Unravelled

Unravelled

ANNA SCANLON

Copyright © 2014 Key Imprints/Scanlon Media

All rights reserved.

Cover Photo: Tanneke Peetoom

ISBN:
0615957315

ISBN-13:
978-0615957319

FOR

My parents.

                          
 
And, as always, for JLM, BEF, WBS, JMS, JES and JTS.

PART ONE

ALIZ

MARCH 1944

Pronunciation Guide for Words and Names

Aliz [AH-leez] Hungarian name. English equivalent: Alice.

Hajna [HAWY-naw] Hungarian name meaning “Dawn.” Can be a diminutive form of Hajnalka.

Lujza [loo-EEZ-a] Hungarian name. English equivalent: Louise.

Emilia [e-MEEL-ya] Common in several languages. English equivalent: Amelia or Emily.

Agata [ah-GAH-ta] Italian, Spanish and Polish form of Agatha.

Cluj [Klooj] Second largest city in Romania that has at times been a part of the country of Hungary. Over 16,000 Jews from Cluj were sent to Auschwitz in 1944. There was, and remains, a large community of ethnic Hungarians.

Zsolt [Solt] Hungarian name meaning “sultan.”

Ezter [ESS-ter]- Hungarian name equivalent of “Esther.”

Tamas [Ta-MASH] Hungarian name equivalent of “Thomas.”

Pierogis [PEER-oh-gees] Polish dumplings that can be filled with either savory or sweet foods.

Kiraly [KIR-eye] Hungarian word meaning “king.”

Daven [DAH-ven] Jewish practice of reciting pre-written prayers or liturgical pieces. Typically, this is done at precise and prescribed times during the day.

Szeged [CE-ged] Fourth largest city in Hungary, known for the export of paprika and the renowned University of Szeged. Over 4,000 Jews lived in Szeged before WWII. 3,000 were deported to Auschwitz, two other transports were accidentally sent to Austria.

Dom ter [Dom terre] Szeged town square and one of the largest in Hungary.

Debrecen [DEB-ret-zen] Second largest city in Hungary, to the northeast of Szeged.

Andrassy ut [Andrashy oot] Large and major avenue in Budapest lined with many high end shops and restaurants.

Nagyapa [NAG-yapa] Hungarian word for grandfather.

Nagymama [NAG-yee-mama] Hungarian word for grandmother.

Chaya [HA-ya] Hebrew name meaning “life.”

Zvi [Z-vee] Hebrew name meaning “deer.”

Rebbe [REB-bee] Yiddish word derived from “rabbi,” but in Hassidic circles it refers to the leader of their specific movement.

Sedar [SAY-der] Special ritualistic meal that celebrates the Jewish holiday of Passover.

Langos [Lan-GO-sh] Hungarian dish with a dough base topped with cheese and oils. Similar to a pizza without tomato sauce.

Judit [YOO-dit] Hungarian equivalent of Judith.

Edit [EED-it] Hungarian equivalent of Edith.

Katowice [Kato-VEET-za] A large Polish city northwest of the Auschwitz-Birkenau concentration camp. Many children experimented on were sent to a convent there immediately after their liberation from the camp.

Boldog születésnapot [BOL-dog sully-NA-pote] Hungarian for “Happy birthday.”

Jo napot kivanok [YO NA-pote key-VAHN-oak] Hungarian for “hello/good day.”

1 CHAPTER one



The world ended the year I turned eight years old. The earth continued rotating, people in far away places like Canada and America and Argentina went to school, ate fish for dinner and took swigs of Cola while they laughed with their families. But my world was cruelly ripped away from me like an animal devouring fresh meat.

The crisp March day the Germans arrived, Hajna and I were furiously chasing around Kiraly, the new puppy my father had gotten us for our birthday the week before. Always the loud one (and obnoxious, our nanny would say between breaths thinking we hadn't heard) , Hajna grabbed her roller skates and made a rink on the wooden floor of the living room as she chased Kiraly, shrieking in childhood delight--something she would not have done had she any idea what was waiting for us with the heavy stomps of German boots.

Our father, a doctor in the town and a teacher at the university, would not allow us to go outside and burn off our excess energy. 

“It's too dangerous," he sighed, shaking his head and running his fingers through his bushy black eyebrows to make them curve just so. "The Germans are coming."

"The Germans are coming! The Germans are coming!" Hajna squealed, waving her hands around wildly and letting a small giggle escape from her pink lips.

"It's not a joke," our mother told her, grabbing her by the pink forearms and forcing her to stand up straight. "It's dangerous. From now on I want the two of you to follow every instruction we give you."

My mother's perfectly polished red nails began to create marks in Hajna's exposed skin and Hajna turned to me to roll her eyes. Willful and defiant, Hajna had always been the one to test our parents. When we went swimming in the river Tisza last summer, Mama told us explicitly not to go past the knotted and twisted tree on the bank, the one that bent over like an old woman ambling toward the market. Hajna, of course, swam two or three trees past that one, waiting for Mama to yell at her. Papa delivered a brisk and hard spanking when we got home, but that didn't wipe the grin off Hajna's face.

