by Anita Abriel
“Like your Captain Wight?” Edith laughed. “I want to hear everything about him.”
“He’s from New York,” Vera mused. “He’s very serious and sad, as if he is responsible for the whole war.”
“Perhaps he just wants your sympathy,” Edith suggested. “So he can lay his head on your shoulder and you can comfort him.”
“He’s my boss,” Vera retorted. “Nothing is going to happen.”
“Wouldn’t it be wonderful if you fell in love and he took us both to New York?” Edith sighed. “I’d become a famous fashion designer and you’d be a great playwright. He’d squire us around and I’d meet fabulous men.”
“I’m happy transcribing his letters so we can pay Signora Rosa and buy stockings,” Vera murmured.
“You’ve wanted to be a writer since we were ten years old,” Edith reminded her.
Vera had scribbled whole plays in her schoolbooks since she was a little girl; she and Edith used to perform them for their mothers. Alice and Lily would become so wrapped up in the performances, their husbands would come home and dinner wouldn’t be on the table.
They spent hours digging through their mothers’ closets, choosing their costumes. Vera remembered a play where she dressed in her mother’s pearls and heels. Edith wore a velvet robe and clutched a pearl cigarette holder in one hand and a brandy snifter in the other. Edith’s father came home and thought they were drinking real brandy and made Edith wash her mouth out with soap.
Edith’s mother snapped that she would never let the girls near his precious brandy, then went to her bedroom and slammed the door. It was only later, when Edith’s father ran off with his secretary, that Vera learned the true reason Edith’s mother was upset. It wasn’t because he punished Edith or scolded her. It was the scent of perfume on his coat and the receipt from a hotel bar in his pocket.
“Edith,” Vera said now, touching her hand. “This isn’t the time to think about following our dreams. We have to earn enough money to survive.”
“Why do we always have to think about money?” Edith said stubbornly. “We’re young; we’re supposed to have fun. I’m going to get a gelato.” She jumped up and ran across the stones to the café on the corner.
Vera gazed at the young people chattering. She longed for the tearooms in Budapest, the rich milky coffee and powdered cakes. She longed to see a schoolmate or one of her mother’s friends dressed in boots and a fur coat.
Edith returned, dragging a dark-haired boy to the table.
“Meet Marcus,” she announced. The man wore a leather jacket and had a red bandana knotted around his neck. “Marcus is a photographer. He wants to take our picture.”
“We don’t talk to strangers,” Vera replied.
“Marcus is from Ravello.” Edith sat down, ignoring her. “He’s going to submit the photos to the newspaper and make us famous.”
“Two beautiful Hungarian refugees,” Marcus said with a bow. “It will be a wonderful story.”
“Excuse us.” Vera stood. It was dinnertime, and they had to go back to the pensione. “We have to work in the morning.”
“I will be here tomorrow,” Marcus said hopefully. “Same time.”
Vera waited till they left the piazza before she turned to Edith. “Didn’t you learn your lesson?”
“He’s only nineteen; he’s harmless,” Edith said with a shrug. “He has eyes like a puppy.”
“One day you’re going to get in trouble and I won’t be around to help you,” Vera retorted.
Edith stopped walking, her dress blowing around her legs. “I have to have love, otherwise I’d rather be dead.”
Vera put her arm around Edith and led her to the pensione. “We don’t know what it’s like to be dead.”
CHAPTER THREE
Spring 1946
Vera buttoned her dress and brushed her hair. Edith still lay in bed, the sheet pulled up around her cheeks.
“I’ll be back by noon,” Vera said. “You promise you won’t go out by yourself?”
“I’m going to lie here all day.” Edith yawned. “No one works on Saturday. Your captain is a slave driver.”
Vera was in her third week working for Captain Wight, and she found it more satisfying than she had imagined. It felt good to know that the letters sent to the embassy in Rome would make a difference in rebuilding Naples. She even took some solace in the blue airmail envelopes waiting to be mailed to America. Surely it was better for the families to know the worst so they could grieve and begin to heal, rather than to live with the uncertainty of wondering whether or not their loved ones were alive. Vera knew something about that.
