Two Princes and a Queen

by Shmuel David

  “A passenger boat hired to carry hundreds of Austrian and Czech Jews currently in Sabac, down the Danube to Sulina on the Black Sea, where a sea liner is waiting to take them to Palestine.”

  Yokel and Teddy were very satisfied with this information and rubbed their hands together.

  “There you are, another sign that the plan really is going ahead,” said Teddy. “You see? Nothing to worry about. Yokel, go and calm everyone down,” he said, clapping Yokel on the back. “And something else, tell them that the ‘fairy godfather’ will be here tomorrow.”

  This was the nickname the Aliyat Hano’ar youngsters gave Spitzer because of his wild appearance whenever there was trouble on one hand, and on the other because of his stories about secret operations and boats that sounded like fairy stories no one believed. Again, we heard that Spitzer himself was coming from Belgrade to finish up the final details.

  “This will help more than anything else,” said Yokel.

  “You see?” added Teddy. “Some fairy stories seem to be true. Mr. Spitzer is one of them,” he said, laughing.

  And then another item caught my eye.

  “There’s something else here that might affect us,” I said worriedly.

  “What, what?” The two, who were about to go, were alarmed.

  “The Yugoslavian authorities have published a decision taken several days ago to prevent Jewish emigrants from Austria, Germany, and Hungary from entering state borders. The prohibition will take effect in the coming days, constituting an additional step by Yugoslavia, like other European countries that have already undertaken similar prohibitions.”

  Teddy took Yokel’s hand and ordered him to sit down again.

  “Why are you so upset about this, Teddy? We knew it would happen sooner or later.”

  “Yes, but just think about what it means. What about the Jews on their way? What about us? They can prevent our sailing!”

  “Yes, but we’re leaving, not entering,” said Yokel.

  “It doesn’t matter,” answered Teddy. “You have to understand how urgent it is that we leave now!”

  “I don’t understand those who refused to sign,” said Yokel.

  I remembered Mother’s stubborn refusal and again felt very ashamed.

  Late that afternoon, I met Inge after she’d finished her shift, possibly her last. That’s how everyone was talking about everything they did, because the voyage seemed closer than ever. I thought of inviting her to a movie, but in the meantime, we sat in the empty doctor’s room. It was cold outside, and I told her about the meeting at the library.

  “It’s lucky I managed to get on the list,” said Inge. “Did you see what a scramble it was? But there won’t be room for everyone.”

  “I’ll be left here alone. Without you. Didn’t you think about that?”

  “You aren’t alone, Hanne,” she said, putting her hand on my shoulder. “And anyway, we’ll meet soon in Israel. It’s only a matter of time.”

  “I don’t know anymore,” I said reflectively. “After reading that item in the newspaper today, nothing is clear.”

  She was silent for a long time, then said, “Hanne, you know I adore your mother, but I didn’t understand her behavior that day.”

  “Don’t remind me. You know how uncomfortable I feel about it.”

  “Yes, but to you I can say it. Because I love you, and because I admire your mother. That loss of control…”

  “Maybe she understands something we can’t see, some risk no one has considered,” I tried to protect my mother’s dignity.

  “It reminds me of the first day, when I met you on the boat. Remember? The way she fainted and everyone was looking for a doctor.”

  “Of course I remember. I will never forget that day. And then you appeared like a ministering angel.”

  “Yes. Well let’s not talk about the past. Let’s talk about the future. Our future in Eretz Israel.”

  “You’re finally leaving. But what about the fate of those who remain here?”

  “But you do agree that I should take this opportunity, don’t you? The problem is that I am older by one year and not considered youth. After all, they’re preparing certificates for all the Aliyat Hano’ar youngsters.”

  “I agree to one thing,” I said, amused. “And that is going to the movies on Thursday evening. They’re showing The Blue Angel at the Olympia.”

