by Evans, Mike
We walked out to the front porch, then made our way slowly around the house to the garden. Aunt Haya suggested I tell him what happened at the market and I recounted the incident for him. When I finished, he had a thoughtful look. “You are certain Maria arranged this?”
“Yes,” I nodded. “That was the way it seemed.” “And why do you think she did that?”
“I don’t know, but she was suspicious when the others were here.” “Yes,” he nodded. “You almost said too much.”
“I know.” I looked away and dropped my chin. “I should have been more careful.”
“It was a mistake,” Uncle Alois smiled. “But you learned from it.”
“I felt certain Gabino was trying to trick me into showing him the basement room.”
“More likely,” Uncle Alois observed, “he wanted you to admit it was there and that Haya was involved in hiding people.”
“That would have been worse,” Aunt Haya added.
“In this business, our mistakes not only endanger us, they endanger many others as well.”
I turned to Aunt Haya. “That’s when I remembered what you said about not telling anyone about the room. So I just walked away from him.”
“I am glad you did,” she smiled.
The three of us continued to talk as we made our way through the garden and around to the front porch again. When we reached the steps, Uncle Alois suggested I might like a treat—ice cream or a soft drink. Aunt Haya agreed, though she declined to accompany us.
Uncle Alois and I took Oscar’s car and drove across the river to a café on the south side of town. He had coffee and I had an orange-flavored soda. We sat at a table near the wall and talked of the latest news from home: Papa and the increasing difficulty he encountered running the shop, Mama and her role playing violin with the orchestra, and David still in school. Hearing about them made me happy, even if it reminded me that they were far away.
When we had finished our drinks we returned to the car. Uncle Alois drove slowly through town, looping past the railway station on what I was sure was the longest way back to the house. While we rode through the streets of Cordova, we talked about what was happening.
“Aunt Haya and Oscar are really helping people get to Palestine?” “Yes,” he grinned. “They really are. And you are helping them.” “They say you are helping.”
“We are doing this together.” “Isn’t that illegal?”
“Somewhat,” he laughed. “For the British, at least.” “But not for us?”
“Not for the Spanish. They don’t mind how many people go to Palestine.”
“What about in Austria?”
“The Austrian government has tried for years to get rid of the Jews. They would be glad if we all moved there.”
“So if you help Jews leave Austria, you are helping the Austrian government, too?”
“Yes,” he chuckled. “I suppose I am. I’m helping the governments of Austria, Spain, and the settlers in Palestine.” His eyes opened wider. “And Germany and France as well.” We both laughed together and for a moment it seemed like nothing had changed between us, but we both knew nothing would ever be the same again.
An hour later, we crossed the river and turned onto the street that led to Aunt Haya’s house. As we neared the driveway, I saw three police cars parked at the curb. Another was parked on the driveway near the front steps to the house. Two officers stood on the porch with Maria between them. As we slowly drove past the house, the officers escorted her down the steps.
Uncle Alois steered us around the patrol cars and we continued up the street. “Do not be afraid,” he said reassuringly. “It is for the best.”
“I’m not afraid. I was expecting something like this.” “You are a very perceptive young lady.”
“Mama says I’m nosy.”
“Not nosey,” he waggled his finger. “Curious.” “Curious?”
“You have a natural curiosity about things. I noticed if from you when you were just a little girl. When you see things, you want to know why, or how. You don’t even have to make yourself do it. Those questions naturally spring to your mind.” As he talked, a wide grin spread across my face. He was right and we both knew it. “Don’t worry,” he nudged me playfully on the shoulder. “That’s one of the traits that makes for a great lawyer.”
Thirty minutes later we were back at the house and the police were gone. Oscar and Aunt Haya were waiting for us on the porch.
Uncle Alois stood with his thumbs hooked casually in the waistband of his trousers. “I see you confirmed what we already suspected.”
“Yes,” Oscar nodded. “They already had her under surveillance.” Their conversation puzzled me. “What are you talking about?”
“The police arrested Maria,” Oscar replied. “She was working to destroy the monarchy.”
“But why?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“I think we’re beyond that,” Uncle Alois suggested. Then he turned to me. “Maria was part of an organization known as The Popular Front, a group working to overthrow the monarchy.”
“Were they after me?”
“No,” Oscar answered. “You were never their primary concern.”
“In fact,” Uncle Alois grinned, “your information about what happened in the market was the tip they needed. You connected Maria to Gabino’s parents. Once they made that connection, they arrested her.”
“And Gabino’s parents were arrested?”
“That part of what Gabino told you was true,” Uncle Alois nodded. “His parents were arrested last week. But the rest of it was a lie. He’s been staying with Maria’s cousin.”
“So it really was a trap.” “A serious one.”
“But we still have one serious issue remaining,” Aunt Haya said grimly.
“What?” Oscar frowned.
“With Maria gone, who’s going to cook dinner?”
“It will take some time to find a new housekeeper,” Oscar observed. “Until then, you and Sarah will have to do your own chores.”
“We can do that,” I agreed.
“Cooking, cleaning, gardening, market.” Oscar ticked them off on his fingers.
