Outcasts (5 page)
V
ILMOS
W
EISZ THOUGHT HE
was hallucinating. He stopped in front of their house, staring at the top of the chimney stack of the distillery. He distinctly saw the head and upper torso of his older son, Bandi, pop out of the top of the chimney. Bandi was examining the lightning rod just outside the outside apex of the chimney. The lightning rod was a source of constant fascination for the boys. Suddenly Bandi glanced around and saw his father as well. Vilmos withdrew back into the house, barely able to breathe - the clatter of children's voices echoing inside the tall chimney filled him with dread and foreboding. As supervisor of the distillery, he would be held responsible if anyone was injured or killed on this site, even if he had been completely unaware of the accident. His own children had been repeatedly warned about the dangers of being near the chimney, let alone inside it.
He looked up warily at the thirty-metre chimney looming above him. His son wasn't there anymore. Vilmos stepped closer, tilting his head, his ear directly in line with the resonance. He was close enough now to the structure to distinctly hear two voices and he listened intently. As he crooked his head closer still, he heard the soft sound of small footsteps clambering down the ladder. In a few seconds, his youngest son, Suti, popped out, enveloped from head to toe in black soot. Vilmos couldn't even make out the colour of the child's hair.
When Suti saw him, he stopped abruptly and his eyes opened wide as tears began streaming down his face. Suti stretched out his small arm, pointing behind him, and cried out in a plaintive voice, "I only went up half way!"
Vilmos had to concentrate on maintaining his serious, irate expression, but the boy's appearance was so comical he wanted to laugh. The white orbs of his eyes were the only part of him that weren't jet black.
"What are you pointing to?" Vilmos said, feigning anger. He assumed the boy's older brother, Bandi, was still inside the chimney.
Not knowing whether to laugh or cry, so relieved to see that his sons were unharmed, Vilmos called out to his wife. "Terike, come quickly. I can't tell if this is our child but, whoever he is, he needs a bath."
Terez came running toward her husband, wiping her hands on her apron. She stopped short when she saw Suti, laughter welling up in her throat. The poor child was crying so bitterly it broke her heart just to listen to him.
"Where's your brother?" she said as she took his hand. Suti pointed to the tower. "I'm sure Bandi will be coming down immediately, if not sooner," she scolded as she led the child home to bathe. "And your father will deal with him." She bit her lip to hold back a smile.
As she began to scrub the black soot off her son, Terez looked around at her home with pride. She, her husband, and their five children lived in a one-storey house with five rooms near the distillery of Baron Perenyi. A deep well with fresh, cold water supplied their household throughout the year and she considered herself lucky that she could bathe the children and wash their hair whenever she wanted to. A specialized heating element at the distillery gave them constant warm water and the children considered it their private little swimming pool.
Suti sat in the bath, relishing the warm water and his mother's soft, gentle hands on his body. Even as an eight-year-old, he knew instinctively that he lived in a paradise. His family lived on the grand acres of the Perenyi Estate, where his father was not only responsible for running the distillery, but also for harvesting and bringing in the crops needed to operate it. This entailed hiring the workers, organizing the farm machinery, and ensuring that everything was completed in a timely, efficient manner.
When his friends weren't around, Suti had his siblings, his dogs Buksi and Medi, and the cat Pityur to play with. Aliz and Bandi were much older but Suti felt comfortably cushioned between his middle sister, Hedy, and Icuka, the youngest in the family, who was a year and a half younger than Suti and always around. Hedy and Icuka were also his best friends, although he wouldn't tell them that directly.
He adored spending time with Hedy. They were constantly laughing, inventing riddles and word games. The days were never boring when Hedy was around; she was smart and he learned a lot from her.
Their town had an entertainment centre called the Casino, a hall where dances and social gatherings were held. On rare occasions, it was even transformed into a cinema and it was where Suti saw his first movie,
The Thief of Baghdad
. He was mesmerized by it. Hedy explained to him beforehand that those weren't real people on the big screen, they were actors who were acting, and it was all recorded with a camera and film. But, to Suti, it all seemed so real. During one particularly hair-raising scene when the evil magician Veidt was ready to kill the native boy Sabu, Suti couldn't stand the tension. He stood up, pointed at the screen, and yelled, "Look behind you! He has a knife!" Hedy wouldn't speak to him for a week after they were ejected from the theatre because of his outburst.
Hedy was Icuka's role model and told everyone that when she grew up she would be just like her picture-perfect older sister. When Hedy was getting ready to go out to meet her friends, Icuka would sit on a footstool next to her sister and imitate her every move as Hedy primped in front of the mirror, combing her hair, brushing her teeth, and applying a bit of imaginary blush.
Icuka, being a year and a half younger than Suti, followed him around everywhere. Suti didn't really mind and he had fun with her even though she was younger. There was something about his younger sister that was irresistible. Icuka had chestnut-coloured brown eyes that matched her deep brown hair and she had a warm, loving nature, a quick wit, and a delightful smile.
As soon as she could walk and talk, everyone in the family noticed how clever she was. When Suti read a book, even as a toddler, she would sit next to him and pretend to read. She imitated his every intonation. One day, as she was telling a story from a book she had heard Suti read dozens of times, she completely skipped a page but kept turning the pages and telling the story. The family knew she didn't know how to read and had just memorized the entire book, which she recited from memory.
Suti smiled now, remembering how funny it was. He closed his eyes and relaxed into his mother's arms, swaying back and forth as she scrubbed the black soot off his back. His mother was the true centre of his life. He knew she was the centre of all their lives, but Suti liked to think that, in some ways, she belonged exclusively to him. He could not imagine anyone more beautiful than his mother, and it fascinated him that whenever he asked her anything, she always knew the right answer. How could anyone be so smart? When he was at home, he just wanted to be near her comforting presence.
