My Canary Yellow Star (4 page)

“I want all of you to be there,” she said in a firm voice. And without another word, she left the room as abruptly as she had entered it.

“Oh no! Just like the old biddy! I have to meet Fritzi right after work. He is taking me to the movies. I can’t be late,” said Gizella as soon as the door was safely closed.

“I have a party meeting that I can’t miss,” announced her sister, Irma. She proudly fingered the Arrow Cross pin on the collar of her dress.

We began tidying up our stations. Madam was a stickler for neatness. Just a few scraps of material on the floor or spools of thread out of line were enough to anger her. I hurried to wipe the mirrors in the salon before the staff meeting. The elegant ladies who turned and dipped in front of them all day often left their fingerprints behind.

By the time I had poured the water out of the bucket, stored it in a closet, and hung the wet cleaning rag up to dry, the others were already milling about the salon. My right hand involuntarily sneaked up to my chest, where it covered the six-pointed canary yellow star on my black dress. But I told myself I was being silly, jammed my hands into the pockets of my apron, and plopped down on one of the crimson loveseats dotting Madam’s elegant salon. The settees, loveseats, and armchairs were quickly being occupied. Some of the girls sat on the dark red Persian carpet covering the shiny parquet floor; others were leaning against the back wall. Soon all of the seats in the room were taken except for the one next to mine. Nobody sat down beside me.

Madam entered the room. Gravely, she looked from face to face. “I am sorry to keep you after work, ladies, but it was unavoidable.” She noticed the girls standing by the wall and an angry expression clouded her features. It was gone
so quickly that I thought I might have imagined it. “Why don’t you ladies sit down?” she asked pleasantly. “You must be tired after a full day of work. Irma,” she said to the girl closest to me, “there is an empty seat beside Marta. Sit down, please.”

A mulish expression came over Irma’s face. “I won’t sit beside a stinking, dirty Jew, Madam,” she announced. She looked around the room for the other girls’ reactions. Most of the other apprentices were nodding their heads in agreement. Gizella was grinning. Two or three girls turned their heads away, careful not to look at me.

Suddenly, a strange sensation came over me. I felt as if I was watching a movie take place in front of me, and all the horrible things being said were about the Marta in the movie. The real Marta, me, was looking at this film and feeling sorry for her unreal, celluloid self.

“Silence,” Madam thundered. Her voice switched off the movie in my head. She gave Irma an unpleasant smile that somehow reminded me of a black cobra getting ready to strike at her prey. “Marta does not seem dirty to me. Nor does she smell,” she said in a reasonable tone. “Sit down, Irma,” she repeated, pointing to the seat beside me.

Irma slunk over to the loveseat and sat down. She kept a space between us – no easy task, considering her size.

“As I was saying, ladies,” Madam continued, “we have a problem.” She walked over to a large mahogany cabinet holding bolts of the finest materials – midnight black
woolens, snowy white linens, and silks in every color of the rainbow, all ready to be chosen by her wealthy clients. Madam had stockpiled the finest cloths before the German occupation. She unraveled a bolt of sky blue watered silk, revealing a large jagged edge where the material had been cut. “Can anybody tell me what happened here?”

Nobody spoke up.

She turned to Gizella. “Do you have an explanation for me?”

“No, Madam. We always cut the materials carefully, leaving a fine edge.”

“When I saw this crooked edge, I measured the length of the silk,” Madam said. “Four meters are missing. Four meters at sixty-five pengos per meter. I have been robbed of 260 pengos.” Nothing like this had ever happened in Madam’s salon. “The way I see it, I have two choices. I can either call the police or get the thief to return the material to me. I prefer the second course of action. It would be impossible to replace such fine silk with the shortages we’re experiencing.” She stroked the material lovingly.

“It’s obvious that the Jew is the thief,” Irma muttered.

