Kanada

A Place Not Home
My Canary Yellow Star
No One Must Know

Sunday, February 13, 1944

“W
hy aren't you ready? Tamas is waiting for us at Castle Hill!” said Klari. She stood in the doorway of my house bundled up in a heavy coat, letting in a gust of cold air before shutting the door.

“I was just putting on my boots,” I replied. “But why are you here? Weren't we supposed to meet at your place?” I had been getting ready to call on Miri Schwarz, my second best friend, who lived across the street. The two of us had planned to pick up Klari and spend the afternoon tobogganing with her and her brother.

“You're right. It's just that my father doesn't want … I mean … I was afraid he would …” Klari was flustered.

“What are you talking about?”

She didn't answer. She looked uncomfortable. “Who cares about Father's nonsense? Everything is just fine,” she said. “Let's get Miri. Put on your warmest jacket. It's freezing.”

She seemed so miserable that I let the matter drop, but I filed it away in a corner of my mind.

As we crossed the street, we waved to Mr. Kristof next door, shoveling the snow from the sidewalk in front of his house.

“Where are you girls off to?” he called after us.

“We're going tobogganing!”

“Have fun! It's a perfect day for it,” he said, waving good-bye.

Miri was waiting for us at her front door, her slight figure wrapped in so many layers of clothing that she looked as wide as she was tall.

“Where is your sled?” she asked in greeting. “Should I bring mine?”

“No need,” said Klari. “Tamas took ours to Castle Hill.”

We trudged through the snowy streets, past Papa's grocery store. Mama had surprised us by running it with great success ever since Papa and my brother, Dezso, had been conscripted. Down the street, I checked to see what was playing in the cinema that Miri's parents owned. We crossed the town square, which boasted three ornate churches. Every Sunday morning, Klari and her family attended the one with the tallest spire, while Miri and I went to Jewish school at the synagogue. Finally, we arrived at the edge of town and Castle Hill.

The steep incline, rising sharply against the cloudy sky, was covered with a soft white powder. The laughter of tobogganers and skiers intermingled with the sound of the church bells ringing in the cold, pure air. Tamas, tall, blond, and handsome, was at the foot of the hill, stomping his feet to keep warm. By the time we all pulled our toboggan to the top of the hill, we were panting. I kicked a piece of ice over the crest. It rolled and rolled down the long slope. The bottom seemed very far away. The sled was long, so there was room for all of us on it.

“I want to sit in the middle,” said Miri.

“I'll be at the rear, behind her,” said Klari.

Tamas laughed, flapping his elbows up and down. “Cluck, cluck, cluck! Both of you are big chickens! Are you a chicken too, Jutka? Do you want me to sit at the front?”

“Hi, Jutka!” I looked over to see Agi, an older girl, trudging toward us. She waved a cheery hello. Jonah Goldberg was pulling her toboggan. Agi was two grades ahead of me in school, in Tamas's class. Jonah had graduated last June.

“Agi! Jonah?” said Tamas.

“I have a few days leave from my regiment,” explained Jonah.

“What are you waiting for?” said Agi. “The hill looks a lot steeper than it really is.”

They jumped on their sled and flew down the hill before I could ask Jonah anything about Papa and my brother.

“See, Jutka? There is no need to be afraid,” Tamas re-assured me.

I leaned over the edge of the hill. “It's a long way down!”

Tamas hopped onto the sled. “I'll be the navigator! Come on behind me! It's perfectly safe.” I didn't want to seem like a coward, so I squeezed in behind him and wrapped my arms around his waist, with Miri and Klari sliding in behind me.

“You're a good sport, Jutka,” said Tamas.

I couldn't tell whether the quick beating of my heart was due to the warmth of his body against mine or the thought of swooshing down such a steep hill at breakneck speed.

My stomach lurched as we whizzed through the powdery snow, but by our third turn we were all laughing. We plodded up the slope and slid down again and again until all of us were out of breath. Finally, Miri threw herself onto the snow.

