My Canary Yellow Star (7 page)

We were tired and discouraged at the dinner table that night. Piles of our belongings were scattered throughout the apartment. It had been so hard to decide what to take with us when every object, every piece of furniture, had a precious memory attached to it. Even Ervin was too disheartened to do more than pick at the cholent Grandmama had cooked.

Grandmama’s gaze swept across our glum faces. “I guess I’ll have to try out new recipes. Nobody is eating,” she said in a light-hearted tone.

“The cholent is wonderful, Grandmama,” Mama said. She sighed and pushed away her plate. “All the happy memories … I can’t bear the thought of leaving.”

“My dear,” Grandmama said, “we’ll manage. Time will pass, and before you know it, Aron will be home.”

“From your mouth to God’s ears,” Mama said.

Just then, the doorbell rang.

“Ignore it,” said Mama. “I can’t face visitors.”

The doorbell shrilled again.

“I’ll get it,” I told her.

Peter was in the hallway, his face pale. He grabbed my hands. “I just found out you have to move, Marta. I don’t want you to go.”

“I don’t want to go either, but we have no choice,” I told him. I led him into the dining room.

“Peter, so nice to see you,” Mama said. “Come, sit down.”

He kissed both Mama and Grandmama on the cheek. “I’m so sorry you have to leave,” he said. “Have you found a new place?”

“We’ll be staying with my sister,” Mama said.

“I want to help you move,” Peter said.

“Thank you, dear, but I don’t think that’s a good idea. It’s dangerous for you to be seen with us.”

“I don’t care. It’s wrong that you have to go,” Peter said. “It’s not fair. I want to –”

The doorbell rang once again.

“See who it is, Marta,” Mama said.

This time, I found Peter’s mother in the hall.

“Mrs. Szabo, hello,” I said, greeting her.

She brushed by me wordlessly and marched into the dining room. “Peter,” she said, “come home immediately!”

“I’ll be home soon, Mother,” Peter said.

Mrs. Szabo turned to Mama. “Peter told me he is helping you move. How dare you put him in such danger! If someone reports him to the Gestapo, he will be deported.”

Mama rose from the table and walked toward Peter’s mother with her arms outstretched. Mrs. Szabo turned her
head away. “Agi, it was Peter who asked to help us. Of course I refused his offer – not that I didn’t appreciate it,” she said, with a nod in Peter’s direction. “I would not allow Peter to put his life in danger.”

“Please let me help. I really want to,” Peter said.

“It’s out of the question,” Mama said. She turned to Peter’s mother with a smile. “Agi, come and join us for coffee. I’ll miss you when we’re gone.”

Mrs. Szabo recoiled. She put out both of her hands as if to protect herself. I barely recognized her with her face so full of anger and hate. “I’m glad you have to leave! We don’t want people like you around here! Good riddance!” she cried. Then she turned on her heels and left the room.

Although the June sun was beating down on our heads, I wore a long raincoat for the walk to Aunt Miriam’s on Tatra Street. Mama had sewn all of her jewelry into the coat’s hem, together with the little money we had left. We hoped the police and the roaming bands of Arrow Cross youths would be less suspicious of a young girl than an older woman. But I felt so sticky. Sweat was running down my face and my blouse clung to my back. Again and again, Grandmama’s hand crept to her throat to feel the outline of her gold necklace. I whispered to her to stop.

It had taken us the whole three days to decide what to take with us. Saturday, June 24, was the last day of the
compulsory move for the Jewish citizens of Budapest, so we couldn’t hesitate any longer. I had used the last pengos I had received from Madam to buy a wheelbarrow from the super of our building for ten times its normal value. Even so, I considered myself lucky to have got hold of it. We filled it with our belongings, then tied two mattresses and several pillows and blankets onto it. Our family photographs rested inside the folds of the blankets. As we were leaving, Mama noticed the large silver menorah that had glistened on the sideboard in our dining room for as long as I could remember.

“We cannot leave this,” she declared. “It was a wedding gift from my parents.”