  “Aha! With Marlene Dietrich. I love her!” She was suddenly carried away with enthusiasm. “A month before the journey, I wanted to go and see that movie at our cinema in town, but then preparations for the transport began and there wasn’t time,” she said sadly.

  “So we’re set for Thursday, then?” I said, trying to appear decisive. “I’ll come and get you at seven o’clock in the evening.”

  That night, I couldn’t sleep. I imagined the emptiness, the void here after half the group left on the transport, the rest of us stuck here for a long time to come. Luckily, Dr. Bezalel was staying with us. He’d encouraged Inge to go. I’ll probably never see her again. She’ll join a kibbutz in Israel, and by the time I get there, and who knows when that will be, she’ll have married someone else.

  I am also excited about Thursday. It will be the first time I take a girl to the cinema, and I can even invite her. Since I finished my commitment to Farmer Radoyevich, he pays me once a week. I give some to my parents, and the rest I keep for myself.

  Everyone said “fairy godfather” Spitzer would be coming on Thursday to present the transport plan in a hall at Hotel Paris, where all our Tuesday and Friday cultural performances were now held. Everyone was certain he’d also talk about the plans for those who were staying. But I had no intention of changing my plans in his honor. I had a date with Inge that night.

  Tension rose that afternoon when Elli Haimbach announced that Spitzer would not be coming this time, although he hadn’t come on previous occasions either. But he’d called to say that the final sailing date was set for the following Tuesday or Wednesday.

  When I arrived to pick up Inge on Thursday evening, she received me in a flattering and elegant dress, looking very glamorous. Her hair was tied back, which emphasized her lovely neck and deep dimples in her cheeks. Though I felt that going out with Inge was a privilege, I wasn’t happy. We sat down in the hall, my arm around her shoulders. I drew her closer to me, feeling the warmth of her body.

  We empathized with Professor Rath’s sorrow, suffered with him through his humiliation and abuse as a result of his great love for Lola Lola. We wept when his beloved students abused him. And toward the end, when he returned to his classroom, Inge held my arm tightly and blew her nose.

  After the movie, we strolled arm in arm along the broad, illuminated Alexander Street, and from there into a small, darker street, the song “Lola Lola” playing incessantly in my mind.

  ***

  Preparations for the journey were under way. Everyone had already finished packing. The youngsters at the mill and the granary had emptied their wooden lockers, and their eternal suitcases, previously hidden under their beds, were now out in the open, waiting beside their beds. Things looked exactly as they had a few months previously, when we’d waited with our suitcases for a transport that never happened. Everyone spoke enthusiastically about the coming voyage. Father was already resigned to the fact that we were staying, and once he finished making bunks for the tug, he began making wooden clogs for those who were staying. I thought I’d give Inge a pair as a parting gift.

  There was a large headline in the evening newspaper about an uprising in several Romanian towns near the Danube. In Turnu Severin, there were demonstrations against Ion Antonescu’s new regime; stores and market stalls were burned, and the police had to disperse people by force. Clearly, these incidents might affect any possibility of sailing along the Danube in the area close to the Romanian border. And indeed, the following day, they ann
ounced that the final date had been postponed for two days, to the thirtieth of November, and Mr. Spitzer would come with a new date. On the evening of the proposed parting, in the hall of Hotel Paris, it was postponed indefinitely.

  On the thirtieth of November, people were in an uproar once again. They began to fear the voyage would be completely canceled as a result of the situation in Romania. Zvi, who always understood and knew everything better than anyone else, came to visit Father and spoke to him for a long time. Mother served them tea because there was nothing to eat. I sat drinking tea with them. Lately, they related to Pauli and me as adults. Father no longer tried to prevent me from intervening in adult affairs, and I no longer had to listen in secret, unless they really didn’t want me to hear. Mother also related to me as a man among men, even serving me tea.

  Zvi analyzed the situation with the skill of a surgeon.

  “One,” he counted on his fingers. “They aren’t going to cancel the transport just because of a few riots in Romania. They haven’t even closed the Danube crossing. Two, I’m telling you, the problem is that they haven’t made sure there’s a boat at Sulina; it’s nonsense. There’s nothing there.”

