Swiftly they formed themselves into two lines, as they always did when coming home from school. Only today, they were not quite so orderly. They pranced along behind their teacher, branches waving in the air like a sea of green lace. They chatted gaily, laughter rippling up and down the lines. Occasionally they burst into song. Their teacher, too, had cast off his customary stern manner. He marched ahead jauntily, his pale face wearing a broad grin.
Soon they entered a wide clearing in the forest where each year the Majus Nap outing was held. From all the surrounding villages, other teachers and children were pouring in to take part in the festivities. The air rang with a babble of Hungarian and Slovak.
No sooner had the Helmecz children settled themselves in a grove of trees, when it was announced that the athletic games would start.
“Let’s take our shoes off. We’ll be able to run faster,” a boy proposed, and in a twinkling, hundreds of bare toes were enjoying the feel of the soft earth.
First there were relay races. Then followed pass-the-stick contests, jumping competitions, and the like. And all the while, youngsters stood by, bouncing up and down excitedly and screaming themselves hoarse.
When the games were over, almost everyone sprawled on the ground to relax. Some of the girls gathered leaves and wild flowers which they wove into garlands for their hair and necklaces and bracelets to match. They looked for all the world like wood nymphs come to life.
Now several fiddlers began to play a merry tune. Each school had a group ready to perform a dance which it had practiced especially for the occasion. It might be a polka, a baseda, or a czardas, or another kind of lively dance. As Gisella twirled to the spirited, stomping music of a czardas with her school friends, she was so exhilarated, she felt sure she could go on dancing forever. Especially when she remembered that this Majus Nap outing meant the school year was almost over.
By lunchtime, however, she was quite ready to stop. Out in the open, surrounded by one’s friends, everything seemed to taste more delicious. Gisella and Szerena happily gobbled up every last morsel of the roast chicken, black bread, and sweet dried prunes Mama had packed. Afterward they helped themselves to cool water from a nearby spring.
Tradesmen from the city had set up small stands, temptingly displaying their wares. As soon as the lunch period was over, their teacher said, “I know you’re all just itching to use up your spending money. So I now give permission.”
Instantly, the youngsters charged toward the stands, each clamoring to purchase his share of the long awaited treats.
Gisella and Szerena elbowed their way through the milling crowd. For a while, they watched one of the candy hawkers. With a little hammer, he was breaking off appetizing chunks from an enormous slab of deep, dark chocolate. “Let’s not get any of that,” decided Szerena. “It melts away too fast.”
Next they surveyed the candy bars. Sweets of every imaginable size, shape, and color! Gisella pointed to some puffy oblong pieces. “Look, Szerena, he’s got satin pillows. Such pretty pastel shades! He’s even got some that are striped!”
“They are good,” Szerena agreed. “But you can get awfully tired of them. I like those tiny cherry drops. They’re nice and tart. But then they’re so ordinary. The candy man over there has candy whistles,” she went on. “Like the ones Mama got. He has yellow ones as well as red ones. How about those?”
Gisella shook her head.
They moved on to a counter piled high with real metal whistles and rubber balls. “Who wants those?” Szerena scoffed. “We can cut our own whistles from reeds and make balls out of string. It’s just a waste of money.”
Then they came to a jewelry stand. Wistfully they fingered the pretty colored beads, the fancy pins, the golden bracelets, the rings with tiny stones that caught the light. Szerena frowned. “Too expensive. Anyway,” she added, to console herself as well as her sister, “my friend Magda bought one of those bracelets last year, and every time she wore it, her wrist turned black. It’s not real gold.”
Now they considered the fancy tarts and cakes. Their eyes feasted especially on the gingerbread cookies. Should they buy the gingerbread with the picture of a little girl or boy pasted on? Or the gingerbread rabbit, or maybe a duck, or a horse? “And look at the darling little lamb,” Gisella cried. Szerena suddenly made up her mind. “I’m getting the gingerbread heart with the mirror in the center!” The next moment, she was biting off tiny bits along its edge. “Mmm! Is this good! And when I eat it all up, I’ll still have a mirror. Why don’t you get one?”
