One Eye Laughing, the Other Weeping (5 page)

Palestine so they can form a Jewish state. I don’t even know where Palestine is. All I know is it’s something Max and Daddy argue about all the time.

Now he does exercises
every
night before bed. I went by his room very, very slowly so I could hear him grunting and groaning and on the way I passed Daddy’s study.

I could hear him talking on the phone. It sounded like he was talking to Uncle Daniel because they were talking about Hitler. That’s all they seem to talk about. It’s all
anyone
talks about lately.

Even Ernst Resch and his friends are talking about Hitler. They say that Hitler has written a book about his life and it’s going to replace the Bible someday.

I didn’t think Ernst Resch could read a book that didn’t have pictures.

I decided to find out for myself, but when I asked Mr. Heller if he had the book Hitler wrote about his life, you would have thought I had asked him if he had any dead bodies buried in the basement.

Mr. Heller asked if The Doctor knew about it, which had never happened before, so I asked him if I needed to have all my reading requests approved by my father. He looked a little embarrassed — which was pre-

cisely my intention — and said that this was a special case and I would have to ask my father.

I wanted to talk to Daddy alone but the only time was after dinner when he was playing billiards. I know he doesn’t like to be disturbed when he’s playing billiards because it’s one of the few times he
really
,
really
relaxes, but I just couldn’t wait.

He didn’t look quite as horrified as Mr. Heller did. In fact, in an odd way, he didn’t look surprised at all, like he had been expecting the questions for some time.

He asked me if anything had happened at school and I told him no, it was just that some of the kids are saying that Hitler’s going to do this and Hitler’s going to do that and not one of them seems to know what they are talking about so I want to see for my-self, which, I pointed out, was something he had taught me.

SUNDAY, JANUARY 30, 1938

I always have breakfast alone with Daddy on Sun-day morning because Mother likes to sleep late and Max goes to his Zionist meeting. Daddy even lets me make his egg for him so we don’t need Milli.

I
love
to watch Daddy eat his breakfast — it’s really quite fascinating. I serve it to him in his eggcup and then he takes a teaspoon, carefully cracks the egg all the way around the middle halfway between the equa-tor and north pole, and then (when he’s sure he’s got it cracked
just right
) he winks at me and topples it, saying “Off with their heads” because that’s what I used to say when I was little.

After breakfast Daddy goes for his Sunday walk around the Ring. Daddy believes fresh air and brisk walks are important to your health. He’s a fast walker — when we went hiking last summer in the Vienna Woods I had a tough time keeping up with him. He walks the whole four kilometers with his hands jammed into his coat pockets and bent forward as if he were walking into a gale.

MONDAY, JANUARY 31, 1938

I had my midyear conference with Mrs. Thompson today. This is the second year I’ve had her for homeroom, which is fortunate. Mrs. Thompson is
very
,
very
sweet, but things didn’t go at all as I had expected. She said I seem to have adopted a “very nonchalant”

attitude this year, which made me wonder why peo-ple never say “chalant,” they only say “nonchalant.” No one ever says, “You seem very chalant today.”

Mrs. Thompson said I was her best student last year but I’m not working as hard now. I seem to be day-dreaming quite a lot and if there is anything that is bothering me she would be happy to talk to me about it in the strictest confidence. (But there really isn’t so we just sat there looking at each other for a while.) Mrs. Thompson is one of the few people I know who doesn’t look like an animal but she does remind me of a willow tree.

She said I am a gifted girl and that I should make sure I don’t squander that gift and right then and there I decided to make
squander
my word of the week. Every Monday I choose a word of the week and then I try to use it as much as I can, although not so much that anyone notices. (The only one who pays enough attention to get suspicious is Sophy).

Last week’s word was disappointing — not
disappointing
the word, just disappointing. The word was
jeopardy
but I think
squander
will work out much better. Mrs. Thompson had her red class book open right

on the desk and I tried to read my grades upside down but I couldn’t, quite.
‌

THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 3, 1938

When I gave Mr. Heller Daddy’s note he took forever to read it, which I don’t understand because the note was very short, shook his head for an equally long time, and said he would have
Mein Kampf
by the end of the week.

SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 6, 1938

Dinner last night with Uncle Daniel was even more unpleasant than usual.

First he became utterly furious just because the salt rolls weren’t fresh although he slathers so much butter on them I don’t know why it would matter. He kept calling for the waiter, who either didn’t hear him or didn’t want to, for which I couldn’t blame him, so Uncle Daniel just threw the whole basket of rolls onto the floor, which was quite embarrassing, although we’re all used to it by now.

When the waiter failed to bring the horseradish sauce at the same exact time he brought the boiled beef I was afraid Uncle Daniel was going to throw that on the floor, too. (Although Uncle Daniel was quite perturbed about the “ineptitude” — Uncle Daniel likes to use long words to describe
everything
— of the waiter, he did recover in time to order his cheese strudel with cream sauce for dessert.)

Uncle Daniel is
very
particular about his food. He considers eating — especially when
he’s
eating — a sa-cred act. The only thing that can distract Uncle Daniel from his food is the sound of his own voice.

Uncle Daniel can talk for hours and not be the slightest bit aware that he is so UNBELIEVABLY BORING. He just assumes everything he says is interesting — he leaves no stone unturned and no thought unuttered. Now he’s decided he wants to be hypnotized, which, Max whispered, is a good idea because maybe the hypnotist won’t be able to bring him out of the

trance.

