Ancient Furies

by Anastasia V. Saporito

  “Your soul!” he answered firmly. “Your basic goodness, dignity, and respect. Respect for yourself above all. Remember that! It looks very bleak right now, I know, but your mother and I were not very much older when we had to start all anew in a strange land.”

  “Yes, but you had each other.”

  “That’s true, but you have God and love in your heart, which is more important than another person on such a journey.”

  “Papa, I’m frightened. I don’t even know these two men.”

  “They are all right,” he said, trying to reassure me again. “They gave me their word of honor that they will see to it that you are well taken care of and set on the right path. After all, a word of honor is a very serious thing. Now, you must give me your word of honor that you will always remember and be proud of who you are. That you will always listen to your inner voice, always listen to your soul, because that is where God is, and as long as he is there, there is nothing you cannot overcome and nothing ahead of you to fear.”

  He embraced me then and rocked me gently as he had so many, many years before. I could feel his tears falling on my head. A car pulled up in front of the house, and two men got out. Yes, I remembered seeing them once or twice at the forced labor camp, around Herr Mueller’s office. They were engineers for the Emil Bentin Company.

  Father introduced me to them. Herr Behrens, the chief engineer, is the only name I remember. Father took my suitcase and placed it in the back seat. I sat next to it and placed the ugly fur coat on my lap. Father blessed me and shut the door. He stood outside and spoke to the two men for a few minutes, then the men got into the car and we pulled away. I turned back to wave good-bye to Father. Tears were streaming down his face, but in an instant my vision was blurred as tears filled my eyes, and I could no longer make out Father’s figure.

  I turned and began to dry my eyes, choking back more tears, realizing that I was also leaving Mother behind, that even her grave was being left.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Hamburg

  I sat back in the seat, looking all around, trying desperately to put my last view of Father, tears streaming down his face, out of my mind. I remembered when I arrived in Vienna and felt so confidant, so determined to get by on my own without Mother or Father, and how disappointed I had been when reunited with them. But I was far less confidant now. My experiences in the forced labor camp and the horrific death of Mother left me far less sure of the future and of myself.

  The large Mercedes-Benz sedan in which we were riding was extremely comfortable, and the radio was playing American tunes. How strange it was to be sitting in a typical Nazi automobile listening to American music, when a few weeks earlier, radios played only victorious marches, Goebbels’s unpleasant voice spewing lies, and Hitler’s raving, guttural speeches, exhortations to “final victory.” All that was history now.

  The two men talked to each other as we drove, but I didn’t listen or speak to them except for a polite “Oh, how terrible, not a house standing” or “That’s a nice song on the radio” without ever receiving an answer. As it grew dark, the chief engineer, the only one of the two that ever spoke to me, turned to say.

  “We are going to stay at this inn tonight.”

  The car pulled to a stop in front of a Gasthaus. The men checked in, and after eating a bowl of soup and a sandwich, I went up to my room while they stayed behind to drink some beer. The room was tiny, and I quickly washed up in a bathroom down the hall. Exhausted, I didn’t even remember falling asleep when a knock at the door told me it was time to get up. We left right after a quick breakfast, the men anxious to reach their homes before nightfall.

  After several hours we began driving through endless mounds of rubble, and the broken, uneven skyline made me believe we must be entering Hamburg.

  “Are we in Hamburg now?” I asked.

  “No,” the chief replied, “we are just entering Altona, a large settlement on the outskirts of Hamburg.”

  It looked menacing with almost every building destroyed and only jagged ruins to be seen. The air was chilly now, and I was grateful for the ugly fur coat.

  “How terrible, everyone must be dead. Is Hamburg just as bombed-out as Altona?”

  “Worse,” replied the chief, “but the people aren’t dead. They learned how to survive the bombs. Only the buildings have been destroyed, not the German spirit.”

  Suddenly I was aware of the ugly, guttural tone of his answer. I didn’t respond, but I remembered Father’s warning a few days before—“We’ll be like a bad tooth. They won’t want us around anymore”—and it made me uneasy.