“He has to go to Rome on Monday.” Vera studied her reflection in the mirror. “We need to finish some letters.”
Edith smirked. “Maybe he can’t stand a day without his secretary.”
“He doesn’t even look at me,” Vera insisted.
“That’s what you think, but he’s a man,” Edith rejoined. “How can he not notice a pretty girl who sits across from him all day?”
Edith was wrong. Sometimes while they worked, she stole a glance at Captain Wight, but he was always sifting through papers. It momentarily made her feel sad, but then she would brush the thought away. She was at the embassy to work, not to receive the attentions of a man.
Vera skipped onto the street, the sunshine warm on her back. She was beginning to recognize the faces in the neighborhood. The women smiled toothless grins and the men offered her free oranges and figs.
“I brought a present,” Vera announced, finding Captain Wight in the morning room. He wore navy slacks and a tan polo shirt. His blond hair was brushed to the side and his cheeks were freshly shaved.
“I have a present for you, too. As a thank-you for working on the weekend.” Captain Wight closed his newspaper and handed her a small stack of books. “These are some of my favorite American authors, but the stories are set in Europe.” He pointed to the covers. “I thought you might enjoy reading books in English.”
Vera read the names of the authors: Ernest Hemingway and F. Scott Fitzgerald. There was also a book of poetry by T. S. Eliot.
“Thank you. I’ll start reading them tonight,” she said awkwardly.
Did Captain Wight think her English needed improving or was he being thoughtful? She tucked them under her arm and handed him a bag of plums.
“Signora Rosa grows these in her garden. She said Gina could make a pie.”
“I’m sure she would love to when she returns. She took the day off.” Captain Wight walked toward the kitchen. “Gina’s youngest son is turning four. They are going to ride bicycles in the park.”
“Where did they get bicycles?” Vera asked curiously. Gina couldn’t afford bicycles for her children.
“I bought them at the outdoor market,” Captain Wight said easily. “All children should learn how to ride a bicycle.”
Vera entered the kitchen. A vase was filled with sunflowers, and ceramic plates were stacked on the counter.
“Something smells delicious,” she announced. Pancakes warmed on a skillet and there was a jug of syrup and a bowl of berries.
“Pancakes are my specialty,” Captain Wight said, putting the plums in a bowl. “When I was a boy my mother spent every Saturday with her friends. Our cook, Elsie, let me help with breakfast. Would you like some?”
“In Hungary, we fill pancakes with fruit and eat them for dessert,” Vera replied.
Captain Wight smiled. His teeth were white and his hair was golden in the sunlight that streamed through the window.
“Americans like their sweets in the morning.” Captain Wight put two golden pancakes on a plate. “My brother would eat the first batch before anyone else filled their plates.”
“Is your brother an officer, too?” Vera asked, taking a bite of the pancake.
“Brad was hit by a taxi on Fifth Avenue in 1942. He was only twenty-four. He was on leave from his desk job in Washington.” Captain Wight’s eyes went dark. “It seems silly to get
run over when the whole world is at war, but Brad was always in a hurry. He was running to say good-bye to a girl.”
“I didn’t mean to pry,” Vera said uncomfortably. She was embarrassed for asking about his private life.
“My sister’s husband died in Japan and my youngest brother is a freshman at Princeton.” Captain Wight picked up his fork. “That’s why my father wants me to come home and manage the hotels, but there’s still so much here that needs to be done.”
Captain Wight’s brow furrowed, and sadness clouded his face.
“It must have been lovely growing up in a large family.” Vera noticed his expression and tried to lighten the mood. “I always wanted brothers and sisters. My best friend Edith was born three days before me in the same hospital. Once we had a birthday party at our country house in Szentendre and our parents rented a pony. We were so disappointed that we didn’t get to keep him.”
“That sounds like my sister’s parties,” Captain Wight laughed. The brooding look vanished and he was more like himself. “Only the pony was in Central Park, followed by lunch at Tavern on the Green.”
