Kanada (13 page)

Tuesday, July 3, 1945 –
Tuesday, July 31, 1945

T
he fever dreams trapped me. I was back in Kanada, sorting through mountains of coats. Then I was lying in my bed in the ghetto, until Klari and Miri shook me back to wakefulness. I opened my eyes and found myself sitting in a large sleigh. I was dressed in my school uniform with a heavy gold bracelet on my wrist. The sleigh was gliding over snowy fields, and I was peering at the skyline of the country of Canada looming in the distance. Mama and Grandmama were sitting beside me, and Papa and Dezso were in the front seat. The horses galloped and galloped, but Canada remained far, far away. Papa whipped the horses, but Canada kept receding into the distance, farther and farther, no matter how fast we traveled.

“When are we going to get there?” I asked Mama. “When
are we going to get to Canada?”

She didn't reply. She was motionless, except for a single tear trickling down the side of her face.

“When are we going to get there? When are we going to get there?” I plucked Grandmama's sleeve.

She put her finger to her lips and would not speak to me.

I poked Papa on the shoulder. He wouldn't turn around. I pulled on his jacket and yelled in his ear:

“When are we going to get to Canada?”

His head swiveled, and I fell back in horror at the sight of a grinning skull staring back at me.

“It's all right. It's all right.” Somebody was stroking my arm. “It's all right. Wake up!”

I was lying in a white room full of beds. Women in white caps and uniforms, with bright Red Cross armbands, moved quietly among the patients.

“Thank God, you're back!” Sandor looked frightened.

“Where am I?”

“In a hospital, in a camp in Linz,” said Sandor. “The Americans brought you here when you collapsed. You have typhus. That's why you had a headache. You were very sick, but you're over the worst of it now.”

“What happened? What did the American policemen do?”

Sandor chuckled. “They just warned me never to pull anything like that again. They drove us to the hospital.”

A nurse with a kind face interrupted us. She had a thermometer in her hand.

“Well, you are finally awake,” she said in German. “It must be a relief to this young man. He's been pestering us for the last three days.”

“I just wanted to make sure that you were all right,” mumbled Sandor.

The nurse turned to him. “You'll have to leave now.”

As soon as he was gone, she put the thermometer under my tongue. When she checked it a few minutes later, she seemed pleased.

“Excellent! You have no fever,” she said and poured some medicine on a spoon. She laughed at the face I made when I tasted how bitter it was.

“It tastes awful, but it'll make you feel better.”

Next came a sponge bath that refreshed me.

“I am sorry, but I can't change your clothing. We're short of supplies.” That's when I noticed I was still wearing Frau Schmidt's dress.

“The doctor will see you later,” she said, “but I'm sure he'll be satisfied with your progress. You'll be out of here in a few weeks.”

She left when Sandor appeared at the foot of my bed, a bowl of gruel in his hands.

“I brought you something to eat,” he said.

“I'm not hungry.”

“You've got to eat, or you won't get strong.” He raised the spoon.

I pushed away his hand. “I'll throw up.”

“You won't!” He put the spoon back in the bowl and
stared at me angrily. “I guess you don't want to see your papa and brother again!”

I was the first to lower my eyes and reach for the bowl. “I'll have some of your stupid breakfast, and stop gloating!”

He couldn't stop himself from grinning. “Welcome back, Jutka!”

Every morning I felt stronger and more eager to find my father and my brother. It took several weeks before I was healthy enough to travel. Sandor insisted on coming with me.

I was sitting on a chair beside my bed when he appeared. He was clutching a boy's breeches, a tattered shirt, and a jacket under his arm. There was even a cap for my head, which now looked like a brush.

“This is all I could find.”

“I don't mind. How did you get hold of them?”

He looked pleased with himself.

“Remember the cigarette butt I picked up out of the dirt?”

“Of course I do.”

“Well, it paid for your new clothes.” He passed the bundle to me. “Try them on!” he said.

I pulled the britches over my dress. They fit perfectly. The shirt and the jacket were also my size. Sandor looked me over, head to toe.

“You still look like a girl to me!” he crowed. “We should leave early tomorrow morning or we won't get on the train. They are terribly crowded.”

Wednesday, August 1, 1945

T
he train station was crackling with jostling people. The air was full of excited shouting in Russian, German, Hungarian, Polish, and other languages I did not recognize. I held on tightly to Sandor's arm, my free hand clutching my belongings. There wasn't much. All I owned in the world was Frau Schmidt's dress with the pretty flowers on it, a loaf of bread, and a block of cheese.

