Upon the Head of the Goat (18 page)

“No need for that. The doors and windows will be bolted,” the policeman said crossly.

Mother dropped the key back into her purse, put Joli down, stood up, and picked up the pillowcase full of toast and a large suitcase that she had kept packed for the past week. Iboya and I picked up as many of the tied bundles as we could. Sandor and Joli, as they stepped off the porch, made a dash for the sandbox. Gathering up some of their toys, they ran back, frightened that they might be punished. Mother stopped at the gate and turned to look back, waiting. The German soldiers were coming out of the house.

“
Gehen Sie!
” said one of them as he reached us at the gate.

“
Ich will mein Türe schliessen, bitte.
” Mother made another attempt to lock up.

“
Gehen Sie!
” he repeated, poking her back with the end of his club. Mother shrugged and boarded the wagon. Iboya handed up the children with their toys. I was next. Iboya gathered up the remainder of our bundles and, after handing them to me, came up with her duffel bag. Mother was looking back at the soldiers.

“Take a good look, woman,” said the policeman with the sarcastic voice. “I doubt you'll ever see it again.” He motioned the driver to move on while he walked alongside. Mother rode backwards, sitting on top of the bundles. Sandor and Joli were staying very close to her. I noticed Ica and her mother looking out from behind their curtains as the wagon moved past their house. I looked at Mother; her face seemed old and tired, her green eyes sunk deep and black. I couldn't think of anything to say, so I just turned away from her and looked straight ahead.

I had walked this road many times, and it seemed odd to be making the same trip on top of a wagon. The horse walked at a very slow pace, and the driver never even turned to look at us. After Gyár Street, there were no more houses; the road opened up to the park on the right and the lumber yard on the left.

As we passed it, I remembered falling into the pond at the edge of the park years before. I had been wearing a white piqué dress at the time. Lured by the sight of some delicate blue flowers at the rim of the pond, I had, in reaching out and pulling them from the moist earth by their roots, lost my balance. I slid into the pond, white dress, patent leather shoes, and all. I climbed out and saw that my dress was covered with green slime, and my shoes sloshed with muddy water. When I got home, Mother had to leave the company she was entertaining to clean me up, and she was angry.

From my perch in the wagon I could see the same blue forget-me-nots blooming. No one else noticed them. Mother and Iboya sat grim and silent, each with her own thoughts. The brick factory came into view. A wooden gate had been built in front of it, and there were soldiers patrolling in front of the gate, as well as around the open fields that surrounded the factory. One of them recognized Iboya, as we drew close, from the many trips she had made there.

“So it is your turn now, is it?” he said to her.

Iboya nodded and tried to look brave. The wagon stopped, and we got off. When the driver threw our bundles on the dusty road, I saw his face for the first time. It was old, deeply lined, and his eyes, which I glanced into for a moment, showed no emotion. He looked tired and bored.

Two young men with white arm bands met us on the other side of the gate and helped us with the parcels. The younger of the two smiled at me as he bent to pick up a bundle.

“You'll be staying in number 6,” he said.

We followed the two men, carrying the rest of our sacks and looking at the faces of the women and few men we passed. They all looked back in sympathetic kinship. Some women even offered to help us carry our bundles.

We entered one of the sheds of the brickworks, but this was not the brick factory I remembered. The busy workers had been replaced by crowds of idle families. There was no singing here, only a low-pitched din of voices. Gone were the bricks and the cars used to transport them. Nothing but bundles and people crowded this shed, which had no walls, only a clay-tiled roof held up by wooden pillars. People either sat on their bundles or stood around in clusters. Some of the elderly were propped up, lying on the earth floor of the shed.

The two young men came to an empty spot on the left side of shed number 6 and dropped our bundles on the ground.

“This area between these two posts will be your home. You'll have to confine yourselves within its boundaries. We are running out of space,” the older of the two said. They turned and walked away, leaving us standing there in the area, which was two and a half by three meters.