We tried to pack the menorah into the wheelbarrow, but it was so bulky that we had to take out the photo albums to make room for it.

“The photographs are more important,” Mama said. And with that, the menorah went back on the sideboard. It was the last thing I saw when the door of our apartment closed behind us for the last time.

Ervin and I had each grasped a handle of the wheelbarrow and were pushing it in front of us in a wavering path. We’d also made huge rucksacks out of old sheets and then filled them with pots and pans, bedding, and clothing. Like beasts of burden, we bent under their weight.

The streets were filled with thousands of glum men, women, and children. Most people carried their belongings
on their backs. A few were pushing wheelbarrows like ours. Others had larger, hand-held pushcarts. A few had been able to hire horse-drawn wagons. All of us had yellow stars sewn onto our clothing. We kept our eyes on the ground.

Because of our heavy loads and the crowded streets, the half-hour trip took three times as long as usual. Finally, we reached Aunt Miriam’s apartment. She and Gabor were waiting for us outside. A large, six-pointed yellow star had been smeared above the front entrance.

“I’m so sorry we didn’t come to help you move,” Aunt Miriam said. “We were afraid to leave the apartment empty. There are people who couldn’t find a room in a yellow-star house in this district and they’ve been demanding that I let them move in with me – even after I explained that you were coming! I’m so glad you’re finally here. I don’t know how much longer I could have held out. Gabor wanted to go alone to help you move, but I wouldn’t let him out of my sight.”

“Heaven forbid!” Mama said. “Who knows what might have happened to him. The streets are full of Germans, police, and gangs of Arrow Cross. It’s a miracle nobody stopped us.”

Aunt Miriam and Gabor lived on the third floor of their apartment house, but it took us just a few minutes to carry all of our belongings up the stairs. Once we had piled everything on the floor, we barely had room to move.
Even a steaming cup of Aunt Miriam’s famous tea did little to revive us.

“We’re terribly overcrowded,” Mama said helplessly. “How can we …”

She exchanged puzzled glances with Aunt Miriam. Then they both laughed – the first time in ages.

“Where am I going to sleep?” I asked.

Neither answered: they couldn’t stop laughing. But I was growing desperate. I
had
to know where I was going to sleep.

“I’m assigning rooms to everybody,” I said. The only response was a snort and more laughter. “Mama, why don’t you sleep with Aunt Miriam? Grandmama, you could take Gabor’s bed. If you like, I’ll keep you company. I’ll sleep on one of the mattresses we brought with us. There is room for it on the floor by the door.”

“She sounds just like Papa,” Ervin said.

“My good, resourceful Marta. I couldn’t manage without you,” Mama said, drying her eyes on her sleeve.

“Good plan,” Aunt Miriam said. “The boys can go into the parlor.”

“Gabor, do you mind if Grandmama takes your bed?” Mama asked.

“Oh no! I prefer sleeping on the sofa in the parlor.” He gave Ervin a worshipful glance.

“That won’t be necessary,” Grandmama insisted. “Gabor should stay in his own bed. I’ll take the couch.”

“I’d rather be with Ervin,” Gabor said.

Ervin nodded happily.

“That’s settled, then,” I said. “We can pull Ervin’s mattress into the parlor.”

There was a final giggle from Aunt Miriam.

Once we had moved our belongings into the corners of the rooms, things seemed better. The apartment was still crowded, but at least we had space to move about. We even made a schedule for bathroom use.

The rest of the building was also a hive of activity. People were going in and out of the different apartments. Doors slammed. The cry of a child came through the wall. Ervin and Gabor went to help neighbors move while the rest of us unpacked what we could.

By suppertime we were tired. Grandmama had prepared bean soup and a spicy potato-and-noodle casserole with paprika. The delicious aroma made my mouth water.

“So nice to be together,” my aunt said. “Now if only Laci and Aron were here.”

“Just one letter,” Mother said. “Just one letter – that’s all I ask for.”

