Kanada (16 page)

Thursday, April 25, 1946

A
rowdy group at the café kept me playing the piano later than usual. It was past eleven o'clock when I stepped into the still street lit by a pale moon. The spring air was earthy and full of promise. When I got to the block, I was careful not to make noise as I climbed the steps to my floor.

The vast dormitory was dark except for one cubicle at the end of the room. I heard the sound of weeping. The women were gathered around a slight figure in a bed. A girl tugged on my sleeve.

“Ah, you're finally back! She returned an hour ago.”

“You're the only one she wants to see,” a woman explained. She shook her head. “It doesn't look good …”

“What do you mean?”

I made my way to the bed. It was Andrea. I took her hand.

“I am so glad that you came back,” I said.

“You have the same smile,” she responded.

She paused, her body racked by loud, wrenching coughs. She grasped my fingers tightly.

“I couldn't find her,” she finally said. “I looked everywhere, but my Magda is gone.”

She closed her eyes, and her fingers grew slack in my grip. She, too, was gone.

Sunday, May 12, 1946

J
utka! Jutka! Wait up!”

I was on the way to the sports field to cheer for

Sandor's soccer team when Margaret caught up with me.

She was waving a letter.

“I am so glad that I saw you,” she panted. “I went to your

barracks, but you had already left.” She handed me the

letter. “I thought it might be important.”

The stamp on the envelope was from Canada. I turned

over the letter, my heart racing. Iren Weltner's name and

address were on the back.

“It's from my papa's cousin in Canada.”

“Are you feeling all right? You're white as a ghost.”

“I am fine … It's just that it's … I wrote to her months
ago. I didn't have her full address. When she didn't reply, I thought that she didn't receive my letter.”

“I'll leave you to read it,” she said, patting me on the shoulder. “I hope it's good news.”

I sat down on a bench under a tree, by the fence. I held the envelope in my hand for a long time. What if my cousin wrote that she would help me get to Canada? For a moment, I slipped into that dreamland of open spaces and snowy mountains. I shook my head to clear it. I had promised Sandor that I would go to Eretz Israel with him. I loved Sandor. I would not disappoint him. I wanted to rip up the letter and throw away the pieces. But my fingers seemed to have a mind of their own, and before I realized what I was doing, I tore the envelope open and began to read:

I stared at the letter for several moments. The hand that had written it shared my blood. I crumpled it up in my fist, ready to throw it away, but then I changed my mind and stuffed it into my pocket. I must keep it so I'll have Iren's address. I'll write her when I get to Eretz Israel, I reassured myself.

After the first half-hour, it was obvious that not only would we lose but that we would lose badly to the team that had arrived in army trucks from the Feldafing
DP
Camp. I climbed down from the bleachers and walked toward the track that ran the circumference of the sports field. Ari was talking animatedly to a group of girls in shorts, shirts, and track shoes.

“Have you decided to join the track team, Jutka?” he asked.

“I was just watching the soccer match.”

The girls looked me over, assessing me as if I were a new racehorse.

“Come on, run with us, Jutka,” said Ari. “You'll have a good time.” He laughed. “It beats seeing our boys flattened by the team from Feldafing.”

The Feldafing side of the bleachers was going wild, clap-ping their hands and stomping their feet at another goal.

“See what I mean?” asked Ari.

The last time I had run was during the grotesque race in Auschwitz.

“Come on,” said Ari.

Reluctantly, I lined up at the starting line and kicked off my leather shoes. I felt out of place in my summer dress and bare feet.

“If you want to join the team, I'll get you track shoes,” offered Ari. “They're secondhand, but they'll do.”

“It won't be easy. I have big feet.” The two girls beside me laughed.

“My name is Anna,” said the taller girl.

“I am Marika,” said her friend, shaking my hand.

“Be careful not to start running before Ari says ‘Go!’” said Anna.

Butterflies began to dance in the pit of my stomach.

“How many times are we supposed to go around the track?”

Marika smiled. “You really are a novice! We're training for the 1,500 meters, so we must run around three and three-quarter times.”

“Quiet!” cried Ari. “Get ready! Go!”

I ran at an easy pace at first, not even feeling out of breath. At the end of the first lap, three of the eight girls, including Marika, fell behind. Anna was at the front of the four runners ahead of me. I upped the pace a bit, just to see if I could do it. By the end of the second lap, Anna was still leading the pack in the front, and Marika and the two runners from the back had passed me. In the middle of the third lap, I sped up and tried and tried but couldn't overtake anybody. More than anything, I wanted to stop, but I knew I wouldn't.

I can do it! I can do it!
My legs began to move and my arms to pump.
I can do it! I can do it!
My heart beat fast, and I felt strong and in control.

The finish line was close. I forced myself to go even faster and dashed through it dead last before collapsing on the ground.

Ari ran up to me. “You did it!”

The other runners surrounded me. Anna slapped my back.

“Practice is tomorrow afternoon, right after school,” Ari said. “I expect to see you there, Jutka!”

