CHAPTER 9

LETTERS FROM ITALY 1938

Conditions in Vienna are worsening daily. Poldi has told me that he and his brother are planning to leave in search of a safe haven. They will travel to Milan, where they have family and where they can escape from the fear that many Jews are facing daily. With the aid of their Italian relatives, Poldi and Dolu hope to find work. Here they have no opportunities. Even those employed worry from day to day that their livelihoods will be jeopardized.

Our farewell is a sad one. My attachment to Poldi has become increasingly strong and I share the pain of his departure with his parents, who are staying behind here in Vienna. They hug their sons in an emotional leave-taking, and we are all in tears as the two young men board the steps into the train and wave goodbye. Poldi and Dolu, throwing kisses, are both craning their necks as they peer out at us through the train windows. I return my own to them as the train starts to move away. I look forward to receiving the letters Poldi has promised to write but know that my days without him will be lonely. We remain at the station platform, Mama and I with the Kosiners, and watch the lumbering motion of the linked cars as they grow smaller in the distance and finally disappear.

Arm in arm, we leave the station, all trying to comfort one another, especially their mother, who is obviously heartbroken. She fears she will never see her children again. Our attempts to convince her otherwise diminish as we pass uniformed Nazi soldiers who scowl and mock us even in our private sorrow.

Within several weeks letters start arriving from Italy. I store each of them in a cardboard box, but they are becoming frayed at the edges from the many times I’ve removed them. Some are so stained with my tears that the writing is smudged into blotches and word fragments. I love to touch his words with my fingers and trace the deep sweeps of his script, then close my eyes and think of our hands together once more. I begin reading his words, picturing his face.

“Dear Nini,

“One day, you must visit Italy. Every city has a personality of its own. Florence is the heart of art and culture, the very spot where the Renaissance began. Everywhere you walk there are paintings and sculptures attesting to the human thirst for beauty and the creative genius of which humans are capable. Rome is a wonder to behold. I love it best at dawn, before the streets fill with crowds. When the sun rises, a ruby red wash descends over the bleached pillars and the tiered steps of the Coliseum. Just then, you can truly imagine ancient Roman chariots racing, as they once did in that exact spot, their wheels clattering against the bumpy cobbled streets, fine Arabian horses galloping ahead as cracking whips cut the air.

“You would be amazed to see the grand marble sculptures, looking down from their pedestals, standing everywhere on the streets, huge Roman gods, chiselled and frozen forever in their smooth perfection. Italian food is like nothing that you know. It captures the spice of life, juicy ripe tomatoes and fresh handmade pasta, fragrant with garlic and herbs, pungent cheeses with crusty bread and always bottles and bottles of dark red wine. The risottos are creamy and smooth concoctions of rice and other ingredients blended together.

“Italians speak with their hands, as well as their mouths, waving and articulating, slashing the air with emphasis to fully express the feelings that are too great to be explained by words alone. Fingers are cupped and motioned up and down to underline and reinforce every thought. Everything seems amplified and magnified beyond what the rest of Europe knows. I feel such affinity for the people and to the country and am studying the language with a passion. You would laugh if you saw all the books I have and the way I repeat the phrases and intonations each night alone in my room.

“I am now in Milan, which is the epitome of Continental style and glamour. My family here is in the fur trade and this is where I am working. My uncle is instructing me in the fine points of the business, the many variations in the pelts, how to differentiate one animal’s skins from another even when they have been dyed to resemble something of higher value. There is much money to be made in this as Italian ladies of substantial wealth and position spend wild fortunes on the garments made for them. In fact, Milan is a fashion centre for furs known throughout Europe for the finest styling and quality.

“I have found this to be a fascinating field which my uncle has encouraged me to pursue. He says that I have a good eye for detail and that he can teach me to become an expert easily. Mostly I am hoping for some security here, which has not been mine for any part of my life but I am afraid that the political atmosphere is precarious and uncertain. Unfortunately we Jews must live by our wits, trying always to be one step ahead of our enemies and never to sleep very soundly.

“I have met a fellow here named Leon Druck. He is a good-hearted and jolly young man who is going through an apprenticeship just as I am in the fur trade. You would like him, I know. We spend lots of time together taking in the sights of Milan and talking about our futures, hoping that as Jews there will be something better ahead.

“I know that you have visited my parents in Vienna, for which I am grateful. They are so lost in that city, having never really adapted to the culture and are always considered as outsiders. Now, with the political unrest and hostility of the Nazis spreading like a plague throughout Europe, I fear more than ever for their lives. Send them love from Dolu and me and tell them that they are in our thoughts.

“Please write to me as I miss you and our talks together.

“Yours faithfully,

“Poldi.”

Reading his words, I feel a mixture of joy and sadness. I can imagine his dark eyes gleaming as he describes the rich splendour of Italy’s many virtues, a country where he would feel at home. At the same time I know that the fingers of oppression are long and I fear for his safety.

I have tried to keep in contact with his parents as much as possible as they are struggling terribly. Mama goes with me to take them food and to help them endure the difficulties they have encountered, first as displaced persons, and now as parents worrying about their absent and beloved sons. I read Poldi’s letters to them and see the tears fill their eyes. His father holds a white handkerchief to his eyes and turns away from us, not wanting us to see his pain. I hand the pages to his mother and feel her sadness as she holds the sheets of paper in her hand, running her fingers tenderly over the words as if trying to connect with her son’s touch. We know she is thinking that they might never see each other again. Tears glistening in her eyes, she turns to me and says, “In my heart, Nini, I believe that you and my son are beshert. Do you know that word?”

