One Eye Laughing, the Other Weeping (9 page)

I went into Daddy’s library to find a book and decided to read
Main Street
by Sinclair Lewis. I like the ti-tle and besides, I know it’s one of Daddy’s favorite books, not only because it was in the glass bookcase but also because I’ve heard him and Mr. Heller talking about it. Daddy says that Sinclair Lewis is a great American writer.

WEDNESDAY, MARCH 30, 1938

Uncle Daniel is gone!

Just disappeared in the night and nobody knows for sure where he has been taken.

Daddy has not heard from him in some time and was worried. When he came back he was white and drawn. He said Uncle Daniel’s clothes were all there and that someone had broken into the apartment.

Daddy insists that everyone follow the usual routine as best they can. Life must go on, he says.
‌

THURSDAY, MARCH 31, 1938

Mrs. Thompson gave the entire class a stern lecture today. She wanted to remind everyone that what is apparently acceptable in the streets of Vienna — “strut-ting about and carrying on” — is most certainly not going to be tolerated in the classroom.

School, she said, is a sacred place. We can’t study other civilizations properly if we are acting in an un-civilized manner ourselves.

I held my breath the whole time she spoke. Finally, someone had enough nerve to say something. I was so proud of her.

FRIDAY, APRIL 1, 1938

Mrs. Thompson is gone! Mr. Erickson was sitting in her place when I arrived this morning, and he announced that she would no longer be teaching at the school. He gave no explanation for this extraordinary event.

He said we are going to be combined with his class, and just as he was saying that Sophy’s class filed in, but before they could find seats, Mr. Erickson announced that all Jews should step to the back of the room and wait.

Then some older boys marched in carrying pails of soapy water and proceeded to wash some of the chairs including the one I had been sitting on.

Mr. Erickson said he didn’t want any Aryan children sitting in seats made dirty by Jewish children.

He looks like a crow — a big, black crow. He has greasy, slicked-back hair and black eyes, and he’s al-ways looking around suspiciously.

MONDAY, APRIL 4, 1938

On the way home from school yesterday, some boys jumped out of nowhere, grabbed me, and put an awful-smelling handkerchief under my nose.

It made my eyes tear badly and made me feel faint. I fought the feeling as hard as I could, but I fell to the ground anyway.

One of them leaned over me and said that if I told anyone, I would pay dearly, and then they ran away.

I know whose voice it was. It was Tommy the Tur-tle and I think one of the other boys was Ernst Resch, although I couldn’t be sure because he had a cloth around his face. But Ernst is so tall (he’s the tallest boy in the grade) that I’m almost sure it was him.

I don’t know what to do. I’m not going to tell any-one, not Daddy because he has too much to worry about or Max because he would get too angry.

Today in school I did not look at Ernst Resch or Tommy the Turtle and they didn’t look at me. I think they’re afraid I might tell, so I’m lucky because then they might leave me alone.

TUESDAY, APRIL 5, 1938

Daddy tries to act like everything will be all right, but I can tell that he’s just pretending and underneath he’s concerned.

He and Mother are still distraught because of what happened last week. Mrs. Hirsch gave birth to a healthy baby boy and then, the next morning, she awoke at dawn, wrapped him carefully in a blanket so he wouldn’t get cold, held him tight in her arms, and jumped out of the hospital window, killing them both.

She left a note behind that said she could not let her son live in a world gone mad.

She’s right — our country has been taken over by madmen.

I wish, like Alice, we could all change size, go through the keyhole, come out the other side, and be on Main Street.

THURSDAY, APRIL 7, 1938

I slept late again this morning. There’s nothing much to get up for now that there’s no school for Jewish kids. The longer I sleep, the less time I have to be afraid.

I was awakened because someone was talking in the hall, right outside my door.

It was Mother and Richard. I opened the door just a crack, but I could see them both — Richard was standing just inside the doorway, holding his chauffeur’s cap in his hands.

Mother was being nicer to Richard than I had ever seen her be. She was patiently explaining to him that since we are no longer permitted by the authorities to have a car, we don’t need a chauffeur.

Richard just stood there not saying anything — like

he didn’t understand — so Mother said that meant we didn’t have any work for him and that she would do her best to help him find another job and then the two of them just stood there silently facing each other.

When Richard started to speak, I could hardly hear a word he was saying. He always talks with his head down like he is embarrassed and now he was mum-bling even worse than ever.

He said he thinks what is happening is wrong and that he doesn’t know why it is happening. He said he could still accompany Mother on her shopping trips and help carry the packages just like always.

They could even use his little Fiat. Although it isn’t as fine as our car, it is in good running condition.

There were tears welling in Mother’s eyes. She thanked Richard and told him she would discuss the situation with Dr. Weiss.

Mother seems to be getting worse with each passing day. She stays in her room with the curtains drawn all the time — especially since Mrs. Hirsch.

She looks like a ghost — pale and thin — and she walks around in a daze. I have never seen her like this. Her eyes are open but she doesn’t see. She speaks but

only when spoken to. It’s like her body is here but there’s nothing really inside.
‌

No one really knows for sure what happened that night to Mother.

FRIDAY, APRIL 8, 1938

Daddy came home late again last night. He didn’t even come in to give me my good-night kiss.