  It had grown dark by the time we stopped in Hamburg, in front of a damaged building located next to a train or trolley overpass. The dim glow from street lights made the neighboring ruins look bigger, more menacing. A Gasthaus sign over the front door was dimly lit.

  “Well, here we are,” one said. “You wait here, and we’ll make arrangements for the night.”

  The other man took my suitcase inside. They were gone for only a few minutes and as they returned, the chief engineer said, “All right, everything is arranged.”

  “Aren’t you staying here, too?” I asked, alarmed.

  “No, our homes are a bit less than an hour’s drive from here. So we’ll just get going, but we will be back in the morning to look in on you and make sure you get settled. Maybe we can help you find a job or something.”

  “Oh,” I said, “that’s very nice. Thank you very much. You’ll see your families tonight and come back in the morning to check and help me?”

  “Yes, yes,” said the other man, the one who had carried my suitcase in. “Oh, and here are a few marks so you can get yourself something to eat.”

  “But you did pay for my room, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, yes, and tomorrow morning we’ll be back and settle the whole affair. The money, the jewelry, and whatnot that your Father gave us to keep for you. All that we’ll straighten out tomorrow, but for now you get a good night’s sleep. We had better be going. Our families are waiting for us.”

  The car drove quickly away into the night, leaving me standing on the sidewalk holding that ugly fur coat in the dim glow of the Gasthaus sign. “What nice men,” I thought. “They’ve found me a room for tonight and they’ll be back in the morning to help me begin to face the world all on my own.” I turned to walk into the building.

  It looked as though it once had been a pleasant place, but the war had clearly taken its toll. The plaster had fallen from some of the walls, and the ceiling had been patched in several places. The furniture looked comfortable but badly worn or damaged. There were several tables in the room, and a floor lamp in each corner provided dim light for the entire room.

  Just ahead of me was the desk. Swinging doors behind it led to the kitchen. To the left was a staircase, lath showing on both walls now almost bare of plaster. My suitcase stood on the floor by the staircase, and I walked to it and placed the fur coat on top of it.

  “I suppose you’re hungry and want something to eat before you go upstairs?” a voice behind me asked.

  “Yes, I would like something to eat.” I answered, turning to see an enormous fat lady standing with her hands on her hips. I had never seen such heavy makeup, never such red-painted lips. Her face was covered with a heavy layer of powder, and black hair was piled on top of her head with a few restless strands hanging over the fat neck. I looked around the room then. An old man sat at one table with a younger man, and a couple sat at another.

  My eyes had become accustomed to the dim light, and I could see the faces of the people sitting in the room. I felt that everyone was staring at me, and I was ashamed because my clothes didn’t fit. My legs looked as white as the fat lady’s powdered face, and my shoes were two sizes too big.

  I tried to smooth my hair, wishing I had a mirror so that I could see myself, but immediately decided I was glad I didn’t have a mirror. I was certain I looked ridiculous and out of place. The other customers were dre
ssed modestly, but at least their clothes all fit them, and the fat woman and the only woman customer both wore stockings. I walked to the far end of the room where no one was sitting.

  “We have soup, and I’ll bring you some sausage and bread,” the fat woman said. “Do you want beer with it or schnapps?”

  “Neither, I don’t like it. Maybe just some water.” I didn’t want to say that I had never tasted beer or schnapps.

  “She doesn’t like it,” the fat woman said, not to me but to the rest of the room in general as she waddled off. “Water is probably contaminated. You’ll get sick. Nobody drinks water.”

  She returned with a tray in few minutes, and the smell of homemade soup, dark bread, and sausage made me terribly hungry.

  “Neither. I don’t like it,” she said with a laugh. “Well, maybe a little champagne would be all right. I don’t know why people are so fussy. They should be glad there’s still some beer left to drink, ha, ha.”

