Upon the Head of the Goat (23 page)

After we had passed through the gate, I took Henri's arm and held on to it tightly. “What will you do with all that stuff?” I asked him.

“No two people can agree on any one plan. In a way, it is futile to attempt anything. We are such a small handful of men. Even to deal only with the Germans in the ghetto, we would be outnumbered ten to one, and the rest of their battalion is in the city—a phone call away—a whole army with tanks and machine guns. It's not ourselves we are mainly concerned with, but what will happen to the others, the women and children. Whatever plan we finally decide upon, it won't get us very far.”

“Then why do anything?” I pleaded.

“Because a man just can't stand by and let his family suffer without making some kind of an attempt to protect them. Some of the old men say that it is safer to do nothing, that we'll only make things worse if we do anything. But the rest of us feel that any action is better than none at all.”

“How do you feel about it?” I questioned.

“I really don't know, Piri. I feel that even if we could blow up the trains as they came in, it would only be a matter of days before more trains come. And who knows what the crazy Germans would do in retaliation in the meantime.”

At that point, Gari and Judi caught up to us. Gari had listened to Henri's last words and cut in before Henri had really finished saying what he wanted to say. “But even if we don't accomplish anything more than a delay, it might be worth it. From what the men who just came in are saying, the whole war might be over in a matter of weeks, and the Russians could be here any day.”

“But,” said Henri, “even if it is true that the Russians will be here in a matter of days, still in those few remaining days God knows what the Germans could do if they got angry enough! And the people in the infirmary might get the worst. They are all too sick to hold out against any further deprivations.”

I knew that Henri was thinking of his grandmother, and he and Gari became involved in a heated discussion despite our presence. We parted abruptly as a Hungarian policeman came up to us and said gruffly, “Kiss them and go on your way. It is past curfew time.”

Gari and Henri smiled to pretend that the policeman's warning was friendly advice to comrades; then they gave us a kiss on the cheek, turned, and walked on, whistling one of the songs I had written lyrics to. Each of us hiding her fear from the other, Judi and I walked quietly to the shed. Later, lying on my pallet in the tent, I could not fall asleep and heard Judi tossing and turning on the other side of the sheet wall.

*   *   *

The next morning, as breakfast came, Mother told me to ask the Gerbers to come into our tent right after they picked up their tea and slice of stale bread. When we had all gathered, Mother took out the bag of rolls Mr. Schwartz had brought and gave us each a half in celebration, she said, of Iboya's birthday. “Today is May 1. Iboya is sixteen years old.” Iboya blushed, but looked pleased and thanked Mother. Then she turned to leave.

“A moment, Iboya,” said Mrs. Gerber suddenly. “I would like also to do something for your birthday. It will do us all good. Can you be back before they bring supper?”

“I'll try,” she said, as she slipped out of the tent.

As soon as we could get away from our mothers, Judi and I walked around the allowed area outside the sheds and talked very softly of nothing else but the danger that our friends were now involved in, a danger that involved us all.

Judi decided that we all had no future, no matter what the men decided to do. “If they decide to take action, it will be disastrous for all of us, but most especially for them. Yet they wouldn't be considering such a futile plan if they felt that our going to Germany wasn't also hopeless.”

“Anything they could possibly do will only backfire. So I hope they don't do anything,” I said. “I'd rather take my chances on going to Germany and working in their factories. Mother said that at the very least they will have to feed us because in order to work, you have to eat.”

“Food is not everything,” Judi retorted and went on, “I'm getting to the point where I don't even get hungry. I wish I were a man. At least they can make plans. They don't sit around doing nothing like our mothers, like us.”

“But even if we were men, Judi,” I said, “we are only thirteen years old.”

“Age is not everything, either,” she countered. “Personally, I feel a lot older than thirteen, and I don't want to be separated from Gari. Last night he told me that the youth police are staying to help until all of us have been transported and they will be the last to leave here. We might only have a day or two together left, and I am not ready to part.”

