Kanada (12 page)

Tuesday, April 10, 1945 –
Saturday, May 5, 1945

O
n a sunny, mild April morning, we were ordered to go to the tents set up outside the walls of Mauthausen.

Fourteen of the largest tents I had ever seen had been erected. They were so crowded with newly arrived Hungarian Jews that there was barely any room to move. Many were sick or dying. They'd been allowed to keep some of their belongings. I saw people sleeping on their monogrammed sheets and pillows spread out on the muddy ground. Häftlings who could not find space inside the tents slept in the dirt outside.

I felt totally alone in that mass of people. It seemed that it was me who had vanished, not those I loved. But there was a chance that Sandor was still alive, and I set out to find him. Nobody recognized his name.

“He is probably dead,” cackled an old man. “All of us will be dead soon.”

I put my hands over my ears, but his words followed me.

The hunger was worse than in the camp up the hill. Rations were cut back. By the time the order came for us to evacuate the tent camp, I was so weak I could barely stand. I didn't know where we were heading, and it didn't matter. I had learned by then that hell has many chambers.

We were forced to march at a relentless pace. Faltering meant a Nazi bullet. In a strange way, we became invisible. As our spectral crew staggered through the bombed streets of Linz and Wels, the townspeople seemed oblivious to our presence. The streets were full of life. Mothers pushed their babies in prams among the ruins. Shopkeepers were serving their customers. Children were riding their bicycles. But no one seemed to notice the living skeletons in their midst.

We were desperate for food and water. One night, we were given a short rest in a farmer's field. I was lucky. I found two withered potatoes. I shared them with two women. We crammed grass and weeds into our mouths. “The salad course,” said one of them. Another time, we had an hour's rest by a river and drank greedily from the turgid waters. We caught snails and ate them. Anything to feed our bellies.

Finally, near Gunskirchen we dragged ourselves up the side of a hill, on top of which, in the bush, another camp had been built. We staggered through the gates. The camp was what I'd grown to expect filthy barracks, masses of
emaciated people, and bodies everywhere. I closed my eyes for a second to make my surroundings disappear. When I opened them again, Sandor was coming toward me.

It was the day of my fifteenth birthday when the news spread through the camp that the International Red Cross had sent us packages. Even more incredible, our brutal guards were letting us keep them. Sandor and I were sitting under a tree, opening our parcels. They contained riches: food I had not seen for an eternity chocolates, salami, crackers, even powdered milk. We ate and ate. Then we lay down on the grass, our bellies full.

“I haven't eaten so much since we left home,” I groaned. “It's a nice way to celebrate my birthday.”

Sandor rolled onto his side to face me. “Happy birthday!” he said. He pulled me close to him and kissed me. I was astonished. My first kiss! And then I kissed him back. I forgot the camp, the lice, and the tall chimneys of Auschwitz. I forgot everything except the warmth of his lips and the blood coursing through my veins. I gently pulled away from him.

“All this talk of birthdays makes me homesick,” I stammered. I was too shy to meet his eyes, so I busied myself with plucking handfuls of grass from the ground. “Do you think that we'll ever be able to go home? I want to be with my father and my brother. I'm praying that Agi will make it home too.”

Sandor sat up. “When I saw my parents and my sister head toward the gas chambers, I knew my home was gone.
I'm going to Eretz Israel when the war is over. I'll never be a stranger again.”

We watched two Häftlings stumble under the weight of a cauldron of soup they were carrying into the yard.

“I don't want soup,” said Sandor. “I'm too full.”

“So am I, but I am thirsty. The soup will help.” I was not about to turn down any food.

I got up and joined the line. A Häftling filled my bowl up to the brim.

“Why so generous?” I asked. Usually, we were lucky to have our bowls half filled.

“Orders of the Kapo … don't ask me why.”

I carried my bowl back to Sandor and sat down on the grass beside him. The first mouthful stopped me short. I spat it out.

“It tastes horrible! It's sweet!”

“Let me try some,” said Sandor.

“Something has been put into this soup! It's not safe to drink it.” He poured it out.

He was right. Within hours, the prisoners who had finished their portion of the soup became violently ill. Many of them died.

One afternoon, without any warning, the guards ran away.

The cry went up: “The war is over!”

I rushed to the kitchen. Prisoners were at one another's throats, scrambling for bread. Over the din, I heard my name: “Jutka!” It was Sandor. “It's too dangerous to stay here! Let's go!”

In the first few hours of freedom, I felt nothing except a bone-deep weariness. Then I began to think about everyone I had lost: Mama and Grandmama walking to the crematorium; Agi lying in the snow, a bullet in her thigh; Papa and Dezso waving good-bye at the railway station. All was suffering and death and chaos. And all for nothing! For nothing! I was afraid to think of what the future would bring.

We slept on the hillside outside of the camp gates that night. The brightness of the spring sun woke me up the next morning. Suddenly, a man jumped to his feet.

“The Americans are here! The Americans are here!” he cried, pointing to the highway at the bottom of the hill. A long line of tanks and jeeps was making its way down the road. We scrambled down the hill to meet them.

