Read Online My Canary Yellow Star by Eva Wiseman - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Eva Wiseman
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Mama would have killed me.
Once I was out the door, I quickened my step. The streetcar was clattering to a stop at the end of our street just as I got there. I climbed up into the last car, but it was full, so I had to stand. At least I knew I wouldn’t smear my charcoal seams against the seat. I put the strap of my purse over my shoulder, shifted my sweater into the crook of my arm, and with my other hand, clutched the leather loop hanging from the ceiling. It bothered me that I still had to stand on my tiptoes to reach the loop, but I was afraid to hang on to one of the metal poles next to the seats. I wasn’t in the mood for nasty comments about how I was crowding the passengers in the seats next to the poles.
There were two other people with yellow stars in the last car. One was a white-haired lady who was sitting with a large wicker shopping bag on the floor between her feet. A few seats over from her was a youngish woman with a little boy in her lap. The blond child steadily picked with his chubby fingers at the yellow star on his mother’s blouse. The only sounds came from her fruitless attempts to hush her little boy’s chatter. The rest of the passengers seemed absorbed in their own thoughts – all except an older gentleman who was hanging on to the last leather loop at the back of the car. He was dressed rather formally, in a black suit with a black homburg on his head and a briefcase clutched in his hand. He smiled at me.
At the first stop, two youths wearing the green shirts of the Arrow Cross climbed aboard. The first boy stoppedclose to me and grabbed one of the leather loops hanging from the ceiling. I inched away from him as inconspicuously as I could. His friend walked up to the old Jewish woman and kicked her wicker basket with his filthy boots.
“Hey, mother!” he sneered, spitting on the lady’s shoes, “why is a dirty old Jew like you taking up my seat? Get the hell up!”
The old woman hoisted the heavy basket over her arm and stood up wordlessly. The youth pushed her aside and lowered himself onto her seat with a laugh. The lady shuffled down the streetcar to where I was standing. None of us in this compulsory society of the yellow star looked at each other. Not a single one of the other passengers betrayed any sign of noticing what had just happened. It was as if the lady was invisible.
We arrived at the next stop. Two policemen in their distinctive blue uniforms climbed the steps of the streetcar. My heart pounded when I saw revolvers in the holsters on their hips. The older of the two policemen remained by the back exit while his younger partner came to the center of the car. Two more waited on the sidewalk by the streetcar rails.
“Your papers, Jews!” cried the younger policeman.
I was glad I had remembered my wallet. I took out a card that bore my picture and information about my age, sex, and address. Across the card was stamped the word “Israelite.” The policeman went up to the lady with thebasket first. He checked her papers and flung them back at her. Next, he came to me. He examined my documents, nodded, and returned them. I breathed a sigh of relief.
“Both of you, get out!” the policeman said, pointing first to the older woman and then to me.
I was confused. “Why, sir? My papers are –”
“Are you arguing with me, Jewish bitch?” the policeman shouted.
“No, sir, I was just–” I stopped mid-sentence. The lady with the basket had kicked me hard over my ankle while she stared impassively out the streetcar window. To my great relief, the movie in my head switched on, just as it had back in Madam’s workshop. Once again, I was watching events unfolding around my other self.
“You what?” the angry policeman prompted me.
“Nothing, sir,” the girl in the movie mumbled.
“Cat got your tongue?” the policeman snarled, pushing his face into mine.
The movie dissipated like smoke, and I was back in my unbearable real world. The officer grabbed my arm
Once I was out the door, I quickened my step. The streetcar was clattering to a stop at the end of our street just as I got there. I climbed up into the last car, but it was full, so I had to stand. At least I knew I wouldn’t smear my charcoal seams against the seat. I put the strap of my purse over my shoulder, shifted my sweater into the crook of my arm, and with my other hand, clutched the leather loop hanging from the ceiling. It bothered me that I still had to stand on my tiptoes to reach the loop, but I was afraid to hang on to one of the metal poles next to the seats. I wasn’t in the mood for nasty comments about how I was crowding the passengers in the seats next to the poles.
There were two other people with yellow stars in the last car. One was a white-haired lady who was sitting with a large wicker shopping bag on the floor between her feet. A few seats over from her was a youngish woman with a little boy in her lap. The blond child steadily picked with his chubby fingers at the yellow star on his mother’s blouse. The only sounds came from her fruitless attempts to hush her little boy’s chatter. The rest of the passengers seemed absorbed in their own thoughts – all except an older gentleman who was hanging on to the last leather loop at the back of the car. He was dressed rather formally, in a black suit with a black homburg on his head and a briefcase clutched in his hand. He smiled at me.
At the first stop, two youths wearing the green shirts of the Arrow Cross climbed aboard. The first boy stoppedclose to me and grabbed one of the leather loops hanging from the ceiling. I inched away from him as inconspicuously as I could. His friend walked up to the old Jewish woman and kicked her wicker basket with his filthy boots.
“Hey, mother!” he sneered, spitting on the lady’s shoes, “why is a dirty old Jew like you taking up my seat? Get the hell up!”
The old woman hoisted the heavy basket over her arm and stood up wordlessly. The youth pushed her aside and lowered himself onto her seat with a laugh. The lady shuffled down the streetcar to where I was standing. None of us in this compulsory society of the yellow star looked at each other. Not a single one of the other passengers betrayed any sign of noticing what had just happened. It was as if the lady was invisible.
We arrived at the next stop. Two policemen in their distinctive blue uniforms climbed the steps of the streetcar. My heart pounded when I saw revolvers in the holsters on their hips. The older of the two policemen remained by the back exit while his younger partner came to the center of the car. Two more waited on the sidewalk by the streetcar rails.
“Your papers, Jews!” cried the younger policeman.
I was glad I had remembered my wallet. I took out a card that bore my picture and information about my age, sex, and address. Across the card was stamped the word “Israelite.” The policeman went up to the lady with thebasket first. He checked her papers and flung them back at her. Next, he came to me. He examined my documents, nodded, and returned them. I breathed a sigh of relief.
“Both of you, get out!” the policeman said, pointing first to the older woman and then to me.
I was confused. “Why, sir? My papers are –”
“Are you arguing with me, Jewish bitch?” the policeman shouted.
“No, sir, I was just–” I stopped mid-sentence. The lady with the basket had kicked me hard over my ankle while she stared impassively out the streetcar window. To my great relief, the movie in my head switched on, just as it had back in Madam’s workshop. Once again, I was watching events unfolding around my other self.
“You what?” the angry policeman prompted me.
“Nothing, sir,” the girl in the movie mumbled.
“Cat got your tongue?” the policeman snarled, pushing his face into mine.
The movie dissipated like smoke, and I was back in my unbearable real world. The officer grabbed my arm
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