Without his uniform on, Captain Wight seemed younger. He spoke freely and the lines around his eyes relaxed.
“What is Tavern on the Green?” Vera asked.
“A fancy restaurant that shouldn’t be full of ten-year-old girls with marzipan on their fingers.” Captain Wight grinned. “My father loved spoiling Carol. She was his angel.”
“All fathers spoil their daughters,” Vera agreed, picturing her father in a camel-colored coat and holding a jewelry box on her fourteenth birthday. He presented her with a gold chain and said that when she was older, she’d only wear diamonds.
“I’m sorry.” Captain Wight frowned, noticing her mouth wobbling. “I didn’t mean to make you think about your father…”
“I should be taking dictation instead of eating your delicious pancakes,” Vera said. “If Signora Rosa and Gina fatten me up, soon I won’t fit into my dress.”
Captain Wight opened his mouth to say something but changed his mind. He put the plates in the sink and glanced at the clock.
“If we hurry, you’ll be home by lunchtime.” He stood in the doorway. “I don’t want to ruin your afternoon.”
* * *
Vera closed her stenography pad and screwed the top on the fountain pen. They had worked past the noon bells but neither of them wanted to stop.
“I’ll be back on Saturday.” Captain Wight handed her a wad of lire. “Perhaps you could check the mail every day.”
“You mean collect your mother’s telegrams,” Vera laughed, stuffing the money in her purse. “You might send her a reply.”
“I’ll reply when I can give her the answer she wants to hear,” Captain Wight responded. “Will you help me with an errand? I need a woman’s opinion.”
Vera walked with him toward the piazza, wondering if he was buying a present for a girlfriend in New York. She imagined a tall blonde with long legs and an impossibly small waist.
Captain Wight stopped in front of a small boutique. The window held trays of silk scarves and leather wallets. Earrings and charm bracelets and gold necklaces rested in cases within.
Captain Wight ushered her inside. He walked around the shop, tapping his fingers on the display cases.
“Do you like the red or blue scarf?” He pointed to two gossamer scarves with gold specks.
“The blue is pretty.” Vera nodded.
“I’ll take the blue,” Captain Wight said to the shopkeeper.
They waited while the girl wrapped the purchase in tissue paper and tied it with a silver bow. Captain Wight clutched the box and walked into the sunlight. Vera turned to say good-bye, but he put his hand on her arm.
“I would be grateful if you could deliver this for me.”
Vera nodded. “Of course.” She had been wrong. He had a local girlfriend, a young Italian with wild black hair and high, full breasts.
“Her name is Edith, and she is staying at Signora Rosa’s pensione.”
“You know Edith?” Vera’s eyes widened.
“You talk about her all the time,” Captain Wight explained. “You’ve worked for me for three weeks and you wear the same dress every day. I figure the money must be going somewhere. If I buy Edith a present, perhaps you’ll spend some money on yourself.”
She glanced down at her dress, embarrassed that he had noticed.
“Edith lost the boy she was going to marry.” Vera’s cheeks turned red. “Pretty things keep her happy. But I don’t need anything.” She handed him the box. “I can’t accept your present.”
“That’s why I’m giving it to Edith.” Captain Wight grinned. “Summer is coming; buy yourself a gift.”
Vera stroked the silver ribbon, imagining Edith’s face when she saw the delicate scarf. “Thank you, that’s very kind,” Vera said finally. “It’s Edith’s birthday on Wednesday. She will jump with joy.”
Vera said good-bye and hurried toward the pensione. She was about to cross the street when she saw an older woman standing in a butcher shop. She wore a navy dress and her black hair was styled in a pageboy.
Vera stood, mesmerized. The woman accepted her package from the butcher and opened the door. Suddenly Vera ran across the street.
“Mama, Mama,” she cried in Hungarian. “Kerlek besszelj hozzam. Sajnalom. Nem akartam hogy ez megtortenjen. Please talk to me. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to happen.”
The woman stared at her and backed away.