“The Americans are here! The Americans are here! Help us! Help us!”

I almost ran into a tank at the bottom of the hill. The driver came to a stop. He was a large
Gi
with shiny black skin, and he was munching on a sandwich. He stared at me, his mouth open, his sandwich in midair. He leaned down and held it out to me.

“Take it!” he said.

In that moment, I knew we were saved.

Sunday, May 6, 1945 –
Saturday, June 30, 1945

W
hen I was a little girl, my parents gave me a canary for my birthday. I thought that it was the most beautiful bird I had ever seen. I stood in front of its cage every day, listening to it sing. Once, when Mama left the room, I decided to set it free. As soon as I unlatched the cage, it flapped its wings and hopped to the open door. Then it stopped. It didn't fly into the room. It stood trembling, and then covered its head with its wings. When Mama came back, I asked her why the bird hadn't flown away. She said that it stayed in its cage because it had nowhere else to go.

The door of our cage was open. I felt so weary, so confused, and so empty that it took time before I could believe that there would be a tomorrow.

When Sandor made a bad joke “I am sick and tired of living in camps” I laughed.

“I'm leaving,” he said. “I want to live like normal people, even if it's just for an hour. Let's go into Linz.”

“We have no money, no papers.”

“But I have a plan.” He grinned and grabbed my hand. “Come with me!”

“I can't. I want to start for home. Papa and Dezso are there.”

“You don't know that. If they went through what we went through …” He didn't have to finish his sentence.

“I feel it in my heart that they must be all right,” I said. “Wouldn't I feel it if they were dead?”

“I guess you have to find out for yourself,” said Sandor quietly. “For now, come with me. I intend to get food and some decent clothes. Then, back to Papa … I'll go with you. The roads aren't safe for a young woman by herself.”

“You don't have to do that!”

He put his arm around my shoulders. “Yes, I do. I want you to be safe. Besides, I have no place to go until I can get to Eretz Israel.”

The road to Linz was thick with army jeeps, tanks, cars, carts drawn by skeletal horses, and people traveling on their own two feet. It was slow-going, especially when we came upon the carcasses of starved horses. As soon as a horse went down, it was surrounded by a ravenous throng.

The crowd had thinned by the time we got to Linz. We turned down a side street. It was lined with apartment buildings, many of them bombed to ruin. Women and old men were sifting through the rubble. I could feel their hostility as they took in our prisoner garb.

The last apartment house on the street was standing intact. Two American soldiers came down the gray steps. One of them was carrying a large cake decorated with white icing. The other had a cigarette dangling from his mouth and a jug of wine tucked under his arm.

I wanted that cake fiercely. My fifteenth birthday had just passed this cake was for me! I grabbed it and ran. Sandor followed, with the soldiers close behind. We were no match for the Americans. They caught up with us without any trouble. I thrust the cake back into the soldier's hands, ashamed.

“Here, take it!” I spoke in German as I tried to catch my breath. “I am sorry. I don't know what possessed me. It was my birthday yesterday and your cake …” I sobbed.

“Take it easy,” said the
GI.
“I'm not mad.”

The second
G
i threw down his half-smoked cigarette and ground it out with his heel. I was debating with myself whether I should pick it up when Sandor stooped down and put it into his pocket.

He said to the American, “This stub will buy us a loaf of bread.”

The
G
i laughed.

“Consider it a gift. Buy something with it for your girlfriend.”

“How old are you, girl?” the soldier with the cake asked.

“Fifteen, sir.”

An expression I could not identify flitted over the soldiers' faces. The soldier handed the cake back to me.

“Enjoy it! Happy birthday!”

His friend thrust the jug of wine into Sandor's hands.

“Have a drink to celebrate!” he said.

They bid us a cheerful good-bye and were gone. We called after them as they made their way down the street, but they just waved back before turning the corner.

“Well,” Sandor said, “we have our supper, but we need a table. I want to sit in a chair at a table.”

A week earlier, I would have stuffed handfuls of cake into my mouth wherever I happened to be standing. But now Sandor's words made sense.

I followed him up the steps of the apartment house. My head was aching.

“What are we doing here?”

“I don't know yet,” said Sandor. “I just want to eat a piece of cake like a civilized person.”

We were in a marble foyer with corridors at both ends. We chose the hallway on the left and rang all the doorbells. Nobody answered. Then we tried the corridor on the right. All of the doors remained closed.

“Let's get out of here and go back to the camp. My head is pounding.”

“Come on,” he said. “Somebody must be home. Let's try the second floor. If nobody answers, we'll go back.”

We climbed the worn marble steps and began ringing doorbells. The building was either deserted or everybody was afraid to answer their door.

“Let's go back to the camp,” I said. I couldn't think of anywhere else to go.

“One more apartment.” Sandor rang the doorbell of the apartment at the end of the hall. A small, gold nameplate read,
FRANZ AND GERDA SCHMIDT
.

We heard footsteps and the door swung open. A middle-aged man, wearing the Austrian
SS
uniform, was pointing a pistol at Sandor's head. His wife was standing behind him, crying and wringing her hands.