With the threat of the Germans’ advance that morning, the two of us were confined to entertain ourselves indoors. Although Kiraly wasn't supposed to be an indoor dog, Mama let him come inside just this once, providing we told her if he chewed on anything. Hajna and I had taken to throwing a ball to him and watching him chase it before slobbering all over it and bringing it back, making small pools of spit in our palms. But he was so quick, so agile, that Hajna decided to grab her roller-skates and put them on her stocking feet so she could chase him faster.

As Hajna slammed into the wall between the dining room and parlor in a fit of giggles, our older sister appeared with a look on her face much too old for her 15 years. Lujza, our half-sister, was Papa's daughter from his old wife, the one who had died of tuberculosis when Lujza was only five. I had seen a picture of her once, one that Lujza kept hidden in her dresser drawer. Papa didn't like to talk about her and Mama didn't like to hear about her, so no words were ever exchanged. I found the picture one morning while looking for a hair ribbon to wear to school and Lujza tattled on me for "snooping in her things." But the woman in the picture was so pretty, with her pointed nose, kind eyes and big lips that I didn't understand why Lujza kept her tucked away like a shameful secret. My aunt Dora even told me that Lujza's mother had bright red hair, like the kind that framed Lujza's face and made her easy to find in a crowd, even on the busiest days in Dom ter.

Lujza's feet pounded on the hardwood as she ran to her half-sister's side. Hajna had collapsed into giggles, waving her skated feet in the air as Lujza pinned her down, her face deathly serious.

"Hajna, stop it." Lujza spoke angrily, like a grown-up.

"How do you know I'm Hajna?" my twin countered, the smile on her face not dissolved by our older sister's graveness.

"Because," Lujza bellowed, her red hair falling into her face. "Aliz would never do something like this."

I sank into the wall, watching the scene and holding my knees. It was true, I would never do anything like that. But the irony of the situation was in the fact that Hajna was always a sickly child. She had scarlet fever when she was four, forcing Lujza and me to temporarily move to Debrecen with our grandparents. She recovered, but always had a weaker heart. Our father brought home medicine for her every week and checked her breathing before school almost everyday. Although our nanny, Emilia, dismissed her liveliness as simple childhood energy, Mama and Papa couldn't quite see it that way. They always had a worried, furrowed expression on their faces, scared Hajna might do something in childish error that would seriously damage her health.

"I've seen too many children get very sick," Papa would say with a small whistle in his voice. "I can't have her acting like that. She needs to be calm and sit quietly more often."

But she never did. Instead, she gave way to the urge to talk in class, pass notes behind the teacher's back, run wildly on the playground and swim past where Mama had told her to stop. But she couldn't. It was as if there was a spark inside of her that couldn't be extinguished. Instead it burned, brightly and with full force. You could see it in her eyes sometimes, right before we fell asleep for the night, a simple glint reflected by the stars shining in the window. She was like a firecracker right before it exploded, all lit up and burning for what was coming next.

Lujza removed Hajna's skates and forced my twin to sit upright, one of the buns pinned to the top of Hajna’s head coming loose.

"If your mama saw you doing this, she'd have a heart attack," Lujza shook her head. "This is one of the-"

"…only houses to survive the flood," Hajna and I echoed, as if we were one.

In 1879, Szeged faced a tremendous flood that washed out most of its homes and the town itself. Only a handful of homes survived, ours having been one of them.  Most of the town was rebuilt in a more "modern" style, the town looking much more yellow and colorful than any other town I had been to in Hungary. Mama took great pride in knowing that her house was very old and not new like the rest of the town. Anytime one of us children made a mark on anything, she'd quickly remind us of our home's history, as if we could ever forget it.

"If Mama's so upset about it, why didn't she come in here?" Hajna asked, pushing loose hairs out of her face with her tiny hands.

"Because," Lujza answered, placing Hajna's skates side-by-side next to her, "she's got other things to worry about today."

"Like the Germans?" I asked, feeling my eyes grow wide. The Germans were like tall-tales to us. They were monsters that lurked in the shadows and preyed on Jewish children. Whispers had been spreading through town that the Germans were doing terrible things to the Jews in other countries. But we naively felt safe and protected in Hungary, sure that our leaders would "get the bad guys" before they did anything to hurt us.

"Yes, like the Germans." Lujza nodded, sitting down on the floor with a heavy sigh and letting her fingers roam through Kiraly's brown fur.

"What are the Germans going to do?" Hajna asked, her face suddenly growing sullen and serious. Unnerved by her question, I moved toward Lujza who took both of us in her arms, like a mother bird with her babies under her wings.

"I don't know," Lujza shrugged, running her hands up and down our arms.

