by Shmuel David
“Yes. His brother’s name was Pauli. He was even taller.”
“Then yes, the fellow with the sweet tuft of hair in front looked just like a movie star; all the girls were talking about the two good-looking boys from Belgrade. Pauli was a bit of a show-off and looked down his nose at everyone. I have a clear memory of him from sports day in Kladovo. He was such a star.”
“I had another good girlfriend then, a young local girl from Sabac, Mara Yuvanovich; she was sensitive and very special, a girl my own age, bubbly and full of curiosity. Her father was the head of a school or responsible for education in Sabac. I even had time to teach her some German. She picked it up very quickly. We went through that period together, until the deportation to the camp on the Sava River. I couldn’t go and visit her from there. Getting to Sabac was too dangerous by then.
“We were a close-knit group. Friedl, Inge, myself, and Ancel Dajč. All the rest were locals. There was Mara, whom I told you about, and Milka, a lovely gypsy girl all the young boys were after. She had a wonderful voice, and she’d sing gypsy songs at the famous Café Roma. Her brother accompanied her on the violin, and Nicola, her boyfriend, on the accordion. People at the café were always moved by her. Ancel, Inge, and I sometimes went to Café Roma and loved hearing her sing. When Nicola played ‘Csárdás,’ the audience fell completely silent. Nicola also knew French and taught Milka French songs.
“Our entertainment team, who started with the amateur schiffsreview in Kladovo, continued with a spectacular performance in Sabac that now required a proper hall. Milka and Nicola were also invited to perform with them. All this took place before hell broke out in Sabac. At the beginning of April, when the Germans entered, everything was turned upside down at once.
“During the first days after the trains left with children and youth for Eretz Israel, there was an atmosphere of anticipation, that everything would be all right, that if one transport had left, then the next would not be long in coming. But this dream was to shatter very quickly.”
“Was Ancel from your group or from Sabac?” asked Alan.
“He was one of our group. Ancel Dajč, a young fellow from Vienna. Mara and her friends called him Zoran. Our group called him Ancel. At first, we all called him ‘the student,’ because he studied law in Vienna. They say he was brilliant, and several major firms in the city took an interest in him. At the beginning of the journey, he was a frightened, silent boy, and he looked weak and delicate. In time, though, he grew up and became more confident. He was highly intelligent, and people looked to him for advice on issues like agreements with the locals to do with accommodation and work. He often said that the Germans should be taught a lesson, and if he had the strength, he’d do something.”
***
One day, Mara told me they were going out on a retaliation mission at the Zorka Factory. I immediately asked to participate, and Ancel also joined us. Inge said she was afraid of provocations and wasn’t coming. I was curious about how they intended to retaliate. Ancel said at every opportunity that the time had come to take even symbolic action against the Germans and their collaborators. But he was afraid at first that the police would catch us and that it would end badly. I reminded him that we couldn’t just sit there talking. We had to take action. In the end, I persuaded him to join us.
It was a warm, sunny day at the end of March. The air was full of the scent of blossom. Ancel and I stood waiting on the road leading from the mill to the factory. Both sides of the road were dotted with acacia trees blooming with yellow flowers. Around the bend in the road came a group of young people from Sabac, among them Mara. “Come along,” she called out. “It’ll be fun!”
They had sticks and walked rapidly, their faces alight and their eyes shining with determination. We got to the building just before sunset. At first, I froze in my tracks, and I saw Ancel hesitating as well. Acts of destruction and revenge were not in our nature. But when the boy next to me picked up a stone and threw it at the window in front of him, I plucked up courage and threw stones at the glass windows. The sound of glass breaking and the scattering shards increased our enthusiasm. Mara went from window to window with her stick, finishing off the windows that had only cracked.
We suddenly heard a whistle blow not far from us. “Police!” called our friends and immediately dropped everything and began to run in the direction of the cemetery. Afraid and panting, I ran after them, trying with all my might to keep up. But then I suddenly realized that Ancel wasn’t beside me. I looked back but couldn’t see him. My heart was beating fiercely. Of all people, Ancel, who was weak and awkward, had probably been caught. And it was all my fault. I’d persuaded him.
I hid in the cemetery, each of us lying behind a headstone. In the distance, we could hear the police shouting, alternately approaching and getting further away. Mara crawled over to me. She was panting, and her face was red with effort.
“What happened to Ancel?” she asked anxiously. “Didn’t he get away?”
I answered that I was very worried about him. We lay there for a few minutes that seemed like an eternity. I was no longer worried about being caught. I just didn’t want Ancel to pay the price. God, please don’t let him get caught, I prayed.
Our local friends got up cautiously to make sure the coast was clear. I heard steps approaching, and Ancel appeared. His back was hunched, and he was looking anxiously around him.
“Ancel,” I whispered from my hiding place.
He hurried over to lie beside me. He couldn’t speak for effort and fear. A large weight rolled off my heart. I hugged him and whispered in his ear, “God heard me. I was so worried about you.”
Later, we heard he’d run in a different direction, and thanks to him, the police went off in the wrong direction.
When we got to Mara’s house, her mother was waiting anxiously outside. The rumor had spread.
