“Why ask me? This is your home. By all means. Would you allow me to ask the blessing?”
“You? I thought you no longer knew God. I better keep my foolish mouth stuffed with goulash and not try to philosophize,” Rosa said with a sheepish smile.
We bent our heads low, as Hans said grace. I don’t believe I heard Hans’s prayer. I was so touched by the homey atmosphere of Rosa’s kitchen and hospitality that I felt a lump in my throat and asked God to make me humble, to help me overcome all the horrors of the war.
“Aren’t you going to eat, my dear?” Rosa asked.
“Oh, yes, I’m sorry. I was just talking . . . I mean thinking . . . I mean saying my prayers.”
“That’s okay, talking. That’s the way God wants us to be. Just talk to Him and not recite some prayer that some wise man put in a book. God can understand all languages, all talk if it is sincere.”
I took my spoon and began to eat, suddenly feeling that if I didn’t start eating quickly, I might drool. How terrible, I thought. This was my first solid meal since our last visit to Yaintse. All of that now seemed so distant; here in this cozy kitchen, life seemed not to have changed for the past hundred years. I glanced at Hans, quickly remembering that the war was very real. This place seemed not to have been touched by it, and I prayed that it never would. I thought of Mother and our friends and looked at Rosa, wondering again at the great differences in people.
“Are you still talking to Him?” asked Hans.
“No,” I answered, “I’m enjoying this delicious goulash, and I’m afraid this dress is going to pop.”
The meal was finished, and nobody had said more than two words, yet it was the most enjoyable meal I could remember.
“Why don’t we do the dishes and let Rosa rest?” I said to Hans.
“Of course.”
“Oh, no,” Rosa said quickly, “you city folks don’t know how to wash dishes when there is no sink and running water.” She hustled around the stove, filling a large dish pan with water. She dropped the dishes in the pan, talking continuously, and before anyone could say anything they were washed, dried, and put away on a shelf along the wall, in individual little partitions.
“Now you, young man,” Rosa said still smiling, “could empty this water just under the chestnut tree in the back. It’s good for the trees to get dishwater.”
Hans picked up the dishpan, and I went to open the door for him.
“He sure is a nice young man,” Rosa said, “not at all like the rest of them in town, and he is an officer. Sure nice, not at all like the rest of the Germans.”
“He’s Austrian,” I said.
“Ah, what a shame. What a shame that those wonderful Austrian people had to fall under the swastika. I have a lot of Austrian friends. I used to go to Graz every year before the war. They have such beautiful music festivals.”
“I was wondering why you spoke such perfect German, but in the Austrian dialect.”
“Well, now you know. Good thing I speak it, or else we would have all sat here like dummies. I understand you also speak French, English, Russian, and Serbian. My, my, what a brain.”
“No, Rosa, not a brain. My mother wanted me to learn different languages. Now I’m sorry I never learned Hungarian.”
“Almost all Hungarians speak some German—maybe not too good, but they get by.”
Hans came back in with the empty pan. “The chestnut tree thanks you, Miss Rosa.”
We all laughed, feeling warm and comfortable seated by the stove with full stomachs.
“Miss Rosa,” Hans began.
“Just plain Rosa.”
“Rosa,” he continued, “you must excuse me, but we have a curfew. I have to be back at our quarters in Peĉs by 10:00 p.m., and it is almost 9:30. I do want to thank you for your wonderful hospitality and for graciously allowing Asya to stay here.”
“A young girl doesn’t belong up at headquarters, and anyway, I’m glad they didn’t want her. She’s just a child, and there are so many bad people these days. You just run along. Will you be back tomorrow?”
“I don’t know. Someone will be back for Asya, but I’m not sure if it will be me.”
“Well, God be with you, and if you can, you come back to see me. You are a fine young man.”
“Asya,” Hans said, turning to me, “would you walk with me to the car? Would you mind, Rosa?”
“No, no. Asya, go ahead and walk him to the car,” Rosa said. She looked sad to see him leave.
We walked out into a cold, clear night. The moon was high above the house, spreading silvery shades everywhere.
