by Malka Adler
I didn’t remember. He said, I’m Chaim from Humenne, nu, Humenne, Humenne, in Slovakia, what, have you forgotten me already? His face took on a muddy color and I didn’t understand. Chaim was a Jewish name, and the man looked fat and normal with normal hair and a strong hand.
I asked, really, you’re Chaim from Humenne?
He said, yes, yes, I remember you this small, and raised his hand to his hip, I remember when you used to come and visit grandfather and grandmother.
My throat closed up in a second. The village, Humenne, was where my maternal grandmother and grandfather and three of mother’s sisters lived. I’d travel to grandmother and grandfather for the school holidays. I loved being with them. They had at least ten cats and a lame horse.
I got a buzzing in my head, no grandmother, no grandfather, no aunts, you’re alone and you’re going to Tur’i Remety. I pinched the top button on my shirt. Swiveled it and swiveled it, the button remained in my hand. Chaim pointed to his seat, we sat down. He said, you know that your aunts came back from the camps, the aunts are now in the village, Icho, they’re living together in the same house, what about mother and father?
I scratched the button, said quietly, don’t know, we parted at Auschwitz, mother’s sisters came back? Came back from Auschwitz?
Chaim said they’d come back. Putting a heavy hand on my knee, he said, you’ve grown, Icho, you’re a young man now, why don’t you come and visit your aunts, then go on to your village.
I got off at Humenne.
It was night and it was cold. He pointed out a window with a faint light, that’s the house, and off he went. I approached the house. In the window I saw the shadow of a paraffin lamp. I peeked in through the window. There was a curtain like a sheet and it was impossible to see anything. I approached the door. I put my ear to the keyhole, heard voices. I knocked. They didn’t open the door for me. I knocked louder, nothing. I put my ear to the keyhole and couldn’t hear a word. I stuck to the crack in the door, calling, aunts, aunts, it’s me, Icho, open the door. They didn’t answer. I knocked louder, calling, aunts, it’s me, Icho, and I got off the train on my way to Tur’i Remety. Chaim was on the train. Chaim told me everything.
A few seconds went by, and then the aunts called, Icho died, died, what do you want, have you come to frighten us, go away from here.
I shouted, Icho isn’t dead, Icho is alive, I’m Icho and I’m cold, nu, open the door now. And then I heard a sound like weeping, no, no, no child from the camps was left alive, you’re lying, go away, you rascal.
I bent down to the lock of the door, spoke quietly, I can’t go away, the train left and I have nowhere to go.
I walked round the house. I hoped to find an open window or the kitchen door unlocked. The window and the door were locked. I could have broken the window, as I did when searching for a bottle of alcohol. I didn’t want to frighten the aunts. I went back to the path. Sat down and waited. I thought, maybe they’ll look out of the window and one of them will recognize me. But how will she recognize me, idiot, it’s dark outside. I didn’t even have a match in my pocket. I called out loudly, pity I got off the train, pity I listened to Chaim, at least I was warm on the train. I wanted to sleep. A tired dog barked from across the road. I heard three barks, a pause, another two, it fell asleep, and then I heard steps at the door. Cautiously, I approached. One of the aunts said:
What is your mother’s name?
Leah.
What is your father’s name?
Israel.
I heard them whispering and breathing fast, fast, as if they were running on the spot.
Three heads peeped through a crack in the door.
Three heads covered in colorful scarves and tied in a firm knot in the middle on top. One aunt held a paraffin lamp at face height. Six large eyes examined me from top to toe and the crack in the door widened. They wore dark dresses with collars and an apron. One was small and thin. The second tall and thin with a long face and dark circles under her eyes. The third was small and plump, with a heavy chin, no neck.
I held out my arms to them, aunts, it’s me, Icho, nu look, you know me. Together, holding one another’s hands, the aunts took two small steps forward. The paraffin lamp swayed between us. I heard them arguing in a whisper. I approached the light.
The plump one caught me by the arm, saying, Icho, is it really you?
The plump one and the tall one fell upon me together.
