Upon the Head of the Goat (6 page)

Mother watched as Joli grew drowsy in her arms. After a few more minutes, she rose with the baby and walked toward her bedroom to put Joli down in the crib. When she returned to the kitchen, she filled the tub with water from large pots that had been warming on the stove, and I sat down in it. Holding a bar of soap in her left hand and the brush in the other, Mother proceeded to rub and scrub, determined to get me clean and shining. She even tried to wash the dark bruises off my bony legs.

“They are from the heavy water buckets hitting up against me as I carried them from Tercsa's well,” I explained.

“And climbing and falling,” added Mother.

“I am going to miss Komjaty,” I reflected.

“I think I got you home just in time or you would have turned into another Rozsi.” Mother studied my face. “What does Rozsi do all day while my mother is out in the fields?”

“She looks after the chickens, geese, and ducks; she gathers eggs, milks the cows, gives them water, works in the vegetable garden, cooks, and takes Babi her lunch if she doesn't come home for it. She cleans the house and sings,” I finished.

“Sings? Doesn't she talk to anybody all day?”

“There is nobody around during the day.”

“What about the girls across the road—Molcha's sisters?”

“They are busy during the day helping their mother around the house. Rozsi talks to Babi in the evening when they sit and sew.”

“But she needs to be with people her own age,” Mother commented, as she gave my elbow a hard scrub.

“She visits with neighbor girls on the Sabbath. They all get together then.”

Mother and Lilli exchanged glances. I stood up in the tub, and Lilli poured clean rinse water over my sudsy body. At that point, the two little ones came into the kitchen, their hands covered with wet sand. They giggled at seeing me undressed. Manci looked into the tub and rinsed her hands, Sandor copied her; they giggled again and ran out of the kitchen.

I bent over and Mother poured warm water on my head. Cupping the soap in the palm of her hand, she began to vigorously lather my scalp and hair. After two such soapings and several clear rinses, Lilli brought over the final vinegar rinse, which Mother slowly drained through my matted hair.

“There, your hair finally squeaks and shines again, the way it should,” Mother said, wrapping it up in a towel. I put on the dress Lilli had picked out for me, and went to sit in the yard. Mother fine-combed my long hair and clipped off the straggly ends. Then, after a final survey, she opened the big gate.

I walked to the gate and looked out, running my eyes up and down each side of the street. The cement sidewalks seemed so clean and white in the glare of the sun.

“Nobody is out there.”

“Milush and Vali probably walked to the park to play in the shade. Why don't you and Iboya go and join them,” Mother offered.

I shook my head. I did not want to see my friends yet, and I walked inside, into the children's room, where Lilli was putting my clothes away.

“Have you and Manci come to live with us?” I asked.

“No, I still have the apartment, but we do sleep over occasionally. Why, what's the matter?”

“I was just wondering. I was away for a long time,” I said, not wanting her to see my fear of things having changed while I was away.

Late in the afternoon, while Iboya and I were sitting on the porch, Milush and Vali came through the gate. They were in their bathing suits, on the way back from the strand. They walked toward us hesitantly.

“
Szervusz, szervusz,
we came to see if you were home,” they greeted me.

We were all talking busily when Mother came out with a pitcher of raspberry punch. “Isn't your mother coming over?” she asked Vali.

“I'll go and get her,” said Vali, running off. Soon Mrs. Veligan appeared, with Vali alongside her.

“You should have come along, Mrs. Davidowitz, it was not at all crowded,” Mrs. Veligan said as she stepped onto the porch. “You could do with a little sun. Look how nice your girls look with their brown faces. My God, Piri! You look so tall. Stand up so I can see you.” She pushed Vali and me into a back-to-back position. “See, she has grown half a head. It is that country air, and I bet your grandmother fed you lots of milk and eggs. Nothing like that for growing children. You can't get much of that here any more. Getting more scarce all the time.”

Lilli, closing her book, came to join us, with Manci and Sandor trailing behind her. Mother poured the punch into glasses and handed them around. As we stood there, I felt relieved, relaxing for the first time in that whole long day. I was home in Beregszász.