“I want to thank you for the wonderful trip we had together. Do you realize we have just formally met? That we traveled all this distance, went through several attacks together, and didn’t even know each other’s names?”
“I know, but names seem so completely unimportant the way things are.”
“I have no idea if we will see each other again. When I get back tonight, my orders might assign me to a different command. If I do have other orders, I know that the Colonel will send someone else to pick you up. I wish I could say something sophisticated. All I can say is that I wish we had met under different circumstances and that this was Vienna during peaceful times. That I could invite you to dinner and introduce you to my mother. What can I say?”
“Don’t say anything. Just good-bye and good luck. And God bless you.”
“Look, I almost forgot! Your suitcase is here in the car,” he said, handing it to me.
“Thank you, Hans.”
“I wish you all the luck in the world. If I don’t get back tomorrow, and if we should ever meet again, let’s hope that it will be after the war. Goodbye.” He got into the car, clearly trying not to look back.
I walked slowly into the house, refusing to look back as I heard the car drive slowly away. I found Rosa sitting next to the stove, busily knitting what looked like a sock, and she looked up to say, “That young man is sure a nice person. Not at all like the rest of the Germans in town.”
“Yes, but he is still wearing that uniform.”
“You don’t like them very much, do you?”
“How could I? Have you any idea what they have done to Belgrade?”
“I’ve heard.”
“I can’t ever forget the sight of mangled bodies . . . bodies of old people and children . . . parts of bodies sticking through smoldering ruins. Hearing of all the people dragged out to the street in the middle of the night to be shot because someone had shot a German soldier.” I covered my eyes and began to cry at remembering. “No, I think I forgot for a short time because I feel so alone, so lost. I just get so tired, so lonely and lost. I’m sorry, Rosa. I don’t mean to cry,” I said, drying my eyes, “but sometimes I get this big lump in my throat, and I know that I must cry or I’ll simply die.”
“Your parents are still alive, aren’t they?”
“My parents? Yes, they’re still alive, or at least I hope they are. When I left, there was such confusion that I really didn’t know what was going on. They told me that they would try to get out quickly, and if everything goes well, we will meet in Vienna. We have some good friends there. I don’t know where my parents are now. I hope on their way to Vienna.”
“Well,” Rosa said, “rumors are going around the town that the Germans will pull out of here in just a matter of days. Some say the Russian army is moving toward Hungary. I don’t know what is going to happen here in Peĉs either. I just hope and pray that whatever happens, there will be no death and bloodshed. Here I am gabbing and keeping you awake. I’ve fixed your bed, and you can wash up here in the kitchen because it’s the only warm room in the house.” Rosa left the room, returning in just a minute to hand me soap, towel, and a flannel nightgown. “I’ll be back to say good night, dear.”
As Rosa left the kitchen, I washed and began to undress, slowly, in anticipation of the snuggly warmth of the flowery flannel nightgown. The nightgown was too big, the sleeves and shoulders we
re much too large, and it dragged on the floor, but it felt so cozy. I left the kitchen to enter the room where Rosa had prepared a bed for me.
The room was very homey, plain but so very cozy, with hand-woven rugs, windows that reached all the way to the floor, and starched white curtains. Simple pictures hung on a wall: scenes of a field being plowed and a still life with fruit and a pitcher of wine.
A night table stood next to the bed, and an old-fashioned clock ticked loudly. The bed had a simple frame with a spring and a very thin mattress, but on top of the mattress, Rosa had placed several feather-beds, then a fresh white sheet, then several down-filled comforters. As I was admiring and anticipating it, Rosa came to tuck me in with a plain, gentle good night.
As I snuggled down into the bed, I felt like a little bug lost between the fluffy soft feather beds and the layers of soft down-filled comforters. The window was slightly open. Cold, fresh air and a silvery glow from the moon entered the room. I was so terribly tired, but sleep just would not come. I couldn’t stop thinking of the experience of my first kiss and the maddening feeling that it had created in me. I wondered if the guilt I felt remembering it was why I had told Rosa about German atrocities in Belgrade.
I did feel guilty about the kiss. But why? Was it an awful sin? Was I losing my self-respect and pride? Would I feel as guilty if my first kiss had come from someone other than a German? Austrian, perhaps, but that uniform . . .