“No, what does it mean?”

“It means that you are destined to be together and that somehow in this mad world, no matter how wretched and terrible it may seem, no matter how great the distances that separate you, you will find one another and unite for a lifetime.”

I stare at her, absorbing the words and wondering if they are true.

“But,” she continues, “I’m afraid that Papa and I will not live to see your union.”

“Don’t say such a thing!” I cry in fright. “You will be with us. We need you!”

She shakes her head in sad denial and says, “I have feelings, intuitions that have proven to be right before. I don’t know what will happen exactly but if I am right, please be good to each other and hold tight to your love. There may be a time when you have nothing else. And if his papa and I never see Poldi again, tell him how much we love him and Dolu too.”

We embrace, crying again. The next letter I receive from Milan carries a much more sinister message, one that I cannot share with Mama or with Poldi’s parents. It fills me with such fear that I decide to keep it to myself.

“Dear Nini,

“Mussolini’s Fascists in their black shirts are already marching through the streets with heavy steps, waving red flags, determined to rule the world. This is a time of military might and spreading violence. The often repeated chant here is ‘Credere, Ubbidire, Combatere!’ meaning ‘Believe, Obey, Fight.’ For Jews there are no safe places for very long. Our bags must always be packed by the door, ready to set out again. At first, we were tolerated in Italy but Mussolini is wavering and will join the forces that are likely to be victorious in this war. He wants power at any cost and will gladly unite with whoever is strong enough to guarantee his ambition. His ties to Hitler are strengthening and it seems that he will pull Italy in that direction. Hitler’s obsessive hatred of the Jews is an essential part of the plan. The goal is clear enough, world domination and, at the same time, the complete annihilation of our people. Only this will satisfy him and any nation that finds itself allied to Germany will have to agree to the same terms.

“My safety in Italy was always fragile but it has become necessary for me to conceal my true identity from the authorities. They are starting to harass Jews and to take many away without explanation. I have had to join the Fascist Party to preserve myself and to survive. By blending into the general population, as a native Italian, one of the patriotic masses, I can hide in the crowds, while out in the open. I suppose that with my dark features and tanned skin, it is not so difficult to be taken for a native, especially now that my fluency with the language is sufficient for me to pass as one of them.

“As long as I am accepted as a loyal supporter of ‘Il Duce’ I will be all right, but this is only a temporary solution. I know that it is essential to find a way out before I am discovered as a Polish Jew and made to suffer for it.

“Of course, conversion to Christianity has always been an option and I know a number of Jews, even some of my relatives who have remained in Italy, having chosen to accept the Roman Catholic religion. But for me that can never be a possibility. The Jewish spirit of my upbringing has dug deeply into my flesh, permeated my bones to the marrow and allowed me no alternative. I believe that the more that we are downtrodden and pushed into unwilling submission by others, the stronger our resolve must be to exist no matter the consequences – and I am fully aware how grave they might be. It is a simple truth that our faith arouses suspicion and hatred. This has always been the way and it may be so forever.

“I won’t tell you that I am not afraid but fear cannot be allowed to rule us. We have to use our wits to overcome the evil and to prevail. I do miss you, Nini. When there is a quiet moment, I remember your ice-blue eyes and smile and think of the time when we will be together again. I cherish the letters that I have from you and reread them many times. Give my love to your family and of course to Mama and Papa who are always in my thoughts. Tell them that Dolu and I are safe and that we think of them all the time. If only I could find some way to get them to safety.

“As always, yours faithfully,

“Poldi.”

I agree with his words and admire his bravery, but I wonder whether I would have the courage to cling to my faith in the face of such adversity. I think of the tribulations he and his family have already faced, amazing tales that started in the small towns of Poland where Jews could not live in peace, then into Italy, where civilization has flourished only to be dominated by savagery. When they talked of these experiences, I was always shocked and frightened that places so close to Vienna were withholding liberty and that violence was an accepted part of life there.

Yet even here our ability to live our normal lives is becoming more and more tenuous. Although waves of anti-Semitic sentiment have been expressed more and more freely recently, I still want to believe that democracy will triumph. In Vienna, there are Jewish doctors, composers, scientists, and lawyers – the foundation of a settled community – but the laws have begun to change here too. Jobs and schooling have been restricted and more and more opportunities for us are being blocked. Willi can no longer attend school and Walter has lost the property that he had inherited from his late parents, as it was confiscated by the Nazis. Fritz tries to work at odd jobs when he can beg them but there is hardly enough money to buy the necessary groceries.

I have written a reply to Poldi’s last letter which I hope will arrive safely in his hands. I try to word it carefully to send my feelings to him and to offer some encouragement to remind him that our situation is grave and that we are waiting for some help from outside. The news from Italy suggests that their situation is not as terrible as ours, but how can we compare the degrees of treachery?

“My dear Poldi,

“It has been so long since we have been together but circumstances these days are not what they were, even worse than when you left. I miss you so much and whenever I receive word from you I feel that I can breathe more easily again, at least for a while.

“My mother and your parents are well and send love. We see them nearly every day and try to help them whenever possible. All of the family is struggling but we are still together and alive. What more can we say these days? I’m afraid that Vienna is growing more dangerous by the minute and we must try to find some way out. Of course in the end it will be a matter of money and finding some place that will take us in.

“My heart longs to be with you again. Don’t forget me.

“All my love, Yours,

“Nini”