NOVEMBER 1942
IN THE FOLLOWING MONTHS I found myself growing more and more careful about everything I did. In a way, it was a relief not to have to go to school. It meant I didn’t have to walk through the streets of the town and risk another confrontation with a soldier. Even going to and from Marishka’s house frightened me more than I had ever thought possible. I walked quickly, looking in all directions. At the first glimpse of a stranger in the distance, I would run at full speed for home, not lingering to see if the person was a friend or a possible foe. I preferred to have Marishka come to my house, but she was as frightened of the trip as I was, so most of the time I stayed at home with Mamma, helping her on the farm and in the house.
Day by day we heard more about the war. Mamma had managed to get hold of a radio from a former farm worker, even though Jews were forbidden to own radios. At night, with all the lights out, we would try to tune in to news reports from other countries.
One year earlier the Soviet Union had entered the war against Germany, and soon after, the United States had joined the Allies too. These were huge countries. Surely, with so many people fighting the German side, the tide of the war would turn soon. Surely the conflict would soon be over. But month after month, the war continued, and the radio reports from German-controlled countries praised Hitler endlessly and promised that the Nazis would take over the whole world.
One morning, as I rolled over in bed, I realized that sunlight was already pouring in my bedroom window. It was late, way past daybreak. Why hadn’t Mamma come in to wake me? I stared for a moment out the window. I couldn’t remember when I had last taken the time to look at this wonderful view. The mountains were as beautiful as ever, covered in places by a thick blanket of fog, and scattered with green shrubs and blue shadows. It amazed me to think that, while so much of my world had changed dramatically, the mountains were the same as they had always been: as solid and dependable as the four walls of my room.
My door opened slowly and the creak of the hinge pulled me back to the present. My mother’s smiling face peered around the corner.
“Mamma? Is everything all right?” I asked. “You didn’t wake me up.”
“Happy birthday, Gabilinka,” she cried, as she walked into my room holding a brightly wrapped parcel. “No, I didn’t wake you today. As a special birthday treat, I let you sleep in as long as you wanted.”
My birthday! I had practically forgotten that today was my birthday. I was astounded! My birthday had always been the most anticipated day of the year for me. One birthday was barely over when I began to look forward to the next. And here I was, forgetting all about it.
“It’s not much of a gift this year, my darling,” my mother said apologetically. I slowly unwrapped the colourful parcel and pulled out a hand-knitted scarf and matching mittens. Mamma had used every scrap of coloured yarn she had to create a woolly blend of shades and tones. I buried my face in the softness.
“They’re beautiful, Mamma,” I said, and I couldn’t help seeing the look of relief in her eyes. “Just what I needed too.”
“And now, Gabi, get up and dress quickly. Marishka and her mother are coming over to celebrate, along with a few of your old classmates. How would it look if you were late for your own party?”
My birthday lunch was a wonderful treat. Mamma had somehow managed to scrounge up some food we hadn’t had for ages. There was cold soup with fresh cherries and dumplings filled with plums. There was even cinnamon and chocolate sprinkled over the birthday cake; thirteen candles and one for good luck. I blew them all out as my friends sang “Happy Birthday.” Then I opened my gifts. One of my friends had brought a fascinating book about the seaside. She knew how much I missed the library at school. I had already read and reread every book we owned at home. Another friend brought material that Mamma said she would sew into a new skirt. I hadn’t had any new clothes for a long time.
The best gift was from Marishka. She made me close my eyes as she placed a warm, furry bundle in my out-stretched arms.
“A kitten!” I cried. “Oh, Marishka, she’s beautiful! Thank you so much!” I gave Marishka a quick hug as she explained that their cat had recently had kittens. Marishka had picked out this female for me and she was adorable. Irregular spots of black covered her otherwise white body. Even her eyes were unusual, one surrounded with a patch of black and the other ringed with pure white. Her paws were black, making her look as if she were wearing slippers. She was tiny, barely filling my hands, and she made the most pathetic sound as she opened her mouth to mew. It was hardly more than a squeak. I loved her immediately, and gathered the squirming kitten close to my face so I could nuzzle her soft fur.
