Kanada (17 page)

Friday, July 19, 1946

I
t was a perfect summer day. I lay on my bunk, trying to stay awake, my Hebrew grammar book splayed open on my stomach. I struggled with the letters as long as I could, but the day was too lovely to spend indoors. Sandor was sitting by the door when I came out.

“Is everything all right? Why aren't you at work?” He had been reading the camp newspaper. He rolled it up and put it into his back pocket.

“I'm playing hooky. It's too nice to be cleaning streets. I wanted to ask you to go for a walk. You had the same idea, right?”

The sun warmed our faces as we ambled along, holding hands. We didn't speak much, content with each other's company. I stole a look at Sandor and found his eyes fixed on
my face. He looked so handsome, so strong, so decent, with a smile on his lips. We stared at each other for a long moment before bursting into laughter.

“We're so lucky to have found each other,” Sandor said. He traced the line of my jaw with a gentle finger. “We'll never be alone again.”

I burrowed my head into his neck and held him as tightly as I could.

“How can we be so happy?” I mumbled.

Sandor sighed. He'd heard me ask the same question a thousand times before, and he gave the same reply as he always did. “Our families would want us to be happy.”

“Stop it, lovebirds! You're making me jealous!”

I jumped, my cheeks fiery. Margaret was chuckling. She carried a letter.

“It's for you,” she said, holding it out. “I hope that it brings you news as good as the letter from Canada.”

“What's she talking about?” Sandor asked. “You never told me that you got a letter from Canada.”

“Oh … It was nothing important. My cousin wrote to me.”

“What did she say?”

I forced my voice to sound even. “She offered to help me get my papers to go to Canada. I didn't even reply. I'll write her once we're settled in Eretz Israel.”

Sandor looked at me hard.

“Jutka, are you sure that's what you want to do?”

“Of course I'm sure! My mind is made up. I promised, didn't I?”

Margaret cleared her throat. She waved the letter in front of my face. “What about
this
letter? You better take it!”

She pressed it into my hands. I turned it over.

“It's from Hungary, from Julia.”

It took all of my willpower to stuff it into the pocket of my skirt without opening it.

“Why are you putting it away?” Sandor asked. “Don't you want to know what she says?”

“I'll read it later.”

Margaret must have sensed the tension between us. “I have to leave you now. There is so much to do with all the newcomers.”

“What do you mean?” asked Sandor.

“There was a pogrom in Kielce.”

“Kielce?” I asked.

“In Poland,” she said. “The Jews that survived have had to flee. The first of the refugees are arriving at the camp. My shift on registration is about to start.” She hurried off.

“Let's see what's going on,” Sandor said, drawing my arm through his.

We came to a sudden stop at the camp gate. A long, restless line of people was being admitted. There were
UNRRA
and Joint representatives everywhere. The newcomers carried bundles on their shoulders and battered suitcases in their hands. Some of the women held babies in their arms.
Children clung to their parents' hands. Almost all of them were young and strong. They were survivors. A bearded young man with a little boy sitting on his shoulders was doing a little two-step to keep the child amused. Sandor caught his eye. “Welcome,” he said in Yiddish.

“Thank you, sir,” the man replied. “It's good to be here … to feel safe again.”

“Are all of you from Poland?”

“Yes.” The man dipped the child, making him whoop with delight. “Apparently our suffering in the camps wasn't enough for them,” he said sadly. “They killed people in cold blood. Even the police and the army took part in it. We should never have gone back when the war ended.”

“That's tragic.” Sandor turned to me. “You see, Eretz Israel is the only place for us.”

“You're right!” The man yanked his little son's leg gently. “We're going to Eretz Israel, aren't we, buddy?”

“How did you get here?” asked Sandor.

“The Bricha got us out. It was terribly difficult, but here we are.”

He reached the front of the line and turned to us to say good-bye.

“Next year in Jerusalem,” he smiled.

Sandor walked me back to my block. Neither one of us mentioned the letter from Hungary. It was as if it had never come. He kissed me good-bye and left. I waited until he
turned the corner before rushing up the steps two at a time. I sat down on the edge of the bunk. My hand was trembling so badly that I had difficulty tearing the envelope open. It was stuffed with pages filled with Julia's spidery handwriting.

The tears in my eyes blinded me. There is knowing some-thing with your head and knowing it with your heart. My
heart actually hurt. I wiped away my tears with the back of my hand and continued reading.

I dropped the letter. Agi is alive! Agi is alive! She must have returned home after Miri left Hungary. I picked up the pages and began to read them again.

I folded the letter carefully and put it back into its envelope. My head was throbbing. My papa and brother were really gone. And poor, brave Miss Szabo! I would never forget how she tried to help us. I thought about Agi in Canada and how much I longed to see her. Canada was a big country, but I knew I would be able to find her somehow. And it was where my cousin lived, the only person in the whole world really connected to me.