Mother sat down on the valise and looked about at her new surroundings. A woman, holding the hand of a little girl about Joli's age, wandered toward us across the narrow iron car tracks. She was younger than Mother and in a disheveled state.

“My name is Mrs. Labovitz and this is my daughter Carla. Maybe our children can play together while we are neighbors,” she said. “I am without my family. Just the two of us. We got separated from my mother and my sisters. I can't find out anything about them.” The little girl reached for Joli's pail.

“Where are you from?” Mother asked the woman.

“Tolcsva. We were on our way to visit my in-laws when they picked me and the child up on the road.”

Mother and I looked over the tracks to their space to see a lone open suitcase.

Following our glance with her eyes, the woman said, “That is all we have. Where are you coming from?”

Mother stood up to point in the direction of our house. “If the road did not curve, you could see my house. It is just at the end of the road, where it runs into Gyár Street. The street got its name from this factory.” Mother stood motionless, facing in the direction of our street, and when she turned back and lowered her hand, I noticed a film of moisture bathing her eyes.

“Oh,” said the woman, “you are city people. I could tell right away … You brought some of your bedding and all.”

“Pardon me,” Iboya interrupted. “I might be able to get you some blankets. My friends will be coming to the gate around five o'clock. I'll see if I can go and meet them.”

“You will have a mitzvah,” the woman blessed her. “We sat up all last night—my little Carla and I. The ground is so cold and hard.”

After she once again looked all around us, Mother's face registered a decision. “We will all have to get busy and do something instead of just standing about.” Untying the biggest bundle, she took out her two bedspreads and, turning to Iboya and me, said, “Please give me a hand. I am going to hang these up for some privacy.” With a few nails she dug out of her purse, and a rock for a hammer, she hung one of the bedspreads from the wood beams of the outside rafter, separating us from the crowd in the shed immediately next to us.

“You girls go find us some bricks, and we can build ourselves a table and some seats. Is there water anywhere?” She addressed this question to the onlookers who had gathered around us. “We can't just sit and let ourselves grow dirty. We have to try and help ourselves. We must not let them think that we are a dirty lot.” By this time, Mother had gathered quite an audience.

Some agreed with trying to get organized. Others smirked. “What good would it do to settle in? Even if we could manage it, we'll only be here for a few days. We might even be transported tomorrow.”

“Then,” Mother answered, “let us do it for today. It is still better than just standing around.”

The few elderly men in the crowd started to talk among themselves. “She does have a point. It will give us something to do.”

A boy about my age said, “I saw a shallow pond at the end of the shed.”

Mother unpacked a pot from the opened bundle and gave it to him. “See if you can get some water, so that the mothers can wash their children.”

The boy stood still, too scared to move. “I might get in trouble with the guards,” he said. “They watch every move we make.”

Some people in the crowd agreed with him. “Sure, she is going to get us all in trouble.”

“Is there anyone in charge here?” Mother asked.

A man came forward. “My name is Shuster, and I'm in charge.” A white band encircled his right arm. He pushed through the people surrounding Mother and stood confronting her. “They are right,” he said with authority. “We are not to roam. They want everyone in his assigned place at all times.”

A woman came out of the crowd and tugged at the boy's shoulder. He placed the pot Mother had given him on the ground; the woman took him by the hand, and they walked away.

The crowd dispersed as Mother silently returned to her unpacking. She managed to make us a place to sit and an area to unroll our bedding. She put her pots and utensils into a pillowcase and hid the pillowcase filled with toast under a blanket. She got the little ones busy with their toys in a corner of the space against the hanging bedspread.

Then she came over to Iboya and me where we sat on the suitcase watching her. “Tomorrow,” she said, “we will have to look around for the Gerbers. If the Germans started with our side of town, they won't get to the Gerbers until tomorrow. Maybe we could have them stay near us. Iboya, you try to meet your friends at five o'clock. Piri will go with you and talk to the young man who showed us to this spot. He liked you,” she said to me with a smile, “and you might pick up some information. It will not do for us to sit here and be frightened like the rest.”