Later that afternoon, after the others had left for home, Marishka and I took the kitten out into the garden, where she romped through the grass, chasing every bug and bird that flew overhead. Marishka and I lay on our backs, letting the warm fall sun pour over our faces and arms.
“You’re going to have to name the kitten after me,” Marishka said suddenly. “That way you won’t forget me.”
“Why would I forget you?” I replied. “You live just around the corner, silly.”
“Not for long, Gabi. We … my family and I, we’re leaving.”
“What do you mean, leaving?” I asked, sitting up, a cold knot forming in the pit of my stomach.
“I’ve been trying to tell you for a long time,” said Marishka. “But I didn’t know how to say it. And my mother said I couldn’t talk too much, in case the soldiers found out and made trouble.” Her voice shook slightly. She avoided my stare as she continued talking. “It’s not safe here any more, Gabi. You know it and I know it. When we heard about those girls in Levocha who were being taken away, my parents were really upset. And after you and I were almost hurt by that soldier, my mother said it was more than she could stand. We’re getting away from here before it’s too late.”
“Oh, no! Marishka, you can’t leave!” I cried. I still couldn’t face the fact that we were no longer safe in our homes. Wasn’t there anything we could count on any more? “Where are you going?”
“America,” she said. “My father has cousins in New York. We’ll travel by train to Hungary, then to France, and then by boat across the ocean.”
“When?” I whispered.
“As soon as we can. It won’t be easy, and we know it’s dangerous. There’s a railway worker who’s willing to hide us in a freight train heading across the border. From there, others are arranging to get us to the coast. I don’t know all the details. My parents told me it’s costing a lot of money, but it’s worth everything we own if we can just get out of here. Gabi, you have to convince your mother to leave too. I know my mother tried to talk to her. But your mother is so stubborn she won’t listen.”
Who is the stubborn one, I wondered sombrely. I turned to Marishka and hugged her tightly, my eyes brimming with tears.
“I’m naming the cat Mashka,” I said, my voice muffled. “But I don’t need anything to remind me of you. I’ll never forget you! Not ever!”
Later that night, and throughout the next day, Mamma and I talked again and again about Marishka and her family and their reasons for leaving. We knew there were opportunities for us to leave too, and it was time to think seriously about our options. Just a few days before, a cousin of my mother’s, living in the United States, had written to encourage us to come and live with her and her family. She promised she could help us get out of the country by supplying us with forged travelling documents that would identify us as Christians. Such papers were nearly impossible to come by, but with the right connections, officials could be bribed. And this cousin somehow had the right connections. Once we were in America, she promised she would help us get settled.
The offers were tempting, especially as we looked around and saw our friends and neighbours leaving. Perhaps we really were being reckless, or just denying the reality around us. And yet, after all the discussions, we still couldn’t bring ourselves to go.
We looked at each other and knew what we had to do. In silent agreement, we began to empty out the dresser.
“You never know when a hiding place might come in handy,” said Mamma, casually. “It’s just as well to be prepared.”
Each piece of crystal, china and silver was carefully removed, wrapped in cloth and placed in another cupboard. Even the chess set was carried off to be stored elsewhere. The shelf in the middle of the dresser was lowered to the bottom to make extra space. When we had finished, I looked inside the dresser. It was empty and dark, like a small cave. Would this meagre space be enough to protect me the day I needed it?
That night, as I climbed into bed, I glanced once more out the bedroom window. At night I couldn’t see the mountains. Everything looked black and shapeless. But if I moved closer to the window, and strained my neck upward, I could see the line of stars marking the boundary between mountains and sky. Was there a safer place out there for Mamma and me? Such a vastness of space outside, and I was trusting my safety to a cubbyhole of a dresser. Would it be enough? The kitten was curled up in a furry ball, asleep at the foot of my bed. What a strange birthday this had been, I thought. And by my next birthday, would we still be together? Would we still be safe?