Upon the Head of the Goat (9 page)

Inside, the big crowded room was a jumble of excitement. Most members were the same age as Lujza—in their twenties. Some called “Shalom” to us, others talked excitedly in small groups, and still another group in the right corner was singing along to a banjo. Lujza introduced us to many of her friends; “my brother's daughters,” she said.

The room quieted down. Lujza pulled out some papers from her large handbag and read the reports of the last meeting. Then a man got up and spoke about some of the things that were in Lujza's report: numbers of families, cities, dates, boats, money. While he spoke, Lujza took notes. When he had finished, people started to ask questions, and discussions began. Lujza kept writing. When the discussions were over, a young man with a violin got up and started to play. As people gathered around him, a serious-looking young man whom Lujza had introduced as Shafar Joska came over and started to talk to Iboya. I suddenly noticed how grown-up and pretty Iboya was. Her face, flushed pink, was set off by her long, wavy blond hair, and her amber-colored eyes sparkled. As they talked, Shafar watched her attentively.

We began to sing “I'll See You in Palestine”; the tempo was almost too fast for the violinist, but he made his bow hop on the strings as he plucked on them with his fingers. The grim faces of the crowd relaxed and became more animated as the songs continued.

I wondered what Babi would think of this scene. I was pretty sure that she would disapprove. “Jews should behave like Jews,” she would say, “without fear or hostility.” The Jews in this now-swaying, smoke-filled room had, I felt, much fear and hostility in them. But their excitement was brief; too soon the violinist stopped his playing and wiped the sweat off his face. The group dispersed to start putting on their coats in silence. The meeting was over, and Shafar walked us home.

A week later, on Sunday, Lujza dropped in at our house for one of her infrequent visits. After a brief exchange of polite conversation with Mother, she went out to the back yard to join Lilli, who was in her usual seat under the walnut tree reading while the children played in the sandbox. As she spoke with Lilli, I imagined their conversation and guessed that she was trying to convince her to join the Zionist Club.

After Lujza left, Lilli came to the porch where Mother and I were braiding some onions to dry for the winter. “Here, Lilli,” Mother said, handing her a string, “you help me while Piri does the beans in the kitchen. They are on the table, in a bowl,” she said to me.

“I feel sorry for Lujza. She is crazy about children, and there she is wasting her years with politics,” I heard Mother say to Lilli before I had finished shelling the first bean.

“How could she marry even if she wanted to?” Lilli asked. “All the men are in the army.”

“She's older than you are. She should have married long ago,” was Mother's comment.

“Are you still annoyed with her for siding with her mother against Ignac when he wanted to marry you?” Lilli countered.

“They never have forgiven me for taking him away from them. They objected to the marriage because I was a widow with small children and he was so young. But they would not have liked anybody who married Ignac.”

“Well, it must have been nice to have Ignac at home. And you must admit that it is unusual for a young man to marry a woman who has five daughters. But you are so beautiful,” Lilli said, laughing. “I can see why Lujza and her mother had no chance once Ignac had seen you.”

Mother laughed, too. “Well, you were very stubborn about marrying Lajos when you were only sixteen. I never thought of it until now, but was it because of me and Ignac? After all, you were thirteen when we got married.”

Lilli paused before answering. “When you sent me to Komjaty to stay with Babi, I half-thought you were trying to get rid of me. That is one of the reasons I married Lajos—to have a man of my own.”

“Have you ever been sorry?” Mother asked softly.

“No, we needed each other.”

Absorbed by their conversation, I had not shelled the beans. When Mother came into the kitchen, she noticed this and said, “Are you sitting here dreaming again? Get busy. I want to store those beans.” She hung the garland of onions over the stove and went out to the garden to see what else she could find to harvest.

The following week, I stayed home from school because of a sore throat. Mother left the house in the morning to go to Mr. Kovacs, and when I had finished breakfast I went out into the back yard to find Lilli. Sitting down on the swing near her chair under the walnut tree, I asked her if she had thought about going to the Zionist Club with Lujza.

“No,” she answered, “I don't think I would like it.”

“I liked it.”