Mr. Shuster reappeared and looked around, much impressed with the order he saw. “I have to post your names,” he said, passing me a pencil and piece of paper. I wrote down our names, he took a nail from his pocket, and as I held the paper in place, he hammered the list up on the supporting beam nearest us.

“Could I have a few of your nails?” Mother asked him. “I just brought a couple, and I've already used them.”

He dug into his pocket again, brought out four nails, and handed them to Mother. “I am sorry for not having been able to support you in your enthusiasm to get organized,” he said, “but I was given strict orders to keep the people in this shed quiet and in their places. They are allowed to go only to the latrine, and they must come right back.”

“I am surprised that you would accept such orders,” Mother said firmly. “These are people, not cattle. If they can't do anything for themselves but stand around to debate their uncertain fate and move only to go to the latrine, they will soon turn into just what the Germans want to believe we are—dirty vermin. Look around you at some of these poor women. They've started to let themselves go already.”

“We have only been here two days,” Mr. Shuster replied. “I have spoken to people who have been here longer, and they say that some of them have privileges during certain hours. I thought I might talk to the German inspectors when they come by on their tour today.”

“My daughter Iboya has been working with the youth service group on the outside ever since this factory became a ghetto. You will have to let her go to the gate and meet her friends at five o'clock. Maybe she could bring some blankets for that poor unfortunate woman across the way.” She pointed to Mrs. Labovitz and Carla as she spoke. Mr. Shuster tried to interrupt, but Mother continued, “Mr. Shuster, if we allow them to make us so afraid of them, we are giving them the power to be our superiors.”

Mr. Shuster shook his head. “I can't take the responsibility.”

“You don't have to see her go.”

“Mrs. Davidowitz, I admire your courage. Wherever she may be, I hope my wife has half as much as you do. But you must remember that I am responsible for the safety of all of these people.” Sweeping his right arm around in a circle to indicate the entire shed, he turned and walked away, leaving some curious eyes and stretched necks wondering what he and Mother had been talking about.

Mother made Iboya and me tidy our hair and gave us each a fresh blouse from the suitcase. “Pretend that you are one of the inside group of helpers and act confident,” she said to Iboya.

“What about me?” I asked.

“You can walk her part of the way and then wait and watch for her.”

We left by the back entrance to the shed, the way people went to use the latrine, so that we would not have to pass Mr. Shuster. We walked up to shed number I and waited there until Iboya spotted the white-arm-banded group of inside helpers walking to the gate. She hurried over and fell into step with them. I saw them stop, hesitate for a moment, then continue on in the direction of the gate. From where I stood, I could see the latrine. I wondered why they had to dig the long ditch so near the road in full view of the guards and of any passers-by. How embarrassing to sit on that log knowing that all those people could see you. I knew that I would wait until dark before I used it.

I watched as Iboya and the others came back from the gate with the bundles. I ran to catch up with them.

“We have to take these things straight to the supply house,” Iboya said. “The people in charge there decide who will get these supplies.” I helped Iboya to carry some of her load.

The young man who had shown us to our shed when we arrived smiled at me again. “Maybe you can sign up with your sister and join our group,” he said as he started to walk alongside of us.

“But she is only…” Iboya had begun to say “thirteen,” but I quickly cut in before she could finish and said, “Fourteen.” I could feel my face flush from lying; my birthday was nearly two months away.

“My name is Henri,” said the young man. “What is yours?”

“Piri,” I answered shyly and we continued to walk in silence. In the shed where the supplies were stored, articles of clothing and bedding filled the shelves. One of the Hungarian policemen came to take the bundles from us.

“I would like to ask for one of the pillows and two blankets for a mother and child in shed number 6,” Iboya said in a polite but firm tone.