  Father, who was originally in favor of joining, sat quietly while Zvi counted the dangers of leaving.

  “And three—and listen to what I’m telling you—even if there was a boat, they wouldn’t allow it to sail on the Black Sea. There are fierce storms now.” Father tried to respond, but he was so immersed in what he was saying that he wouldn’t allow interruption. “And four, if they don’t leave within two or three days, they won’t be leaving at all for a very simple reason: the Yugoslavian Company boats have to return to Belgrade for the winter. The river will freeze over again.”

  Now Father could no longer contain himself, asking impatiently and cynically, “Tell me, Mr. Zvi, how come you know everything there is to know about the Yugoslavian ships? Where do you get all your information about the weather and how the Yugoslavian Boat Company works?”

  Zvi fell silent in the face of Father’s aggressive contempt.

  “I’m not the only one who says so,” he faltered. “That’s what they say. What do I know?”

  “And you’ve come up with a whole theory based on these rumors?”

  “Enough, stop quarreling,” came Mother’s calming voice from the kitchen. “Who wants more tea?”

  “No, thank you,” said Zvi. “I must go.”

  As he was leaving, Inge came to say goodbye to Mother.

  “I came to say goodbye before we leave,” she said shyly, standing in the doorway.

  “Come on in, my dear,” said Mother. “I also wanted to come and say goodbye. And thank you, as well.”

  Inge came inside. Mr. Zvi went on his way. Mother pulled up a chair, gesturing to her to take a seat.

  “Thank me for what, Madame Louisa? I’m the one who should be thanking you.”

  “Everything comes so naturally to you. You saved me that first day on the boat, and you helped me clean the apartment. You know that’s not my strong suit. In Belgrade, everything was always done for me.”

  “Well, I didn’t actually save you. No need to exaggerate. But from the moment we met, I felt a kinship with you. You know how to listen and to advise. You’re a special woman.”

  “I’ll make you some tea. I don’t have much to offer, you know. Actually, there are still some cookies left from a package we received.”

  “No need, thank you. Tea is enough.”

  When Mother returned with two cups of tea, she suddenly realized that she hadn’t offered any to Father or me.

  “I’ll make you some in a second,” she apologized.

  I was embarrassed by all the affection Mother and Inge showed each other and was silent.

  “Nu, say something,” said Mother. “You’re sitting there as silent as a mummy. We all know you’re a couple. Everyone calls you a couple made in heaven.”

  I looked at a black spot on the floor and didn’t know how to respond. Fortunately, Inge broke the silence.

  “It’s true. We love each other and have a great deal in common.”

  “Yes,” said Mother. “And I am overjoyed for Hanne that he’s found a girl like you. A girl with a good heart and a practical side too.”

  “Yes,” I added. “It’s just a pity she doesn’t have enough time for me. She’s busy all the time.”

  “That’s just how it is when you choose the nursing profession,” said Mother. “There is always someone who needs your care.”

  “But I have no complaints,” said Inge. “There’s a final date for our departure, the second of December,” she said, changing the subject and raising the cup to her lips.

  “I hope so, I hope so,” said Father with a sigh.

  “Why I hope so?” asked Inge. “I understand that this time it’s certain.”

  “We’ve all had enough of these postponements,” said Mother. “Packing and unpacking, packing and unpacking all the time. Just like that song ‘Filth.’”

  “Did you go to their last performance?” asked Mother.

  “The last one? No. But I went with Hanne the week before. I don’t go very often now that they take money.”

  “They shouldn’t really take money. Emil and I don’t go very often either.”

  “If it wasn’t so sad, we could laugh at this situation, and they’re really good at that.”

  “As long as you leave the day after tomorrow! They can’t put it off any longer,” said Father.

  “It’ll be all right,” said Inge. “I’m sure we’ll meet in Israel once you get your papers. It’s just a matter of time.”