“Madam, I didn’t… I wouldn’t…”

“Hush, Marta,” Madam said. “I know you’re not responsible. As for you, Irma, you’d better watch what you’re saying!” With each word, Madam’s voice rose higher and higher. She took a deep breath, then continued. “We may live in turbulent times, but I will not allow innocent people
to be accused of crimes they did not commit. Indeed, I do not want to accuse any of you of being the thief. I have chosen a more civilized way to solve this problem,” she said. We fidgeted under her scrutiny. Finally, she began to speak again. “This is what I would like you to do. When you get home tonight, each of you should make a bundle with old clothes or newspapers or rags – anything you want, as long as you have a bundle. Don’t put your name on your package. The person who stole my silk should wrap up her ill-gotten gains. I want my silk returned tomorrow morning! If all of you leave your bundles in the salon, I will never know which one of you brought the package containing the stolen silk. I’ll have my material returned to me, and everything can go back to normal. Do you all understand?”

There was a murmur of assent. Irma was staring angrily into the air. Gizella’s hands were balled into fists and two spots of color dotted her cheeks.

“Irma is right! The Jew must be the thief, Madam. All Jews are thieves. Nobody else here would take your silk,” Gizella said boldly.

“Gizella, did you not understand what I just said? I’ve had enough of your accusations. You and your sister had better watch your step!”

“You are the one who should watch your step, Madam! Be careful what you say to us. Our uncle is an important member of the Arrow Cross Party!” Gizella cried.

“Are you threatening me, Gizella? How dare you!” I had never seen Madam so upset.

Gizella became very pale. “No, Madam. I just … I mean, I’m sorry,” she spluttered.

“Never mind what you mean!” Madam said. “I’m going to try to forget what you just said!”

“Thank you, Madam.” The mutinous expression on her face did not match the humility of her tone.

Madam turned her back on Gizella and faced the rest of us. “That’s all I have to say for now, ladies. Keep in mind what I told you: I expect to have my silk returned tomorrow.” Her expression softened. “I am sure that by now, all of you must be ready to go home.” And with a curt nod, she turned and left the room.

“Thieving Jew,” Irma muttered as she brushed by me, jabbing me with her elbow. Both she and Gizella were gone before I could answer her.

The salon emptied quickly. A few of the girls cast furtive and sympathetic glances at me, but not a single one came over to speak to me. I told myself I didn’t care, but I had never felt so alone.

The warm May sunshine blinded me for a moment as I stepped into Vaci Street. Many of the glamorous stores were boarded up, and yellow-star graffiti defaced the walls of the buildings. A dress shop on the corner was a pile of
bomb-blasted rubble. A confectionery on the other side had become a large hole in the ground with a lot of debris piled up in it. I passed the window of Rozsi’s Parfumerie, with its impressive display of crystal perfume bottles. On one side of a gigantic bottle of 4711 cologne was a sign stating: “If You Want to Smell Like Roses, Shop at Rozsi’s.” On the opposite side of the huge bottle stood a poster bearing a caricature of a swarthy, hook-nosed Jewish man with long, curly forelocks. Below the drawing was the word “Beware!” Next to the parfumerie was Olga’s Patisserie, a welcoming café with cheery white tables that spilled onto the sidewalk. A sign affixed to the shop’s doors warned: “No Jews or Dogs!” Lampposts bore signs warning customers to feel ashamed of themselves if they continued to shop in stores owned by Jewish people. Broken glass littered the street everywhere.

Most of the men wore uniforms, either of the Hungarian army or of the German SS. Some were accompanied by their well-fed wives. They were in sharp contrast to the few gaunt and shabby civilian shoppers, most of whom were women and old men. I was the only person wearing a yellow star.

I noticed three boys at the end of the street, laughing and shoving each other. The three were dressed in the uniform of the Arrow Cross Party – green shirt and red armband with a black insignia in a white circle. As I turned away from them, I walked straight into a boy behind me.

“Whoa!” he said, grabbing my arm. “You should watch where you’re going!” He steadied me. My heart leaped at the sight of him.

“Peter, is it you?”

He laughed. “Who else?”

And then, suddenly, something strange happened. It was as if I had never seen him before, as if I was seeing him for the first time. I couldn’t help noticing that scrawny little Peter had become a handsome boy – tall, with sandy hair, sparkling green eyes, and a friendly smile. He was wearing the familiar khaki uniform and peaked cap of the Levente. Jewish boys were discouraged from joining this paramilitary organization for youths.

“You look like a soldier in that uniform, Peter. Ervin should see you. He’d give anything to be wearing it!” Ervin was bitter that he wasn’t allowed to learn how to shoot guns and march like a soldier beside his Christian classmates when the troop met after school.

