Read Online My Bridges of Hope by Livia Bitton-Jackson - Free Book Online Page B

the thought of the Tatras did not allay the sudden twinge. A residue of ache persisted for days. For Yuri, Marek, Pan Č ernik, and all the others. Because I knew the separation was forever.
    An hour later the city lights pop into view, and the train slows on its approach to Bratislava’s Main Terminal. Bubi’s embrace is warmer than usual. How did he guess that I need his warmth, his reassurance, tonight more than ever?
    Bubi lives in a small apartment in Bratislava which he shares with a roommate named Max. I met Max when I spent the night in Bubi’s room before my interview. He is perhaps only a few years older than my brother, but his large black-rimmed glasses make him look very mature and intelligent. Although he is shorter and slimmer than my brother, he projects an aura of authority I find very impressive. Despite their differences in age and temperament, Bubi and Max getalong famously. Both have a keen sense of humor and fun, and enjoy great popularity among fellow students of both sexes. The apartment is always bustling with company.
    I am looking forward to spending the night there again prior to my departure for the Tatras so as to be ready to join the group bright and early. For me it is a special treat to be part of my brother’s friends’ lively company, if only for a rare evening. Especially in the company of Max.
    During my last visit Max said my hair was of striking color and texture, and he liked the way I wore it, long with soft waves “cascading” to my shoulders. Since our return from the camps I have not had a haircut, and luckily the last throes of a permanent left traces of a wave in my otherwise very straight hair. Max also remarked that it was a shame the doctor ordered I gain ten kilo. “Your figure is just right as it is,” he said with a meaningful wink that made me blush.
    Max’s compliments have made me conscious of my appearance. I have taken to brushing my hair and watching my figure in the long mirror we recently recovered from aneighboring farm. A leafy design carved into each corner of the mirror helped me recognize it in the parlor of the farmhouse where I went to buy eggs. While the farmer’s wife placed the eggs one by one into my basket, I stared at the mirror in shock. When she finished counting, I said to her, “Mrs. Szantos, this is our mirror. I recognize the design in the corners.”
    The farmer’s wife shrugged and said, “If it’s yours, it’s yours. I can’t help it.” The next day I borrowed a bicycle and rode to the farmhouse. The farmer’s wife helped me tie the mirror to the backseat, and I walked with the bicycle and the mirror all the way from the farm to our house, two and a half kilometers. Mommy could not believe her eyes. She, too, recognized the mirror instantly, and tears sprang into her eyes.
    I have spent hours before the mirror, simply gazing at my face, my hair, my figure. I am fifteen and a half, and my body is growing into the body of a woman. Max was the first person to notice it. With ten kilo gained I will look much better. Even Max will approve. No one likes thin women. In the summer camp I will force myself to eat, and fill out.
    Mommy is happy that I have “rediscovered” the mirror. Besides my thinness, she worries about my concentration on studies to the exclusion of everything else. She worries about my lack of interest in clothes. I wore the dresses she made from leftover material without paying much attention to how they looked.
    But my discovery of a new world of learning and my decision to enroll at the Seminary in the fall have sparked a new interest even in things as mundane as pretty clothes and hair.
    At the apartment Max welcomes me with enthusiasm: “Let me look at you. You look splendid! You’ve grown again.” Unlike other times, tonight he keeps eyeing me with a quizzical look. Suddenly he exclaims: “Now I know! It’s the