As she cleared her throat, Mama passed by the three of us, her heels tapping against the hardwood floors quickly and insistently as she moved effortlessly from the parlor to the kitchen. Normally, she would look down at the three of us, talk to us about what we'd be having for dinner, ask us if we wanted to go buy some sweets, or simply pat us on the head and sigh, "My beautiful girls."

But she didn't even look at us. Instead, she passed by the kitchen and I could hear her fingers winding up the dial on the slick, black telephone. Not everyone had phones in Szeged, but my father had to have one in case of an emergency with a patient. Two of my aunts had them, but my grandparents always refused to get one. Mama and Papa always insisted my grandparents buy one so they could call and talk, but their suggestions were quickly waved away. "That's what they have pen and paper for," my grandmother would say, with an air of superiority.

"Who's Mama calling?" I asked Lujza, my eyebrows knitting together. Mama didn't use the phone very often, even to call family. Usually, it was only to tell them about something serious, or to wish one of them a happy birthday. Just last week, Hajna and I had the privilege of putting the smooth plastic phone to our ears and listening to our aunts and cousins wish us a Happy Birthday all the way from Cluj and Debrecen.

Instead of waiting for Lujza's answer, I peeked around the doorframe and watched Mama. She sat with her back straight, her legs crossed and her hand to her ruby red lips. Nervously, she folded and unfolded the material of her blue and white polka dot dress over and over in the curve of her fingers.

"No," I heard her say. Her right leg began to shake, something that only happened when she was nervous. "It's too late….I don't have the papers….we can't…"

"Who's up for a game of cards?" my father bellowed, his voice announcing his presence before his body came into view. He spread his arms as wide they would allow and showed off his perfectly straight teeth with a grin that was so big it looked like his face would crumple under the weight of it.

Lujza smiled and nodded, helping the two of us to our feet and running to gather Papa's playing cards. She sat them down on the dining room table, giving us room to play a game. At various intervals, Mama's voice bled through the cracks in the wall, skated in on the eves and seeped into our ears, her nervous words of "We can't…What are we going to do?....Do you think they will?"

"Ah," Papa smiled in an effort to dissuade us, like a magician about to perform his finale. "Why don't we put on a record while we play?"

But children aren't stupid. They can almost smell fear on their parents' breath and see it oozing through their pores. No matter how calm and rational a father acts, his offspring can see the trembling child inside of him, shaking with the knowledge that he might not be able to protect his family from what was coming. Papa put on a record he used to play us when we were much smaller, one that we used to sing to together before bed.

"But Papa," Hajna began and then froze midsentence. I knew she was going to say we were too old for that record, that we were practically grown ups now, at eight years old, much too mature to listen to a tune meant for babies. As soon as her eyes locked on his, she could see it too, the panic that had washed over his face, draining him of his usual rosy cheeks.

"Hmm?" he asked, urging her to finish her sentence as he fished in his brown suit pocket for a cigarette. It was the first time I noticed his hands tremble. My father, Papa, the man with all the answers, was shaking at the prospect of the unknown. It was the first time I saw my father as vulnerable, as a mere human being.

"I was just going to say how much I like this song," Hajna nodded, collecting her hand of cards in her tiny fists and surveying them like an expert poker player. The gold charm bracelet she had been given for her sixth birthday (I had one very similar, only with the charms placed in a different order) was still too big for her. When she put her cards up to her face, it slid down her snow-white arms, almost to her elbow.

My father smiled and sat down on one of the mauve colored dining chairs, the one that he always said had been in our family for over 150 years. There was no confirmation on the story, but it made for extra hyperactivity on my mother's part when my sisters or I would run from breakfast with jam still on our hands, leaving pint-sized prints in our wake.

As he scooted in his chair, he smiled at all three of us individually, taking time to connect his eyes to ours, as if trying to wordlessly transmit a message we were much too young to understand.

"No matter what happens," he told us as he began shuffling his hand of cards and arranging and re-arranging them in his hand. "I love you."

2 CHAPTER two



The latent fear in my father's eyes the day the Germans came grew exponentially over the next couple of weeks, with it becoming more apparent and noticeable as each hour passed. Although in front of the children, he wore a mask of pleasantries, it was almost apparent to us that the fear was about to make him burst at the seams. Seeing my father frightened made me a little bit nervous. He had always been completely calm and unwavering in situations, at least in front of the children. When I was scared about getting a shot, he told me it would be find. Two years ago, when Hajna and I had our tonsils out, he smiled at us and assuring us we would be all right. And we were. But somehow this seemed different, more sinister.

Compared to other European countries invaded by the Nazis, things happened rather quickly for us in Hungary. By 1944, the Nazis were feverishly trying to get rid of the Hungarian Jews, even in the face of their impending defeat. In places like France or Germany, Jews were introduced to new race laws over a course of months or years even, giving them just enough time to say, "Well, it could be worse…" before something more demeaning than the last law was introduced. In Szeged, we didn't have that pleasure. Instead, we were slapped with laws like blows to the face, quickly and evenly, before we could recover from the previous one.