The Mascot (12 page)

“Later Commander Lobe appeared.”

“So you were reunited with Lobe at the Dzenis party?”

“Yes,” my father answered. “He was in a jolly mood and seemed pleased to see me. He pulled me onto his knee and chatted to me in Latvian. He was impressed that I had mastered the language so quickly.

“At one point in the celebrations two men arrived. They hovered by the door and Commander Lobe went over to join them. One turned out to be a journalist called Arnold Smits, and a photographer whose name I didn't hear. They wanted to take some shots of me at the party, and they got Zirdra to crouch down to my level and hug me for the camera, but I squirmed shyly. All the guests thought that this was hilarious except for me—I still wasn't relaxed in the company of women. The commander told me that I'd better get used to being photographed with glamorous women because he had great plans to make me into a star. I didn't understand what he meant but thought to myself, ‘I don't want to be a star if it means being kissed by women all the time.'

“That's all I can remember about the commander that night, but in the coming months I was to spend a lot more time with him and got to know him much better.” My father's words sounded ominous, but instead of telling me more he lapsed into a lengthy and impenetrable silence. I had no idea what he might have been thinking.

“Anyway,” he said suddenly, “you know what kids are like at parties. I got bored and I was curious, too, about where I was to live. I decided to explore the apartment, leaving the adults to their merriment. The main hallway had doors leading off in all directions. The first door led into a study. I had never seen anything like it. It was full of books, and there was a large desk by the window. It smelled of leather and polish. It seemed so rich.

“After that I returned to the party. Zirdra spotted me slipping quietly back into the room and gave a little wave. I joined her on the sofa, and she immediately began tickling and cuddling me. After the long journey to Riga and meeting so many new people, I actually fell asleep on her lap. Later, when I awoke, the guests had gone and the maid was cleaning up. But I was still on the sofa, nestled in Zirdra's arms.

“For a moment I remained hypnotized by the warmth of Zirdra's body but then, as I came to, I sprang to my feet. I was angry with myself and everybody around me. ‘I must return to my comrades,' I shouted. I'd become obsessed with the idea of being a soldier.

“Zirdra reached out to calm me down, but I pushed her aside and dashed across the room. I wanted to escape, no matter where I ended up. I struggled to open the heavy door.

“Mr. Dzenis must have heard the ruckus because at that moment he opened the door from the other side. His body blocked my way. ‘Wait. You live here now. With us,' he said firmly. This only threw me into a deeper panic. I burst into tears.

“Zirdra hurried over to me and tried to comfort me again. ‘Don't worry, I'll look after you,' she whispered gently. ‘I'm your sister now.'

“There was kindness in her voice and instinctively I trusted her, but at the same time the word ‘sister' must have triggered something in me. I sobbed uncontrollably. ‘I want my own sister. My brother. Not you!' I wailed. Suddenly there was a stony silence in the room.

“Zirdra looked into my face. ‘You have a family?' She was astonished. ‘Where are they? Do you know?'

“You could have cut the tension in the air with a knife. Then, unimaginably, things took another turn for the worse. Ausma was fed up with my tears. ‘Why do we have to have him here?' she complained. Then she added, ‘Let's send him back to his real family, if he has one.' Then something else occurred to her. ‘Besides,' she said petulantly, ‘he's probably a little Yid…'

“Mr. Dzenis sprang across the room and slapped her hard. She fell back into the sofa, holding her cheek and shrieking. Mr. Dzenis was shaking with rage. ‘Stupid!' he spat at her so violently that both Ausma and I stopped crying, and the entire room fell into shocked silence.

“It was Zirdra who broke the spell. ‘Time for bed,' she said, wiping my eyes with her scented handkerchief. Then, taking my hand, she led me to my room and sat me down on the bed. ‘Don't you worry,' she said. ‘We're just looking after you until your family comes back. We'll find them for you.' I was forlorn at the thought. I had witnessed what had happened to my family. They were all gone. I knew that there was not a single person who would come back to me.”

I saw grief flash across my father's face, but in the next instant he endeavored to mask his pain with a bright smile. Quickly he dived back into his story.

“Zirdra reached under the pillow and pulled out a small blue bundle. ‘New pajamas!' She smiled warmly. ‘Let's put them on you.'

“After all those months sleeping rough on patrol I couldn't have wished for more. Soft, warm, and clean bedclothes. But, of course, I wouldn't let Zirdra near me. From what had just happened with Ausma unwittingly suspecting I was Jewish I knew with more certainty than ever that I would have to be on my guard. Always. Nobody would ever learn the truth about me no matter what happened in the future.

“Zirdra struggled to undress me for some time, but in the end I was stronger—I gripped my trousers with an incredible stubbornness—so that finally she gave up. I sat at one end of the bed and Zirdra at the other. ‘Very well then,' she said. ‘Tonight you'll sleep in your uniform.' She folded back the bedcover and blankets and patted the sheet, indicating where I should climb in. I did so and she covered me. She took my face in her hands and gave me a good-night kiss on my forehead. ‘Soon you'll get used to our ways,' she told me. I closed my eyes and pretended to drop off to sleep. Soon after that I heard her turn off the light and close the door gently.

“I was overexcited and my head was spinning with all my new experiences. There was no way I could sleep. I lay on my side with my head still resting on the pillow. My eyes moved around the room.

“I was just about to get up and examine the room more closely when I heard footsteps approach my door and then stop. The door latch clicked open. I pretended to be asleep for a second time, but through my half-closed eyelids I could just make out Mr. Dzenis peering into the room to make sure that I was fast asleep. I heard him close the door gently. Then there was the click of the key as it was turned quietly in the lock.

“I'd been shut in like a prisoner. Perhaps Mr. Dzenis was still worried that I was going to escape and go in search of my real family.