“We will manage,” Aunt Haya insisted. Then she looked over at me. “But we will have to work together.”
“We could find you another place,” Oscar suggested. “Something more manageable.”
“Nonsense,” Aunt Haya scoffed. “I’ve been in this house since I married Carlos. I’m not about to move.” She took Uncle Alois by the arm and leaned against him. “Come inside. We still have things to talk about.”
Life without a housekeeper was a little more difficult than I first imagined, but it soon settled into a rhythm—study in the morning, lunch, a trip to the market, followed by cleaning, gardening, more study at night, and sleep. Oscar and Aunt Haya continued to harbor people at the house, but with Maria no longer there, the guests were free to move about the upper floors, using the basement room only to hide when someone else came by.
As the years passed and I grew older, I paid more attention to the news and to events around me. I developed a greater awareness of just how vulnerable Jews were in Europe and of the sentiment gathering against us—discontentment in Germany over the way the Armistice was handled following the Great War; pervasive blame of the Jews as the real source of trouble; and deep divisions in Spain pitting Nationalists against the monarchy, workers and laborers against land owners and capitalists.
Nationalist groups continued to operate in the countryside but were largely ineffective until Francisco Franco defected from the army to join them. Very quickly he became the leader of the Popular Front, the same group to which Gabino’s parents and Maria had belonged. The unrest they created put serious pressure on the Spanish government, first in the form of general strikes and later through military action, several times threatening to bring the government to an end. Oscar worked hard to stay on top of the latest developments, hoping to maintain his relationship with th
e existing government while developing new ones with the Nationalists. The chaos that often enveloped Cordova actually worked to our benefit. With so many people coming and going, no one paid any attention to visitors at the house.
At the same time, Haya’s health continued to deteriorate, first confining her to the house, then to the second floor, and finally to her bed. As she became incapacitated, I gradually took over the task of running the household. My cooking wasn’t that great at first but Aunt Haya never complained and I learned to make it better. Refugees who stayed with us pitched in to assist but even with that, cleaning and washing occupied most of my day. Many days, studying was limited to an hour or two in the morning and a few minutes at night before I fell asleep. Aunt Haya did her best to keep my mind active by engaging me in lively discussions of Jewish traditions and Spanish history. Most of those conversations were held in the evening while she lay in bed.
In the spring when I turned seventeen, Oscar arrived with news of rumors that the Nationalists would soon attack Cordova in an all-out push to gain control of the entire district. They had been fighting to the south and east but now Franco’s troops also were amassing to the west.
“If they attack,” Oscar worried, “the city will not fall easily. This could be a prolonged battle. Living conditions will become quite dangerous and miserable.”
“What should we do?”
“You and Mother should go to the mountains,” he suggested. “I know of a cabin that will be available. It will be much easier for you there. Here, the house is simply too large.”
“You mean go to the hills above Cordova? That hardly seems worth the trouble.”
“No, the mountains east of Granada.”
“Out of the question,” I objected. “Haya is not well enough. She can’t travel like that. The trip alone would kill her.”
“I’m not leaving,” Haya announced from her bed. “If I must die, I want to die in my own home. I gave birth to my children here, I raised my family here—this is where I want to be, regardless of the consequences.” Oscar tried to convince her to leave, but she insisted on staying and I would not abandon her.
* * *
A few months later, the Nationalists still had not attacked, though there were continual reports about forces gathering around the city and food was sometimes in short supply. Perhaps I was young and naive, but in those days I never gave much thought to what the fighting might mean to us. My primary concern was Aunt Haya. As time went by, breathing became more difficult for her and she coughed constantly, often spitting up bloody clumps of mucus. Most days she suffered from persistent fever, followed at night by profuse sweating, which meant her bedclothes had to be changed and washed daily. All the while her weight continued to drop. Many times I wanted to call a doctor but she refused to allow it. Near the end of his life, Haya’s husband, Carlos, developed the same symptoms. A doctor prescribed medication for him but Aunt Haya was convinced it only made him worse.
One afternoon, late in the summer, I went up to Aunt Haya’s bedroom with tea and a few small cakes arranged on a tray. We were in the habit of making it our supper, which we consumed together—her propped in bed, me sitting at her bedside in one of the straight-backed chairs. That evening as I came through the doorway, I saw her lying there, eyes closed, head slumped to one side. Her mouth gaped open and her tongue lay to one side. I knew she was no longer alive.
I set the tray on a bedside table and leaned over her, putting my ear near her nose. When I heard no sound of her breathing, I pressed my ear to her chest. There was no sound from her heart and her chest did not move. Tears filled my eyes.
Through the window to the west I saw the last rays of sunlight receding below the horizon. Darkness was close behind. I sat beside her on the bed and watched as shadows in the room faded into the blackness of night. After a while, I switched on the lamp by her bed. I thought of covering her body as Mama and I had covered Grandma years before, but she was already in bed with the covers to her chin, so I pulled the sheet a little higher and draped it over her face. Then I went downstairs to the phone in the hall and called Oscar.