I felt ashamed, not because of the kiss but because of the way it had made me feel and because those feelings had been aroused by a German. But was it so wrong to kiss? Again and again some inner voice whispered, “Not the kiss, but the German . . . not the kiss, but the German.”
If this was to have been an “awakening,” it was the wrong time, the wrong war, the wrong uniform! I again began to think about the kiss and felt a blush come over me, remembering how weak and listless I had felt when he kissed me. “Oh, God,” I prayed, “please make me forget it, and I promise that it will never happen again. Never! Not a German—ever!” and I finally fell sound asleep.
When I next opened my eyes it was to find the room flooded in daylight and a wonderful smell drifting from the kitchen—ham. The starched white curtains moved gently, and the cool morning air was refreshing. The bed was so cozy and warm I didn’t want to get up. It had been so long since I had slept in a clean bed, and I even had that delightful bath in the elegant home of Rosa’s sister. Oh, what a blissful and restful night it was after I fell asleep. I stretched slowly, not wanting to leave this cozy nest for fear that it might be the last time I could sleep in such a comfortable bed. I stretched slowly again, turning my head toward the night table, to notice with at least mild alarm that it was already 10:00 a.m. Heavens, I should have been up long ago.
I jumped out of bed, and the icy cold floors woke me quickly. I closed the window, stretched again, and ran toward the wonderful smells coming from the kitchen, picking up the hem of the nightgown as it dragged on the floor.
“Good morning, Rosa. I’m sorry I slept so late.”
“Young people need sleep,” she replied with a cheerful smile. “You are still growing, and sleep is very important. Come now, dear, do you like ham?”
“Ham,” I answered. “I have forgotten what it tastes like. The smell is making me almost dizzy.”
“A cousin of mine,” Rosa began, “lives some thirty kilometers from here in the middle of nowhere. They have a huge farm, and about every other month I hitch up my horse and buggy and go out there to get half a smoked pig. They have a large smokehouse, and it’s always full.”
“Your cousin is lucky,” I said, remembering Jovanka and Mirko. “Our farmers back home have absolutely nothing. Their livestock was the first to go, and each year they are stripped of their crops and have to hide and bury whatever they can to try and keep something for themselves.”
“Oh, this blasted war,” Rosa said. “So much grief, so much sorrow.”
“Can I help with something, Rosa?”
“You could set out a couple of plates and mugs. I shouldn’t be eating again. While you were sleeping, I milked my cow and had breakfast. But I’m not young and don’t have to worry about my looks. So I’ll eat again just to keep you company.” she said, smiling sheepishly and wiping her strong hands on her apron.
“The winter will soon be upon us,” she observed, biting enthusiastically into a piece of ham.
“In winter the trees look like hungry beggars on the streets. I hate winters,” I said, “but not as much as autumn, when it seems the whole world is dying.”
“But the autumn is so beautiful.”
“Yes, but it’s so sad. Maybe the reason everything gets so beautiful is because as nature dies away, God reminds people that we should not forget that spring beauty is ahead. My mother said that she wants to die in spring, when the world is lovely. But I want to die in the autumn, because I want to die with nature. The only difference is that I will not come back.”
“My, my, what ghastly thoughts for such a young girl.”
“Well, we all have to die sometime, and I would like to think that I could choose the time of year for my death.”
“You shouldn’t be talking about death. How about if we go into Peĉs and see if we can get you a pair of shoes?” Rosa said brightly.
“Oh, that would be wonderful. Oh, that reminds me of something,” I said, jumping up from the table. I ran back to my room, opened my suitcase, and took out the camera that terribly wounded German boy had given to me during my last days in Belgrade. I rushed back to hand it to Rosa.
“I don’t have any money, Rosa. But could you trade this for shoes and maybe a little money to help pay for the things you got yesterday?”
“Well,” Rosa answered, “this is a very nice camera. I think it’s worth much more than the shoes and the few things I got yesterday. Are you sure you shouldn’t keep it?”
“No, Rosa, I know I’ll never use it, and if you can trade it, it will help me to feel that I’m contributing something.”