“How are you, Shorty?” Peter asked. “I haven’t seen you for the past few weeks … too much homework. You look nice.” He blushed fiery red. “How is Ervin? And your mother, grandmother?” he stammered. Suddenly, his eyes fastened on the canary yellow star on my dress. “What an idiot I am to ask such stupid questions,” he said. “I should think twice before opening my mouth. Mother always says that I lack tact.”

“No, no, that’s fine,” I reassured him. “You don’t have to be careful with me. Just talk to me.”

Peter smiled. “Have you got time for something to drink? There’s a nice little place around the corner where we can talk.”

I didn’t know how to answer him. I wanted to go with him, but I knew I’d be in deep trouble if Mama found out that I went to a café by myself with a boy, especially a Christian boy, even if he was just a friend. I stood in indecision. Peter solved the problem by drawing my arm through his and starting off in the opposite direction to our apartment house.

We caused quite a sensation among the passersby. People glared at us as we walked down the street, and two young men in Arrow Cross uniforms blocked our path.

“Hey, you! You’re a disgrace to your uniform, Jew lover,” one of the men hissed, pointing his finger at Peter.

My heart was in my throat. I felt helpless and terrified and furious, just as I had felt back in Madam’s salon. I wanted to scream, “Shut up! Shut up!” but by force of will, I kept silent.

“Scum!” Peter said angrily, pushing past them. “Ignore them, Marta!”

We hurried along, breathless with excitement. An old woman walking her dog stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes fixed on the yellow star over my heart. Suddenly, she
leaned forward, grabbed my arm, and spat on the ground in front of me. I stared at her in shock until Peter pulled me away.

We finally reached the little Café Peace, which was tucked into the basement of a large building between a boarded-up furrier and a shoemaker. We were the only customers. Even the tiny, forlorn tables with stained marble tops did not look as if they belonged there.

Peter ordered two glasses of raspberry juice and we caught up with each other’s news. It was so good to have a sympathetic ear. With my hands clasped in front of me on the rickety table, I told Peter all about my work and Madam and Papa in Yugoslavia. I also told him how worried we were that we hadn’t heard from Papa for several weeks. I talked about our daily struggle to get enough food to eat. I mentioned the unfriendliness of our neighbors.

“Were you shocked by the way the people in the street were behaving? Everything is so horrible! I can’t stand it any more!” I couldn’t have controlled the torrent of words even if I’d wanted to. And I didn’t want to. For some reason, it seemed important to make Peter understand what was happening to me. “I don’t know why our friends and neighbors have turned on us,” I continued. “We’ve never hurt them. I certainly haven’t! Hungary is my country too! I was born here just like you, and so were my parents and grandparents. Grandpapa Weisz was even decorated in the Great War. I have as much right to live here as anybody!”

I tried to remain calm, but my voice was rising in anger and I was on the verge of tears. Peter patted my shoulder.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you and me to be seen together in public places,” I told him. “It seems to upset everybody when they see that we’re friends. That’s why they make such cruel remarks.”

“What about you, Marta? Do you still want to be my friend?” Peter asked. “That’s all that matters.”

I nodded. My mute answer seemed to satisfy Peter. He reached over and squeezed my hand.

“Would you like me to walk you home after work tomorrow? It’ll give us a chance to talk,” he suggested. “I’ll give a call to Ervin too.”

“You forget – our phone was taken away weeks ago.”

“What a nuisance. I’ll pop down to your place then. I’d have come before, but I’ve been studying for exams. I know how hard Ervin studies. He probably doesn’t want visitors.”

“Nonsense. He has to take a break sometime.”

“You’re right. So, Marta, do you want me to come for you at Madam’s?” he repeated. He turned a violent crimson once again.

“I’d like that.” A sudden shyness made it impossible for me to look at him. “Peter, don’t tell anybody that we ran into each other – or that we’re going to be meeting tomorrow.”

“Why not? We’re not doing anything wrong.”

“Of course not. But you know Mama. Let’s do it my way for now‥”

Peter looked troubled. “It doesn’t seem right to me. But all right, I’ll go along with you – just for now.”

“Time to go!” I said, jumping up from the table and upsetting the flimsy chair I had been sitting on.

Peter and I walked home, and nobody saw us arrive together at our apartment block. I was glad.