Later that night, women from the burial society came to the house and prepared Aunt Haya for burial. A rabbi arrived at midmorning the next day and conducted a private funeral. Shortly after noon, I rode with Oscar to a cemetery on the north side of town and placed her in a grave. There were no friends or family present, just the two of us with men from the burial society who filled in the grave.
From the cemetery, we drove through town in silence. Then, as we passed the central market, Oscar cleared his throat and glanced over at me. “Sarah.” His voice was tense. “I think it is time for you to return to Austria.”
His words caught me off guard and I looked at him for a moment, unable to respond. Then finally I managed to ask, “But…why?” Since arriving in Cordova everyone told me that Austria was no longer a safe place for me to live and that I could never return there. I had not believed them at first, but now, after almost six years, I was convinced they were right. Returning to Linz would be a step back and the thought of doing so made me ill.
“Cordova is no longer a good place for you.” Oscar used words he’d said many times before, only now as a reason I should leave. “Nationalists control most of the surrounding region. All but the city is in their hands. Soon there will be full-scale war.”
I found his arguments disingenuous. He had said the same thing many times before and yet war had not come. I wanted to argue with him about that but I resisted the impulse and focused on the matter at hand. “Can’t I go on to Palestine?”
“You have no money, and right now I am not in a position to facilitate such a trip.”
“Then what should I do?” I was frustrated and on the verge of tears, but I willed myself not to cry, not in front of him.
“I am going to Granada,” he said with a hint of cheer in his voice. “You must return to Austria.”
“Is returning to Austria any better than remaining here?”
“I do not think it is as bad as they say. At any rate, you cannot stay here now. Perhaps in a year or two you may return.”
“A year or two?”
“Look.” His voice was sharp and his face even more serious than before. “There’s a train leaving in the morning, probably one of the last to leave the city. I’ll pick you up around eight and see you to the station. I can pay for your way back to Linz, but that’s all I can do.”
“Just like that?” I threw my hands in the air in a gesture of frustration. “After all these years, that’s it?”
“I’m sorry.” He turned away and looked out the side window. “It must be this way.”
When we arrived back at the house, workmen were moving the furniture from the house and loading it onto a truck. I came from the car, mouth agape at the awful sight. “What are they doing?”
Oscar placed his hand on my shoulder. “I had hoped they would be finished by now and at least spare you the pain of seeing this.”
“What are they doing?” I tried to move toward them but he stopped me.
A man dressed in an army uniform came from the house and approached us. He glanced at me but quickly turned his attention to Oscar. “The paperwork is waiting for you on the dining table.” He gestured with his thumb over his shoulder. “See that you sign it in the places noted.”
“I’ll take care of it now,” Oscar replied.
“I’ll be back to get it in an hour,” the officer continued. “The workmen should be finished by then.” He nodded to me, stepped around Oscar, and disappeared behind the truck.
I followed Oscar inside. “Paperwork? What paperwork? What’s he talking about? What are you doing?”
“The government is taking the house,” Oscar explained in an officious tone.
“Taking it?” I shouted. “Just like that? They can’t just take it.” “They’re paying me for it. Not what I could have gotten for it a few years ago, but at least it’s something. Enough to get
me started again in Granada.”
“This is why you’re sending me home?”
“This is why you can’t stay here any longer.” He turned to face me and looked me in the eye. “Sarah, whether you choose to return to Austria or not is your business, but as you can see, staying here is no longer an option.”
“But I have nowhere else to go.”
“Then I suggest you be ready in the morning at eight. I’ve arranged for them to leave your room untouched until then.”
In the morning, Oscar drove me to the train station and purchased a ticket for Austria. He handed it to me and walked with me to the platform. “I’m sorry it has come to this, Sarah. I really am. But I see no other way.” He looked at me as if waiting for me to respond, but I had nothing else to say. The conductor alighted from the coach and called us aboard. I turned to leave and Oscar took my hand to help me to the steps. “I’ll do my best to get word to your family of your pending arrival.”
As I stepped into the car I glanced back at him. “That would be good.”
A few days later, I arrived at the railway station in Linz. Papa was waiting for me on the platform. He looked older and thinner and his face was lined with wrinkles. I departed the coach and gave him a hug. He embraced me but not at all in a friendly way. I ignored the stoic look on his face and started chattering about Mama and David. All the while, Papa kept glancing around nervously and finally insisted we leave at once.
At the opposite end of the train, workmen unloaded luggage from the baggage car. Some pieces they carefully stacked on carts and wheeled into the station. Others they carelessly tossed into a pile on the platform. My trunk was in that pile. “What are they doing with those cases?”
“Shh,” Papa said sharply. “Don’t talk like that.”
“But why are they throwing those cases out like that? And why are we down here?”
“Don’t you have a trunk?”
“Yes, but shouldn’t we retrieve it from inside?” “We’ll get it here.”
He moved gingerly through the crowd and I followed him to the pile of discarded baggage. There in the heap, I saw my trunk. “What is this?” I looked up at the men in the baggage car. “Why is my trunk thrown over here and not on a cart?”
