Upon the Head of the Goat (19 page)

“We decide who gets what,” he answered curtly.

“But they don't have anything with them. They have to sleep uncovered on the bare ground.”

“The man in charge of her shed has to hand in a requisition.”

We started to turn away when one of the young men in the group spoke up. “What she did not tell you, Mr. Toron, is that this woman is sick and we have no room for her in the infirmary. They have just arrived.”

The policeman turned to a shelf and took down a ragged blanket. “She can have this one for now,” he said, handing it to Iboya, “but for anything else you will have to get a requisition from the man in charge of your shed.”

Iboya nodded and we all left. Once we were outside, Iboya asked the young man who had spoken up why they kept all those supplies in there instead of giving them to the people who needed them.

“First they go through everything and take the best things for themselves; then they stall with the rest,” he answered.

“I would not have worked so hard to get the things had I known,” Iboya said angrily.

“There is a lot you two don't know yet.”

“I would like to ask a few questions,” I said. “For one, is that the only toilet?” I pointed to the latrine.

“No, there is one in the rear, but your group has to use the front one.”

“We can't. It's too degrading.”

“Then you will have to sneak down there.”

“And what about food?”

“There is bread for breakfast with some kind of hot drink they call tea. And the soup should be coming right about now.”

“They don't overfeed us.”

“They are holding out on everything.”

“When is the curfew?”

“Before nine in the morning and after seven in the evening, and you can walk only in certain designated areas. You are out of your area now.”

Then Henri joined in the conversation. “I should be taking you back right now. I am one of the police for your area.”

“Not until we use the latrine in the back,” Iboya said.

“Hurry up. It is in back of number 12. Then I will walk you back.”

The other five members of the inside group said, “
Szervusz
” and walked away.

Iboya and I found the back latrine; it was not much better than the front one. Although there were walls, it was open at both ends. Again there was the same narrow ditch with boards over it propped to form a long bench into which numerous holes had been cut. As much as we disliked it, we had to use it. I wished that Henri was not waiting for us. I did not want to see him just then, it was all too humiliating. But he was there when we emerged, and to hide my embarrassment, I asked, “What is it like to live in the ghetto?” He hesitated. “You have to learn to not mind being hungry, cold, or wet, and don't get sick—there's no medicine. They'll beat you if you disobey, and kill you if you try to escape.” When we got back to our place inside the shed, Mother confronted him with more questions.

“What if it rains during the night?” she asked. “We'll all get soaked. Why won't they let us build walls for some privacy and shelter?”

“They are not planning to keep us here very long,” Henri answered. “Just until they get some trains.”

“Where are they taking us?”

“To Germany. That's all any of us know.”

Mother thanked him for everything and asked him to stop by again. I walked with him to the end of the shed.

“I have seen you before,” he said. I was shocked. “You were carrying a water bucket. You climbed on the wagon that carried my grandmother and held the drinking cup for her.”

“You passed through our street? I don't remember seeing you.”

“No, you were very busy.”

“How is your grandmother?”

“She is in the infirmary. Would you like to come with me to see her tomorrow? I'll come by for you.”

“Yes,” I said, “I'd like that.”

“
Szervusz.
”

“
Szervusz.
”

Henri walked on, and I returned to our place inside the shed where Iboya was telling Mother what we had learned from our walk with the inside group of youth workers. Supper came, served from a food wagon by harassed women on kitchen detail, supervised by German guards. The turnip soup was watery, and the bread stale, but nobody complained. They begged for more. Mother put all of our portions into her big pot and added some seasoning from her jars. She invited Mrs. Labovitz and Carla to join us, and she put a pinch of seasoning in their bowls, too. After we finished our soup, Mr. Shuster came by, smoking his pipe.

“I'd like to talk with you,” Mother said to him.

“What about?”

“About your list. I understand that you are to write up a list of our complaints.”

“I am new at this game, Mrs. Davidowitz; be patient. By now you probably know more about this place than I do.”

