Upon the Head of the Goat (20 page)

“How can you swallow them without water?” Judi asked, grimacing.

“You learn to do all kinds of things when you have to,” Iboya replied. She lifted the clothes from my arms and started to walk away.

“Where are you going now?” I asked.

“Sorry, I can't talk. See you later.” She strode away, disappearing among the groups of people. Then we saw the gate of the ghetto, closed since the last families arrived, open to admit a truckful of gray-uniformed German soldiers armed with rifles coming in for their daily inspection tour of the ghetto. They dismounted from the truck and lined up to begin their inspection. “
Schwein,
” we heard several times as they went from shed to shed.

Judi and I watched the white-arm-banded helpers like Iboya who organized the work details. They took orders from the Germans, but at the same time they tried to get concessions from them to make life in the ghetto more bearable for us. We wished we were old enough to work with them. Tired of watching, Judi and I went back into the shed. Mrs. Gerber and Mother were quietly talking and Judi joined them. But I was still thinking of being part of the work force. Sometimes we heard them singing popular tunes while they hammered or carried food from the kitchen. I dug into Iboya's duffel bag, found her notebook and a pencil, pulled out a page, and wrote some new lyrics to one of the popular melodies I had heard—lyrics more suited to our new life in the ghetto.

Henri appeared just as I finished. He explained that his grandmother, sick in the infirmary, would like to see the girl who had given her water on the way to the ghetto. Mother gave permission for me to go with him. I left the shed, still holding the piece of notepaper on which I'd written the new words to the old melody.

“What is that you're holding?” Henri asked as we walked.

I told him what I had written. He took the sheet from me, read it, and smiled. “Well, we will have to try these words,” he said with amusement. “You'll be known now as the ghetto-lyrics girl as well as the water-bucket girl.”

The infirmary was a closed barracks with makeshift cots lining both sides of the long walls. As we reached Henri's grandmother's cot, she saw us and made an effort to pull herself up. Her dark brown eyes sparkled in her wrinkled face.

“So you kept your promise, Henri, and brought me a visitor,” she said softly in Yiddish, sounding a lot like Babi. “But you did not tell me that the young lady would be the very same girl who climbed on the wagon and quenched my thirst. What a pleasure to have such a special guest. I only wish that I could offer you both some tea and cakes.”

I patted her old, freckled hand. “We came to see you, not to eat. You remind me very much of my Babi.”

“What a proud woman she must be. Is she well, your Babi?”

“I don't know. She is not here with us…” I could not say any more because I felt the tears welling in my throat.

Henri began to tell his grandmother about his work in the ghetto and assured her that he was taking good care of his mother. She smiled as she listened, and then lay back with her eyes closed, and we left.

The next afternoon when Henri came by, Gari was with him and asked Mrs. Gerber if Judi could go walking with us. Our mothers watched in surprised amusement as the four of us set off. We walked toward the Weisses' old house, located within the confines of the factory. A Hungarian policeman guarding the gate to the house allowed us to pass through after making a few sarcastic comments about young lovers. As we walked past the house, the sound of German voices reached us through the open windows and Gari shrugged. We continued until we came to a much smaller house.

“This is where we live now,” Gari said.

We went up the porch stairs and Gari told us to sit down on the wooden chairs and wait for him. He entered the house and after a few minutes came out with a pitcher of breakfast tea, a plate of sliced bread, a jar of gooseberry jam, and four cups. Judi and I were shocked and impressed at the extravagance of food as we watched Gari lower the tray onto the porch table, pour the tea, and spread the jam on the bread. Remembering our manners, we carefully nibbled the bread, sipped the bitter herb tea, and talked. Judi used quotes from different authors and important political figures as a commentary on our possible fate. Gari seemed to admire her extensive book knowledge, and they got into an animated discussion.

Henri and I did not participate much in the conversation, but sat quietly and listened. It was the first time that I had ever sat near a young man so grown-up who was interested in me. After a while we stopped listening altogether and sipped our tea, looking into each other's eyes. Then it was time to go, and we walked back to the shed behind Gari and Judi, who were still talking and gesturing.

