Two Princes and a Queen

by Shmuel David

  ***

  Fear of reprisals increased as a result of the escape attempt, and in the meantime, we heard rumors of special reprisal squads who’d arrived from France. When we heard machine-gun fire on the northern border of Sabac, in the direction of Bara, we realized they were already here. For two days, we heard non-stop firing in the Mačva area. They indiscriminately shot farmers, women, and children. We sat shivering with terror in our huts, but not for long. Even as we sat huddled in fear, the thud of boots on the asphalt was heard outside. The camp paths and square quickly filled up with scores of soldiers in green uniforms, square backpacks on their backs, as if they’d all been manufactured by one machine. Among them, several Volksdeutsche were rushing about with black swastikas on white sleeves, as well as about five Jewish prisoners who did their work faithfully. They took us from the huts under pretext of a headcount. An order was given to take a pile of logs from the fence to build another hut. They chose a group of about ten young men and ordered them to run with the logs on their shoulders to the entrance gate about a hundred and fifty meters away and back again—one log between every two men. And then they sent another group of men on the same mission. Ancel and Yanek were in the third group. My heart ached for Ancel, whose shoulders were so frail they couldn’t carry the heavy log, and every time he tried to raise it, he fell to the ground. The soldier opposite him gave him a cruel look and aimed the rifle at him. Yanek suddenly volunteered to help him. He was from the Hashomer Hatzair group, a large man known to be one of the strongest men in the transport, with the softest, most sensitive heart. He easily raised the log, but the German soldier stubbornly demanded that Yanek put the log on Ancel’s shoulder.

  Ancel collapsed under the burden, and the soldier forbade Yanek to help him. Yanek swiftly turned toward the soldier and hit him hard on the elbow. The soldier collapsed with a cry.

  Two soldiers standing not far away hurried to seize Yanek. He fought them bravely until a revolver shot was heard and he fell. A German officer had shot him once in the chest.

  The torture went on for hours. We girls were given cleaning tasks in the yards between the huts and in the toilets. The men were made to run to and fro with logs on their shoulders, while German soldiers threatened them with guns and batons.

  Later, the men from Sabac arrived with the gypsies, all of them marching in the direction of our camp. They joined the Jewish men there, who were made to run at the head of the line, followed by the gypsies and local men. To make things even harder, the Germans added various loads onto the backs of the Jews; heavy backpacks, they didn’t know what was in them. Ancel, among those running at the head, collapsed under the heavy load and was forced to get up and continue. He glanced fearfully at the German soldier standing over him, tried to get up, but fell again. The German kicked him and he fell, the heavy backpack forcing him to the ground. The soldier hit him in the face with his rifle butt. Blood covered his face. Among the Jews and locals from Sabac were others who collapsed and fell like Ancel. Others continued at a walk. The bloody march continued for twenty-three kilometers as far as Jarak; constantly in the background, they could hear machine guns firing from Bara.

  ***

  Alan arrived for his meeting with Erica and was surprised to find her in a good mood. She even asked him to read to her from a volume of poems on her cabinet. On its faded jacket were the words Wandering, Hermann Hesse,25 1941.

  “Instead of my talking all the time and you recording me, today I want to indulge myself a little and listen to my favorite poems.”

  “No problem. Today is your special day. You decide and I’ll do whatever you say.”

  “In that case, please open the book at page 116 and read the entire poem,” she handed him the crumbling book.

  Alan read the English translation of the poem:

  As every flower fades and as all youth

  Departs, so life at every stage,

  So every virtue, so our grasp of truth,

  Blooms in its day and may not last forever.

  Since life may summon us at every age

  Be ready, heart, for parting, new endeavor,

  Be ready bravely and without remorse

  To find new light that old ties cannot give.

  In all beginnings dwells a magic force

  For guarding us and helping us to live.

  Serenely let us move to distant places

  And let no sentiments of home detain us.

  “Isn’t that wonderful?” she asked at the end of the first stanza. “Do you have any idea how often I was in that situation of dying and rebirth?” she mused. “But today, I know there won’t be another stage of rebirth for me. I’m beyond old age now. Look at me. It isn’t right that I should have to stay here and see this crazy world of yours. Do something.”

  “Is it so bad that you don’t want to live?”

  “Really, Alan, someone in my position no longer enjoys very much. This is not living.”

  After he finished and closed the book, she asked him to take her to the veranda and tell her if there was anything interesting there. At first, everything looked the same, but then he saw a blue bird standing by itself on a branch where a pair of bright blue songbirds usually stood, and which he described to Erica. They’re always together, on the same bare branch, like a pair of lovers. But today only one of them is there. Alan told Erica about the pair that had apparently been separated.

  “Maybe she found a male bird who sings more beautifully,” he said.

  But she was more optimistic.

  “Maybe they finished building the nest, and now she’s sitting on her eggs. He’s probably watching the nest to make sure she isn’t in danger. It reminds me of the time I was a lookout for a Partisan unit. I’d often watch headquarters to make sure no enemy soldiers were nearby, putting us at risk.”

