That winter, I noticed that my Mom was getting fatter and fatter. When winter was finished, my Mom got so sick from being fat she had to go away to the hospital. One of our aunties came to stay with us. She and Dad would sit around joking and drinking their medicine. I used to wonder how come they all drank this medicine yet no one ever got better. Another thing, they couldn't all be sick like Mom and Dad, could they? So one evening while Dad and Auntie Eva were busy playing cards, I picked up his glass and took a quick swallow before he could stop me. It burned my mouth and my throat and made me cough and choke. I spit it out as fast as I could. It was purely awful and I was even more puzzled as to why they all seemed to enjoy taking it. I felt so sorry for them and I was real glad I wasn't sick.
When my mother came back, she wasn't as fat as when she left. The snow was all gone, too. We celebrated my sixth birthday and one of my presents was a book. I took it with me everywhere. There was talk of my going to school in the fall. I didn't know what reading and printing were like but I was very curious about it. I looked forward to school. I promised Cheryl I would teach her reading and printing as soon as I knew how. But for the time being, I would pretend to read to Cheryl and as I turned the pages of my book like Mom did, I would make up stories to match the pictures in the book.
A few weeks later, we came home from a day's ramblings to find a real live baby in Mom's arms. Mom was rocking it and singing a soft melody to it. I asked, “Where did it come from?”
“The hospital. She was very sick. She's your new little sister, Anna.”
“Will she have to take that medicine? It tastes awful,” I said, pitying the baby for being sick.
“No, she drinks milk. The nurse came this morning and helped me prepare some,” Mom answered. Then she turned to me and asked, “And how do you know that our medicine tastes awful?”
I looked her in the eye and assessed that she wasn't angry with me. She even seemed humored by my slip of the tongue. “Aw Mom, I just wanted to see what it tasted like.”
“Well, it's for grown-ups only,” she said. I knew from the way she talked that she hadn't taken any medicine so far. I hoped that from now on, she wouldn't have to take it anymore. I studied the baby for a while. It was so tiny and wrinkled. I decided I'd much rather play with Cheryl anytime.
That summer, Cheryl and I spent whole days at the park. I would make us sandwiches of bread and lard so we wouldn't have to walk back home in the middle of the day. That's when it seemed the hottest. We played on the swings and slides and in the sandbox as long as they weren't being used by the other children. We would build sandcastles and install caterpillars and ladybugs in them. If the other children were there we would stay apart from them and watch the man mow the park lawns, enjoying the smell of the fresh-cut grass and the sound from the motor of the lawn-mower. Sometimes the droning noise lulled Cheryl to sleep and I would sit by her, to wait for her to wake up.
There were two different groups of children that went to the park. One group was the brown-skinned children who looked like Cheryl in most ways. Some of them even came over to our house with their parents. But they were dirty-looking and they dressed in real raggedy clothes. I didn't care to play with them at all. The other group was fair-skinned and I used to envy them, especially the girls with blond hair and blue eyes. They seemed so clean and fresh, and reminded me of flowers. Once I was up close to one as she was busily putting me down. I could smell the crisp newness of her cotton dress and it made me think of one of those quaint little houses in my book where the front door could open on top like a window and the home was surrounded by hedges and flowers and neatly-kept lawns.
Some of them were freckled but they didn't seem to mind. To me, I imagined they were very rich and lived in big, beautiful houses. I wondered what their lives were like and I wished we could play with them. But they didn't care to play with Cheryl and me. They just called us names and bullied us.
We were ignored completely only when both groups were at the park. Then they were busy yelling names at each other. I always thought that the fair-skinned group had the upper hand in name-calling. Of course, I didn't know what âJew' or the other names meant. Cheryl was too young to realize anything and she was usually happy-go-lucky.
Our free, idle days with our family came to an abrupt end one summer afternoon. We came home and there were some cars in front of our house. One had flashing red lights on it and I knew it was a police car. When we entered the house, Mom was sitting at the table, openly weeping right in front of all the strangers. There were empty medicine bottles on the small counter and the table. I couldn't figure out why the four people were there. A nice-smelling woman knelt down to talk to me.
