‘But they won’t see us trying to get away . . .’
‘You can’t guarantee that! You might just make things worse for the rest of us.’
Although there was a guard permanently on duty outside their makeshift tent, they always felt that their language created a place where they could not be touched. To the Germans, Ladino was a smudge of incomprehensible sound.
Back in Thessaloniki, a controversy was raging. Although Isaac was watching his fellow Jews collapsing and dying on a daily basis, there was a sudden glimmer of hope that they might all be released.
The Jewish community had been offered the chance to buy back the labourers, and a price of three million drachmas had been set. In sheer desperation, people began to try to raise the money.
A suggestion was then put forward. Instead of finding this unattainable sum, the Jewish community could pay in kind, by handing over their cemetery. The municipal authority had long wished to get its hands on this vast and valuable piece of land in the heart of the city and now they had their chance: the cemetery was given a value that exactly matched the ransom figure.
The Jewish community was in uproar. In the Moreno workshop, where most people had buried their relatives in this ancient and historic cemetery, there were tears of anger and frustration.
‘But the value of our ancestors is beyond monetary value,’ protested one of the older tailors. ‘We can’t let this happen!’
‘And some of those graves are more than five hundred years old!’
‘Look, the buried are already dead, and my sons are still alive,’ said one of the older tailors, who had three boys at the labour camps. ‘How can you even regard it as a choice?’
Everyone had a point of view, and no one was wrong.
Katerina noticed that Kyria Moreno always found an excuse to leave the room when the issue was raised. Once or twice she had followed her and found her weeping quietly in one of the storerooms.
‘Every time I think of Isaac, I have this terrible feeling that I will never see him again,’ she said. ‘And here we have this chance to get our son back from the camps and people complain!’
Katerina put her arm around Kyria Moreno and hugged her.
‘I can’t bear to listen to them,’ she said. ‘There’s nothing I can do about Elias, but at least I might see Isaac again.’
‘Have you had any news of Elias?’ asked Katerina, hoping for a snippet of information.
‘Nothing,’ said Roza. ‘But they say that most of the resistance are in the mountains, so I assume he’s there. Still with Dimitri, I expect. And the weather is on the change, isn’t it?’
‘Snow. Yes. I’ve heard they’ve already had a fall of it there.’
The older woman nodded and both of them sat in silence for a few moments. Kyria Moreno wanted to compose herself before she rejoined the others. Katerina was thinking of Dimitri. She shuddered, imagining him going through another winter without food or proper clothing.
The debate over the cemetery went on for some time, but the reality was that the Jews did not have a choice. The municipality had already lined up a workforce to destroy it, and in December more than three hundred thousand graves, including those of their great rabbis and teachers, were ripped up. Relatives rushed there to try to rescue the remains of family members, but most were too late, finding that bones had already been pulverised and gold dental work ripped out. A few were fortunate and got there in time to save their late, loved ones and would later reinter them in new cemeteries to the east and west of the city.
Marble headstones were taken away to be sold and later reappeared as part of a building or even underfoot, as a pavement slab. The Morenos, like most other Jews, were distraught when they saw the desecration of their historic and sacred burial ground. If it had been at the epicentre of an earthquake, greater damage could not have been done. The destruction was cataclysmic.
Within a few days, however, the Morenos’ tears of sorrow turned to tears of joy. A skeletally frail man appeared at their door. It was Isaac. The bones of several hundred thousand dead had been successfully exchanged for a few thousand of the only just alive.
Chapter Twenty
AS 1943 BEGAN, the city descended further into a state of famine. This took over as the main preoccupation of all those who lived in Thessaloniki.
The Moreno workshop was managing to retain all of its remaining employees (as well as Jacob, three others had died in the labour camp) but there was now little work. The Germans no longer came in for their suits and even the wealthier people of the city – ‘who must all be collaborators,’ Kyria Moreno concluded – could not get the fabric for their new clothes. Konstantinos Komninos had put up his prices so much that only the very rich could afford to pay.
One of the few women who continued to have new gowns was Olga. Anxiety over her son, rather than a shortage of food, had caused her to become even more painfully thin. Some might have mistaken it for elegance, but underneath her expensively lined crêpe de Chine, her bones were as pronounced as those of the most deprived people of the city. Nowadays, her husband entertained German officers and when they were at the dining table, Olga lost her appetite completely.
Along with all the other modistras and tailors, Katerina continued to keep busy with alterations. Cuffs may have frayed and fabric turned shiny with age, but people found dignity in trying to keep up standards in their appearance. The Moreno workshop charged very little for this service, and when the customers were friends, they charged nothing at all.
There had been rumours that Jews were being deported from their respective countries across Europe, but as yet there had been no such action in Greece, so the Morenos had no reason to think that this was going to happen to them. As though it was someone’s new year’s resolution, all this changed in January 1943. One of Adolf Eichmann’s deputies was sent to Thessaloniki with the order to plan ‘the final solution’ for the city’s fifty thousand Jews. Within a month, one hundred German police had arrived to implement new measures.