The paraffin lamp fell to the floor. I followed with the aunts on top of me. It was dark and there was a smell of paraffin and a smell of sauerkraut. I heard, oy vei, oy vei, and heavy breathing, and throats clearing, cach. cach. cach. I felt four hands holding my shirt and hop, they stood me on my feet. And then came squeezes on my neck, my shoulders, pinches on my belly and pinches on my backside, I felt the aunts measuring the thickness of my flesh. Suddenly the plump aunt caught me and threw me up in the air and said, not enough, not enough.
I began to laugh, enough aunt, put me down. She didn’t listen and I fell with my belly on a soft chest, and was bounced up and down, up and down, tchach. Tchach. Tchach.
The plump aunt said, this child weighs nothing, and dragged me into the house.
We wept together, the tall one, the plump one and I.
The aunts wiped their faces on their aprons, beat their breasts, opened their arms wide, crying out, our Icho has come back, oy, Icho, Icho, the little aunt stood on the side. She was twisting a crumpled scarf in her hands. After about an hour the aunts’ weeping became a wild, rolling laughter, with slaps on their knees and on the scarves on their heads, then more great weeping, and then the plump aunt said, what did you do to stay alive, eh Icho’leh?
I sat down on a chair. I said, I didn’t do anything, just went wherever they sent me, what’s wrong with her? I pointed at the little aunt.
The tall aunt said, she received a gift from Mengele, pay no attention, what about father, mother, your brothers and sister?
I said, just Leiber for the time being, and looked at the little aunt. She had a pretty face, like delicate, milk-colored glass, she had thin pale fingers. She stopped twisting the scarf when the plump aunt said, now let’s eat.
The table in front of me filled with food. There was meat, potatoes and sauerkraut, slices of bread, and sausage, and jam and apple and cakes, and eat, child, eat. The little aunt didn’t come to the table.
I ate a slice of bread and jam and pushed away the plate. My throat was blocked. I said, I’m tired aunts, dying to sleep.
The two aunts at the table said in unison, very well, Icho, and they stood beside me and began to pull at the sleeves of the battledress.
I said, I can do it myself.
They said, very well, Icho, and whispered among themselves, and then the plump aunt took a pair of pajamas from the closet. She gave me pajamas with thick gray stripes. My ribs locked and I stopped undressing. The tall aunt said, sorry child, we have no other pajamas. From the corner of the room came the sound of crying, like a hungry infant. The little aunt was crying into her kerchief. I approached her. Putting out my hand I touched her shoulder. She jumped as if she’d been stung by a scorpion. The tall aunt whispered in my ear, leave her be, Icho, the poor thing will calm down.
She didn’t calm down. She lifted up her head, pointed at the pajamas, making strange sounds in her throat, like a cat caught in a trap. hisss. hisss. Her finger drilled a hole in the air, there was fire in her eyes, hisss. hisss. The two aunts jumped towards her, grabbed her arm. They couldn’t lower her arm. They shouted, Genug! – Enough! sha. sha. sha. Sei still – be quiet. You’re scaring the child, and she with her hisss. She had tiny drops on her forehead, her nose. I took the pajamas, opened a window and threw them outside. The little aunt fell into a chair.
I got into bed in my clothes. My eyelids were heavy, my body too. I wanted to say good night. My cheeks filled with good night but my lips were like glue. I saw Dov fading away on the platform and prayed he would reach the monastery safely. I heard
faint breaths, like a train in the distance, my brother on a train? The breaths intensified. I heard small groans, and tch, tch, tch, and a long shhhhh. I opened my eyes and the two aunts were standing over me. Their arms were folded on their chests. The little aunt stood one step behind them. The plump aunt whispered, sleep, Icho, sleep, we’re standing here, we won’t bother you.
I closed my eyes. Loud breaths sounded above me. With difficulty, I raised my head from the pillow, leaned on one elbow and said tiredly, I can’t sleep with you standing over me like that.
I fell back on the pillow. A headache climbed from my forehead to my hair. The tall aunt raised her arms and pushed the two away behind the table. She said, very well, very well, we’re going to bed, good night, we’ll talk tomorrow.
Two minutes went by and again the loud breathing. I saw three dresses flying to the corner of the room.
I got out of bed and returned to my chair. I received a glass of milk and a teaspoon of jam and cookies. The aunts said, eat, eat, tell us everything from the beginning.