I felt panicky at the masses of people pressing against us, but then I remembered that I was finally free, free to go anywhere I wanted, free to find my father and my brother. My heart thumped in anticipation and joy.

Our plan was to travel to Vienna by train. Sandor had earned the money for the fare by helping the Americans
unload their trucks. From Vienna, we were going to make our way somehow to Andau, on the Austrian border, and cross over during the night to Csorna on the Hungarian side.

Sandor and I pushed our way through the crowd and piled into an overheated passenger car reeking of sweat. We found two empty seats on the scarred wooden benches. Next to us sat a group of farm workers with their sunburned faces, straw clinging to their clothes, the stink of fertilizer. One man was holding a loaf of bread on his lap. He tore pieces from it and handed them to his comrades. The men took swigs from an earthenware jug they passed around.

“We didn't eat this morning,” said Sandor. “Are you hungry?”

Before I could reply, one of the men held out the bread.

“Help yourselves,” he said in Hungarian. “It's a pleasure to meet fellow countrymen.”

Sandor took the bread. He tore off a piece and passed it to me before taking one for himself.

“Thank you, sir. We're mighty hungry.”

The peasant pressed the jug into Sandor's hands and he took a swig.

“That hit the spot.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Pass the jug to your friend.” The peasant winked.

“She's just recovering from typhus. Alcohol might not agree with her,” said Sandor.

The men's laughter irritated me. “Of course I want a drink!”

Sandor was looking daggers at me. I took the jug out of his hands, tilted it and swallowed. Fire coursed down my throat. I coughed and spluttered.

The men laughed again.

“Good Schlivovitz will do that to you every time,” the peasant said, slapping his knee. He turned to Sandor. “Where are you heading?”

“We're going home,” replied Sandor. “We're from Papa.”

“We're also going home,” said the man. “Good Hungarians belong in Hungary!”

The man leaned closer to us. “I heard that things are tough at home, but at least we won't have those damned Jews taking away our livelihood.”

“What do you mean?” asked Sandor. His hand was like a vice on my arm.

“You know, of course, that the Jews were taken away,” said the man, “and now, they're kaput!” He drew his index finger across his throat.

“I'm going to get some sleep,” was all Sandor said.

We sat on the rickety train, leaning our heads against the window frame, pretending to sleep.

The train stopped several times. Groups of Russian soldiers with rifles slung over their shoulders boarded. The passengers were careful not to make eye contact with them. As we sat there motionless, I felt so exhausted that I actually fell asleep. The next thing I knew, Sandor was pulling on my arm.

“Time to get up. We're in Vienna.”

We gathered up our bundles without saying good-bye to the Hungarians.

“Bastards,” muttered Sandor as we stepped down onto the platform. “Are you mad at me? There were too many of them to take on.”

“There was nothing you could do.”

“Hold on to me,” said Sandor, helping me down the last step.

Every track was full. Locomotives were belching smoke into the air. Somewhere, a whistle blew. The noise of the crowd was deafening.

“Let's go out on the street to get our bearings,” said Sandor. “We'll get something to eat, and then we'll ask about going to Andau.”

We headed toward the exit, careful not to collide with any Russian soldiers. As we climbed the stairs up to the street, I noticed a blond girl ahead of us. There was some-thing familiar about the way she held herself, the way she moved. I pulled on Sandor's arm.

“We must catch that girl!” I pointed her out to him.

“Why?”

“I'll explain later! Help me!”

He elbowed his way past the people in our path much to their dismay. I followed. We were almost at the exit when we caught up with the girl. I reached over the head of the woman in front of me and tapped the girl on the shoulder. She swung around. It was Miri.

Sandor ordered three espressos from the waitress.

We were sitting in an outdoor café down the street from the railway station. I kept staring at Miri, afraid that if I took my eyes off her she would disappear. She must have felt the same for she was grasping my fingers so tightly that they were going numb.

“I can't believe I ran into you!” she kept repeating.

“Neither can I. I want to know everything that has happened to you since you and your mother disappeared. What are you doing in Vienna? Do you have news of my papa and my brother?”

She let go of my fingers. “Mama and I went into hiding with the partisans in the forests of Yugoslavia, but we were captured a few months later and sent to Bergen-Belsen.” She picked up her cup and set it down again without drinking. “I lost my mother there. When the war ended, I went home. Nobody came back except me.”

I drew my chair close to her. “I'm so sorry! Do you know anything about my father and my brother? They were with your father.” I was afraid to say more and afraid to ask.

“Don't go back,” she said by way of reply.