7

W
HEN SCHOOL BEGAN
in September, life resumed its routine for Iboya and me. Politics seemed remote from us all as we were kept busy with our studies in school and with our chores and projects at home. Lilli was still at our house most of the time; she and Mother read and wrote their postcards together. I never had to ask whether or not they had received mail from Father or Lajos; their voices and expressions told me as soon as I came into the house. Rozsi wrote to us often to keep Mother from worrying about her and Babi. Frequent letters from Molcha told me about her progress in school and the local gossip.

Winter arrived just before Christmas vacation, and snow covered the streets of Beregszász. We had to use both coal and wood in our classroom stove in order to melt the frost on the large windowpanes. During the holidays, not having school to absorb my thoughts, I became more aware of Father's absence. Hanukkah did not seem the same without him.

Mother stayed in a bad mood for days, did not say silly things to make us laugh or sing, but only spoke to us when she had something to tell us. We stopped turning on the radio because they had suspended newscasts, playing only sermons and Christmas carols. Mother tried to go through the rituals of Hanukkah and lit the candles the first few nights, giving us the customary treats. But, without Father, we could not sing the traditional songs and we gave up lighting the candles and playing dreidel games before the holiday was over.

Milush and Vali came by early on Christmas Eve and entered our kitchen flushed with excitement over their holiday. “We came to call for you. The carolers are down the street.”

Iboya and I looked toward Mother, but she shook her head no.

“We can't go this year,” Iboya started to explain as Milush and Vali looked at each other. “It is because our father is away…” They did not wait for Iboya to finish but turned around and left without saying another word. I waited, hoping that the carolers would stop in as they had in years before and ask, “May we praise Jesus?” Mother had let them sing and then gave them small pastries to eat. But they did not stop at our house, and remembering those other Christmases and how much a part of the festivities we had been, I felt sad.

*   *   *

I began to pay more attention to Joli as the winter went on and the children played in the kitchen. She grew bigger, more animated, more curious about Sandor and Manci as she watched them. In my arms, she smelled of soap, baby powder, and mother's milk and felt like white velvet. In these moments I recalled the scornful expression on Babi's face as she said, “A new baby in these times! Tsu! Tsu!” When I told Mother that Babi did not think that having a baby in wartime was a good idea, Mother grew thoughtful before she answered, “God works in strange ways. I think Joli was just what we needed!”

“Mother,” I continued, “do you believe in the same God that Babi does?”

“There is only one God. Your grandmother just believes more than most of us.”

“Do you believe that if you tear something on the Sabbath, God will strike you? I tried it out, and He didn't do anything.”

Mother tried to pretend that she was angry, but I could see the smile in her green eyes. “You tested God? I'm beginning to understand Babi's concern about you. What else have you done to test God?”

Seeing that she wasn't very upset, I told her that once, in Komjaty, while the Sabbath candles were being lit, I stood outside, picked some grapes, ate them, and waited to see what would happen to me, thinking that perhaps the whole trellis would fall down and kill me instantly. Instead, Rozsi had come out to get me and asked why I had jumped when she came up behind me. When I told her what I'd done, she explained that God was too busy to be bothered by every little thing I did, but that didn't mean He didn't see every little thing. And, she added, if the trellis had fallen, she and Babi would have been hurt and they were innocent.

“Did you ever let my mother know this?”

“No, just Rozsi.”

Lilli opened the kitchen door just then, letting in a strong gust of wind. She had a newspaper tucked under her arm, and I thought she had probably also bought some cigarettes in the tobacco shop. I had seen her smoking a few times while she walked outside the house and I wondered if Mother knew. Lilli took off her coat and shook the snow from it before hanging it on the hook.

“You want me to read you the front page while you stir the soup?” she asked Mother.

“No, I'll look at it later,” said Mother. “Why don't you set the table, Piri, while Lilli washes the children's hands. And call Iboya from the other room.” I knew that all discussions for that evening were ended.

*   *   *

One day, instead of coming straight home from school, Iboya and I stopped in at Farkas & Földes to get some notebooks and look through the new rental books. It was already dusk by the time we got to Tinodi Street. From the street lights high up on their poles, yellow beams lit our way. The snow crunched under our boots as we walked, and becoming aware of the time, we walked faster, fearing Mother's anger at our being out so late. We had reached the little synagogue on the other side of Tinodi Street when we heard loud shouting and saw several old men, prayer shawls still over their shoulders, running from the courtyard into the street. Three boys were among the men with sticks in their hands.