Suti knew instinctively that it was because of her that they all felt so safe. She had established a routine to their lives that never varied. Monday was wash day when Suti and Icuka squealed with joy as they played hide-and-seek between the freshly washed sheets drying stiffly on the line. Tuesday was ironing and Wednesday was cleaning day. His mother, who had a melodious, captivating voice, often sang while she worked and Suti learned the lyrics to almost every song she sang.
The children always knew when it was Thursday because of the wonderful smell of freshly baked bread that filled the house. His favourite, though, was
kakaos kifli
(cinnamon-and-cocoa-filled buns) that she would bake to his great delight. Sometimes she even filled the buns with poppy-seed filling. It seemed that whenever Suti and Icuka started to argue over something, Mother was always there with the cinnamon-and-cocoa-filled buns and milk to settle them down. Mother was also a wonderful cook. She made the best
toltott kaposzta
(cabbage rolls) Suti had ever tasted and wonderful soups and stews. There was always a delicious aroma wafting through the house when she cooked. But there were certain foods, like garlic and cornbread, that she strictly kept out of their home.
On high holidays, Father took the family to the synagogue, but it was Mother who kept a kosher household and lit candles on Friday night. She told her children about Jewish traditions and dreamed of someday making
aliyah
- settling in Palestine, the Jewish homeland. She was proud that her children would go to Hebrew elementary school before they transferred to the
polgari
(middle school).
Terez smiled down at her son now as Suti stood on the floor and she rubbed him dry with a towel. The young wife and mother knew she was the central focus of the family - the one who kept them all going. They relied on her for practically everything and she, in turn, realized her life would be pointless without her loving husband and children. She was content and loved the rhythm, the steady, predictable flow of their structured lives. Spring came slowly to this region, being so close of the mountains, and April was frequently rainy and cool. But once the lilacs came into bloom, Terez knew that her days would soon be filled with vital tasks until winter. In the spring, Terez planted and tended her garden. The rich soil of Karpatalja produced a bountiful crop of vegetables and, as she weeded and cultivated her plants, she could keep a watchful eye on the children as they played. Then there was the fruit orchard which needed nurturing all summer. The acacia trees, which lent their sweetness to the honey the bees made in the region, also needed attention. When summer ended and the leaves began to transform into rich auburns, yellows, and oranges, Terez set to work harvesting, pickling, and storing the vegetables she had grown all summer. She cooked vats of jam with the fruit from the abundant plum, peach, and apricot trees. In this cycle of abundance, their household was practically self-contained and the few things they didn't produce they acquired by barter or purchase. The family's every need was in close proximity to their home.
The Weisz family. Back row (left to right): Bandi, Hedy, and Aliz. Front row (left to right): Terez, Suti, Icuka, and Vilmos.
Terez considered herself fortunate. Her family lived a protected, privileged life and her husband, Vilmos, was well-respected in the small community of Nagyszollos, not only because of his close relationship with Baron Perenyi but also because he was straightforward and led an honest life. She remembered the day when the handsome Vilmos Weisz had come calling. He was a proper young man from a good Jewish family and had recently returned from serving in the Austro-Hungarian army with distinction in the First World War. Although the courtship didn't last long - they really didn't know each other very well before they got married - Terez was excited by the possibility of sharing her life with this determined young man.
Vilmos Weisz and Terez Leizerovics were married in a traditional Jewish ceremony on March 13, 1921. Their first child - a daughter they named Aliz - was born in Ordarma, near Ungvar, where they lived. She was soon followed by a son, Bandi. In 1924, Vilmos was invited by Baron Perenyi to take charge of his distillery in Nagyszollos and that year Vilmos, his young wife, Terez, and their two children, Aliz and Bandi, moved to the baron's estate in Nagyszollos where their family settled in and where three more children, Hedy, Sandor (nicknamed "Suti") and Icuka were born.
Vilmos was the love of Terez's life. She loved her husband's tenderness and knew Vilmos was devoted to her and the children. He showed her he loved her every day in all kinds of little ways. He had a good sense of humour and there was always laughter in their home. In the evenings, when they gathered as a family, he played Hungarian folk songs on his violin with zest, feeling the emotional lyrics of the tragic songs. One of their favourite songs was "
A Ven Cigany
" ("The Old Gypsy"). It told the story of an aging gypsy whose songs are no longer wanted by anyone at the tavern where he has played all his life. At the end of the song, the gypsy's wife comes to collect her husband from the tavern and expresses thanks to the tavern-goers as she says good night. But they hardly notice her. By the time Vilmos got to the last notes of this particular song, tears were usually streaming down his face.
Terez loved the fact that he could show his emotions, unlike so many men of his generation. In his heart, Vilmos was a proud Hungarian and even though Nagyszollos hadn't been part of Hungary since 1920, he empathized with the Hungarian minority in Karpatalja.
After she helped Suti dress and sent him back outside with a gentle slap on the behind, she settled down to read a little before the family congregated for dinner. When she had a little time to herself, Terez always read. She was very young when she married Vilmos and naïve in the ways of the world, so she immersed herself in history books, current events, and the lives of the characters in books that transported her out of this relatively small town, if only for a short time. She scoured the town's small library for books she hadn't yet read, establishing a network of like-minded women with whom she formed a book exchange, a sort of informal lending library. Cultural magazines such as the monthly magazine
Szinhazi Elet,
about news in the world of theatre, came regularly to the house from Budapest. She also perused the latest fashion magazines and sewed well-tailored,
au courant
dresses and outfits for herself and the children. Whenever she went out, she proudly wore a hat and the stylish outfits she had made herself.