“I have to find them. I want my father!” She squeezed my fingers tighter.

“Your papa and your brother won't be coming back … nor will my father,” she said. “All three of them were shot.”

I felt hot and cold and dizzy at the same time. I pulled away from her and jumped to my feet. I could not understand why she was saying such terrible things to me.

“You're lying!”

“I wish I was. I met somebody who saw it happen.”

Sandor pulled me back to my seat. “Hush, Jutka! Listen to what Miri has to say.”

“I am so sorry, but it's true. Please believe me!” pleaded Miri. Tears flooded her eyes. “I wish I didn't have to tell you this. They were exhausted. They'd been digging ditches for long hours, and when they were so tired that they couldn't carry on, they sat down in the shade of a tree for a moment. A guard noticed and shot them in the head.”

I stopped listening. My mind was flooded with a thousand images Papa swinging me high in the air when I was a little girl; Papa telling me how much he loved me. And Dezso, my big brother how he looked out for me; how much we laughed during the hours we spent over the chessboard. I thought of Shabbos dinners Mama's hands dancing over the candles, her lips moving in prayer. I thought of Papa blessing the wine and the Shabbos bread gracing our table. I thought of the pleasure on Mama's face when we praised her cooking. I thought of my brother's laughter when he teased me. I was so lost in grief that I barely understood Sandor's gentle voice.

“Do you still want to go back? Think it over carefully. It seems to me that there is nothing for either of us back there.”

“Nor for me,” added Miri.

“Agi … what happened to Agi?” I was desperate. “Did she make it home, Miri?”

Miri shook her head.

“Auschwitz was liberated months before Mauthausen,” said Sandor. “Don't you think that if she survived, you'd know?”

I clamped my hands over my ears. “Stop it! Stop it!”

Sandor took my hands and held them tightly. “You have to face the truth.”

“Agi has to get home!” I cried. “Someone has to have survived!”

He shook his head. “Face it. We have no homes. I was prepared to go back with you, but that's because you wanted to. There is nothing for us there. There is only one place that will be my home. Eretz Israel!”

Miri agreed. “That's why I left Hungary.”

A Russian soldier sauntered by, close to our table. He gave a black-toothed smile to Miri. She shuddered and hugged herself before continuing to speak.

“It's terrible,” she said. “The neighbors kept asking, ‘Where is your mama? It's too bad your papa didn't come home.’ They all said, ‘We didn't know what they were doing to you!’ Nobody in the whole country seems to know what was going on,” she said bitterly.

“They were furious when I asked for our belongings. I saw my mother's crystal vase on Mrs. Kristof's dining-room table and she denied that it was ever ours. Mrs. Kristof was no different from the rest of them.” She shook her head. “Klari was the only person who was kind to me, and it wasn't easy for her. Her parents forbade her to have anything to do with me. She had to sneak out to see me.”

I stole a glance at Sandor. “What about Tamas?”

Miri shifted in her seat. “I kept as far away from him as I could. At first, he belonged to the Arrow Cross. Now that the Russians are there, he's a Communist.”

“Who is Tamas?” Sandor asked.

I kept silent.

“He is our friend Klari's brother. He used to chum around with Jutka's brother.”

I shot her a grateful look.

“I should never have tried to go back. When I decided to leave for good, I got help through the Bricha.”

“The Bricha?” I asked.

“Zionists who are helping Jews leave Europe and go to Eretz Israel. They arranged everything. Sandor is right, Jutka. I'm going to Eretz Israel too.”

As they talked, I thought of a horsedrawn sleigh skimming over the crisp, pure snow. That's when I knew.

“Agi and I always wanted to go to Canada. I have family in Canada my papa's cousin.”

“Canada,” Miri said, “so far away. Are you sure?”

The waitress appeared and set three small cups of steaming espresso in front of us. We drank deeply.

“How I have missed good coffee!” Sandor turned to me. “What do you want to do, Jutka? When we're in Linz, you can decide where you want to live.”

“I'm not going to Linz. I want to go to Landsberg in the American region,” Miri said. “They've set up a
DP
camp, and we can get free food and lodging there while we wait.”

“Wait for what?” I said. We had waited forever, it seemed.

“To go to Eretz Israel.”

“Or to Canada …” I said.

“Or to Canada,” she agreed. “Come to Landsberg with me.”

I was lost. I had been torn from the home I loved. Everybody who had cared about me was dead. There was no one waiting for me to return home. I realized that home had vanished. It was a dream more distant than Canada.

“All right, Miri, we'll go with you to Landsberg,” I said.