Uncle Daniel thinks he’s a great writer, and I have to admit he is famous in Vienna, although I really don’t know why. Everything he writes is grim and gruesome and he doesn’t finish anything, anyway, because lately

he’s been suffering from writer’s block. (Well, at least we know he isn’t suffering from eater’s block or talker’s block.)

The worst part was after dinner: Uncle Daniel invited himself back so he could read his latest “work in progress.”

This “work in progress” was even more horrible than the last one. Uncle Daniel said this time he’s go-ing to write a full-length novel, but we’ll see because he usually has more success sticking to his very short stories. The novel is based on the real-life eighteen-year-old daughter of some archduke who lived about a thousand years ago — Uncle Daniel is forever going on about Austrian history and Emperor Franz Josef, his beautiful wife, Elisabeth, and their son Rudolf and his tragic suicide.

The girl’s father is so mean he doesn’t let her do
anything
or go
anywhere
, which is what most of the story is about (typical of the boring nature of Uncle Daniel’s stories). But then one day she’s smoking a cigarette (which, of course, she has been forbidden to do) and her father turns up unexpectedly. So she hides the cigarette behind her back, igniting her royal garments, and she is burned to death right before his eyes.

Max laughed himself silly over that one. Mother said it gave her a migraine, and I left to finish my homework.

Later, when I went into the kitchen because I was thirsty, I could hear Uncle Daniel and Daddy talking in Daddy’s study. They were having another argument about Hitler.

Uncle Daniel had a lot of wine at dinner, which he always does, and it makes him talk louder than usual, which is pretty loud anyway, so I could hear every sin-gle word he was saying.

He said all this worrying about Hitler is unnecessary because once he achieves power he will moderate his extreme views. And besides, Uncle Daniel added, Hitler has done wonders for the Germans — restoring order and a sense of pride among the people.

Then Daddy said something, but Daddy speaks so softly I couldn’t hear, even though I had moved down the hall and was standing right outside the door of the study.

Uncle Daniel wasn’t listening to a word Daddy was saying, you could just tell. He went right on: Hitler is only after the Polish Jews — he has nothing against the Viennese Jews and besides, Hitler is right. Vienna is be-

ing “drowned in Jews as surely as the Danube is over-flowing its banks.” They are a miserable, filthy lot. They have no money, no possibilities — they’re nothing but “a bunch of Yiddish-speaking shtetl Jews” and they should go someplace else.

Every time Uncle Daniel was silent I knew Daddy was saying something, but I didn’t dare come any closer. All I could hear was Daddy saying something about no place to hide and Uncle Daniel shouting, “I am not a Jew. I haven’t been a Jew for twenty years. Why should I worry about that now?”

Uncle Daniel
isn’t
Jewish, at least not anymore. He was born Jewish, just like us, but he decided to become a Lutheran. Max says he was even baptized.

He’s embarrassed that we’re Jewish. I remember him once telling Daddy he shouldn’t use his hands so much when he talks and Mother that she shouldn’t wear her hair up because it makes them look Jewish. Daddy has a particular way of talking when he’s very serious and he was very serious now. I could hear

every word.

Daddy told Uncle Daniel he is indulging in wishful thinking if he thinks Hitler is just saying all those aw-ful things about the Jews until he achieves power. And

he is a bigger fool if he thinks the Nazis will make a distinction between Polish Jews and Viennese Jews or converted Jews and unconverted Jews. He urged Uncle Daniel to wake up and face facts.

The conversation was scaring me even worse than Uncle Daniel’s terrible story did, and I didn’t want to hear any more — I just want Hitler to go away and leave us alone. I went back to my room and tried to read myself to sleep, but I couldn’t.

Why is Uncle Daniel ashamed that he was Jewish?

Should I be ashamed, too? Did I do something to be ashamed of? If I did, what is it?

MONDAY, FEBRUARY 7, 1938

I remember the first time I knew we were Jewish. I was four and Max was ten and he came home from school with his shirt bloodied and his pants ripped and muddied. Milli shooed me into my room and told me to stay there.

No one said anything that night, and Max didn’t come out for dinner, which had never, ever happened before.

The next afternoon I overheard Mother talking on

the telephone to Mrs. Hirsch. She was telling her that a gang of hoodlums had followed Max home yelling vile things at him about being Jewish. Finally Max had had enough and went after the biggest one (which is just like Max) but there were too many of them. They kicked him and stomped him until he was left lying on the ground, unable to move.

From then on I knew I was different but I didn’t know why.

TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 8, 1938

We had a substitute teacher today so the boys were even ruder than usual. I think it would be better for all concerned if boys were kept in cages — really, I truly do.

The poor, pathetic substitute was bewildered, which only encouraged Ernst Resch and his sidekick Thomas the Turtle (that’s not his real name, I just call him that because he’s so slow in the head) to act even more foolishly. The two of them started throwing wet sponges at some of the smaller boys, and by the time order was restored half the class was laughing themselves silly and the other half was crying.

WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 9, 1938

Sophy’s angry at me again, this time because she got a B minus on her mathematics test and I got an A without, according to her, studying for a minute, which isn’t entirely true. (Even if I didn’t have to study that much, why is that a reason to be mad at me?) Besides, I asked her, what’s the matter with a B minus, which made her even madder. Sometimes Sophy is
so
frustrating. She has to excel at
everything
.

I stayed up very, very late last night reading. I kept promising myself one more chapter, just one more chapter, but as soon as I finished that one chapter I just couldn’t bear to go to sleep without finding out what was going to happen in the next one and, although I did sleep a little, before I knew it it was seven and Milli was banging on my door warning me that I was going to be late for school (which I wasn’t, but only because I ran for the streetcar and ate my breakfast roll on the way).