“But you are in charge. I am not trying to be difficult, but we should claim some rights. We can't have them think that we are sitting cows.”

“Tomorrow we can visit in the other quarters. I have posted the time and limits at the front.”

“The list of things we need, Mr. Shuster. My girls saw the supplies. They have plenty of everything, but you must submit a list.” Mother ran across to Mrs. Labovitz's place and held up the torn blanket. “This is what they gave this poor woman and child.”

Mother's demonstration caused a commotion. All the people around wanted to know where the blanket had come from. And now they all wanted different things. About fifty people crowded around us. It took all of Mr. Shuster's ability to get them quieted down and back to their places.

While Mr. Shuster was dealing with the people who had crowded about, Mother made some more walls, hanging the other bedspread and a sheet over the rafters. Then she took one of Iboya's notebooks from the duffel bag, tore out a page, found a pencil, and sat down on the suitcase to make a list. Water was first, latrine walls second.

Mr. Shuster ducked into our tent-like cubicle and looked over Mother's shoulder. “Mind putting down ‘pipe tobacco'?” he asked in a kidding voice, hoarse from his shouting.

“I'm really sorry about what happened. I didn't mean to cause a riot,” whispered Mother, “but unless we do something, we are all going to get sick. We can't live in these crowded conditions without some sanitary precautions. We have to get this point across to them. Scare them, if necessary; tell them that if an epidemic of typhus breaks out, it will spread to the city. They have made no provisions at all, just shipping people in here like cattle. But even cattle need water.”

“Mrs. Davidowitz, they have no intention of keeping us here. They are merely waiting for trains.”

“But some of these people have been here over a week already. They are starting to smell.”

“Get some of these women to stop letting the children use the ground between the sheds instead of taking them to the assigned latrines. When the Germans see what is happening, they say that we are swine and don't need water.”

“The children are afraid to sit on those logs. And what happens during the night? Are we allowed out there at all after seven?”

“Not after the curfew.”

“So there is your answer. They give us no choice.”

“Make the list,” said Mr. Shuster with a resigned sigh. “I'll see if they will consider any of our grievances.”

When he had left with the list, I felt very tired and asked Mother if I could go to sleep. As she rolled out the bedding, she decided that we all should try to get some sleep. Closing my eyes at the end of this first day in the ghetto, I told myself that the five of us were still together and that was the most important thing.

20

T
HE NEXT DAY
was Sunday, and the rest of the Jewish population of Beregszász started to pour into the brick factory in a steady stream. Iboya, now a member of the ghetto work force, watched for the Gerbers. Mother had managed to talk Mr. Shuster into letting her stake out an area alongside of ours to accommodate them. While we waited for the Gerbers to appear, we watched the new arrivals as they came in. Mother ran from family to family, helping them settle their bundles and soothing the old and the children. Sandor and Joli remained in their corner, digging in the dirt floor, thinking up new games.

I wandered off and, keeping within the allowed limits, moved from shed to shed, asking some of the people I saw where they had come from and how long they had been in the ghetto. I was hoping to hear something more about Babi, Rozsi, and Molcha. A number of them recognized me as the girl with the water bucket, but none of them had any news for me.

For a while I stood outside the sheds and watched the groups of people coming through the gates. Had we looked like that yesterday when we arrived? Was I as frightened, I wondered. They walked close to each other, their eyes looking about as though they expected a wolf or a tiger to leap at them any moment. Hardly any men among them—they were mostly clusters of women and children, the mothers invariably carrying a child. Many old women needed support as they were being walked down the road through swirls of red clay dust.

Then I saw Gari Weiss, wearing the white arm band of the ghetto police, escorting a group of new arrivals. He looked very self-important as he pointed to a shed several yards in front of them. I felt none of the apprehension that I had felt at school when I wanted so much to speak to him and didn't dare. When he returned from the shed he had pointed out, I went up to him and started talking, amazed at my ease in conversing with him. A few other youth police joined us, and Gari introduced me to them as his schoolmate from B.G. I was puzzled and asked what he meant. “Before ghetto,” he explained. We all laughed at the joke, and the others walked on.

