now that she’s allowed to draw next to the boat helm.

  By the time we reached the distribution point, there wasn’t much jam left, and they’d almost run out of butter as well. The pot with the boiling tea had cooled and there was only a little left. The tea poured into the enamel cups couldn’t warm my freezing hands.

  Each of us received a single slice of bread and just a little butter. Sometimes, something small can suddenly break your spirit, and that’s exactly what happened to Mother. She really loved jam. Back home, she and Sophie, the cook, used to make jam out of almost every fruit in season. We sipped the lukewarm, tasteless tea. It was the first time I’d seen her on the verge of breaking down. She turned her head aside and stifled a sob.

  ***

  Bible lessons with Mr. Goldman are a very special experience. When he speaks, there is complete silence in the classroom; the tension is so thick, you could almost cut it with a knife. We all sit there quietly, focused and attentive. Even though his explanations are in German, he repeatedly reads from the Bible, and excitedly spices up his speech with Hebrew literary phrases. When he tries to explain a difficult verse, he raises his hands and waves them in the air, his small face shrinking even more, and his little mustache quivering with excitement.

  Mr. Goldman is up-to-date with everything going on in Israel. He has a small shortwave transistor radio he brought with him from Vienna. At nights, when I can’t fall asleep for thinking of Inge and possible ways of winning her back, I can hear Jerusalem Calling broadcasting from his radio.

  A few days ago, in a discussion about the prophet Jeremiah and his political doctrine, he tried to draw an analogy with our times and spoke movingly about the prophet at the city gates, a heavy burden on his shoulders, shouting at his own people, the Judeans in Jerusalem absorbed in their
vanity, trying to warn them of the impending danger that might destroy the land and its people.

  “And what does this remind us of?” he asked, as if waiting for an answer, but immediately replying to his own question. “It’s just like our own great exile in Europe. But nowadays, we have no one to warn us of impending disaster.” He waved his hands. “Just like the people of Judea in Jeremiah’s time, we were all too busy getting rich and worrying about material possessions to care about our spiritual assets.”

  One of the boys asked where the prophet had come from and who authorized him to speak in the name of God. It’s not like God has a mouth and can speak. A great commotion erupted in the classroom. Mr. Goldman hushed everyone and explained that a prophet is a person who speaks in the name of God and serves as his living mouth.

  Someone else jumped and said, “But anyone can wake up one morning and decide he’s a prophet and that God has been revealed to him.”

  “That’s true,” said Mr. Goldman. “Anyone can say God has been revealed to him in a dream, but just look at the life Jeremiah led, how he was thrown into a cistern and nearly died there, how Hananiah Ben Azzur desired his death. But in the face of all these threats, he persisted. He kept on standing at the gates of the city to warn the nation that a war against Babylon was hopeless and would bring about disaster. Not just any man can become a prophet. Only a man with great personal strength, an influential, charismatic man who can mesmerize the crowd with the power of his words. Not a man who babbles like the Jerusalem Calling announcer, who sounds as if he hasn’t eaten in two days.”

  Mr. Goldman was so angry with the unimpressive announcer that everyone in the classroom immediately shared his dislike of him. Then he added, full of pathos, “Because that Hebrew voice, the only one in the entire world, should be imbued with great strength, and not sound like a meaningless babbler. Now, the lady announcer who speaks at the end of the broadcast sounds as if her voice could electrocute the air and carve pathways through thunderstorms. That was probably how Jeremiah spoke when he appeared in front of King Zedekiah and tried to convince him that destruction was approaching.”

  Mr. Goldman is also in charge of teaching us Hebrew and Hebrew grammar. In the first few lessons with him, I couldn’t understand anything and had to ask for Inge’s help, but after a few lessons, my talent for languages helped me become one of the leading students in class. Pretty soon, I was the one helping Inge with conjugations and roots.

  Classes took place in an improvised classroom on board the Tzar Dusan. In order for us to have a better learning environment, the Federation of Jewish Communities had bought us all notebooks. Each child received one math notebook and one writing notebook. Physical education classes were taught by Yokel; at first it was only for the youths of the Hechalutz and Netzah, but later on, he accepted others who realized just how important it was to maintain body fitness in such conditions of inactivity and physical deterioration. Yokel was himself an athlete. Back in Vienna, he’d participated in professional gymnastics classes. He divided us into small groups and taught us various exercises to improve our strength and agility. Every lesson began with a warm-up, in which we would run and jump on the spot; the crowded conditions did not allow us a lot of room for movement.

  ***

  One night, while preparing to go to sleep, spreading blankets on the hard, wooden floor, the terrible screams of a woman calling for help could be heard from the boat’s lower level.

  “Doctor, doctor!”

  The sound of quick footsteps came from the staircase, and people on the boat were alarmed. I quickly folded my blanket, placed it in its usual corner, and went down as well. Mother called after me, “Why go, Hanne. I’m sure there are already more than enough curious people down there to disturb the doctor.”

  But I couldn’t help my natural curiosity, and by the time I got down, Dr. Bezalel and Inge were already there. Old Mr. Weiss lay sprawled on the floor. I recognized his face but had never spoken to him. He once tried to convince Father to put on tefillin, without much success. He lay on his back, his face pale and shrunken, sweat covering his forehead. Inge kneeled beside Dr. Bezalel and helped him roll up Mr. Weiss’s shirt. I could see his ribs sticking out through the white skin.