“When were you there?”

“One night with Iboya. We told Mother that we were going to see a Shirley Temple film.”

Lilli looked at me in amazement. “You two do lots of things you keep from Mother and me, don't you?”

“No,” I said, “just that time. I haven't gone to a meeting since, and Iboya is busy with her Red Cross and War Aid training program. But I guess she still goes with Lujza sometimes. You would really like it, Lilli. They are all around your age and they sing Hebrew songs and dance the hora. But they also do important underground work with refugees.”

“I could not do that work. It depresses me too much.”

“Are you sad now?”

Lilli straightened up in the chair and smiled at me. “Not really.”

But I wasn't convinced and ventured again, “I think you should go with Lujza. Mother always tells you that you should spend time with people your age.”

“She would not like my being with Lujza and her friends.”

Just then the mailman stuck his head through the open gate, and Lilli jumped up and ran toward him. I did not move, but heard him say, “I think I brought you what you've been waiting for,” as he handed her a postcard.

“Oh yes, thank you.” Lilli stood and read the card while the children clustered about her. “Is it from my daddy?” asked Manci.

“Yes,” Lilli said as she read the card over and over. I took the children back to the sandbox and left her alone.

Finally, Lilli looked up and called us in to lunch. Mother came home just as we sat down. Lilli handed her the card and Mother commented, “See, everything is fine; you didn't have to worry about Lajos.”

Lilli smiled. Mother sat down at the table, and Lilli handed her a cup of tea and served us our soup.

“How did it go?” she asked Mother.

“Mr. Kovacs gets more difficult every time.”

“Did you get the money from him?” Lilli questioned again.

“Half of what he had been giving us. Well, I guess it will pay for the rations.”

*   *   *

Lilli had been spending more and more time on the bread lines. Often, after she had stood in line for over an hour, the store would run out of bread. We had the same problem with other staples. The half kilo of butter a week the seven of us were entitled to was hardly ever available, and it was almost impossible to get milk or eggs. The sugar coupons were about the only ones that could be redeemed. Mother worried about not being able to get milk for the children. The Stern brothers did not come from Komjaty very often now.

Mother was still able to bake bread from the small supply of flour that she had, but she could not use the bread oven in the yard because of the suspicions of the neighbors. She awakened at dawn on the mornings that she baked and used the oven in the kitchen stove, stretching the flour with whatever starchy vegetables she had on hand. She also spent a lot of time gathering food for our meals, and put in long hours peeling and chopping at night so that she could cook while the stove was on in the morning. We were running out of firewood, with little hope of replacing it.

Since Lilli was now spending most of her time with us, Mother had convinced her to give up her apartment.

“We'll put your furniture in storage until Lajos comes home. With the food and the firewood situation, we are better off as one household,” she said.

Lilli was unhappy about it at first. But then she said, “I am tired of being a gypsy. Half my things are here, and half are there. I guess it's just as well.”

“With the money you save on rent, you'll be able to visit Lajos in the spring,” Mother said.

After Lilli had moved in with us permanently, she and Mother managed to get some coal to keep the fire going and to cook with for the winter. Even though the kitchen stove smoked and the fumes were unpleasant, we got used to the discomfort—better that than being cold.

Then Mother thought that she might be able to provide milk for the children by buying a goat and keeping it in the empty woodshed. She knew a farmer outside of town who had been a customer at the store for over fifteen years, and thought that she could convince him to sell her a goat. She took all the money she had and Iboya and me with her on this venture out of town, leaving Lilli to look after the children.

Mr. Baltar was in the barn as we approached in the dusk of a November evening. We saw him through the open door as, with a pitchfork, he was spreading clean straw under his horses.

“Good evening, Mr. Baltar,” Mother said. “Could I speak to you for a moment?”

“Who is out there?” the farmer called.

“Mrs. Davidowitz, from the shoe store. I have something urgent to ask of you.”

“If you came here to talk to me, it must be pretty urgent.” He put down the pitchfork and came to the door with his lantern. He smelled of the barn. Standing on the threshold, he raised his lantern in mid-air and looked down on Mother.