Gisella was tempted. She could almost taste its spicy goodness in her own mouth. But she held out. “No,” she said firmly, “it has to be something extra special.”
She went from stand to stand, and then something did catch her eye. A tiny porcelain doll just about three inches high. It was the prettiest thing! Until now, the only doll she’d ever owned was the one she had made herself. It had a head fashioned from clay taken from the riverbank and two crossed sticks of wood covered with cloth for the body. But this was a real doll! It had arms and legs that could move! What fun it would be sewing clothes for a real doll! Oh, if only it didn’t cost too much! “How much for the doll?” she asked.
“Two fillers,” the peddler said.
Gisella sighed happily. “I’ll take it.”
“It is darling,” Szerena agreed, observing Gisella’s shining face. “Here,” she offered her the gingerbread, “take a bite.”
SIX
On the next Sunday afternoon, Szerena and Gisella stood at the edge of the main road watching the wagonloads of merrymakers rolling into Helmecz from nearby villages. The horses trotted by on their way to the trading barn.
“The dancing will be starting soon,” Szerena said anxiously.
“Then let’s run back to the house and ask Mama if we can go,” Gisella told her.
Mama was hesitant. “I don’t know if you should. You know you won’t find any Jews there. Only our Gentile neighbors.”
“That doesn’t matter,” insisted Gisella. “They don’t mind our being there. Nobody said anything when we came to watch last time.”
Mama shrugged. “Oh, all right. But see that you behave yourselves. Don’t get in anybody’s way.”
“We’ll behave,” the girls promised and sped quickly away.
The barn was filling up rapidly, but they found a place among the old folks and children sitting on the long benches lining the walls. Gisella looked around, her face reflecting her wonder and delight. Lamps strung from ceiling beams and set in window ledges, spread their flickering light on the rainbow colors of the decorations. It was hard to believe this was the place where peasants traded their livestock and produce during the week.
Each new group entering set up admiring huzzahs. How dazzling the young people looked in their native dress! The girls of each village vied with one another in the splendor of their outfits. Each was different and beautiful.
The girls wore dresses made of creamy white linen which they had woven. The full sleeves were hand-embroidered with elaborate original designs in a variety of brilliant colors. Over the blouse, a bright colored bodice fitted snugly, emphasizing the wearer’s slender waist. Skirts were also of white linen with hemlines embroidered to match. The hand-set pleats were so narrow and so close together, the skirts fanned as wide as accordions with every turn, revealing layers of stiffly starched petticoats. A half-apron of shiny satin partially covered the skirt and was tied in hack with a bewitching how. Here and there a girl was the proud possessor of red leather hoots. Some wore exquisite headdresses, crowns of satin with short multi-colored streamers dangling from either side.
“Did you ever see anything so lovely?” Gisella declared.
Szerena nodded. “It’s no wonder. They’ve been working on their outfits for months and months. And look at the men!”
The young men looked handsome, indeed. They wore white linen trousers with elaborate embroidery along the sides and shiny black boots that came to the k
nee. Shirts of the same white linen were loose-sleeved and ruffled and embroidered on the front and sleeves. Their jackets were embroidered in gold and were thrown casually over one shoulder, giving them a debonair air. High-crowned hats with upturned brims completed their costumes. Some of the men had added another gay touch by putting a flower or bright feather in their hatbands.
Szerena nudged Gisella. “You notice there are no Czechs here.”
“Why?”
“Because they’re not invited. You know the Hungarians and the Czechs don’t get along. There’d only be fights and trouble.”
A small frown puckered Gisella’s brow. “But we get together with the Czech children sometimes—like on our first of May celebration.”
“The teachers are made to bring them together,” Szerena replied. “Maybe the Czech government thinks that’s one way they’ll grow up being friends instead of enemies.”
Now a Gypsy band began tuning up its fiddles and zithers. Young men led then partners out on the floor. In a cascade of colors, the couples began whirling by, the girls’ skirts spreading out like open parasols.