“All right. Now, you know what else I did this morning? There is a wealthy family in the village that has a daughter just about your age. So I went there while you were sleeping and asked the lady if she perhaps had a coat for you because it’s starting to get so cold. Just wait and see what I managed to talk her out of, for just a few pounds of ham,” Rosa said, smiling happily and rushing from the room.
“Here, look,” she said, returning to open a bundle on the table. “There is a pretty coat with a fur collar, a skirt, and a blouse. Here, let’s try the coat on.” She stood with the coat spread in front of her, a broad, childish smile on her face. “That’s why I thought we could go and get you a new pair of shoes to go with the pretty coat.”
I smiled and slipped the coat on, a beige wool coat with a brown fur collar, and found that it fit perfectly. It looked new.
“My, don’t you look pretty. Here, take it off, and try on the skirt and blouse, and we’ll fix your braids. Don’t ever cut your braids, Asya.”
“Rosa, how can I ever thank you?” I said, feeling tears welling up. “It’s so hard to find the right words when you want to express what you feel inside.”
“Words don’t mean much. Sometimes it’s what you don’t say that counts. Here, let’s fix you all up,” Rosa said, hurriedly pushing a tear off her face as her large nose reddened. She nervously adjusted her apron and helped me out of the coat. “Oh, the lady I got the coat from told me that there is a lot of activity in the village. The Germans were loading their trucks and assembling in the square. I wonder if that means they are pulling out.”
“Oh, Rosa, maybe we shouldn’t go this morning then. Whenever there is a commotion like that, it often means trouble and shooting. I’m afraid.”
“Maybe you’re right. Let’s stay home for a while and see what happens.”
I tried on the clothes and decided to wear them—a dark brown skirt and beige blouse, apparently a set. I combed out my hair and braided it into a
single braid. “Look, Rosa, I feel like I’m going to a ball.”
“You do look so pretty,” Rosa said. “But the shoes . . . oh, those shoes. Your toes are sticking out.”
“That’s all right, Rosa. They will ventilate my feet. God knows when I might get another bath,” I said, smiling to cover my sadness at viewing the torn shoes. Oh well, I thought to myself. I have a warm coat and a pretty skirt. Who cares about shoes anyway? I’m glad I’m still alive. But will I ever see Belgrade again? Ever be able to walk through those thick green woods and smell the flowers? Ever get to lie down on the lush moss in Koshutnjak or run through the meadows in Yaintse saying hello to all the cows? Will I ever see Mama and Papa again? Maybe not.
The thought of my parents brought some strange anxiety flooding over me. What if I never see them again? Would that be so bad? Then I will be free, free to do what I want to do, to say what I want to say, to act the way I want to act, to be me and not what they want me to be. Strange, I don’t miss my parents. I miss the crooked streets of Belgrade, the old fortress overlooking the Sava and Danube, the woods, the meadows, Gypsy Island, but not Mama and Papa. What is wrong with me? I heard my name being called from far away, off in the distance, or was it here in this room where a strange woman had taken more interest in me than I thought Mother ever had.
“Asya, what’s the matter? Are you all right?”
I turned slowly to see Rosa and Hans standing there, staring at me.
“Hans, I thought you would be hundreds of miles away by now.”
“You’re the one who is far away. I’ve asked you something several times now, but you didn’t answer.”
“I’m sorry, Hans. Lieutenant. I was just thinking.”
“I’m afraid we have no time for that. We are moving out in less than three hours. This will be your only chance to get to Vienna.”
I looked over at Rosa, who was busily packing my suitcase, not even bothering to wipe the tears that ran down her face as she turned toward me.
“May God bless you, my child, and may you find your family in Vienna.”
“Oh, Rosa,” I said as we embraced, both crying as Hans grabbed the suitcase and hurried to the car. “Thank you for everything, and may God spare you and the people of Peĉs from bloodshed and bombs and . . . and maybe someday when this is all over I can come back again and . . . Rosa, do you think this war will ever end? Oh, Rosa, I’m so afraid. I want to go home, back to Belgrade.”
Ancient Furies Page 28