  Dr. Bezalel placed both his hands on the man’s chest and pressed down hard. It was hard for me to look at that horrifying sight, and I began to walk away. From the corner of my eye, I saw the doctor pressing hard a few more times. All that time, Mrs. Weiss stood next to them, weeping with fear. When the doctor rose and raised both his hands, as if to say, “I’ve done the best I could,” she broke into terrible cries.

  “I’m sorry. He’s suffered a severe heart attack.”

  The sound of sobbing was heard from the deck.

  The following day, as the sun began to set beyond the barren western hills, painting the heavens with shades of pink tinged with purple, a sad funeral procession emerged from the boat. It began in the corridor in the belly of the boat and continued all the way to the white-gray fields of Kladovo village. There, in the hardened soil, a proper burial place was found. Equipped with shovels and pickaxes loaned to them from the village’s agricultural toolshed, three strong men dug the grave for the first of our dead. There was no one to say Kaddish for him, but someone in the crowd said the El Male Rachamim13 prayer, and we went back to the boat to continue our seemingly never-ending wait. Two days later, a smooth slab of stone was placed on the fresh grave. On it was engraved the following words: Yehuda Weiss, Born in Vienna—1890. Died in Kladovo—1940.

  ***

  Tonight, I again eavesdropped on my parents’ conversation. They were sitting on the bench not far from me, speaking in hushed voices. But I’d learned by now to hear Mother’s whispering voice, even when lying in my usual spot on the floor, pretending to be asleep.

  “I had another interesting conversation with Emil Shechter today. He always has reliable sources of information,” said Father.

  “And what did you find out?” she asked.

  “Good news…and you know how hard it is to get good news out of him.”

  “Don’t tease me. What good news?” There was excitement in her voice.

  “There’s a rumor we’ll be out of here in a few weeks.”

  “Where? What did he say?”

  “We’ll sail part of the way on boats down the Danube, then board trains that will take us to the shores of the Adriatic Sea. From there, we’ll take a ship to Israel.”

  “Emil, that’s wonderful. Why didn’t you tell me right away?”

  “I didn’t want you to get too excited, Loui. Not until we’re told to pack our things and leave. I still have my doubts.”

  I also felt excited and spent the night thinking about what it would be like. After all, we’re used to each other here, and even the villagers are kind to us. I couldn’t fall asleep for excitement. I simply must meet Inge and tell her. She’s the only one I’ll tell. Then, perhaps we could go together to say goodbye to old Petrović, who will still be here mending nets when we are under the bright blue skies of Israel. That’s what Mr. Dvoriansky told us, that there are blue skies in Israel, even on most winter days, and we’d all stared at him in disbelief.

  This morning, after the lesson with Mr. Goldman, I stayed in the classroom to speak to Shlomit. She told me about her brother who lives on a kibbutz in the Jezreel Valley and is waiting for her to join him, and how she yearns to see him and wants to live on the kibbutz just like him. I told her what I’d heard from Father the night before, and she jumped for joy. Suddenly, Jacob came running toward us, holding a small parcel in his hand.

  “This just came in the mail,” he exclaimed joyfully. “For Inge and Shlomit, who took care of me so well.” He took two bottles of eau de cologne and handed one of them to Shlomit.

  “This is for you, from my sister, Eva.” He gave her the bottle with a little bow. Then he took out the attached le
tter and read.

  We’re sending you original eau de cologne bottles from Cologne for the girls who took care of you, but only two bottles. We’ll send the third one later today. You can tell them I really appreciate how well they’re treating my older brother.

  He folded the letter, placed it back in the envelope, took out the second bottle from the parcel, and handed it to me.

  “Please give this one to Inge. She deserves it too, after taking care of me so well.”

  “Don’t you know we don’t see each other anymore?” I asked, overwhelmed by a sharp pang of yearning.

  At noon, Fredl’s trumpet sounded, signaling us to gather on deck for an important announcement. The music Fredl had chosen as the signal for a general gathering was “The Blue Danube.”

  “A happy tune,” he said, explaining his choice. “Why should I depress everyone with a military march?”

  Half an hour later, we were all standing in the cold, huddled in our coats and blankets.

  “This won’t take long,” Naftali Bata prepared us. He stood on a large rock so we could all see him. “I owe you an explanation, because I know there are a lot of rumors.”

  A murmur passed through the crowd. Bata raised his voice and said, “I’m happy to announce that things are beginning to clear up, and there’s a chance we’ll be leaving in about three weeks, even before the anticipated date. The Federation of Jewish Communities has decided to change the plan. The ship will wait for us on the Adriatic Sea. We’ll sail down the Danube some of the way, the rest by train. But nothing is finalized yet. We’ll give you a week’s notice, so you’ll have enough time to get organized and pack your belongings.”

  Cheers rose from the crowd. People shouted for joy and clapped their hands. Some even began to sing, “For Bata is a jolly good fellow,” while he meanwhile got down from the rock and disappeared.

  It was three o’clock and I hurried to the Tzar Dusan so as not to miss the geometry lesson with Mr. Kommer, the engineer. Everyone sat in front of the long classroom tables. Mr. Kommer, whom we nicknamed “the dandy,” stood in front of the improvised blackboard in his beautiful clothes and showed us how to solve various problems he’d prepared for us. Rosie Zonshein stood shyly beside him, with her back to us and a piece of chalk in her hand, not daring to approach the blackboard for fear of betraying her ignorance.