  Her heavy body swayed from side to side as she walked back toward the serving counter. She didn’t address anyone in particular. Evidently whoever wanted to listen, it was fine with her. I ate quickly, anxious to go to my room.

  “Where is my room, please?”

  “It’s one flight up,” the woman answered noncommittally, “second door to the left. There are no lights in the hallway, so watch your step. The stairs are old.”

  The stairway was unlit, except for the light from the dining area. The hallway above was lit only by a window at each end through which dim light from the streetlights entered. I stepped carefully and found the second door to the left, opened it, and turned the switch on. An iron bed with a thin mattress and a thin blanket stood against one wall, a night table next to it. The floor was bare. A porcelain basin and matching pitcher stood in front of a mirror on an old dresser, a wooden chair next it. A bare light bulb hung from a wire in the middle of the ceiling. A single window with no shade or curtain overlooked the ruin next door.

  The water pitcher was filled with ice-cold water, and I poured some into the basin. A small piece of brown soap and a thin towel were next to the basin, and I washed my face. I got my comb out of the suitcase, and wished that I had a toothbrush. That was a luxury I hadn’t had in a long time. I rubbed my finger over the brown soap and then across my teeth, rinsing my mouth into a bucket next to the dresser and emptying the basin into it as well.

  I looked in the mirror, noticing how very thin my face had become, making my dark eyes appear even larger. I was skinny, my hair hung lifeless over my shoulders, and I noticed for the first time that it was beginning to darken. “Good,” I thought, “at least I won’t be asked about my ‘Aryan’ blood anymore.” The room was cold, the floor very cold, and I shivered from the chill and loneliness. I crept to the bed, and sleep came almost immediately.

  The next morning after a breakfast of tea with bread and a little cheese, I asked if the men from Hamburg had returned yet. The man at the desk, the proprietor and husband of the fat woman from the previous night, didn’t know what I was talking about. He walked over to his wife, who stood at the other end of the counter looking as though she had never been to bed and wearing the same scarlet lipstick and thick face powder.

  As they finished conversing, she came over to say that I should just wait for a while.

  “Some other girls should arrive soon,” she added, ignoring my inquiry.

  “Aren’t the two engineers coming back soon? Did they tell you what time they would be back?”

  “You mean the two men who paid for your room last night?”

  “Yes.”

  “All they told me was that you were looking for work and that they would pay for one nights lodging, and then they took off.”

  “Why, yes, I am looking for work, but they are supposed to come back this morning and give me the money and things that my Papa gave them to keep for me.”

  The fat woman’s brows shot up as she broke into loud laughter. “Do you know their names?” she asked. “How much money did your father give them?”

  I felt as though someone was squeezing, crushing my heart. Dear God, I don’t know their names, only that they work for a large firm called Emil Bentin. I could perhaps try to call the firm, but I don’t remember the name of the man that had the money. Was it Behrens? How can I ask for them? I felt panic sweeping over me.

  “I know the name of the firm,” I said. “Emil Bentin.”

  “Child, there isn’t a thing left standing in Hamburg, and if it’s an industrial firm it’s been leveled. Everything in Hamburg has been leveled. The phones are out of order. Only a few emergency numbers are working. It has been a hell of a war. I don’t even know where my own mother is, and you want to find two men from a firm that is probably no longer . . . ha, ha.”

  Suddenly her mouth looked like a huge bloody hole, and I felt repulsed and frightened. Her husband tugged at her sleeve, pulling her toward the kitchen, and they began to speak in low voices. I moved to sit at a table, trying to think what to do next. They gave Papa their word of honor that they would take care of me and help me find a job, and they said themselves last night that they would be back this morning. Well, maybe they are just a little late. A word of honor is a sacred thing. You never give it unless you sincerely mean it and are going to follow through . . . to keep your word. I grew a little calmer then, believing in the seriousness of a given “word of honor.”

  “What is your name?” a voice asked, and I looked to see the proprietor standing next to me.