“I sat on the edge of the bed for several minutes just staring into the darkened space. I couldn't resist the thought of the pajamas, and I decided that it would be safe enough for me to put them on. I told myself that I would have to wake up early the next morning, before the rest of the household, and change back into my uniform. I quietly slipped into them and folded my uniform neatly beside my pillow, within easy reach.

“I was still restless. My eyes scanned the room again. This time I noticed a sliver of light at the far end. It was coming from a tiny window. I went over and drew back the curtains.

“I don't know how long I stood there, mesmerized by the bright moonlight, but a scraping noise broke the spell. It was coming from the street below. I looked down and made out two figures cleaning the road. Their coats were tatty, even worse than mine from the forest. ‘If only I'd kept the dead soldier's coat,' I thought to myself, ‘I could have tossed it down to them. It'd be better than what they've got now.'

“Then something else caught my attention. It was like a jewel on the sleeves of their coats. A yellow star visible even at night and from this distance. ‘What are street cleaners doing with such pretty stars?' I asked myself. In truth I was envious because it was much more attractive than the red badge of Latvia that'd been sewn onto the arm of my uniform.”

My father gave an ironic, almost bitter laugh. “Uncanny. My instinct was to prefer the yellow star to the symbol of Latvia. Soon enough I learned the significance of that star. It wasn't remotely like a jewel. It was a curse on a people I knew I belonged with.”

My father gave a deep sigh. After a few moments he spoke again.

“I climbed back into the bed and drew the covers up so that even my face was hidden, and that was that,” my father said with finality. “My first night with my new family.”

“Do you think any of them knew the truth about the fate of your family?” I asked.

“I can't see how they could have.”

“Did Uncle know you were Jewish?” I asked, referring to Mr. Dzenis by the name I had used to address him when I was growing up.

“I'm sure he didn't…”

“Judging by his harsh reaction to Ausma, it's a possibility,” I suggested. “He might have heard it from Kulis? Or perhaps Kulis had confided in Lobe, who then told Dzenis?”

My father was clearly perplexed. “Why would the sergeant have said anything when he'd warned me to be silent under threat of death? Besides, it would have been dangerous for him, too, if it'd been discovered that he was harboring a Jew.”

My father shrugged. “In any case I'm sure that Ausma didn't know about me. How on earth could she?” he asked. “I think she was just using the worst insult of those times against me.”

“Or perhaps Ausma had overheard a comment made in a private conversation between Uncle and Auntie,” I said, “or Uncle and Lobe. Who knows? It's all possible, Dad.”

I crossed to the sink and refilled the kettle for more tea. “How about later in life?” I asked, resting against the row of cupboards, waiting for the kettle to boil. “Did any of them ever give any indication that they knew you were Jewish?”

My father rose and joined me, leaning lightly against the refrigerator opposite, his hands behind his back. “Never,” he said vehemently but the thought of it seemed to unsettle him. His eyes darted apprehensively, as if he still feared discovery.

After the war the Dzenis family had come to Melbourne, taking my father with them. Even after he had gone his own way and joined a traveling circus as an elephant boy, my father had kept in contact with them. In a sense, they were the only family that he had.

He had lost touch with Ausma, who had remained in Latvia with her mother after the war. Even when he was living on Valdemara Street, he only had sporadic contact with her when she came to the apartment to visit. According to my father, it was obvious that Ausma, like her sister Mirdza, resented his presence among them and the attention Uncle showered on him.

Auntie had passed away in 1970 and Uncle in 1979 in Melbourne, but my father had continued to see Uncle's other two daughters, Zirdra and Mirdza, who had also made it to Australia. It was natural that my father gravitated toward Zirdra: she had been the only one who hadn't seemed to resent him. He had spoken on several occasions of how he instinctively liked and trusted her. After divorcing her husband in Adelaide, she'd moved to Melbourne, where my father got to see her more regularly.

“Only once,” my father now explained to me, “when I dropped by to say hello on the spur of the moment, did Zirdra mention the past. Uncannily, she reminisced about the pajamas incident. ‘Why were you so terrified?' she asked me. I simply shrugged my shoulders noncommittally. ‘You know what boys are like,' I said. She held my gaze for several moments; there was a shrewd expression in her eyes. But then she let the matter drop.

“We never mentioned the past again—everything remained unstated between us—as if we'd agreed to be silent forever. I was relieved. My secret had remained buried for many years, and I was content for it to continue that way.”

My father seemed genuinely sad as he recalled her death many years ago. “Later in life, long after she'd died,” he reflected, “it occurred to me that Zirdra understood my situation—what I felt inside—more than the others, perhaps even more than myself, without knowing that I was Jewish or any of the details of my story. Perhaps she even sensed that I had a history that might in some way shame Latvians if it ever became public.

“And then there is Mirdza,” my father said. Mirdza was the only one of the sisters still living. With her husband, Edgars, she had also settled in Melbourne and raised three children. Now they lived only a few miles from my parents and saw each other occasionally when my father was in Mirdza's good books.

There had always been tension between my father and Mirdza. “She'd always been the center of attention, and then I was thrust into the limelight. I learned later that Uncle had always wanted a son, and it was clear from the outset that he loved having me there.”

My father stood cupping his hands around the mug of tea I offered him. Then he sat back in his chair.

“Will you tell Mirdza any of your story?” I asked, joining him at the table.

“God forbid! Could you imagine?” He looked daunted by the prospect. “I'll have to. Just let me get over the shock I've brought on myself with all this…”

“What do you mean?” I asked. “Do you regret speaking to me?”

“No,” my father said, “but to be truthful, I don't want to remember anything of what happened to me. Who in his right mind would? But the bigger truth is that I am more terrified to forget. I am trapped.”