Chapter 4

The day after the soldiers arrived, the boys stayed home, since the school was closed. In the morning, their mother taught them their lessons. In the afternoon, they were allowed outside for an hour, to meet friends in the synagogue yard. Now they were sitting at the kitchen table. Oscar was working on arithmetic problems, and Paul, clutching a stubby pencil, was drawing on a piece of brown wrapping paper.

Paul looked up from his drawing at the window. He felt restless. He wanted to go outside and play with his friends, but Anyu said they had to stay in the house. He put down his pencil, slipped off the chair, and walked into the living room. His mother was in her rocking chair in the corner of the room, in front of the green tile stove that heated the house in winter.

“What is that, Anyu?” Paul asked, pointing to the star she was sewing onto his jacket.

“A decoration. Ouch!” Anyu cried as she pricked her finger with the needle. A drop of red blood spotted the star. She dropped the jacket and buried her face in her hands.

“Anyu, are you all right?” Paul touched his mother’s cheek.

She looked up and gave him a weak smile, then sucked the wound. “See,” she said, holding it out for his inspection, “it’s nothing.”

“Anyu, why do we have to wear the yellow stars?”

“Because the Germans say so,” said Oscar. He emerged from the kitchen, his eyes glittering with anger.

“Will the gendarmes leave soon?” asked Paul. “I don’t like them.”

“Never say that in front of them,” said Anyu. She pulled Paul onto her lap. “Promise me that you’ll be a good boy and not cause any trouble.”

“I promise, Anyu. But I still don’t like them.”

“I don’t either.” His mother gave him a sad smile.

For the next few weeks, life settled into a routine. Anyu continued to tutor the boys at home. Whenever they went out of the house, they were careful to wear their yellow stars. Spring was here and the trees filled with green leaves. When he was in the backyard, Paul watched birds build their nests. One day, he stepped outside and shouted.

“Anyu, Anyu! Come outside! Quick!”

Anyu hurried from the house, wiping her hands on her apron. There was a worried look on her face. “Paul, what is it? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, Anyu. Look.” He pointed at the chimney. “The storks are back.”

“Paul, you scared me to death.” She sighed, but she didn’t look angry. She placed an arm around Paul’s shoulder. They both looked up at the chimney, where two storks were busy repairing a large nest of twigs and mud. Anyu waved at the birds.

“White storks bring luck. They leave Karcag every winter and return in the spring, to build nests and hatch their babies.”

“I can’t wait to see the babies.” Paul jumped up and down, clapping his hands. It was nice to see his mother happy. “Thank you, stork,” he mouthed. The bird stretched its long neck and made a clattering, rat-a-tat-tat sound.

“It’s saying hello.” Paul grinned.

“Yes, it is.” Anyu bent down and kissed his cheek. “If the storks can come home, maybe Apu can, too.”

The storks’ return brightened their spirits, but gendarmes still patrolled the streets, and everyone tried to stay out of their way. When they went to shop in the town square, Paul clung fearfully to his mother’s hand.

“Anyu, why won’t people look at us?” he asked.

They were standing in line at the bakery. The smell of fresh bread made his mouth water. The baker, a short, round man with twinkling blue eyes who usually gave him cookies, ignored them. When Anyu tried to get his attention, he looked away, as if she weren’t there. The same thing happened at the green grocer, where Anyu went to buy onions and carrots.

His mother’s shopping sack was only half full of the things she needed. It was getting harder and harder to get food. Paul had heard Anyu complain to Aunt Bella that soon they would be eating leaves off the trees.

“Why won’t people look at us?” Paul repeated as they walked home.

“They think that if they are rude to us, the soldiers will treat them better.”

“Will they?”

“Maybe, for a while. But the Nazis are bad people. They are cruel to everyone.”

When they reached their house, Paul looked up at the chimney. The father stork was standing; the mother was sitting, keeping the eggs warm. “When will the babies hatch?” he asked.

“In about two weeks.” As his mother gazed at the birds, her eyes misted. “It will be nice to have baby birds for houseguests.”

“They look happy,” said Paul. “I guess they don’t know about the Germans.”

“Yes, they are lucky.” Anyu’s voice cracked.

“We’re lucky too, Anyu.” Paul slipped his hand into hers. “Even if people like the baker are mean. Right, Oscar?” Paul squinted up at his brother who had just joined them.

“Sure, we’re lucky. We have food and we’re together.”

“What about the soldiers?” Paul said.

“We have to do what they say and keep to ourselves so they will leave us alone.” Oscar took Anyu’s other hand. At least for now, he thought as they entered the house.