The music quickened. A czardas! Boots clicked in the air, stomped on the ground, heels dug into the earthen floor! How could anyone be expected to sit still? Children sprang from their seats and began jumping about. Szerena caught hold of Gisella and pulled her to her feet. Together they hopped and skipped and twirled.
“There’s Imre!” Szerena cried. “Doesn’t he look handsome!”
There was a pause in the music. Imre, catching sight of them, waved and nudged his way through the crowd.
“You look so elegant!” Szerena gushed.
Imre grinned. Gisella could tell he was pleased. “Your lilac branch, Imre . . .” she said softly. “It was beautiful. It was so nice of you to make it for me—for us. . . .”
“A lilac branch? I don’t know anything about a lilac branch.”
“Oh, come on, Imre,” Szerena cried, giggling. “You know very well it was you who put it on our gate.”
Imre smiled down on them. “Maybe the good angel put it there.”
The music started again. Imre’s arm encircled the waist of a blond-haired, blue-eyed girl close by and swept her away with him. “A newfound cousin!” he called back over his shoulder, grinning.
On and on the music played. Dance followed dance till it was time for a rest. Now the musicians played a hallgato, a listening song. The young folks formed small circles as the melody of the song flowed through the room. Arms entwined, they swayed gently to and fro:
I shall be a tree, if you are its blossoms.
I shall be a flower, if you are the dew.
I shall be the dew, if you are the sunshine,
so that our bodies and souls shall unite.
When the song was ended, the dancing resumed with pauses in between for other hallgatos and drinks of cold beer.
All too soon, Mama appeared. “It’s getting late, girls. Time to go home.”
Reluctantly, with many a backward glance, Szerena and Gisella followed her out. Arm in arm, they walked through the twilight down the road toward home.
SEVEN
Ordinarily, only men and boys attended Saturday morning services at the synagogue. Women and girls came at very special times, like the High Holy Days. This Saturday morning, however, the women’s section was fully occupied.
Gisella felt uncomfortable on the hard synagogue bench. It was so high, her feet couldn’t reach the floor. After a while, she could feel pins and needles pricking her soles. She slipped forward to the very edge and pressed her toes against the wooden floor.
Through the open transom of the door separating them from the men’s section, came the male voices rising and falling as they chanted the solemn Hebrew prayers. From time to time, a single voice intoned above the rest. It belonged to her uncle Jozsi. It was an honor for a member of the congregation to be called up to the platform to read aloud a portion from the Torah. The thought flitted across her mind—if Papa were here, he would surely be called up, too. She found herself imagining a serious-looking Papa with a prayer shawl.
Szerena was shaking her by the shoulder. “Look! They’re opening the doors!”
There was a sudden stir among the children. Smiles replaced the grave expressions on the faces of the grownups. The door was now wide open, and Gisella spotted Cousin Kalman seated beside his two elder brothers, Jena and Sandor. Catching sight of her, Kalman stuck his tongue out at her. She paid him back by making a funny face.
From the platform, the rabbi announced, “Janos Weiss, stand up so everybody can see you!”
Friendly hands pulled the blushing young man from his seat and shoved him toward the front. He stood there, shy and abashed. The rabbi came down and put his arm around the young man’s shoulder. “Think of it!” he said. “Our own little Janos all grown-up and going to be married to Erzsi. A prettier, more pious mistress of a house, nobody could ask for! Janos, may God grant you both much hap-piness and a good sweet life!”
The blessing was a signal, for instantly from all directions, candy, raisins, and nuts came flying at Janos. With each throw, the men shouted, “May you have a good sweet life!” And the women echoed, “As sweet as these good things!”
Whooping with delight, the youngsters tore down on the groom-to-be, almost knocking him over. There was a mad scramble. In no time, there wasn’t a sweet to be found.
“Look at all we got!” Gisella and Szerena cried jubilantly.
“My!” Mama exclaimed. “You’ve collected enough for a whole sweet year yourselves. Better not eat any of it now. You’ll spoil your appetite for the good Sabbath meal.”