“My name is Mrs. Grey. I bet you're April, aren't you? And this little girl must be Cheryl.” She put her hand on Cheryl's head in a friendly gesture, but I didn't trust her.
I nodded that we were April and Cheryl but I kept my eyes on my mother. Finally, I asked, “Why is Mom crying? Did you hurt her?”
“No, dear, your mother is ill and she won't be able to take care of you anymore. Would you like to go for a car ride?” the woman asked.
My eyes lit up with interest. We'd been in a taxi a few times, and it had been a lot of fun. But then I thought of Baby Anna. I looked around for her. “Where's Anna?”
“Anna's sick,” the woman answered. “She's gone to the hospital. Don't worry, we'll take you for a ride to a nice clean place. You and Cheryl, okay?”
That was not okay. I wanted to stay here. “We can stay with Daddy. He will take care of us. You can go away now,” I said. It was all settled.
But Mrs. Grey said in a gentle voice, “I'm afraid not, honey. We have to take you and Cheryl with us. Maybe if your Mommy and Daddy get well enough, you can come to live with them again.”
The man who was with Mrs. Grey had gone to our bedroom to get all our things. When he came back, I became more uneasy. I looked from the woman to the man, then over to one policeman who was writing in a notepad, then to the other one who was looking around. I finally looked back at my Mom for reassurance. She didn't look at me but I said in a very definite manner, “No, we'd better stay here.”
I was hoping Dad would walk in and he would make them all go away. He would make everything right.
The man with our belongings leaned over and whispered to my mother. She forced herself to stop sobbing, slowly got up and came over to us. I could see that she was struggling to maintain control.
“April, I want you and Cheryl to go with these people. It will only be for a little while. Right now, Daddy and me, well, we can't take care of you. You'll be all right. You be good girls for me. I'm sorry⦔
She couldn't say anymore because she started crying again. She hugged us and that's when I started crying too. I kind of knew that she was really saying goodbye to us. But I was determined that we were not going to be taken away. I clung to my Mom as tight as I could. They wouldn't be able to pull me away from her and then they would leave. I expected Mom to do the same. But she didn't. She pushed me away. Into their grasping hands. I couldn't believe it.
Frantically, I screamed, “Mommy, please don't make us go. Please, Mommy? We want to stay with you. Please don't make us go.”
I tried hard to put everything into my voice, sure that they would all come to their senses and leave us be. There were a lot of grown-up things I didn't understand that day. My mother should have fought with her life to keep us with her. Instead, she had simply handed us over. It didn't make any sense to me.
The car door slammed shut on us.
“Please don't make us go,” I said in a subdued, quiet voice, more to myself. I gripped Cheryl's hand and we set off into the unknown. We were both crying and ignored the soothing voices from the strangers in front.
How could Mom do this to us? What was going to happen to us? Well, at least, I still had Cheryl. I thought this to myself over and over again. Cheryl kept crying, although I'm not sure she really knew why. She loved car rides but if I was crying, I'm sure she felt she ought to be crying too.
We were taken to an orphanage. When we got there, Cheryl and I were hungry and exhausted. Inside the large building, all the walls were painted a dismal green. The sounds we made echoed down the long, high-ceilinged corridors. Then this person came out of a room to greet us. She was dressed in black, from head to foot, except for some stiff white cardboard around her neck and face. She had chains dangling around her waist and she said her name was Mother Superior and she had been expecting us. My eyes widened in fear. It was even worse than I had imagined. We were being handed over to the boogeyman for sure!
When Mrs. Grey and the man said goodbye and turned to leave, I wanted to go with them but I was too scared to ask. Mother Superior took us into another room at the far end of the corridor. Here, another woman in the same outfit, undressed us and bathed us. She looked through our hair for bugs, she told us. I thought that was pretty silly because I knew that bugs lived in trees and grass, not in people's hair. Of course, I didn't say anything, not even when she started cutting off my long hair.