“I don't get many callers out here. What is it you came for?”

“It is the need for milk that brought me here. I have three small children at home and can't get milk for them. I'd like to buy one of your goats.”

“Don't you know your zoning laws? You can't keep goats in the middle of the city.”

“I don't live right in the middle of the city. Our house is more toward the edge. I have a perfect plan to keep him where no one will notice.”

“What about your neighbors?”

“They've always kept a pig. I have an offer you can't afford not to take.”

Mr. Baltar started to laugh, and his large body shook. “You certainly are a persistent woman, aren't you?” He waved his lantern at Iboya and me and asked, “Are those your little children who need milk?”

“No, those are my two big girls. They will help me get the goat home.” She handed Iboya her purse and walked past Mr. Baltar into the barn, waving to us to follow her. On the barn floor at the right, the white goats stuck out like patches of snow lying about.

“Which one gives a liter or more a day?”

“This is a bad time of year to buy a goat. The spring is better.”

“I need one now,” Mother insisted. “My youngest is not yet two years old.” She walked around in the semi-darkness, examining every goat's udder. “This one”—she pointed—“how old is she?”

Mr. Baltar was amused. He started to laugh his hearty laugh again. “You did not ask me the price.”

“I'll give you twice her worth. How much is that?”

Mr. Baltar walked over to Mother and rested his heavy arm on her shoulders. He looked into her face, swinging up the kerosene lamp in his free hand. “Your husband is off for a while?”

“Yes, he is at the Russian border.”

Slipping his hand down Mother's back, he turned to look at Iboya and me. “You can't walk a goat through the streets; I'll bring her myself on my wagon next Wednesday.”

“It has to be at night, and I will need some feed and some straw.”

“Hold it, hold it; we haven't agreed on a price yet. It will be two hundred pengö for the goat and twenty-five more for the feed and straw. Feed is expensive and hard to get.”

Mother moved out from under his arm. “I have the money,” she said, taking her purse from Iboya.

He took our address from Mother. “I'll be by on Wednesday when it darkens,” he said as he patted Mother's rear. Then he waved us goodbye with his lantern.

“Men! And their conceit!” Mother said. Now she was laughing. “What ideas they must have. Well, we'll have milk for the winter, and if we are careful, we can stretch the coal through these cold months.”

Mr. Baltar delivered the goat at dusk on the following Wednesday. As Mother led the way to the woodshed with all of us walking behind, I heard him say to her again, “You certainly are a very determined woman.” With reluctance he left after the goat had been installed in her quarters and the feed unloaded from the wagon. We all helped to bring the sacks of feed to the woodshed and, when we had finished, stood and admired the goat. She had a round white body and thin limbs. Her well-shaped head was dotted by several black markings, which Lilli called her beauty marks. Her large black almond-shaped eyes had a dreamy look. Her ears pointed straight up, and down from her chin hung a smooth white beard.

Manci laughed as she noticed the goat's beard. “A lady goat with a beard,” she exclaimed.

“Ladybeard,” said Lilli, “what a name. That's what we'll call her. Ladybeard.”

Slowly the children—Manci, Sandor, and Joli—approached the goat, and then hesitantly they began to pet her. Lilli took a few chunks of hay from the feed and let the goat eat it from her hand. Each one of us, except for Mother, then took a turn at feeding her. The children were delighted.

“It tickles,” Manci giggled as Ladybeard's big wet tongue licked her small hand.

In the next few days our routines expanded to include Ladybeard. The children ran out to the woodshed right after breakfast to feed the goat and to pet her. At the end of the day, they returned to the woodshed to pet her good night.

Mother's attention was more practically focused. To her, Ladybeard's udder was of primary importance. She saved all of the vegetable peelings, which she cooked well, seasoned, and mixed with the grain husks of the goat's feed, giving Ladybeard rich nourishment. The goat thrived and even surpassed Mr. Baltar's promise of a liter of milk a day. But to all of us, even Mother, Ladybeard became more than just a source of milk and cheese. She provided us with a new interest, and we all cared about her well-being and contributed to her comfort.