“Is Judi here yet?” Gari asked, coloring slightly.

“No. As a matter of fact, I would like you to do me a big favor. If you should see the Gerbers coming in, please bring them to our shed, number 6, because my mother is saving a place for them.”

“I have heard about your mother,” said Gari.

“What have you heard?”

“That she has set up a tent inside your shed.”

“So what if she has? It does not protect us from the night's cold winds. She just wanted to make us some privacy.”

“Hey, I wasn't criticizing. I just said I heard about it.”

“Where are you and your family staying? Are you still in the big house in back of the factory just as you were B.G.?”

“Not exactly,” Gari answered. “The German guards now have our house. We are living in the maids' house behind it.”

“I'm sorry.”

“No, don't be, we are still better off than the rest of you.”

Henri and his friends came walking toward us on their way back to the gate after settling some families. As he went by, he said, “
Szervusz
” and I stopped the group to ask Henri if I could walk with him to the gate.

“I am waiting for a friend to arrive,” I explained.

Gari smirked knowingly and turned away, walking back to the gate by himself to pick up a new group of arrivals.

I was annoyed at Gari's manner, but I fell into step with Henri and his friends.

“I don't know if we will get a chance to visit my grandmother before curfew this evening,” Henri said. “It seems that they have decided to empty the rest of Beregszász today.”

“Do you know Gari?” I asked.

“Sure. We've been working together. He may seem conceited, but he has a good heart.”

“Did you talk to him about my mother's tent?”

“Yes. I told him how much I admire her, trying to make you comfortable under these trying conditions. She is a very special lady.”

I smiled at him and said, “The family I am looking for are close friends of ours by the name of Gerber. There are three of them, Mrs. Gerber, Judi, who is my friend, and Pali, her younger brother. My mother is saving a place beside us for them.”

“Your sister has already alerted all of us on gate duty. One of us should spot them.”

I said goodbye to Henri and returned to our shed. The Gerbers arrived about four o'clock that afternoon. Gari saw them come through the gate and brought them to join us. They had walked all the way and were exhausted. The supply of wagons had run out, Mrs. Gerber explained, and the Germans made them walk.

“They threw our things on a wagon,” Mrs. Gerber continued. “I hope we'll get them.”

Pulling out a few pieces of dry toast from her pillowcase under the blanket, Mother handed a slice to each of the Gerbers. “Eat it inside the tent. No sense in causing another commotion,” she said, and went on to relate the incident of the blanket.

Mrs. Gerber ate her piece of toast and looked around at Sandor and Joli's new dirt sandbox, the roll-up beds made of blankets lined with sheets, the large suitcase lying flat as a table, and the remaining bundles around it as chairs. “Rise, you are playing house. I can't believe your ingenuity and your spirit. You are an incorrigible actress. Even here you find yourself a part to play.”

“Play? I am just trying not to give in to them. I don't want to become one of the
Schwein.
But we won't go into that now. You are tired. Look at your swollen feet. You must rest. Time enough tomorrow to talk about what is going on.”

Iboya had located some of the Gerbers' belongings, and she managed to replace the blankets that were lost or taken from supplies brought in by her friends.

“Did you take these from the supply shed?” Mother asked softly when she brought them into our tent.

“No, I could never get in there. I just did not bother to deliver these to the shed.”

“Don't get yourself in any trouble,” Mother cautioned.

*   *   *

On the second day after Judi's arrival, we were standing outside our shed observing a work detail answering Mother's demand for water. A youth worker lined up people holding utensils and led them to the water pump. Each filled his pot in turn and then carried the water back to his shed. Another work group, using boards that had come to us from the lumber yard, was hammering up walls for the latrine. Iboya, who now returned to the shed only to sleep, came up to us carrying some old clothes. She asked me to hold them for her, dug into the pocket of her skirt, and brought out two aspirins, which she put in her mouth and swallowed.