After this first meeting, we became a foursome. Henri and Gari came by after they had completed their work detail to take Judi and me for a walk. Mother and Mrs. Gerber had decided to permit us to associate with these older boys.

“I think,” Mother said to me after the first night of our being together, “that you know how to behave like a nice girl.” I replied, “Certainly,” even though I wasn't quite sure what she meant.

Judi and Gari exchanged books and ideas while Henri and I simply enjoyed being together. One day Judi surprised me by saying, “You're so lucky to be at the stage of holding hands. I think that the war will be over before Gari gets the courage to hold mine. He is so shy.”

“Shy!” I exclaimed. That description did not fit the Gari I knew.

“The worst part of it,” Judi continued, ignoring my comment, “is that he really cares for me. But if I make the first move, I'll hurt his feelings.”

“There you go again, making guesses. You read too much!”

One evening, as Henri and I walked holding hands a slight distance behind Judi and Gari, I asked Henri if he thought Gari was shy.

“No more so than your friend, Judi. If she would only stop talking and be natural, and he could see that she is just a girl, it would be easier for both of them.”

I don't know which one of them stopped talking first, but later that evening, as we sat on Gari's porch, I realized that Henri and I were talking and that Gari and Judi were quiet. The sky was cloudy, and we sat in the shadows of dusk. Gari had his arm around Judi's shoulder. A sudden gust of wind carried the German voices toward us, and I shuddered. Mistaking my shudder for a shiver at the chilly wind, Henri took off his jacket and put it around my shoulders.

When the factory whistle that used to signal the end of the workday blew to mark the beginning of curfew, we got up reluctantly to walk back. Gari and Judi led off, walking a few paces ahead of us. Henri pulled me close and locked me in his arms. This time I shuddered from a new emotion that moved like a current through my body. Henri released me and held my face in both his palms for a moment, kissing my lips briefly in a gentle caress. I did not know where I was until we had walked past the German voices in the big house and the Hungarian policeman at the gate.

By this time we had been in the ghetto over a week, and Mother's spirits had begun to show signs of weakening. Although she still tried to help wherever she was needed, she saw that her efforts to demand human treatment from the Germans were futile. She no longer chased after Mr. Shuster with requests and complaints from the inhabitants of shed number 6. She also had to accept the fact that reasoning with the women to keep up appearances at all costs was useless. These people were hungry, frightened, and exhausted. The spring rains kept the earth underneath them damp, and almost all of them suffered from colds and rheumatism. Their bodies were constantly wet despite the thin layers of bedding they had. Mother realized that her demands to keep up appearances might be adding to their misery and discomfort. Over the last few afternoons I noticed that she frequently read from her book on the theater, the only book she had brought from home. Mrs. Gerber was always tired and napped a lot. Judi said that was her way of escaping the reality of the ghetto.

But on this evening of my first kiss, as Judi and I came into the shed, we heard our mothers absorbed in conversation. We stood outside the tent and listened.

“The only reason the theater is better than ordinary life is the rehearsals,” Mother was saying. “Take the incident of Lilli's being deported.”

Through the sheet in the dim barracks light we saw Mrs. Gerber's silhouette shrug in submission as if to say, “That scene again.”

“Now listen, Charlotte,” Mother continued, “hear me out just one more time. You know how I have kept going over it in my mind, wishing that I had acted differently. That I would have kept Manci with me no matter what Lilli said. That I should have convinced Lajos to leave Manci with me. If there had been a rehearsal, and I could have seen that half hour acted out with all the mistakes I made, then when the real performance came, I would have been able to be the grandmother, the matriarch, and I would have played my part properly, unafraid that Lilli might resent me. I would have been confident enough to enact my will, because I would have known that later, when Lilli had a chance to reflect on it, she would have understood that I was concerned only with the well-being of the child, not with dominating her. And I also could have made Lajos show his real strength in action. After all, his very fate had come from being reported for taking a stand and speaking out against Hungarian officers. Yes, Charlotte, if we were given a preview of life's moments of crisis, a chance to think instead of having to act in haste, we would not have to go through life blaming ourselves for not having acted properly. That is the big difference between life and the theater. Rehearsals.”