As Judi finished speaking, I thought about being separated from Henri, and I felt sad, too. “Let us make a pact,” Judi said, “and promise that we will act like women if the two of them come by for us this evening. It would be nice if we could dance together one more time. But whatever happens, let's act grown-up. We might not have another chance.”

“I think I'll go back to the tent and write a poem for Iboya's birthday,” I said, changing the subject.

“Good idea. I think I will look among my books for one to give her,” said Judi.

That afternoon we were gathered in the tent for Iboya's second birthday party. Shafar walked her back from the kitchen at 4 p.m. He had given her his school ring as a present, and he had also managed to trade some cigarettes with one of the Hungarian guards for a large loaf of bread. Mother accepted the bread, cut it into nine wedges, and passed the pieces to us. Mrs. Gerber held her gift in her hand, and before giving it to Iboya, she made a presentation speech.

“This is for a brave and wonderful young woman with the promise that, when the war is over, I'm going to make you a real party, the kind you deserve, at my father's house in Budapest, where we'll have champagne, music, and the proper presents.”

Iboya then took the brown paper bag, opened it, and pulled out Mrs. Gerber's white silk embroidered shawl. She put it over her shoulders and twirled around, brushing us with the long, silk fringes as she turned. We stood there admiring her, and then took our turns in kissing her and wishing her a happy birthday. I gave her the poem I had written, and Judi gave her a thick book. Shafar left, but said that he would return later.

And so that evening three young men came to call after we had finished eating our supper, and all three of them were freshly shaved. Mother's face lit up when she looked at them. They bowed to her in greeting and said their “Good evening,” and then the six of us left the tent. Iboya wore her new shawl carefully draped over her shoulders. When we got to the gate surrounding the Weiss residences, the guards questioned the presence of Shafar and Iboya. Shafar brought two packages of cigarettes out of his breast pocket and gave one to each guard, and they waved us in.

Mr. Weiss was standing on the porch, and he asked the six of us to come into the house. Inside, in the salon, Mrs. Weiss, wearing an elaborate dressing gown, was stirring a pitcher filled with a raspberry drink. She welcomed us as though we were her very special friends, and then explained, “I still had some syrup left, so I mixed a punch for the occasion of Iboya's birthday, and I have some jam left as well. Not an elegant party, but the best I could manage under the circumstances.”

I glanced at Iboya, thinking that news travels fast in the ghetto. Mr. Weiss sliced up some bread and cut it into small pieces; then he brought out some glasses and Mrs. Weiss poured a drink for each of us.

Mr. Weiss raised his glass. “Let us all pretend that this is champagne. A toast to Iboya and to a future of freedom where young love can flourish.” As we clinked our glasses, I made my own silent toast—like the one Mother had made at the seder—“Next year may we all be together in Komjaty.” As we drank the punch and savored small bites of bread spread with emerald-green gooseberry jam, Mr. and Mrs. Weiss admired the ring Shafar had given Iboya and the silk shawl from Mrs. Gerber. After we finished eating, Mr. Weiss took Henri, Gari, and Shafar with him into the other room and closed the door.

“Men,” said Mrs. Weiss with annoyance. “They have to have their little secrets of war and games.”

I watched Iboya admiring Mrs. Weiss' gestures, and I realized that Gari's mother was beautiful and graceful. Her dressing gown swirling gently about her, she collected the glasses and floated across the room to set them down on a small table against the wall. Then she sat down elegantly on the sofa next to Iboya and began to speak to her.

“I've heard that your Shafar is quite a man. He came to Beregszász, I understand, after running from Budapest, and turned himself in. Not many have the courage to walk into the German headquarters and say, ‘I'm ready to go to the ghetto.' I guess he made them think that he was too scared to keep on running. Smart boy. Where did you meet him?”

I was glad to have my question about Shafar's appearance in the Beregszász ghetto answered at last. Iboya was saying that she had met Shafar at the Zionist Club before he left for Budapest.

“He is so impressive,” Mrs. Weiss said, “and brave, too. I'm sure his job in Budapest was just a front for other things. Had I known that there were men of his caliber in that club, I might have joined it myself.” She chuckled, to make a joke of her statement, but I wondered how much of a joke it really was.