“I am so tired!” she groaned. “Do you remember how we used to make snow angels when we were kids?”

She spread her arms and legs and swept them through the snow. Soon all of us were lying on the frosty hill, and the white blanket surrounding us was etched with angels. I was making my best figure when a soft snowball disintegrated on the tip of my nose. I shot up and caught Tamas patting another handful of snow into a ball.

“I'll get you for that!” I packed a scoop of snow tightly between my palms, just like Dezso had taught me. “I'll get the rest of you too!”

Klari and Miri retaliated against my attack, and in no time all of us were dusted in white.
A few benches dotted the snowy field around Castle Hill. We sat down on one of them for a rest.

“I am going to get you girls chestnuts,” Tamas announced.

He bought two packets of roasted chestnuts wrapped in newspaper from a vendor by the side of the road. He handed a bag to Klari. “That's for you and Miri,” he said. “Jutka and I will share this one.”

Klari giggled and jabbed her elbow into Miri's side. I shot them a murderous glance.

We sat on the bench, munching on the chestnuts. They warmed my frozen fingers and heated my insides. I couldn't think of anything to say that would impress Tamas, so I sat quietly. When Tamas smiled at me, I knew that my silence didn't matter.

Saturday, March 18, 1944 –
Sunday, March 19, 1944

“C
heckmate!” Dezso's voice rang triumphant as he confiscated my queen.

“What do you mean? How did you …?” I suddenly realized that I had left my queen defenseless.

“Jutka, how many times do I have to tell you that you must always defend your queen?”

I grinned at him. It was incredibly wonderful to have him and Papa home.

Dezso was irritated because I didn't pay attention. He took his chess seriously, and we spent many hours at the chessboard. I was a good player, but he was much better.

“Let's have another game,” he said. “I want to see if you have completely forgotten everything I taught you. It's too easy to beat you!”

I stuck out my tongue and tried to focus on the chess-board, but I couldn't. The warmth of the March sun streaming through the window, the memory of the rich potato soup we had eaten for lunch, and even the sight of Dezso's disconsolate face made me contented and drowsy. When the doorbell rang I was startled back to wakefulness. Dezso and I stared at each other for a long moment. My heart hammered.

“Are you expecting somebody?” he finally asked.

“No … and Mama and Papa didn't say anything about a visitor either.” Our parents had left the house an hour ago to visit Grandmama.

The bell rang again.

“Don't answer! Maybe they'll go away,” Dezso said. As if on cue, the doorbell pealed again.

“I think I should get it, in case …” I didn't have to finish my sentence. Dezso understood.

It could be anybody, I told myself as I hurried to the front hall. It might be Klari or Miri.
Please, God,
I prayed silently,
don't let it be a gendarme with orders for Papa and Dezso to leave us immediately or even worse!

My heart stopped pounding when I saw the mailman's friendly face. He was holding a large box wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine.

My voice came out in a squeak. “What have you got for us, Mr. Horvath?”

“A package from Canada.”

“Canada? Who do we know in Canada?”

“Well, missy, you must ask your parents that, not me,” he chuckled.

Dezso examined the wrapping carefully. Papa's name,
ARMIN WELTNER,
was printed on it in bold capital letters, as was our address.
CANADA
was written in the top left corner, but the name of the sender and the address were missing. Dezso shook the parcel.

“Easy does it!” I cautioned. “It might contain something breakable! Who could have sent this to us? Do we know anybody in Canada?”

“I think Papa has a cousin in Canada. This parcel must be from her. I wonder what's in it?”

“Let's open it and then we'll know!”

“Don't be a snoop. It's not addressed to you.” He put the box down on a chair and turned back to the chessboard. “Now, pay attention, or I won't play with you again.”

He trounced me in two more matches before we heard the key turn in the front door. Papa was carrying two large suitcases. Mama was behind him, carrying Grandmama's wooden stool. Grandmama followed them into the room. When we showed Papa the package, he raised his hand.