“Were you also breaking windows at the factory?” she asked in alarm.
“What? Did they break windows there?” Mara asked innocently.
“They deserve it, those German pigs!” said a passerby who heard the conversation.
“You’re finally understanding what we Jews are going through,” yelled Ancel. “At least someone is doing something! All we do is keep our heads down all the time.”
“That’s all we need, another war!” moaned Mara’s mother. “Come inside for dinner at once,” she barked at her daughter.
Later, we sat in the infirmary with Inge. We listened to the radio and heard that there were similar uprisings all over Yugoslavia. “The freedom-loving people of Yugoslavia are taking their fate into their own hands and want to show this weak, traitorous government that we will not be another Austria. We will fight to the end!” intoned the Free Station of Belgrade. Inge tried to translate for us with the little Serbo-Croatian she’d learned from Hanne.
She had recovered and returned to her old self. After the parting at the railway station in Sabac, she was in a deep depression, and no one could rouse her. “It’s just a matter of time now,” everyone told her. “Be strong. We’ll be on a train ourselves in two or three weeks.”
One day, then another, and we all realized from the radio transmissions that it really was only a matter of time—not the time that would pass until we left Sabac in the direction of Eretz Israel, but the time it would take the Germans to arrive.
On the morning of the sixth of April, we woke to the excited voice of the announcer: “German planes have been bombing Belgrade since early this morning.” I was filled with depressing thoughts. Who knew where this would lead? Leaving didn’t seem so near, but we didn’t lose hope yet.
Mara arrived and told us she was going with her parents to her uncles who lived in the village of Varenska, not far from Sabac, “until everything calms down.”
Every five minutes, the radio in the infirmary announced what area had been bombed and which buildings were damaged. Ou
r counselors gathered us together and told us not to scatter but stay close for instructions. This went on all that night and the next day. Convoys of refugees left Sabac on roads leading to surrounding villages like Varenska and even Ruma. There were rumors of large groups of armed Partisans organizing in the forests. Yanek and three other young men from our group tried to persuade me and Inge to go with them to join the Partisans.
Inge said she was not so afraid for herself but that she feared it would bring disaster to the people in the group. That’s who she was, always concerned for others and least of all for herself. I, on the other hand, very much wanted to join. I was tired of doing nothing and being constantly humiliated. On the other hand, I wasn’t sure the time had come yet. We had to find the right moment, the point of no return, because at that stage, we still hoped they were trying to get us out and that the Aliyah would take place, so I put off the idea. Also, the Transport Administration warned us that those who joined the Partisans might not be able to find their way back.
***
On the train home, Alan sat thinking about what Erica had told him. She had a great deal to tell, and her memories were filled with life and details of life. He must write them down. Maybe, one day, he’d put them all in a memorial pamphlet about heroes she’d mentioned. Maybe even a book. The problem was that until he had the time to write, many of the details might be forgotten. He must record her. Pity he hadn’t done so that evening. Next time, he’d take a high-quality recording device with him. He’d keep it in his pocket so it wouldn’t bother her.
The next day, during lunch hour, he went to the J. R. Electronics store on Fulton Street and bought a recording device, and that evening, he recorded all the details he could remember from their meeting the previous day.
The following day, he planned to meet with Erica again, but his secretary informed him that an important meeting had been set up for him in Chicago and there was a lot of material to prepare.
The meetings with Erica, her stories, all evoked in him an enormous curiosity and a hunger for information. Around five thirty, he began to reflect on the details of their previous meeting. He was amazed by the workings of long-term memory and the gaps in short-term memory. If he asked Erica what her doctor had said yesterday, she’d have to work hard to recall a few hesitant details. He was curious about her story of joining the Partisans and their escape. He felt himself drawn into it. Maybe he’d find out more about Inge and his grandparents.
He wondered when she’d made her decision to cross the lines. It was probably a conflict felt deeply by many of the group who remained. Erica called it the point of no return, one they had to be ready for. She probably arrived at that point, or she wouldn’t be here today. Until now, he thought to himself, he hadn’t heard of anyone who’d survived.
Maybe he’d be able to see her that evening after all. For a brief visit. He’d promised to read her another section from the project Nina had submitted. He’d prepare for the meeting in Chicago at home that night.
When he reached her room, he found her with sunken cheeks and covered up in bed.
“Just not my day,” she said. “Another bad day. I seem to be sinking fast.”
“What happened?” he asked in alarm.
“You wouldn’t understand,” she said to him. “You are still young and so very busy. And you have a family…”
“But that’s what I’m always trying to do. Trying to understand life, and I don’t think I’m doing too badly.”
“I don’t feel I belong anymore.”
“Don’t belong where? What do you mean?”
“Don’t belong to this life. This time is so different from that of my youth. When we were on the boat and then in Kladovo, we were together, older people, younger people, there wasn’t such a gap between us.”
“Yes, times have changed,” he agreed, adding, “Look, Erica, I want to ask you something.” He drew closer, “Your story has so gripped me that I want to record it. I’ve brought a small recording device,” he said, taking it out of his pocket to show her. “Would it bother you if I keep it in my pocket to record your story?”