“They’ll write soon. They will, I know it!” Aunt Miriam’s voice was determined, as if she were willing them to write to us. There had been no word from Uncle Laci either.

“Both of you worry too much,” Grandmama said. She put her arm around Mama’s shoulders. “I’d know if anything was wrong with Aron. I’d feel it. Aron is fine, and so is Laci.”

The three women exchanged unhappy glances.

“Are there other kids our age on this floor?” I asked Ervin.

As if in response to my question, the doorbell rang. I went to answer it. Judit Grof and her brother, Adam, were standing in the hall.

Judit and I stared at each other in complete shock before falling into each other’s arms.

“What are you doing here?”

“We moved into Mr. Deutch’s apartment down the hall,” Judit said. “I had no idea I’d find you here! We just came over to introduce ourselves.”

“And I didn’t know you’d be here! Isn’t it wonderful? We’ll be able to spend all of our time together.”

I drew her into the apartment and we settled down on the sofa.

“Careful! You’re in my bedroom,” Gabor said, laughing. “I feel cooped up. Let’s go out!”

“Great idea! We’ve been moving all day. I want to have some fun,” Judit said.

“It’s such a nice evening. Let’s go for a walk by the river,” I suggested.

Aunt Miriam’s apartment was around the corner from a
wide promenade that ran alongside the Danube. Before the Occupation, we went there often. The cafés by the river sold delicious ice cream and pastries, and lively music wafted out of the hotels. White wooden deck chairs were rented out to people who gazed for hours on end at the romantic sight of the Royal Castle and the Fisherman’s Bastion across the river. Throngs of chattering people of all ages strolled up and down the wide walkway. The air was filled with the tantalizing aroma of the pretzels the street vendors were hawking.

“We can’t go on the promenade! It’s too dangerous,” Gabor said.

“Gabor is right. The entire area is full of Arrow Cross, SS, and Hungarian soldiers,” Aunt Miriam explained. “You won’t see a single yellow star in the crowd.”

A heavy silence oppressed us.

“It was a lousy idea anyway,” I finally said, as cheerfully as I could. “Who wants to see the murky old Danube again? I’ve seen it a million times already and so have the rest of you. How about playing cards instead?”

Mama gave me a grateful glance. “What a good idea,” she said. “We’ll leave you in the kitchen and drop over to Judit and Adam’s apartment to visit their mother.”

I was cutting thick slices of heavy rye bread for breakfast when I heard somebody banging on the front door. I found Adam in the doorway, a ripped white notice in his hands.

“I was playing catch with my friends when the police tacked this on the lamppost out front,” he said. “I tore it off and took it to my mama. After she read it, she told me to show it to you.” He handed it to me and turned away.

It was an official document, a new set of rules and regulations that Jewish citizens living in Budapest had to follow. I read the announcement with growing dismay. A curfew had been imposed. We were now allowed to leave our homes only between two and five o’clock in the afternoon. We weren’t permitted to have guests come to our homes. We could not call out of our windows to friends, even if they happened to live across the street from us. We could not use the same air-raid shelters as Christians. We were not allowed to sit on park benches. We could not visit the homes of Christian acquaintances, even if they lived in a yellow-star house. Most humiliatingly, we were allowed to travel only in the last car of a streetcar, even if the other cars were empty. A Jewish person caught disobeying these regulations faced immediate deportation.

I took the poster to Mama. As she read it, her expression became more and more grave.

“As if wearing a yellow star isn’t humiliating enough!” Her voice broke. “How are we going to live?”

I shrugged my shoulders. I could only wonder how I would ever see Peter again.

Despite the new regulations and his mother’s threats, Peter sent me a note asking me to meet him at the Café Peace. Although it was a sunny July afternoon, I took along a sweater with no star on it. Just before I got to the café, I would put it on to hide the yellow star on my blouse, since Jews were forbidden to eat in restaurants. Both Peter and I knew the risk we were taking. So far, we’d been lucky: no police had come into the café to check papers. But we knew that our luck couldn’t last forever. We were going to have to find another place to meet.