  “Last time you began telling me about Nada,” he reminded her. “Do you want to continue? You said it wasn’t time yet. Maybe the time has come,” he said and switched on the recorder.

  * * *

  25Hermann Hesse (1877–1962) was a writer, poet, and German philosopher who won the Nobel Prize in Literature. Because of his resistance to the Nazis, he emigrated to Switzerland in 1943, where he died. The poem which is cited in the next lines is Stages from the book Wandering.

  Escape, September 1941

  Toward the end of September, we heard rumors that the Partisans were very close and planning to take Sabac. Preparations for the Partisan attack were in full swing. The mayor supplied sand that was piled up at the entrances to buildings, and we were sent to fill sacks with sand for raised walls at the entrances.

  Inge and I had already decided that if the Partisans entered the town, we’d find a way to join them. In the morning, I arranged with Inge to meet her at the entrance to Mara’s house at five thirty that evening. Inge went as usual to work at the hospital in the seminar building, and I volunteered to go out with the men to clean the barracks. I told Friedl we wouldn’t be returning, so she’d understand we were trying to escape and wouldn’t tell anyone. After work, we were on our way back to the camp when shooting came from the direction of Bara. A commotion broke out, and the German guards ran for cover. I took the opportunity. As the firing increased and everyone hid behind the sack barriers, I ran alongside the barrier. I realized that I was very close to Mara’s house; I remembered its location—Sixteen Karlova. I ran, panting all the way, counting the entrances that were barely recognizable behind the sand barriers. I got to number fourteen; it’s the next house, I said to myself. Mara let me in quickly, asking in alarm, “What are you doing here? They’ll catch you. The minute the firing stops, the guards will come after you like madmen. They won’t give up on anyone.”

  We stood there for a few minutes, hiding behind the sand barrier. The sounds of firing only increased. Suddenly, we heard explosions. Maybe they were really close now. Mara
suggested I hide in her house that night. I told her Inge would be coming later on. Mara said she’d hide us in the attic, but that we were responsible for our own safety. I told her about our plan to join the Partisans if they reached the town, that we’d look for an opportunity to offer our help, and if they agreed, we’d escape with them to the forest under cover of the upheaval. Mara looked at me with respect, saying I was doing something very brave, but she wouldn’t do it. The plan seemed like a fantasy to her.

  She took me up to the attic, and we sat there on a mattress. There was no bed there, because the wooden ceiling was very low. I told her how in the movement in Vienna, and later on at the ice dock at Kladovo, I learned a bit about self-protection and survival, and now it was time to act. I was emotionally ready for anything. Even losing my life in order to put an end to the daily humiliation and pain. Mara said she understood. But she had to take care of her little brother and her parents, and she wouldn’t dream of leaving them in all this unrest.

  At five thirty, three consecutive knocks followed by one more were heard at the door.

  “That’s our signal,” I said. “It’s Inge.”

  Mara went down to let her in and she entered, red-faced and panting.

  “What happened? Did they discover you?” I asked with concern.

  “No,” she said. “I ran between the bullets. They say the Partisans are really close.”

  The three of us sat on the mattress. Mara asked what our plan was, because clearly, we couldn’t hide there for long.

  “As soon as the Partisans arrive, we’ll join them,” I said.

  “That could be tonight, or tomorrow morning,” said Inge. “I can help them with the wounded. They probably need someone like me.”

  “And I’ll say I know how to throw a grenade, which is true. We were taught. They even brought a practice grenade,” I said.

  “They’re not real Partisans,” said Mara. “The Partisans are still getting organized. Those are Četnici Partisans, Serbian nationalists, who’ve been wandering Serbia since the last war. They’re very cruel. And they hate the communists most of all. They’ll want to kill them no matter the price. But right now, it doesn’t matter. The most important thing is for someone to liberate the town. What’s happening now is no life.” She sighed deeply. “Just look at what’s happened to my beloved town. Now it’s become a war zone, and residents who used to be happy and welcoming stay off the streets, and all the houses are surrounded by barbed wire and sand sacks,” she said sadly.

  “Lucky you came,” she said, meaning the Viennese transport Jews. “Lucky you came and managed in such a short time to contribute so much to that joy of life, with all your operettas in the lobby of Hotel Paris and the wonderful sounds of Freddie’s saxophone, or Little Fritz’s harmonica. And all the readers that suddenly visited the library, raising morale and bringing a sense of openness to the town. And see what’s happened since that damned invasion. The whole town is full of soldiers in uniform, and they walk about the fences and walls of sand sacks with eyes full of hatred. I miss the train station we once saw as a link to the big world, and now that too goes nowhere.”

  We listened to Mara, silent and nodding.

  “It’s sad for us, too, to see the town full of German soldiers,” said Inge. “But it hurts me more to see my young friends losing their best years in such a hard life of humiliation and contempt, and every passing day means having to be grateful you’re still alive.”

  Mara suddenly reminded us that they hadn’t celebrated the Mala Gospojina Festival in September as they usually did, with a festive meal of beans and a pot of sheep ribs, with apple strudel for dessert, and other tasty delicacies. I remembered my mother’s hot apple strudel fragrant with cinnamon. Now we could only dream of such things. There hadn’t been a fair that year either. The Sabac Fair was famous throughout the region. Carts of sheep and piglets came from all over to the main square, and the shrieks of pigs could be heard from far away.