But I realized that I would never see Agi again or meet my cousin in person. I would never see the Arctic snow, or the mountains or the Indian chiefs in colorful headdresses or the Mounties on horseback in scarlet uniforms. I told myself not to be silly. I loved Sandor and Eretz Israel needed me. A promise is a promise, never to be broken.

Friday, August 9, 1946

O
nce again I was dreaming of Canada.

“Wake up! Wake up!” Somebody was shaking my shoulders. I sat up and rubbed my eyes. Sandor was standing by my bed, his face dappled by the moonlight streaming through the window high up on the wall.

“What's going on? Why are you here?”

“Shhh,” he said. “You don't want to wake everybody up!”

The dormitory was dark. The only sound was gentle snoring. He sat down on the edge of my bed.

“A Bricha truck is here, and there is room for us on it!” he whispered into my ear. “It'll take us to the mountains. We'll have to cross the Alps on foot. Then the Bricha will trans-port us to Milan, where there's a ship heading to Eretz Israel!”

He pulled me up from my bed and hugged me.

“The time's come,” he said. “We're finally going home!”

“Do Miri and Natan know?”

“We'll soon find out,” he said. “Get dressed as fast as you can. And bring your jacket. It's going to be cold in the mountains at night. I'll pack your knapsack for you.”

I threw on the clothes I had worn on the train to Vienna. The moon lit our way to the warehouse at the edge of the camp. Sandor rapped on the door three times. An eye appeared at the peephole, there was the sound of a key being turned, and the doors slid open. Ari motioned for us to enter.

It took a few moments for my eyes to become accustomed to the darkness. At least three dozen men and women and a handful of children were stretched out on blankets. Some were sleeping, but most of them were talking in soft voices. A figure melted out of the shadows and wrapped me in warm arms. It was Miri. Natan followed her.

I patted her stomach.

“I was hoping that you would be here,” I said. “How do you feel?”

“Fine,” she said. “Tired but fine. I am so happy that Ari made room for us on this transport.” Her face softened. “I want my baby to be born in Eretz Israel.”

Ari clapped his hands twice. We crowded around him. He gave each of us a loaf of bread and an envelope of forged work permits stating that we were Greek laborers who were allowed to work in the French zone.

“You might need these. We're going to be moving out of
the American sector. We're going to the Alps,” he said. “We'll cross the mountains on foot via the Brenner Pass to Italy. A truck will be waiting on the other side to take you to Milan. Your next stop after that will be the coast to board a ship to Eretz Israel.”

Ari held up his hand.

“One more thing,” he said. “If the authorities stop us, I'll tell them that you are Greek laborers and we're going to Gnadenwald, at the foot of the Alps. If they ask you questions, answer them in Hebrew. They can't tell the difference between Hebrew and Greek.”

Within minutes, we had all piled into the back of a canvas-covered truck. Ari got into the driver's seat. Sandor and I were the last ones. I looked out at the dark road behind us. A child was whimpering softly in his mother's lap. Sandor's arm stole around my waist. I leaned my head on his shoulder. Sandor leaned close to my ear.

“What did Julia write to you?” he asked.

“Nothing I wasn't expecting. Papa and Dezso are gone.”

“My poor Jutka,” Sandor said, pulling me closer. “Did she have any other news?”

“Agi returned home.”

“That's great!” Sandor cried. “We'll contact the Bricha to get her out!”

“We can't. She and Jonah got married. They're in Canada somewhere. I am so glad for her. It's what she dreamed of.”

“It was your dream too, Jutka,” said Sandor pensively.

I could see him peering at me through the dark. I turned my head away so that he wouldn't be able to read my expression. He fell silent.

Suddenly, the lights of a car shone through the back of the truck, illuminating our terrified faces. A car was gaining on us. As it shot by, I could see the word
Polizei
written on its side. It swerved across the road, blocking the truck's path. Ari screeched to a halt.

I leaned out. Two uniformed policemen got out of the car, with their revolvers drawn. Ari climbed out of the driver's seat, his arms high in the air. The policemen's guns were pointed at his head.

“Halt!” cried a policeman. “Your documents!”

Ari handed him his papers. The policemen lowered their revolvers.

“Who are these people?” asked the younger of the policemen, pointing at our faces peering out of the back of the truck. “There are Jews trying to escape over the mountains!”

“We're honest Greek laborers, sir,” said Ari. “We're on our way to Gnadenwald to work on the farms.”

The policemen walked up to the back of our truck. Ari followed them. The older of the officers shone his flashlight into the interior. The light was so bright that I had to shield my eyes with my hands. One of the children began to cry.

“As you can see, officer, we're not bloody Jews!” said Ari. “We're hardworking Greek patriots who have to put food on
the table for our families.” He turned to Sandor. “Say some-thing to them,” he said in Hebrew.