I was thinking that this was like the hen my mother had gotten once. She plucked it clean and later, we ate it. I sat there, wondering if that was now to be our fate, wondering how I could put a stop to this. Then the woman told me she was finished and I was relieved to find that I still had some hair left. I watched her cut Cheryl's hair and reasoned that if she was taking the trouble to cut straight then we had nothing to fear. Between yawns, Cheryl complained that she was hungry so afterward, we were taken to a large kitchen and fed some dry tasteless food. When we finished eating, we were taken to the infirmary and put to bed.
We were finally left alone to ourselves and it really did feel like we were completely abandoned in that pitch black space. Cheryl groped her way to my bed and crawled in with me. She spoke for the first time since we got here, “Apple, them was boogeywomen?”
I smiled in the darkness for two reasons. I hadn't thought to call them that and she had been thinking the same thing I had. “No, I don't think so. They didn't eat us,” I said to reassure her.
For a minute, she was silent. “They didn't like us?”
“I don't know.”
After more silence, she asked, “Apple, we will go home in the morning time?”
“I don't think so, Cheryl.”
“But I want to.”
“So do I,” I said. By now, Cheryl had laid her head down and I could hear the breathing she used for sleeping. I lay there for a while, thinking, wondering.
That was the last night we'd share the same bed or be really close, for a long time. The next day, Cheryl was placed with a group of four-year-olds and under. I found out from the other children that the women were called nuns and that they were strict, at least the ones who tended to my group. I'd seen the ones who looked after the younger children smile and laugh. The others, like Mother Superior, always seemed so unruffled, always dignified and emotionless. And the ones who took turns looking after us gave us constant orders that made my head spin. Eventually, I figured out what the different nuns wanted and avoided many scoldings. My parents had never strapped us and I never had to think about whether I was bad or good. I feared getting the strap. I feared even a harsh word. If I was quietly playing with some toy and somebody else wanted it, I simply handed it over because if we squabbled, we'd get heck. I longed to go over to Cheryl and talk and play with her but I never dared cross that invisible boundary.
Most of my misery, however, was caused by the separation from my parents. I was positive that they would come for Cheryl and me. I constantly watched the doorways and looked out front room windows, always watching, always waiting, in expectation of their appearance. Sure enough, one day I saw Dad out there, looking up at the building. Excited, I waved to him and wondered why he didn't come to the door, why he just stood there, looking sad. I turned from the window, saw that the attending nun was busy scolding a boy, so I left the room and went to look for Cheryl. I found her down the hall in another room. I looked in to see where the nun was and saw that her back was turned to Cheryl and the door. I tiptoed in, took hold of Cheryl's hand, whispered for her to stay quiet. I led Cheryl down to the front doors but we couldn't open them. They were locked. I didn't know of any other doors except for the ones which led to the play-yard at the back but it was all fenced in. I left Cheryl there and raced back to the nearest empty room, facing the front. I tried to call to Dad but he couldn't hear me through the thick windows. He couldn't even see me. He was looking down at the ground and he was turning away.
“Oh no, Daddy, don't go away! Please don't leave us here! Please!” I pounded the window with my fists, trying desperately to get his attention but he kept walking futher and further away. When I couldn't see him anymore, I just sank to the floor in defeat, warm tears blurring my vision. I sat there and sobbed for we had been so close to going home again.
“What are you doing in here?” the nun from my room yelled, making me jump. “Don't you know what a fright you gave me, disappearing like that? You get back into the playroom. And quit that snivelling.”
Then she asked why Cheryl was at the front and what did I intend on doing. I wouldn't tell her anything so she gave me the strap and some warnings. That strap didn't hurt nearly as much as watching helplessly as my Dad walked away.
A few days later, I woke up feeling ill. My head hurt, my body ached, and I felt dizzy. When I sat at the breakfast table and saw the already unappetizing porridge, I knew that I wouldn't be able to eat it. I tried to explain to the nun at our table but she merely looked down at me and said in a crisp voice, “You will eat your breakfast.”