Sunday, June 9, 1946

T
he day we had trained for finally arrived. The sports field was abuzz with people. They'd come from other
DP
camps and also from Austrian civilian teams. My track team was running against a club from town: victory over them would be sweet. Whenever any of us went into Landsberg, we were bombarded with insults. More than anything, we wanted to beat them.

A year ago, we were the walking dead. Today, we were athletes. High jumpers hopped, skipped, and threw themselves into the air at one end of the field while shot-putters grunted and sprung from crouches at the opposite end. Two men were removing hurdles from the track and stacking them up in the field beyond the low metal rail that ran around the inside of the track. Spectators in the bleachers
held up banners, yelled, whistled, and stomped. My own team was near the starting line and I hurried to meet them.

Anna ran up to me.

“Where have you been? I was worried that you'd be late!”

“I didn't want to get here too early. I get nervous.”

Both Anna and I were running the 1,500. We had practiced hard. She was the fastest runner on the team. I had improved, but I knew that I had no chance of winning. We were dressed in shorts and white T-shirts with Landsberg
DP
camp written on the back. I kicked off my shoes. The only track shoes Ari had been able to find for me were tight on my feet, so I ran barefoot.

Before the race, Ari gathered us. “I want to tell all of you how proud I am of your hard work. Now, I have a few words for the runners in the 1,500.

“The secret is to concentrate on your pace. You know that you can run this race. You've run it in practice, so you know how fast you can go. You know what you have to do.”

He stopped talking suddenly. All of us turned around. A beefy man in a striped jersey was striding toward us, followed by four girls dressed in shiny blue sport shirts, shiny navy shorts, and expensive track shoes. The tallest of them was the blond girl the waiter at the Drei Husaren restaurant had called Fräulein Schiller during Miri's wedding supper. I could tell she recognized me.

Anna stepped forward with her hand extended.

“Hello, I'm Anna …”

Her words trailed off as Schiller turned her back.

“What did I say?”

“Nothing,” I said. “She is a Nazi!”

The starter announced our event. We moved to the starting line.

The starter raised his pistol. The sound of the shot deafened me, but then I was on my way. As I fought against the other competitors for the inside lane, a sharp elbow jabbed into my side and somebody stomped on my right foot. It was Schiller.

“Prepare to be crushed!”

I didn't reply but focused all of my energy on getting to the inside lane. Schiller was faster than me and beat me to it. As we finished the first lap, Schiller was running beside me in lane one, I was in lane two, and Anna was in lane three next to me. The rest of the runners were in single file behind us.

I tried to remember everything Ari had taught me. I sped up, intending to pass Schiller, but both the Austrian and Anna picked up the pace. My legs began to feel heavy, and my shoulders and chest began to throb. My foot, where Schiller had trod upon it, hurt so badly that it was difficult to run at a steady clip. From the corner of my eye, I saw Anna stumble and fall behind. A stocky girl from the Landsberg team took her place.

By the time we finished the second lap, I felt more confident and decided to speed up again. So did Schiller. The stocky girl on my right moved into my lane, right in front of me, slowing me down.

I have to pass them! I have to pass them!
I couldn't do it. When I sped up to sneak between Schiller and her teammate, so did they. When I slowed down, so did they. We completed the third lap with Schiller leading in lane one and the stocky girl a few meters ahead of me in lane two. The runners at the back were far behind the three of us.

The bell rang, signifying the last lap of the race. As I ran by, I saw Ari standing by the side of the track, a stopwatch in his hand, looking furious. I had to do something and had to do it fast. I moved into lane three to pass the two Landsberg runners. The stocky girl also moved into lane three in front of me and Schiller took her place in lane two, still ahead of me. I knew then what I had to do. There was no other way. I swung wide, moved into lane four, and increased my speed. As I headed down the back straightaway toward the curve of the track, all the pain I was experiencing disappeared, and for a few seconds I felt free, as if I were flying. I couldn't see the stocky girl, but Schiller was still ahead of me in lane two.

I tried to speed up even more, but the pain came back, worse than before, slowing me down. My chest hurt, my arms and legs were cramping. The distance between Schiller and me grew even greater.

I was in such agony that I slowed down to stop, but suddenly, the track and the other runners disappeared. There was a train with a long row of cattle cars ahead of me. I was part of a group of Jews running toward it. All of us wore striped uniforms and were barefoot.
SS
men were lined up in
front of the station house in a single file. Their rifles were pointed at us. I knew that I had to run faster than I had ever run before if I wanted to stay alive. I ran and ran until I could not run any longer and fell to the ground panting, trying to catch my breath. I covered my face with my hands to protect myself against the inevitable gunshot.

Ari pried my hands away from my eyes. It took me a second to recognize his face and to remember where I was. He was jubilant.

“You ran a five-minute, thirty-second race!” he cried. “Your last lap was 79.9 seconds the fastest you've ever run! You beat the Austrian by six full seconds!”

“I won?”

He hugged me.

“You're a champion!”