Meanwhile, Janos was being thumped on the back and showered with good wishes. People laughed and made good-natured jokes. Then with many exchanges of “A good Sabbath!” the congregation dispersed.
“I didn’t see Erzsi,” Szerena remarked as they were walking home.
“It’s the custom. She’ll get her congratulations this evening,” replied Mama. “The bride-to-be always invites the women to her house. And we’ll have something sweet there, too, because Erzsi’s mother will serve tea and cake.”
Gisella looked at the goodies in her hand. “Szerena,” she said, “don’t you wish they’d announce a wedding every week?”
Gisella was in the attic, where it was always cool and twilight-shadowy. By early fall, it would be crammed full with all the good things stored away for the long winter—dried beans, barley, rye, all kinds of dried fruits, each item neatly heaped in its own pile on the wooden floor. There would be corn, too, many bunches of yellow-brown cobs hanging on sticks. At this time, the end of May, the attic was nearly empty. But a sweet, slightly burned smell still lingered in the air.
She bent down to pick up a few prunes to nibble on. Something white behind the bushel baskets caught her eye. Pushing them aside, she found a long white cardboard box. What was it doing there? she wondered. She lifted the lid and peeked inside. Shoes! The loveliest pair of little girl’s shoes. They were black, with a sheen so brilliant, she could almost see her face in them. Each had a narrow little strap which buttoned across the instep and was lined with cream-colored material. Whose shoes were they?
She stared down at her own brown sandals. They looked so heavy and clumsy by comparison. A dainty pair of shoes like these would be fun to dance in. And they would go perfectly with her Sabbath dress! It was bright red with splashes of big white roses. Mama had made it out of a piece of cloth left over from some curtains.
In a jiffy, the brown sandals were off. She slipped her right foot into the new shoe. Her toes squeezed in, but her heel wouldn’t follow. It had to fit! She set her teeth obstinately. It just had to! She pushed and pushed, and finally the shoes were buttoned over her feet. She stood up in a sweat, her pinched toes protesting painfully. Moving about was sheer agony, but how slim and elegant her feet looked!
Gingerly she climbed down the ladder, holding tight to the rungs for the soles were very s
lippery. She hobbled across the front room and out the door.
Mama was on her knees inspecting the kitchen garden. Every step was torture, but Gisella was determined to have Mama see the shoes on her feet. She knew if she once took them off, she’d never be able to get them on again.
She went limping to Mama’s side. “I found them in the attic,” she said, pointing to the shoes. “Aren’t they beautiful?”
Mama sat back on her heels. “They are. Papa sent them from America. It’s a special kind of shiny leather they make there.”
“Oh, Mama, I just adore them!” Gisella wailed. “Only they’re too small!”
“I know.”
“Then why didn’t you let me wear them when my feet were littler,” Gisella complained, “instead of hiding them away in the attic?”
“They came only about a month ago. It was in the morning when you were both in school. The minute I laid eyes on them, I could see they wouldn’t fit. Your papa made a mistake.” A sad smile wavered across her mouth. “I knew it would make you unhappy, so I thought it would be better if you never saw them. I meant to give them away to some neighbor’s child, but there’s always so much to do, I forgot.” She looked up at Gisella, her eyes full of sympathy. “Better take them off, my child. I can see they’re hurting your feet.”
Gisella was both sorry and relieved to remove them. Her poor cramped toes were all red. Gratefully they spread themselves apart on the cool, spongy earth. “Maybe we should give them to Ilka Neni’s daughter, Ibolja. She’s only five. Her feet are little,” she said glumly. She ran her fingers slowly over the shiny, smooth leather.
“Don’t take it so to heart,” Mama said. “When we get to America, I’m sure Papa will be glad to buy you a pair just like them. So put them away where you found them and go help Szerena in the flax field.”
As she buckled on her sandals, Gisella could not help but think—if one can buy wonderful shoes like these in America, perhaps it wouldn’t be too bad living there. Only— to go away—to leave this place . . . No, she decided firmly, my sandals are good enough. They are very comfortable.
A Papa Like Everyone Else Page 5