“Stop,” I screamed, “or I'll get the police.”

Seeing us directly across the street from the synagogue, they yelled, “There are two of those Jew girls,” and then came toward us. We started to run as fast as we could. Our schoolbags smacked against our backs, and we could hear the boys gaining on us.

“Dumb Jew bitches, we'll pound your asses, you won't get away. Get the one with the pigtails, the one who yelled she would call the police.” They mimicked my voice. “What police is she going to tell? As if they cared about our beating up some old Jews.”

Just then two men stepped out of the shadows at the corner. “Hey,” called one of the men to the boys, “aren't you ashamed of yourselves, chasing after two little girls?” They walked into the street, putting themselves between us and the three boys, but Iboya and I kept running, not even looking back to see how they stopped the boys. We did not turn around until we reached our front gate—four blocks from Tinodi Street—and by then we could not see them. Bolting the gate after us, we ran into the kitchen.

Mother was sitting in the armchair nursing Joli while sounds of music came from the salon. As we slammed the door behind us, she looked up with a start and put her breast back inside her blouse. Her eyes asked the question “What happened?” even before she spoke.

While Iboya and I leaned against the kitchen door panting, Mother went to the bedroom and put Joli down in the crib. Then, buttoning her blouse as she walked back toward us, she asked, “Why are you so out of breath?”

Iboya spoke first. “There were three boys, they came out of the synagogue on Tinodi Street and chased us with sticks until two men stepped out from the corner courtyard where the Markowitzes live and came between us. One of them yelled at the boys.”

“Then what happened?” Mother interrupted.

“We don't know. Iboya and I just kept running until we got here,” I answered.

“Who were they? Why were they running out of the synagogue holding sticks?”

“I don't know if they came from inside the synagogue; we just saw them running from the courtyard. I also heard glass breaking, maybe it was the windows. It was dark already and we were across the street. I think I recognized one of them—Imre Kurti.” Iboya stopped talking and slowly sat down on one of the kitchen chairs.

“Shut off the radio,” Mother called harshly into the salon. Lilli obeyed instantly and ran into the kitchen. She looked us up and down, then came over and slid my schoolbag off my shoulder.

“Are you all right?” she asked softly. Mother came close to Lilli and whispered, “Vandalism at the synagogue. God only knows what must have happened. You are sleeping here tonight. I am not letting you and Manci walk home alone.” Lilli's face, as she listened, became as red as Mother's.

“Let's get their coats off,” Lilli said, looking at me. I could feel the cold stickiness on my neck and in my armpits, and Iboya and I were still breathing heavily.

Sandor and Manci, sitting on their small bench, watched us and asked questions, but no one knew what to tell them. Joli began to cry and Lilli went to pick her up. She came back with Joli in her arms and sat down on the other little bench opposite Sandor and Manci, her long legs stretched out in front of her. She set Joli down on top of the picnic table and talked to her: “Joli doesn't like to be alone in the bedroom. She wants to be here with Sandor and Manci. No fun for Joli alone, isn't that so, baby?”

“She is probably hungry. I didn't finish feeding her. Now with all of this confusion, I don't think I should give her any more,” Mother said.

“Can she stay and eat with us, can she?” asked Sandor.

“Oh yes, she likes to eat grown-up food, better than milk,” continued Lilli.

Mother managed to put dinner on the table, and we all ate, but her face remained flushed during our meal. Later that evening, while she and Lilli did the dishes and Iboya and I were in our bedroom washing up, I heard Mother as she spoke to Lilli in a hushed tone: “My mother was right, I should have tried to send the girls to America. Maybe it's not too late. I will have to go and find out if there still is a chance. I don't know what to do about Etu. According to her last letter, she has no intention of quitting school and coming home from Budapest as I asked her to. I don't understand why all my daughters are so strong-willed.” Lilli answered her in a voice too low for me to hear, and after that I heard only the sounds of dishes being put away. Iboya and I slept close to each other that night.