“Get these idiots away from here.” Sandor's Hebrew was steady.

“You
are
Greek!” said the older policeman, surprised.

Ari turned toward the cab of the truck.

“Follow me!” he said to the policeman.

“Where do you think you're going?” asked the younger policeman, waving his gun at Ari's head again.

“I want to show you a proof of our good faith, sir,” said Ari.

He took two cartons of cigarettes out of the truck and presented one to each policeman.

The policemen stared at each other for a long moment. The older one nodded his head almost imperceptibly. The younger one lowered his revolver.

“It's nice to meet such hardworking Greek people.” The younger one snickered.

“On your way!”

Ari jumped into the truck, backed it up, and edged past the police car. The policemen disappeared into the darkness behind us.

We must have traveled another half hour with the Alps looming ahead as our guidepost. Suddenly, we came to a stop. Ari appeared and lowered the back gate of the truck.

“We've reached the mountains,” he announced. “Time to get out!”

It was completely dark. At first, we followed a path, and it was an easy climb. When we reached a higher altitude, it became colder. Our way was lit by the moon's reflection on the snowy ground. The chill reminded me of the pure white spaces of Canada as I saw them in my dream. As we skirted deep ravines, mothers held on tightly to their children's hands. Several times the trail ended, and we had to pick our way among the trees. I felt lost and disoriented and thankful that Ari knew the way. He'd traveled the same route many times before. The rough scrub under foot made every step treacherous. Miri tripped and fell. She sat down hard on the snowy ground, her leg twisted awkwardly beneath her. Natan tried to pull her up, but as soon as she put weight on her foot she fell back with a groan. Natan cradled her, crooning softly. The others came to a halt. An older man made his way to Miri.

“I am a physician,” he said. “Let me take a look at your ankle, my dear.”

Miri bit her lip as Natan gently eased off her shoe. The doctor examined her foot with a gentle hand.

“I don't think that it's broken, but you do have a bad sprain. It should be bound, but we don't have bandages.”

I tore my knapsack open and took out Frau Schmidt's dress.

“Here, Doctor!”

The physician tugged the material.

“Good and strong,” he said. “Perfect for our purposes.”

Sandor took out his penknife and cut long strips out of the dress. The doctor wound the cloth around Miri's ankle tightly. Natan helped Miri up. When she tried to put weight on her foot, she moaned and sat down in the snow once again.

“Don't worry, my love,” Natan said. “We'll wait here. When the others reach Italy, they'll send us help.”

“I am not leaving you!” I crouched down beside her.

“Come on,” said Sandor.

He put Miri's arm around his neck and motioned to Natan to do the same.

“We'll be your crutches,” he said.

For the rest of the climb, the men took turns supporting Miri as she hobbled over the Alps on one foot.

We arrived on the Italian side of the mountains at day break. The rising sun cast a golden glow over our tired faces. Another canvas-covered truck was waiting for us, the driver slouched against its side, a cigarette in his mouth.

“Well, it's time for me to bid you good-bye,” said Ari. “I am going back to Landsberg. Sam will take over from here.” He nodded to the truck driver. “Good luck to you all!”

We crowded around him, full of gratitude. The women kissed him, the men pumped his hands. We made him promise, over and over again, that he would visit us when he returned to Eretz Israel.

Sam announced that it was time to board. Sandor hopped into the back of the truck. Then he leaned out to help me up. I was about to grab his hand but then hesitated.
I stared at him mutely my head suddenly full of dreams of sleighs gliding over white snow. I thought of Mama and Papa and how much they loved me. I thought of my grand-mother and my brother and how happy they wanted me to be. I thought of Agi and the plans we had made. How much I wanted to find her! I thought of my cousin, my only living relative, waiting for me in Canada. I thought of my dreams that would disappear. But they didn't have to.

“I must talk to you.”

Sandor jumped down. “What's the matter?”

I took his hand and led him to the side of the path.

“I've been doing a lot of thinking. I'm not going with you. You're finally beginning to live your dreams. I want to have the same opportunity. Eretz Israel is your dream. Mine is Canada. I'm going back to Landsberg with Ari. My cousin will help me get to Canada.”

He grabbed my arm. “Don't be ridiculous! You want to go to Eretz Israel! You promised! I don't want to leave without you!”

I had no more words to say.

“It's time,” said the driver.

“Good-bye, my love!” I hugged him tight.

He kissed me hard on the lips and jumped into the back of the truck.

“Ari, Jutka is going back to Landsberg with you,” he said. “Take good care of her!”

He disappeared into the truck.

The motor revved. Miri and Natan leaned out and waved
to me, but there was no sign of Sandor. In a few minutes, the truck became a small dot in the Italian landscape.

“It's time to go back,” Ari said.

I wiped away my tears.