“Whoa!” he said. “The package can wait. We must get Grandmama settled first. It's too difficult for her to manage without Karolina.” Grandmama's housekeeper had had to leave her when it became illegal for Christians to work in Jewish households.

“We'll take care of you, Grandmama!” I hugged her as hard as I could. She smoothed my hair.

“You're a sweet child,” she said, “but it isn't easy to leave your own home.”

Papa helped Grandmama to an armchair. Dezso placed the wooden stool in front of her.

“Rest your legs for a while,” he said.

“Shall I get you something to drink?” Mama asked her.

“I am fine, dear.” Grandmama closed her eyes, her face ashen.

“We must get hold of your medicine somehow, even if it means the black market,” said Papa.

Grandmama's eyes flew open. “Don't worry about me! I am just fine!” She forced a smile. “This is very exciting. Open the package!”

Mama got a knife from the kitchen and cut the twine. Papa undid the layer of wrapping and found a letter.

“It's from my cousin, Iren,” he said. “She lives in Ottawa.” The name meant nothing to me.

“The capital of Canada,” Papa explained.

“How are we related to her?” I asked.

“Iren's father and my father were cousins,” said Papa. “Her father left for Canada when I was a boy.”

He began to read. “Iren sent us this parcel because she was worried that there would be food shortages because of the war.”

Mama laughed ruefully. “That's one way to describe it. I wonder if people in Canada realize how bad things are
here. I'll write her and ask her to send us Grandmama's heart medicine!”

“It's worth a try, but don't count on it,” said Papa. “It's a miracle that this package even got to us.”

There were bags of flour and sugar, tins of sardines and beans and Spam, cans of coffee, and colorful boxes of crackers and cookies. There was even a small wooden crate filled with oranges. At the bottom of the box lay a slim, rectangular book. On its cover was a picture of two men on horseback. They were dressed in crimson jackets and wore wide-brimmed hats, their figures set against an endless blue sky and snowy mountains. The book's title was simply
Canada.

Mama leafed through it. “It seems to be about Canada,” she said. “I wish that I could read English.”

I reached for the book. There were a lot of illustrations and photographs. I saw pictures of Indian chiefs with feathered headdresses fighting soldiers in uniforms. There were cowboys on horseback and pictures of covered wagons driven by people in old-fashioned clothes. Most of the photographs were of churches, of streets full of cars and well-dressed people, and an official-looking building. There were mountains and fields of wheat. A picture of the Arctic snow, so vast and so white, looked more pure and clean than anything I'd ever seen.

“When the war is over, I'll go to Canada and see these places,” I told Mama. “I'll take Dezso with me.”

She ruffled my hair. “Perhaps Papa and I will come with
you too.” She sighed happily. “The book's lovely, but this food will go a long way.”

“We're lucky,” said Grandmama. “The customs officials at the border must have missed it.”

“Armin, it was so nice of your cousin to think of us,” said Mama.

Papa did not reply. He was gripping the pages of the letter so tightly that his knuckles had turned white.

“What's wrong?” asked Mama.

“Too late! Too late!” he muttered.

He crumpled up the letter and pitched it hard into the corner of the room. The ferocious expression on his face frightened me. “Iren says she wants to sponsor us to come to Canada,” he said. “It's too late now! Too late!”

Papa had tried to get us documents that would allow us to leave Hungary. He had lined up for days in front of the Canadian consulate in Budapest only to have his application turned down. The United States also rejected us. They didn't want Jewish immigrants.

“Does Iren say why she didn't reply to any of our letters?” asked Mama.

“She didn't get them, not a single one,” said Papa. “She says that she became worried when she didn't hear from us.” He slammed his fist into his palm in frustration. “And now it's too late!”

“Calm down, Armin,” said Mama. “We only have you and Dezso home for one more day. Let's not spoil it. At least dinner tonight will be really good.”