  Mara continued to yearn and reminisce, and only late that night did she go down to sleep with her parents and little brother.

  I didn’t really sleep that night. Echoes of explosions constantly drew nearer. At dawn, the sound of an explosion was heard very nearby. I got up in alarm, but Inge and Mara continued to sleep. Mara’s parents and little brother went down to the cellar for greater safety. Outside were sounds of shooting and German soldiers running. I didn’t know if they were in pursuit or running away, because I could also hear Serbian-Croatian voices. I was thirsty and hungry. I hadn’t eaten anything since the previous afternoon. Finally, when I saw that no one was coming up, I went quietly down into the kitchen; tiptoeing to the sink, I gently opened the faucet, bent, and drank deeply, taking care not to make any swallowing sounds. There were two slices of bread on the table—one for me and one for Inge. I began to go back upstairs, careful to make no sound. At that moment, the sound of a machine gun was heard, a long ominous rattle. Inge woke up.

  At noon, Musha came running over. Mara cautiously opened the door. Musha came in agitatedly and told them that the Germans had entered their home and taken her brother away. She’d run after them, screaming to let him go, but they’d aimed a gun at her and she’d panicked and fled. On the way, she’d seen Nicola and Laza being led away with other gypsies. They were all terrified. Nicola’s head, usually held high, the joker of the group, was now bowed. Finally, a truck arrived and they were loaded on.

  Musha also told us she’d heard that reinforcements of hundreds of German soldiers were being sent in from nearby Článek. Mara was afraid and told her parents to go back downstairs, that she would prepare some sandwiches. I helped her and made one for myself.

  I waited impatiently for my fateful moment, the arrival of the Partisans who’d liberate us. Would I manage to join them or not? And what could I offer them? Nothing at that moment. I didn’t even have a weapon.

  In the meantime, the attackers’ firing grew less. Mara’s parents came upstairs again that evening. They thought maybe the danger had passed and decided to sleep in their beds that night. I returned to my hiding place and must have fallen asleep.

  Toward morning, loud kicks and shouts in German were heard at the door. The German reinforcements appeared to have arrived. I lay terrified, my whole body trembling. Instead of the Partisans, German soldiers had arrived. My plan had failed, I thought. I lay beside Inge, and we clung soundlessly to one another. Burying our heads in the pillow, we barely breathed.

  A tremendous noise was heard as someone broke down the door. The soldiers burst into the house and took Mara’s father by force. The father, dressed only in his underwear, was begging for his life and trying to protect his face from the threat of blows from the soldier’s baton. Zanek, Mara’s brother, who was still in bed and in his pajamas, was taken by force by another soldier, his hands bent behind his back. Inge and I peeped out through the curtain covering the attic window. We saw Mara running after them and screaming, “Leave him alone. He’s still a child. He hasn’t done anything.”

  But the soldiers ignored her screams and took her brother and father out into the cold, mist-covered street. They stood there with other men and many boys in their underwear or pajamas, their teeth chattering. They were given the order to move, and the entire line made its way toward the school.

  We continued to hide until after the Germans had gone. At noon, we heard the sound of nearby drums. Mara explained that this meant there was a decree from the municipality. She translated for us, “All men from the ages of fourteen to seventy must leave their houses with enough food for two days. Anyone caught in his house two hours after this decree will be shot.”

  Immediately afterward, we heard a nearby explosion, and shortly after that, machine-gun fire, and shouts in Serbo-Croatian. “We’re coming in! Partisans!” A moment later, they were inside the house and sounds of firing were heard.

  “Come on,” Inge pulled my hand.
“Let’s offer to help.”

  We quickly went down. There, we found two young men who were armed, with helmets on their heads, but not green like the Germans. They were so busy they didn’t even notice us, until Inge tapped one on his shoulder and said in halting Serbo-Croatian that we wanted to help them.

  “Get back,” he yelled. “You could get hurt.”

  Shots were suddenly fired in our direction. The two Partisans took cover behind the sand sacks and held their fire a moment. We heard running outside. The thuds on the asphalt identified them as German soldiers. A moment later we saw them. Two soldiers stood carefully examining the new position they’d taken. In the time it took to look for the source of the fire, one of the Partisans shot a quick round at them. One fell, and the other immediately turned and fired indiscriminately. We felt the bullets go past us and hid behind the sand sacks. Suddenly, one of the young men fell with a shout. The second returned long bursts of fire, and then everything went quiet. Inge knelt beside the wounded man and skillfully examined his leg. He groaned in pain. Drops of sweat gathered on his forehead. She rolled up his trousers. Blood poured from his shattered leg. Inge took my hand, clenched it, and placed it on his groin. “Press hard inward,” she ordered. “It will stop the bleeding.” She took a strip of black rubber from her first-aid bag that was always with her and began to wind it around his thigh, above the bleeding wound. Once she’d tied it tight enough, she ordered me to release the pressure slowly and got up to go to the sink.