I began to speak. I spoke about Auschwitz, about Buchenwald, about Camp Zeiss. About the meeting with Dov. About Doctor Spielman at the hospital. About the monastery. The two aunts sat opposite me, nibbling on cookies and wiping their faces that grew wet again and again. A pile of handkerchiefs collected on the table. Two hours later they brought a large towel from the closet instead of the handkerchiefs. The little aunt sat in the corner. She held a chicken egg in her hand. She passed the egg from one hand to the other, her eyes fixed on me. I beckoned to her, come, come closer, sit with us. She didn’t want to come closer.
I asked, and you, aunts, where were you during the war?
The plump aunt murmured Bergen-Belsen. Bergen-Belsen, we were together. But first in Auschwitz. I asked, and grandfather and grandmother, what about them?
The tall aunt said, don’t ask anymore, Icho, don’t ask.
I didn’t ask.
In the morning people came.
The aunts took chairs out into the yard. There weren’t enough chairs. People sat on stones and planks. They played with their hats in their hands, or scratched at the earth with a stone. Some people stood with a bag in their hands. They took out cookies and sandwiches. Some took out photographs. Maybe you know them? There were young faces, old faces, the face of a boy, a girl, a baby, have you seen them? This is Zelig, Zelig Abraham. This is Elisha Kramer, this is Irena, have you heard anything? Maybe my Golda’leh, huh?
I wiped my face on my sleeve. The plump aunt gave me a glass of water. I said, put some sugar in the water, a lot of sugar. I asked, more water. I drank three glasses of sugar water and my throat was still dry. People in the yard pointed at pictures and began to talk about the families that had disappeared. There was one with large hands and a thick neck. He spoke chokingly. Said, they took my Yelena out of my arms on the ramp at Auschwitz. She was barefoot with yellow curls and a broad ribbon. I didn’t want to hand her over. The SSman hit me with a rifle butt. Yelena fell, began to run barefoot on the ramp, crying Papaleh, Papaleh. I began to run after her, shouting Yelena, come, come. Dogs came. From a distance I saw a bowed grandmother seize Yelena’s hand, hold it firmly. She didn’t have the strength to pick her up, and so they went in a line to the crematorium. I heard my Yelena, Papaleh, Papaleh, that’s all, that’s all.
The man held his head in his hands. His weeping drew others after him and then he raised his head and said, my Yelena loved soup. My Yelena used to ask for a song before going to sleep. Every night she wanted the same song. That was the song I sang to her in the dark car on the way to Auschwitz. It was hot, it was terrible. My little girl wept, Papa, water, water, and all I had to give her was a song, d’you understand, Jews, a song instead of water. And then he began to sing an old lullaby. People in the yard sang with him, hi-li-lu, hi-li-lu, schlaff shoyn mein teyer feigeleh – sleep now my precious bird.
And I wept and wept, the aunts wept too, the little aunt didn’t cry. She lifted up her apron and chewed on the corner. Someone shouted, now you, Icho, where were you.
I told my story from the beginning. People added the details they knew. Said, Buchenwald, oyyy, oy, oy, maybe you saw Marek, I think he was there. Zeiss, where is Zeiss, in Germany, oy, oy, oy, did you hear about Herschel, Herschel Miller.
A day later more people came. The group in the yard grew larger and larger. By sunrise the path was filled with people. They apologized, fixed pleading eyes on me, and threw names into the air. I had nothing to say. My aunts served tea and cookies and poured water on people who felt faint. I asked for sugar water. People pleaded, again, Icho, tell us about you. I was hot, hot. My shirt stuck to my back. I began to speak, took shortcuts. People didn’t give in. There were some who knew my story from the first day. They called out, wait, wait, you forgot Bloc 8 at Buchenwald, how could you, Icho, and at once restored what I’d left out, with their own additions. My story grew longer and longer.
On Tuesday after sunset there was no more space. People were sitting at the side of the road. I had to shout for them to hear. They couldn’t hear. And then some of the people at the edge of the path began to pass on the story to the audience behind the fence.
I felt exhausted. After a week I told the aunts, enough, I’m going to the village of Tur’i Remety. We hugged and I promised to return.
Chapter 34
Dov
My brother Yitzhak went to Hungary and I experienced a miracle.
