––––––––
The Jewish family, it transpired, were themselves from Constanta, and they delighted in my retelling of my holiday there to convalesce after my malady some years previous. Even Mama became enthused as our discussions continued.
The execution of Papa received a genuinely sympathetic hearing for perhaps the first time, Golda clasping Mama to her, sharing her tears, and I could tell Mama felt better for this. In turn we heard of how the Jewish family, their relatives and friends had suffered persecution by first the Iron Guard, then the Nazis.
Until now I had thought the execution of my father to be the single most unpleasant event I might conceivably experience, but the stories Chaim related to us served to remind me that Papa’s death was no isolated incident. That across the world what were once civilised countries were fast degenerating into barbarism.
“I pray to God that I am wrong,” Chaim finished, taking my hand in his, his grip gentle and reassuring, his eyes apologetic to the heavens above. “But I fear we have offended Him, for He does not answer our prayers. Perhaps our resettlement will be a new beginning for us all. I dearly hope so.”
He turned to me. “But Anca, my child, take nothing on trust. We are Jews, I know, and our way is not yours, but listen to my words carefully and heed them always.”
His grip tightened, as if to add weight to what he was about to say.
“Whatever you see when we get to Bucharest, child, divert your eyes. Do not let your emotions dictate to you, no matter how much it hurts to look away. Do as you are told, when you are told, without question. Nothing more, nothing less. Promise me you will keep your little brother constantly at your side, and your hand clasped always to your mother’s arm.”
I looked into his eyes and saw tears forming. I had never seen a man cry before this day, yet first Maxim and now Chaim did so before me. Tears flooded my own eyes in empathy.
“Perhaps, my child... Just perhaps... We will see each other again when this war is over, and we can be friends openly, as the two children are already.” He gestured to Nicolae and Elone, sleeping peacefully against one another.
Then he released his grip, glancing out of the window. “But for now, we are shortly to arrive in Bucharest. Hereon we must act once again as if we are total strangers. Goodbye, my friends. And God bless.”
Before I could gather my thoughts to construct a reply the lights of Bucharest station were illuminating our carriage, parting salutations were being hurriedly exchanged and I felt Mama anxiously dragging sleepy Nicolae and myself away as the train ground to a shuddering halt. Nicolae objected loudly, his friendship with the girl abruptly and inexplicably terminated, but Mama’s harsh words of admonishment ensured he stayed at our side, while Elone was likewise directed by her own parents, though not without noisy protest.
We sat quietly, awaiting instructions from the guard.