“Not at all, but on one condition. That it stays between the two of us.”
“For the time being, I’m not going to do anything with it. Although you did once ask me why I don’t write, remember?”
“Yes, but not yet. I’m not ready.”
“So where were we? You were saying there wasn’t such a gap between older and younger people.”
German Soldiers
“Less so for me, but Inge spent a lot of time with your family. She and Louisa had a special relationship. They were very close. Not only because of Hanne. Louisa was the mother she missed so much all that time. Inge would go to their apartment in Sabac and help with the cleaning, wash the floors, and so on. She was a very quick and practical girl. They spent a lot of time together, particularly after the young people left, and your grandfather, Emil, went off to Belgrade. Did you know that he left?”
“Yes, I have two letters he sent to Eretz Israel after Father and Pauli left.”
***
He left three days before Passover, I think, and returned on Seder night. But the second day of the Seder was the day Sabac was most heavily bombed. We were all busy filling sandbags in the mill yard. We suddenly heard bombs whistling over our heads. And then we heard explosions and saw Miklos come running out of Emil and Louisa’s home, which apparently took a direct hit. He was a single fellow, older than the youth group but younger than the adults with families. He was holding his head in his hands, running in the street and wailing hysterically.
“What’s happened, Miklos?” we asked, and he said, “Direct hit. Go and save them, quickly.”
“Call Inge. People may be injured! Call someone.”
When we entered, we saw a cloud of smoke. The kitchen was completely destroyed. Through the smoke, it seemed as if nothing was wrong. We saw Emil and Louisa sitting at the table with cups of steaming tea, as if they didn’t understand what all the fuss was about. We couldn’t believe our eyes. Inge stood behind them, murmuring, “A miracle, it’s a miracle.”
They were unharmed, but the kitchen was ruined and shards of glass lay scattered on the floor. They told us they’d been sitting there with Miklos and the Birnbaum couple when suddenly they heard an approaching whistle followed by the sound of an explosion and all the glasses in the cabinet shattered.
The next morning, armored vehicles in German military colors were seen, and German soldiers in green uniforms and green helmets patrolled up and down the town on motorbikes making a deafening noise. It was then our people began to understand that we were trapped and that the transport would never reach its destination. Many of the young people planned to escape before it was too late. They tried to persuade me and Inge as well, but we felt the time wasn’t right. And I didn’t have the emotional stamina for it. I told myself that we hadn’t yet reached the point of no return.
I wanted to find out what had happened to Café Roma where so many of the group used to spend time. It was hit at the back, and the roof had collapsed. When I approached, I heard the whistle of a German soldier, who barked at me, “Don’t go any closer. The place is blocked.”
Suddenly, I saw Mara. She ran up panting, “We are so lucky, Erica. Our house is still standing. It’s unharmed. We are so lucky. All the adjacent buildings were hit. All the windows at Mignon, the clothing store, were shattered.”
“I only came for a while,” said Mara excitedly, adding, “Mother wouldn’t let me come. I persuaded her, told her I just wanted to see what happened to our house, but I have to go back.”
I offered to accompany her to the exit from the town.
When we passed the railway station, we saw a large crowd of people. An old woman was carrying a sack on her bent back.
“What have you got there?” asked Mara.
“Le
ave me alone,” she answered crossly. “Everyone’s taking stuff. What do you want from me?”
It was a shameful scene. People had broken into stores and were looting and taking everything they could lay hands on, sacks of rice or corn. Ripped sacks lay in the middle and on the sides of the street, and people gathered around, filling bags and pails or any available container.
We suddenly noticed an oil barrel on its side and a little girl’s small sandaled feet sticking out. Her head and most of her body were inside the barrel. Mara hurried to pull her out by her legs. The child was holding onto a large jar and weeping bitterly.
“What will I tell my mother?” she yelled. “She told me to fill a jar with oil.”
“But you could have drowned in that oil,” Mara shouted back. “You should be thanking me for saving your life. Now go away at once.”
The child obeyed.
A group of local women laden with loot walked ahead of us: bags of corn, flour, and bread. When we came to the mill on the road leading out of Sabac, a few of the young people from our group were standing there, looking pityingly at the looters. On the side of the road stood two sacks of flour.
“Take it, my friends. You’ll be needing it.” Mara pointed at the sacks. But they stood there proudly, without blinking an eye, not tempted by the food. With a small contemptuous smile, they said, “We will never descend to that level. Steal someone’s goods? No matter how bad things get, we still have our pride.”
After we’d gone past, Mara compared their youths with ours.
“See that? They can stoop so low just for a few bags of rice or a jar of oil; they’re even willing to die for it. Your youths wouldn’t dare humiliate themselves like that.”
That evening, we heard shots. Soon after, the bodies of about twenty youths were brought in. They’d tried to escape under cover of darkness. We buried them. It was very sad. Eight were killed, some adults and Hechalutz youth, among them Karl, who was my age, a very talented young man. He was the one who’d tried to persuade me to join the escape. In a second, I understood why I’d postponed my decision. There was still something to lose.