The atmosphere in the salon grew heavy; none of us dared to speak for fear of saying the wrong thing. Mrs. Weiss turned her attention to Judi.

“And you, my dear, I have heard, are an excellent dancer.”

“Thank you. In Budapest we used to have many parties,” Judi managed to say.

“Oh yes,” said Mrs. Weiss, “I know what you mean. We used to have many parties, too, in the big house. How long ago it all seems. Soon we won't remember.” Mrs. Weiss walked over to the phonograph, put a record on, and cranked the handle. A waltz melody drifted over the room. She held up her arms to an imaginary partner and waited for the beat; then she started to circle, weaving her way in and out between the tables and chairs. The door to the other room opened, and the men came into the salon. They looked at Mrs. Weiss gliding about, first with surprise, then with amusement.

She danced over to Shafar and stretched her arms out to him. He hesitated and then, encircling her waist with his right arm, said, “Well, I'll try, but this sort of thing is not my line.”

“It is easy,” she said, looking down at their feet. “Count the beats as you step—one, two, three; one, two, three.” They circled away, and Mr. Weiss checked to make sure that the windows were closed. After moving some chairs out of the center of the room, he came over to Iboya and asked her to dance. Her face flushed to match the embroidered roses in her shawl, but she got up and moved gracefully into Mr. Weiss' outstretched arm. Her body remained stiff, but her feet easily followed.

“And where did you learn to waltz, Iboya?” Shafar asked her after the music had stopped.

“My brother-in-law, Lajos, taught me.”

Gari cranked up the phonograph again, turned the record, and asked Judi to dance. They had the floor all to themselves as the rest of us stood and watched. Judi's toes hardly touched the ground as Gari and she waltzed round and round. With her skirt billowing out from her tiny waist, she floated past us effortlessly. Mr. Weiss started to applaud, and we all joined in. Then the curfew sounded, and we said our goodbyes and thank-yous to Mr. and Mrs. Weiss. Henri and I led the way through the gate, followed by Iboya and Shafar and then, a little farther back, Gari and Judi. We said our good nights to our escorts in as much privacy as we could each manage.

Henri stood with his back against the shed's beam and pulled me close to his chest. I could hear his heart beating and felt very sad yet very peaceful. We stood that way without moving for a few minutes. Then Henri released me, cradled my face in his hand, and kissed me gently on the lips. He dropped his hands abruptly, turned, and walked away. I went straight into the shed without looking back.

22

T
HE FOLLOWING MORNING
, as soon as we were outside together, Judi told me that she and Gari had kissed good night in an adult fashion with their lips parted. “You must try it, if you get another chance,” she said.

Her frankness irritated me even though it aroused my curiosity. But she was right about our not having another chance. As we stood outside the shed, Mr. Shuster passed us on his way in, and we followed him into our tent. Startled by his gloomy appearance, Mother and Mrs. Gerber gave him all of their attention as he told them that he had just received orders to get us ready for our departure.

“Oh, my God!” Mother cried out. Mrs. Gerber turned white and remained speechless.

“I'm going to post the instructions at the front of the shed, and I'll need some help in getting these women organized. Even though they were expecting it, it will still be a shock to them. I hope you ladies will give me a hand in carrying out these orders.”

He had just stepped outside the tent with the four of us behind him when a German officer entered our barracks, with two Hungarian policemen. The officer called loudly in German—“
Achtung!
”—and there was an instantaneous and eerie silence. One of the Hungarian policemen began to speak. “The trains are expected today or tomorrow. You are being taken to work in factories in Germany, where you will be treated well, so there is no cause for alarm. You are to pack up your belongings and address them to Work Camp Number 500, Germany. Print your names and the address carefully; your baggage will be sent to you on the next train. Mr. Shuster will assist you, but you must cooperate fully with these orders.” He finished speaking and, in the German way, clicked his heels together and saluted the German officer, who had been glaring at the crowd of hushed women. Then the three of them turned and walked out.