In Prague, I met my Vassily. Vassily Korol. My best friend in the village. I met Vassily where the hungry met in Prague, near the municipality, before noon. First I wandered the streets and touched houses with a door and a handle. Sometimes there was a number on the door, sometimes a name. I knew, soon winter would come, and snow, the sky would fall on the road and I had no home to go back to. I felt lonely and wretched. A woman in gloves came out for a walk with her dog. A tiny dog with a ribbon tied round its neck. I thought, the dog has a home and a plate of food, and I don’t even have an address to send a letter to. If I had an address I’d write: Hello, I’m Leiber, and I’m alive and hungry, when will you come and fetch me? P.S. You won’t recognize me. In the camps I stopped growing. I think I’ve stayed as small as I was in cheder, maybe even a little smaller. See you soon, your loving son, Leiber.
My throat constricted, my heart too. I swallowed and went aside. I opened my mouth wide and screamed loudly, aaaah. aaaah just as my brother Yitzhakhad told me to, if you’re in pain, scream, but don’t talk to strangers.
My belly was bothering me. I approached the municipality building.
First I made sure that the soldier with the Kalashnikov had been replaced. I stood in the long line and saw someone familiar. Three people ahead of me stood someone in a short coat to his waist. I saw only a head, an ear and half a cheek, and it looked like Vassily. I bent down and saw that the person was wearing good trousers. His shoulders were wide apart. Not like him. But the hair, the hair was Vassily’s, hair like yellow stalks in a wheat field. I closed my mouth with half a fist like a trumpet and called in a low voice, Vassily? Nothing. I called louder, Vassily? The man turned around, wow, of course it was Vassily, but with a mustache. At least half a head taller than me and clean shaven.
He stopped and called, Bernard?
We hugged. Laughed. Like madmen we laughed and wiped our tears. He said, you’re alive. Father said no Jews were left, and you’re alive.
I lowered my head to my chest, said, barely alive, Vassily, and don’t stand twice in line for a sandwich, you hear? The Russians will put a bullet in your head, do you have stamped papers in your pocket?
We took a sandwich and sat on a bench in a small park. Vassily said, you’re so thin and where is your hair?
I muttered, where, where, better to be silent, and I made a hole with my heel under the bench.
Vassily said, remember playing hide-and-seek in the forest, you were always on the highest tree, weren’t you?
I said, remember, remember, and how come you�
��re wearing socks, huh? And Sabbath pants, and a mustache, hey, you’re a young man now Vassily, d’you have someone?
Vassily reddened. He chewed on the end of his mustache and said, what about your father, mother, your brothers and sister, we’ve heard terrible things. Saw photographs in the newspaper, a mountain of dead, all without clothes, did you see?
I got up from the bench and began to walk away. Stopped. Came back. I sat next to Vassily and said, I’ve found Icho and we’re going to Israel together, understand? He’s on his way to Tur’i Remety now. When he comes back we’ll travel far away from here, that’s all. But first to the monastery.
Vassily caught my hand, very good, very good, no good going back to the village, there’s not enough work, no market for goods, people have no food, Bernard, that’s why I came to Prague, can I come with you to the monastery?
I put my arm around Vassily’s shoulders. Said, of course you can come. We’re together Vassily.
And when you go to Israel, you’ll take me with you? I didn’t answer.
Vassily said, we’re brothers, I wanted you to stay in our home but the Hungarians said they’d kill everybody, we’re like brothers, right?
I got up from the bench. Vassily got up after me. He combed his yellow hair with his fingers. I also wanted to comb my head, but I had stubble. Vassily touched my cheek with the tip of his thumb, said, not shaving yet, huh? And where are the curls?
I said, they took a train to Germany. He caught my hand and pressed it hard. I felt a pleasant warmth in my chest.
We wandered through the streets together.
Two Russian soldiers stood at a table on a street corner. I saw they were handing out something to people in the street. It didn’t look like a sandwich. We approached, and they beckoned to us, come here, come. I whispered to Vassily, be careful, the Russian soldiers are very dangerous. We approached cautiously. The soldiers smiled at us as if we were good neighbors. The bearded soldier held out a fist in front of him, bouncing his hand and making faces like a magician wanting to surprise. I heard coins clinking. Ah, they have a few crazy people too. He carefully opened his fist and laughed with a mouth full of teeth, the middle one on top was gold.