  “Apparently, storms are no longer a danger,” I said. “I also heard that Spitzer called to confirm the departure date.”

  “I also heard that,” said Father. “I was there when they got the call. Something doesn’t seem right to me, but I wish you all good luck.”

  “Thank you. I have to go now,” said Inge, getting up from her chair. “I am really very happy to have met your lovely family. I’m sure we’ll be in touch, Hanne, and I have already planned our future together in Israel.”

  She went over to Mother and embraced her. Mother returned the embrace with fervor, and I saw two large tears trickling from her eyes. She parted from Father with a courageous handshake.

  “I’ll accompany her,” I said, getting up and going toward the door.

  “Goodbye Inge. Good luck and a safe journey. Keep us a place there!” Mother called after her. “Hanne, take something warm. It’s cold outside.”

  We went out into the darkness and the cold. Inge held out her hand to me and so we trudged in silence toward the dark Tzar Nikolai Street on our way to the mill.

  Inge was the first to speak. “Say something, Hanne. Your silence is hard for me.”

  “You know I get embarrassed in situations like that. What can I say?”

  “Tell me we’ll get engaged when we meet in Israel. It wouldn’t kill you to say so.”

  “It’s not that, Inge. You forget I’m only sixteen. Who announces an engagement at that age?”

  “All right. We only have one more day together, and I don’t know if there’ll be time to meet, you know.” She stood before me expectantly. I put my arms around her waist and drew her to me. Then I stroked her face and touched her lips with mine in a long, warm kiss. We stood embracing for some time.

  “Promise me you’ll let me know as soon as you get to Israel. I might not hear about your arrival.”

  “I‘ll try and let you know by all means possible, although I may not know where to look.”

  “You know what? I’ll send you a postcard here.”

  We parted with heavy hearts. Something told me we’d not meet again. That bad things would happen to us here. Yugoslavia had already begun to adopt the racial laws in place in Germany, Austria, and
Poland. Although there was no order as yet to wear the yellow star like other countries, it would probably come soon enough.

  ***

  Mr. Spitzer indeed arrived. Not on the first of December, as planned, but only on the sixth of December. The second of December was the worst day in the annals of our transport. The tug stood ready, loaded with bunks and kitchen equipment. The travelers were ready and packed down to the last item. Some had even sold things they no longer needed to friends who were staying. The sellers regarded the buyers with compassion. Some tried to be encouraging and say things like, “We’ll be together again soon.”

  On the morning of the second of December, everyone made their farewells. People who’d lived together for over a year were saying goodbye, for a short time, or an unknown time, or perhaps, forever.

  But then, Elli Haimbach appeared, walking swiftly and holding a telegram in his hand from the Yugoslavian Boat Company. He didn’t know how to begin to explain the enormity of the blow. He knew that this time, the disappointment would be infinitely greater than that of Kladovo two months before.

  When Sime Spitzer arrived, four days later, in order to explain the reason for the cancellation, people simply lost control. The terrible blow of disappointment was mixed with depression, despair, and utter rage that they projected onto everyone: the Germans, the Yugoslavians, the Transport Administration, the Jewish leadership, everyone.

  The rage had died down somewhat by December 6, but only a few came to the hall at Hotel Paris to hear the “fairy godfather” attempt to explain what had happened—how from a situation of complete confidence in the departure, everything suddenly fell apart again. Unlike other times, when the audience had booed, this time there was a thundering silence. People had lost hope. They were indifferent to what Mr. Spitzer had to say. Father, Pauli, and I went to the meeting. Spitzer appeared. He was simply dressed, without his eternal, cylindrical hat. This time, he didn’t speak with his customary brisk confidence. He referred to the storms on the Black Sea as a danger not taken into account, about the riots in Romania, which caused the shore patrol to stop and examine any passing ship or tug. He said he didn’t want complications and that the safety of the passengers was more important than almost certain danger.