“You do pretty well with life as it is,” we heard Mrs. Gerber reply. “Certainly a lot better than the rest of us. You will have to let go of that one failure in your life. And you have no reason to give up all hope. Look around you, Rise, look around at the rest of us. Here we are in the ghetto, and you can still make a play out of life.”

Mother's arm circled about. “Some play! But we can't give in. They would like nothing better. We must try to beat them at their game.” Her voice spoke the words that floated out to us, but she no longer sounded as convinced as she used to. She simply wanted what the rest of the people in the ghetto wanted: to survive with what remained of her family. As Judi and I walked into the enclosure, I could see that Mother's face and body showed signs of wear.

“You girls have been gone for hours,” she scolded.

“We were with Gari and Henri,” Judi replied.

“Do they know anything?” asked Mrs. Gerber.

“No, we are still waiting for trains.”

Mother went over to wash the children's hands and faces with the water she kept for that purpose in a pot. Then she put them to bed on their blanket pallets.

*   *   *

The following morning, after breakfast and Iboya's departure, Mother asked me to stay and watch Sandor and Joli while she heated some water so that she could wash my hair. For the first time in the eight days of our stay, I took a good look at the children. They had grown thin and pale; their energy in play had greatly diminished.

“Do you want to play house and I'll be the daddy?” Sandor asked Joli, taking his shovel and pail to dig in the corner of the tent.

“If you want to,” Joli replied without real interest.

“I'll be the mommy,” I said, hoping to spark up their mood. They both smiled instantly.

“Will you cook the dinner?” asked Joli coyly. She picked up some small stones from the damp ground and handed them to me. “This will be the meat for soup,” she said.

Sandor handed me the pail and shovel. “I'm the daddy, so I have to go to the army, but I'll be home for dinner.” He ducked outside the tent.

“I'm the baby, so I'll play with my doll.” Joli cradled the worn doll in her pale, mud-stained arms. I remembered how the doll looked when Lilli had brought it home from Prague, shining new with long blond hair, painted clay face, soft pink dress, and patent-leather shoes. Now the hair was matted and dirty, the face cracked and chipped, the pink dress soiled and torn, the patent-leather shoes missing. But Joli did not seem to notice. She spread out a dirty dish towel and wrapped the doll in it, picked her up again, and continued to rock her. I mixed some dust with the rocks and stirred it.

“You did not put in salt and pepper.” Joli put down the doll and pinched at the loose dirt, sprinkling it into the pail. Then she pinched and sprinkled again. “Now you stir it all up,” she said to me.

Sandor came through the sheet wall by lifting one corner. “Daddy is home from the army. Is the dinner ready?” He puffed out his chest and goose-stepped, imitating not our father but the German guards. A chill ran through my body. I thought of Mother, and what she had said: “I am going to heat some water and wash your hair.”

I told Sandor and Joli, “You stay here and don't move. I'm going to see Mother and I'll be right back.” I walked outside to the end of the barracks and saw that Mother had built a stand of stones on top of some twigs in a small pit and had started a fire. The pot of water sat on the stones, and she was on her knees, blowing at the sparking twigs.

“Anyuka,” I said, touching her shoulder, “you are going to get into trouble.”

“Just go and find Mr. Shuster and see if he can spare a match. I've got one more, but these sticks are wet and won't burn. Don't tell him why I want it.”

By the time I found Mr. Shuster and came back with the one match he had grudgingly given me, Mother had succeeded in lighting the fire. She stood up, her face streaked with soot.

A Hungarian policeman noticed us and came over. “What are you cooking?” he demanded in a gruff tone.

“Just heating some water to wash my children,” Mother answered, keeping her voice even. He reached toward the fire with his club as Mother said, in the same even tone, “Surely you would not deny a mother the right to wash her children.”