As I lay in my bed, I told myself that Mama was right. Supper had been delicious. The Spam was a little salty, but I hadn't had meat in so long that I didn't mind. I had almost forgotten how good strong coffee tasted. Best of all were the oranges juicy and sweet. Mama saved the rinds to make candied orange peels with the sugar Iren had sent us. I ate so much that I felt I would burst. For the first time in a long time, I went to bed with a full stomach.

The sound of distant thunder woke me. The clock on my bedside table showed that it was ten o'clock in the morning. I pulled the blanket over my head, determined to fall asleep again. It was Sunday, but Mama had let me skip Jewish school because Papa and Dezso were home. The blanket was ripped off my face. Dezso was standing over me, his expression grim.

“Get up! Quick!” he cried. “The Germans are here!”

What we dreaded the most had happened.

I jumped out of bed and threw on my clothes. A few moments later, we were standing at the back of a crowd lining the broad expanse of Kossuth Street. It seemed as if the entire town had turned out to welcome the German army with flowers and loud cheers. Dezso and I looked at each other in sorrow. It was hard to hear his quiet “Let's go home” over the happy roar of the crowd.

Papa and Dezso left for the forced labor regiment that afternoon. Mama and I went with them to the railway station. It
was too far for Grandmama to walk, so she had said her good-byes at home. The railway station was humming with activity. Jonah Goldberg and his parents were farther down the platform. Agi was with them. Jonah had one arm around Agi, the other around his mother. Uniforms were everywhere. A group of Arrow Cross men glared at us. German soldiers stood laughing, rifles slung over their shoulders. A gendarme in a tall, plumed hat came over to us.

“Let me see your papers,” he said to Papa.

Papa handed over his documents, the word
Israelite
stamped across them. The gendarme scowled.

“Where do you think you're going, dirty Jew?” he asked.

Dezso's face burned crimson. “Don't talk to my father that way!”

The gendarme's hand moved toward the revolver holstered at his waist.

Papa squeezed Dezso's arm, and my brother fell silent.

“My son and I are returning to our labor regiment on the Austrian border,” Papa said mildly. “I am sorry, sir. My son is young and foolish. He doesn't realize what he is saying.” He turned to Dezso. “Son, apologize to the officer immediately!”

“I won't!”

“Apologize, son!”

Dezso glared at Papa. Papa glared back. Dezso was the first to lower his eyes.

“I'm sorry,” Dezso said, as if the words were being torn from his throat. I breathed easier when the gendarme's hand moved away from his pistol.

“Let me see your papers, boy.” He checked Dezso's documents carefully.

“Your papers seem to be in order,” he said. He sounded disappointed. “You better learn to mind your tongue!”

Dezso cracked his knuckles, a sure sign that he was angry. The gendarme handed back Dezso's papers.

“You Jews have two minutes to get out of here. When that train leaves, you better be on it!” He strode away.

Papa turned to Dezso. “How dare you jeopardize your own life and the lives of your mother and sister with your foolish tongue! Can't you get it through your head that they have guns and we do not. And now that the Germans are here … you must use your brain, my son, in order to stay alive. We must be patient. The war will be over soon.”

“We've been patient for too long, Papa,” muttered Dezso.

“You've heard the same rumors I have the Germans are losing the war on all fronts.” Papa laid his hand on Dezso's shoulder. “Remember, son, as long as we don't challenge them, we will survive. It's our only chance.”

“You must be more careful,” said Mama. “I beg you to be more careful!”

Dezso hugged her.

“I promise, Mama,” he said.

As we said good-bye, Papa wiped away my tears.

“We'll be home before you know it,” he reassured us. “Be a good girl, Jutka. Help your mama and grandmama. Be strong.”

I forced a wobbly smile.

The train whistle blew. The cold, gritty air made my eyes water. Papa and Dezso climbed the metal steps leading into a passenger car. They pressed their faces against a window and waved to us. Mama and I waved back until our arms hurt and their faces became too small to see.