“What do you want, dirty Jew?” The man waved his pistol.

Sandor pulled himself up, dignified in his filthy, drooping stripes. “I'm sorry now that we came to warn you to get out of your apartment before the mob of Jews gets here. They're going from building to building looking for Nazis. They have knives. As soon as they see your uniform, they'll string you up.”

“He's lying!” said Schmidt to his trembling wife.

“Have it your way.” Sandor turned to me. “See, Jutka, I told you that you're too softhearted. We should have let the
boys have their fun with them. We only came to warn you, because my girlfriend does not want to see more bloodshed.”

“Franz, I beg you, listen to them!” The man's wife was frantic. “Let's leave while we can.”

“Schweig, Gerda! Let me think.” He lowered his gun. “All right, let's get out of here! Hurry!” he yelled at his wife. She grabbed her coat and hat. “We're going, but we'll be back. We are going straight to the Americans. They'll protect us from the likes of you.”

As soon as they were gone, Sandor pulled me inside and shut the door behind us. I put the cake on the hall table.

“That wasn't too bad,” he said.

“But, Sandor, we'll get into trouble when the Americans find out that we lied.”

He laughed. “The Americans won't care. We'll give back the apartment, but we'll have soft beds to sleep in tonight.” He grabbed my wrist. “Come on, Jutka. Let's look around.”

The water was lukewarm, but I giggled with pleasure as it tickled my body. I ran my fingers over my legs. Looking at myself was like looking at a stranger. My skin was gray and my nails were blackened. I could count every rib. I splashed water over my arms, covered with sores I had picked raw. Then I leaned back and closed my eyes.

I didn't want to get out of the cool water, even though the smell of frying eggs made my stomach growl. I climbed out of the tub and dried myself with one of Frau Schmidt's thick towels. I didn't have a toothbrush, so I rubbed my teeth with
the side of my fingers. Then I wrapped a towel around my body and found the bedroom.

I stood in front of Frau Schmidt's massive mahogany wardrobe. It seemed vital to pick the right dress. I finally settled on a pretty blue cotton frock with a pattern of pink flowers. It was enormous on me, but it had a sash that I twisted around my waist twice. The Frau's feet were much smaller than mine, so I had to make do with my battered camp shoes. I wiped them clean and borrowed a pair of stockings from the wardrobe. I finished by wrapping a pink silk scarf around my shorn head. When I was dressed, I twirled in front of a long mirror. Although the girl looking back at me was much thinner and had huge, hollow eyes, she reminded me of the Jutka I had seen in the mirror of my dresser back home.

Sandor was in the dining room. He stood up when he saw me and led me to the table. The room looked romantic. He had drawn the curtains against the twilight. A candle flickering in the middle of the table was the sole source of light. He had set the table with Frau Schmidt's china. In addition to the eggs he had fried, he had toasted slices of dark bread. The cake, icing smeared, sat on a crystal plate. The bottle of wine stood next to the candle.

We sat down at the table wordlessly. Sandor was wearing one of Schmidt's suits. He had washed in the kitchen, and the stubble on his head was still damp.

“You look pretty, Jutka.”

“You look nice yourself.”

He ladled eggs onto my plate, and we began to eat. I picked at my food, even though the eggs were delicious. My headache was getting worse.

“Is there something wrong?” he asked.

“I guess I'm not hungry. I have a pounding headache.”

He put his fork down. “That's enough for me too. We'll leave the cake. Go and rest. I'll clear the dishes away.”

I sat down on the couch in the parlor and waited while he piled the dishes into the kitchen sink. I closed my eyes, praying that my headache would go away.

“Well, that didn't take long,” said Sandor, sitting down beside me. He put his arm around me, and I rested my aching head on his shoulder.

I snuggled close to him as if I could draw some of his strength and vitality into me.

We sat in silence in the stuffy parlor of two Austrian strangers, and for the first time in a long time, the old Jutka came back to me. A wave of homesickness swept over me, so strong that it made me feel faint. I wanted everything to be the way it was before the war.

“Your plan's working, Sandor,” I said. “Isn't it amazing? A bath and clean clothes made me feel like myself again. But I am still confused. Here I am, sitting on a brocade couch, the same person who ate garbage and was happy to get it. I don't understand anything anymore. Nothing. All I know is I have to go home.”

“I know, Jutka, but give yourself a few more days to get your strength back.” He held my face between his hands and kissed the tip of my nose. “I meant it when I said that I'd go with you. I want to keep you safe.” He stood up and took my hands. “Your hands are hot.”

“I am just tired.”

He yawned. “So am I. It's getting late. Let's get some sleep.”

I followed him to the bedroom, as if in a trance. Then we heard a key rattle in the lock.

“Damn!” Sandor was close to tears. “I didn't think that they'd be back so soon!”

Schmidt and his wife stomped into the apartment, accompanied by two American military policemen.

“What will they do to us?” All the panic of the last months seized me again.

I stepped forward, swayed, and crumpled to the floor at their feet.