One of Max’s friends was jumped by four thugs who grappled him down to the ground, pinned his arms to the side, and put a cigarette out in his hand. Then they told him if he cried out they would slit his throat.

Max has stopped going to the university.

“‘If everyone minded their own business,’ said the Duchess . . . ‘the world would go round a good deal faster than it does.’”

MONDAY, APRIL 11, 1938

All I do all day long now is read. There’s really nothing else to do.

We are not allowed to go to the cinema, the mu-

seum, the library, the woods, or the park — there is a sign that says:
DOGS AND JEWS FORBIDDEN
. We can’t even play in our own courtyard. Max meets his friends in the Jewish cemetery because it’s one of the few places you can go.

I don’t even go for my English lessons anymore.

Miss Sachs isn’t there.

Every day there are new rules to follow if you’re Jewish: Don’t use the elevators; don’t sit on park benches; don’t go into public places.

Daddy said it is a good time to catch up on my reading. Daddy always tries to make the best of everything.

I’ve taken all the books I want to read from Daddy’s library and organized them in the order in which I will read them.

TUESDAY, APRIL 12, 1938

I don’t even get undressed anymore when I go to sleep at night — I just get into bed, read until I get sleepy (which takes a very, very long time), pull the covers tight all around me (I’m always cold), and then cry as quietly as possible so no one will hear me.

I
never
feel rested — in the morning I’m just as tired as I was the night before.

When I wake, my hands are clenched so tight they hurt. Each night I dream the
same exact dream
. I dream that I wake up one morning and this never happened. There is no Hitler. No men broke into our apartment and shattered our lives; Mrs. Thompson is still my homeroom teacher; Mother didn’t look the way she does — none of it has happened and everything is just like it was. But then I realize that
the dream
is a dream.
This
is real and I have to get up, get out of bed, and face another horrible day.

It’s really quite curious, as Alice might say.

One day you’re worried whether you should cut your hair short or leave it long, part it in the middle or off to the side, use a barrette or no barrette.

And then, the next day, you’re worried that your family is going to be rounded up by the Nazis and taken who knows where.

Now the thought of doing anything at all with my hair makes me laugh out loud. I wear the same thing day after day, and caring what I look like is a distant memory.

The first thought I have in the morning and my last thought when I shut my eyes at night is, How long can this go on?

“‘I can’t explain
myself
, I’m afraid, sir,’ said Alice, ‘because I’m not myself, you see.’”

WEDNESDAY, APRIL 13, 1938

Last night the doorbell rang, and I was certain I would be taken away. I promised Daddy I wouldn’t answer if he wasn’t home but I couldn’t stop myself. “Who is it?” I whispered, and it was Mr. Graf, the butcher.

He was having trouble speaking and had a bottle in one hand and a big gun in the other.

He had come to stay the night to protect us from “Hitler’s hooligans.” He said that The Doctor has al-ways been a good man, taking care of people when they are sick even if they don’t have the money, and he was going to make sure that nothing happened to him.

I had quite a time convincing him that I would be all right and that he should go home.

FRIDAY, APRIL 15, 1938

Mother is dead. She killed herself.

I long to go to sleep but I am afraid to shut my eyes for fear I will see her coffin.

I held Daddy’s hand the whole time but I didn’t cry. I was the only one. Daddy cried. Max cried. Mr. and Mrs. Heller cried. But not me. I didn’t want to cry.

The sun was shining and the sky was a brilliant blue — just the kind of day Mother liked best.

The kind of day we would all go to the Prater. Mother liked to go to the Prater — it was the only time I saw her laugh. She went on all the rides: the merry-go-round, the giant Ferris wheel — she even went on the roller coaster.

The only place she wouldn’t go was the sideshow because she didn’t like to see the calf with two heads or the lady with no stomach.

Sometimes we would have ices, eat outdoors in one of the gazebos, and even stay up late for the fireworks.

When it was sunny Mother would come alive, like a flower unfolding.

She hated the rain. “What a gray day,” she would re-peat throughout the day, as if somehow, if she said it often enough, it wouldn’t be true.

Max found her.

He called Daddy at his office and told him to come quickly.

I went into her room. It was cold and dark. She was lying quietly on the bed.

Her pillboxes and little glass vials were all empty.

I whispered, “Mother,” but she didn’t move. She looked like she was sleeping very, very soundly.

I heard Daddy calling people and telling them that she died of pneumonia. No one was surprised. No one asked any questions. No one said, “I didn’t know she was so sick. Was it sudden? Wasn’t there anything you could do?”

When he got off the telephone, he must have known what I was thinking.

“It’s better this way, Precious Jewel. The truth will serve no purpose.” That’s what he said.

(The truth will serve no purpose. Maybe I
have
be-come Alice.)

My hand is shaking badly — I can hardly write. It doesn’t feel like pen on paper but knife on stone.

I wish I could be like Sophy. I wish I could believe that there really is someone up there, and if you pray long enough and hard enough he will listen to you.

Even though I didn’t believe there is anyone, I offered up a prayer. Please, God, I said, take my mother as a sacrifice. Be satisfied; let her life be enough. Spare us any further suffering. Let us live.