“I’m not your mother,” she answered in Italian.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude,” Vera replied in Italian, the tears streaming down her cheeks. “You look so much like my mother.”
The woman hurried off and Vera felt a hand on her shoulder. She looked up to find Captain Wight beside her. Her dress was stained with tears and she let out a moan.
“It’s all right,” Captain Wight soothed her.
“I was sure it was my mother,” Vera cried. “Her dress, her hair. I thought she didn’t answer because she hasn’t forgiven me.”
“Why don’t we sit down and get something to drink?” Captain Wight replied softly. He took her arm and steered her across the street.
“It’s my fault she isn’t here.” Vera gasped. “She died because of me.”
* * *
Captain Wight guided her to an outside table at a nearby café and ordered two glasses of sherry. He sat quietly until Vera stopped trembling.
“The things Captain Bingham wrote in the letter, about your mother and escaping from the train to Auschwitz,” Captain Wight asked, rubbing the rim of his glass. “Are they true?”
“Yes,” Vera whispered.
“Perhaps it would help to talk about them,” Captain Wight suggested.
“You are busy.” Vera shook her head. “You must pack for Rome.”
“I have nowhere to go,” Captain Wight encouraged her. “I want to hear your story.”
Vera took a deep breath. She needed to tell her story. She gazed at Captain Wight’s pale blue eyes, the lines on his forehead and the dimple on his chin, and began to speak.
* * *
Vera stood in the back of the train and tried to breathe. Edith dozed in front of her, Stefan’s scarf wrapped around her neck even though the air was as stale as old bread. Edith’s mother, Lily, crooned a melody. Only Vera’s mother seemed alert. Her brow was furrowed as if she was trying to decipher a difficult recipe or rectify the month’s household accounts.
Two weeks before, in May of 1944, they had finally been moved to the ghetto. Vera’s mother pretended things were normal, making Vera do her schoolwork and set the table at night. But their food supplies had dwindled, and for the last few days, Alice pushed her own tiny portion of bread toward Vera and claimed she wasn’t hungry.
Edith remained happy and calm until Stefan was put on a train to a labor camp called Strasshof in Austria. Stefan said it was actually good news. The rumor was that the Jews in Stras
shof were needed to work on the farms. The inmates weren’t starved and he might get to work outdoors instead of in a factory.
The train lurched and Vera fell back. It wasn’t really a train: trains were the luxurious silver cars Vera had seen at the station in Budapest. Where porters carried steamer trunks and first-class passengers sat on plush velvet seats, admiring the scenery on the way to Vienna.
Vera and the rest of the ghetto had been herded into cattle cars that were sealed as tightly as cans of sardines. There was no food or water, and the smell was worse than the garbage in the streets of the ghetto.
“Vera,” her mother whispered. “Come here.”
Vera’s heart raced. Her mother had whispered on the way to the train that she was going to think of an escape plan.
“What is it?” Vera asked, and glanced around. Everyone on the train was so intent on their own pain, they didn’t pay attention to each other.
“At the next stop, a guard will come on board to make sure no one is causing trouble. Edith will say it is her birthday and insist he share a bottle of schnapps. When he finishes the bottle, he will fall asleep. We’ll wait until he does and then I will steal his key and open the door. You and Edith will slip out and Lily and I will follow.”
“Where did you get the schnapps?” Vera worried. It was against orders to carry alcohol. And the guards were instructed to shoot troublemakers on the spot. “And how do you know he’ll fall asleep?”
“The guards are practically children; they’ve never had a shot of schnapps in their lives.” Alice tapped the lining of her coat. “This is extra strong. It could put a cow to sleep. He’ll be out within fifteen minutes.”
“Are you sure?” Vera whispered. “Perhaps where we are going is not that bad.”
Her mother’s face clouded over and Vera noticed tears in her eyes.
“Tell Edith our plan,” her mother instructed. “We must be ready when the guard arrives.”
The train stopped and a guard in the brown Nazi uniform leaped into the car. A prominent Adam’s apple protruded from his neck. Her mother was right, he couldn’t have been more than sixteen.