  “Asya,” I answered. “Well, it’s Anastasia, but it’s such a long name that everyone uses the diminutive.”

  “You aren’t German, are you? No, of course not. Look, have you ever worked in a place like this?”

  “No, but I’m willing to wash dishes or sweep floors or whatever. Maybe make up the beds in the guest rooms.”

  “Look,” he interrupted, “this is no longer a hotel . . . not as you know it. This is a place where men come because their wives are dead or they are lonely and have no one. They come here looking for a girl, and we provide girls with room and board who entertain them.” He broke off then, noticing that little was registering with me.

  “This is like a brothel, a whorehouse. Do you understand what I’m saying? Look,” he said, “get your suitcase and get out of here. Dear God, you’re just a child. I should have been here when those two dropped you off. I would have shoved them out of here.”

  I sat there stunned, my eyes wide, unblinking. I couldn’t move. Mother’s words, “like a dirty little prostitute . . . like a dirty little prostitute,” were running through my mind over and over.

  “Where were those two supposed to take you? What nationality are you?” he asked. “Where are you from?”

  “Yugoslavia” I answered absently, almost in a whisper, unable to move, frozen in my chair.

  “Now listen to me,” he said. “Come now, listen to me,” and he patted me gently on the shoulder. “There is a Yugoslavian displaced persons camp not too far from here. I don’t know exactly where, but I’ll find out. Listen,” he shifted in his chair, still patting my shoulder, “I’ll get your suitcase down, and we can take a trolley. Some of them are running again, and I’ll help you find the camp. It’s not too far from here. We can get there in a couple of hours. I know approximately where it is. Oh, this damned war.”

  I sat there, unable to move or to say a word. I was in shock, my mind a complete blank, unable even to think. He returned in a moment with my suitcase, and putting the ugly fur coat over my shoulders, gently pushed me toward the front door, his wife grumbling behind us as we walked out.

  After a long trolley ride through nothing but ruins lining both sides of the street, we walked for about an hour. Morning fog was just lifting over the area we were walking in, and the wail of a ship’s horn added to my gloom. I was very cold, despite the fur coat that almost dragged the sidewalk.

  “There, you see those wooden barracks just ahead of us?” the proprietor said, break
ing the silence. “You see where the British troops are? That’s where your camp is. Good luck to you, and I’m sorry that you were so misled. Well, good luck,” and he turned and walked away.

  I didn’t know if he heard my faint “thank you.” In truth, of course, he was a very good-hearted man who helped me in a time of desperate need. I reached into the pocket of the fur coat and took out the identification paper that Father had obtained for me in Blankenburg.

  “Is this the Yugoslavian camp?” I asked the guard at the gate.

  “Yes,” he answered. “Just go to the barracks on your left. That is the main office. They will admit you there.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I say, it’s jolly good to hear at least one of you who speaks the language. It will be a great help, I dare say,” the guard’s voice trailed behind me as I walked toward the office.

  There was no difficulty establishing that I was from Yugoslavia, and after a few questions—“Are you married? Are you traveling alone?”—I was assigned to Barrack B. This was for single women and was about three-fourths filled with women, sitting on the beds, alone, or in small groups, chatting rather happily.

  Hearing the Serbian language all around helped me to relax, to feel secure. I found an empty bed, lifted my suitcase onto it, and as I looked around, there were welcoming smiles from all the women. The other women were very helpful, explaining that hot showers were located in the building next door and that the next meal would be served at 6:30. I had just missed lunch. They offered me cigarettes, chocolate, and some cookies, but I declined. All I wanted was a hot shower, to feel a stream of hot water flowing over me. I was exhausted and felt terribly dirty, but at least I felt safe.

  The shower building had six shower stalls and as many sinks, with mirrors and lots of soap. The room was deserted, and I took advantage of it, scrubbing myself several times, just letting the hot water wash over my body. I washed the clothes I had been wearing in a sink, shocked at how filthy they were.