‘What’s this about a star?’ asked Isaac. He came into the workshop each day, even though he was still frail and his once dextrous sewing fingers had been wrecked by the months of hard labour.
‘It has to be yellow, that’s all I know,’ said Kyria Moreno. ‘And some of our customers have asked us to sew them on.’
‘And it has to be ten centimetres in diameter and with six points,’ said Katerina, who had already started sewing stars onto coats and jackets. Isaac stood and watched her.
With her fine, rhythmic stitching, Katerina managed to make her stars look like pieces of the finest appliqué. She had seen one or two people in the street with these ugly stars tacked on with crude stitches. If her Jewish friends had to wear these things, then they should at least look neat.
‘I don’t see why we should wear them,’ said Isaac. ‘I’ve done my service for the Germans. And as far as I’m concerned, that’s all over.’
‘Isaac,’ said his father, ‘we don’t have a choice.’
‘Who exactly has instructed us to wear them? And how can they make us?’
‘Rabbi Koretz has told us to wear them,’ said his mother quietly.
‘The Rabbi!’
‘He hasn’t made the rule up, Isaac,’ appealed his father. ‘He is simply the intermediary.’
‘And what else has he been told to tell us?’
Isaac’s hatred of the Germans was much deeper than his parents’. He had been on the receiving end of their cruelty for many months and had known the extremes to which they could go. He had kept most of the details from them.
He saw his parents exchange glances.
‘It looks,’ said his father, ‘as though we have to move house.’
‘From Irini Street?’ said Katerina, aghast.
‘We think so,’ said Kyria Moreno, in tears. ‘We don’t really know the details yet.’
‘But why would the Germans want you to move? Are you sure it isn’t just a rumour?’
Isaac had left
the room, unable to conceal his anger, and Katerina and Roza continued to sew the stars in silence.
Within a few days, the news had been confirmed. The Moreno family, along with every single one of their employees, apart from Katerina, would be moving to an area near the railway station.
‘Well, I’m sure they have their reasons,’ said Saul Moreno. ‘And I expect they will explain it all to us in due course.’
Kyrios Moreno’s blind faith in those who guided his life, particularly the chief rabbi, was unwavering. He believed in good sense and was quite certain that at the heart of this new directive, there would be an explanation.
The Jews had been instructed to make a list of their possessions and most of them began, dutifully, to carry this out.
‘It’s for some kind of tax they’re going to impose on us,’ muttered Kyrios Moreno. He was beginning to have his suspicions, but still hid them from his wife.
None of his employees came into the workshop the next day. They were all at home, gathering their possessions, surveying their valuables and wondering what to take with them to their new homes. They had been told that the accommodation was likely to be more limited than where they currently lived.
Katerina and Eugenia had visits from several of the Moreno employees that night.
‘Can you keep this safe for us?’
‘Will you look after this for me, just until we’re back in our homes?’
‘Would you mind hiding something? Not for long, I hope!’
There was false cheer and a level of light-heartedness in their requests. Katerina and Eugenia found themselves the guardians of brooches, rings and pendants. They had nowhere safe to put such valuables themselves, but would sew them inside cushions where nobody would ever find them. Each one was embroidered with an elaborate cipher, formed of their owner’s initials.
The following day, Saul and Roza visited their neighbours. Katerina was expecting them. In his arms, like a baby, Kyrios Moreno carried something that she recognised. It was the quilt within which the ancient parochet was concealed. She took it from him without saying anything and went upstairs to spread it over her bed. Kyria Moreno handed Eugenia the two embroidered ‘samplers’.
‘Would you mind putting them on your wall?’ she asked.
‘Of course not,’ said Eugenia.
The other items they put in a trunk. Even if someone had been spying on Irini Street, nothing would have aroused their suspicions. The Morenos were moving house, and could not take everything with them. In fact, they had been obliged to leave many of their possessions behind. Several rugs, a bed, some chairs and a whole chest of linen were left inside number 7.
‘We’ll leave these for Elias,’ said Roza to her husband. ‘Perhaps he’ll be back before we are.’
Over the next few days, the streets around them were jammed with the chaos of moving wagons. House contents were piled vertically: chests, chairs, pots and pans, and often a table, balanced on top of everything else like a dead animal in a state of rigor mortis.
Sadness and despair filled the streets. The cascades of rain did not help. Everyone was bent double under their possessions and even the young looked old, reduced to a uniform herd with their matching yellow stars.
Mothers held on tightly to the hands of small children. With tens of thousands on the streets they could easily lose sight of them, and the unstable towers of possessions made everyone vulnerable to falling objects.
Since the departure of the Muslims, Irini Street had been a mixture of Christian and Jew, and the Christians did everything they could to help their departing friends, just as had been done for the Muslims twenty years before. There were embraces and sincere promises to visit.
‘I shall still see you tomorrow,’ said Katerina to a tearful Kyria Moreno. ‘Work carries on as normal, doesn’t it?’
‘Yes, my dear, I suppose it does,’ she replied wearily. She seemed to have aged by a decade overnight.
As Katerina watched the retreating figures of the Moreno family, one thought went through her mind. How would Elias know where to find his family when he returned? She hoped she would be there to tell him. There was never more than a day when her thoughts did not take her to the mountains.
On the surface of it, the following day was strangely calm in the Moreno workshop. Everyone arrived as normal. There was not much work to do, so Kyrios Moreno set the task of making an inventory of everything that still remained, down to the last pin, button and scrap of lace. It kept everyone busy and resulted in meticulously clean and tidy premises. For several years they had all been much too busy to undertake such a task. Kyrios Moreno would almost have considered it an indulgence.
The day after, Katerina arrived at the workshop punctually as usual. It was strange walking there alone.
When she turned the corner, she knew immediately that something was wrong. All her colleagues were standing in the street. Although none of them could translate it, they were gathered around staring at a large notice, in German, which had been pinned to the door. A heavy padlock had been crudely screwed into the doorframe.
Katerina shared their utter dismay. The workshop had been seized by the Germans. Even without being able to read a word of the language, there was no mistaking what had happened.
For some of them there was a sense of great indignation, even of anger. Isaac was pulling at the padlock.
‘How dare they?’ he screamed. ‘Let’s just rip this thing off!’
‘Calm yourself, Isaac,’ said his father, gently touching his arm. ‘I think we should go home.’
‘Home!’ he screamed.
The word rang out around the street. It was loaded with yearning and grief. For the first time in her life, Katerina saw a man break down in uncontrollable tears. It was a shocking sight.
Everyone began to disperse, back to the area that had been established for the Jews, their new ghetto.
‘Come and see us soon, Katerina,’ said Kyria Moreno, trying to sound normal. ‘I think we should all leave here now.’
Katerina nodded, silently. She needed to be brave for her friends.
When they were first ghettoised, the Jews were obliged to return to their new accommodation before sunset. Within a short time, the rules changed. Wooden fences were erected around the entire area and the exits were guarded. They were no longer allowed to leave at all. Barbed wire over the fencing made sure of it.
The effect on Thessaloniki was immediate. Without the daytime circulation of fifty thousand of its inhabitants, whole areas had become ghost towns. Katerina was bereft.
One night at the beginning of March, Eugenia and Katerina were sitting close to the hearth eating dinner. It was about nine in the evening. They heard a quiet knock at the door. It was late for anyone to call and they looked at each other with trepidation.
The only people on the streets at this time tended to be soldiers or gendarmes. Eugenia shook her head and put a finger in front of her lips.
The knocking became more insistent. Whoever was outside was now banging hard on their door. They were not fooled by the silence within.
‘Kyria Eugenia!’
It was a familiar voice.
‘It’s Isaac!’ whispered Katerina, leaping up. ‘Quickly! We have to let him in.’
She ran over to the door and opened it. Isaac slipped into the room.
‘Isaac!’
His appearance was shocking. He had been thin when he went into the ghetto, but now his bones seemed about to break through his skin.
‘Come in, come in,’ said Eugenia.
He was shaking violently.
‘Are you hungry?’
He nodded and she ladled out a bowl of lentils for him.
For a few minutes, Isaac did not speak. He put the bowl up close to his face and drank the lentil stew straight down, like soup. He had not eaten for days and his desperation for food did not leave time for manners.
‘Give him some more,’ said Eugenia to Katerina. ‘Tell us what’s happened . .
.’
Isaac told them that their rabbi, Rabbi Koretz, had appeared in the ghetto and announced that they were all to be taken to a new life. Trains were already leaving.
‘But where to?’ cried Katerina with disbelief.
‘Poland. Krakow.’
‘But why there? It’s so cold!’ said Katerina.
‘He says there’s work for us there. My parents were even allowed out to go to the bank. We’ve been told to exchange all our drachma for zlotys. And we’ve been given instruction on what to take on the journey.’
Eugenia and Katerina sat quietly, their brows knitted in concentration and concern.
‘Koretz is telling people it’s no different from the last time.’
‘What does he mean – “the last time”?’ asked Katerina.
‘He means that we were all moved in a huge mass once before, when our ancestors came here from Spain. And now it’s time to move on again. So it’s not really any different.’
‘I suppose there might be some truth in that,’ reflected Eugenia. She was mindful of her own enforced exile. She had made a new life, eventually.
‘So some of us decided to break out,’ said Isaac, defiantly. ‘The men I was with are planning to join the resistance.’
‘But won’t they get caught first?’ asked Eugenia. ‘Won’t your accents give you away?’
‘And what about the gendarmes? They are always stopping people for identification,’ added Katerina.
‘There are people selling false papers,’ answered Isaac.
It occurred to Eugenia why he had come. Fake identity was expensive and he would need his mother’s jewellery to pay for it. It was concealed inside the pillow that lay upstairs on her bed.
‘So do you need some money?’
‘No, that’s not what I’ve come for.’
Both women sat and looked at Isaac. He looked so frail and vulnerable. It was almost impossible to imagine how he had had the strength to climb the ghetto fence. Desperation must have urged him on.
‘I’ve decided to go back. The moment I was over the fence and in the street, I realised I had to return. I can’t let my parents go to Poland on their own. They’ll need me to look after them.’
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