Read Online Upon the Head of the Goat by Aranka Siegal - Free Book Online Page B

divan next to a sleepy and confused Manci, who sat and chewed on her nightgown in silence while Sandor climbed onto his lap. Iboya and I approached the divan shyly, waiting our turn to be held.
    Mother was wide awake and filled with concern. “You ran away? What can happen to you? You must be hungry. Where are they taking you? How is Mr. Gerber?”
    Father smiled and answered her last question. “I left Mr. Gerber in charge. Rise, don’t worry. We are not sure where we are going, but it could be the Russian front. Do you have my brother Srul’s address just in case?”
    â€œYes, I do. Ignac, take care. I want you home again.”
    â€œHow are you and the children getting along?”
    â€œNo problems. Mr. Kovacs is being generous, he gives us enough to live on.”
    â€œAre you getting my army pay checks?”
    I could see the sudden question on Mother’s face, but she quickly smiled and answered, “Yes, no problem, we are managing very well.”
    â€œIt won’t be for much longer,” Father said. “The Russians are very strong. And even if we are captured by the Russians, I am sure that would be better for us than Hitler’s succeeding.”
    As he spoke to Mother, he kissed us each in turn and got up. He embraced Mother, pulling her close. For once she did not pull away from him and scold, “Ignac, the children!” She remained very still for a few seconds and then drew away. “You must not stay longer.”
    Lilli stepped down from the threshold and flew into his arms with a cry, “Oh, Ignac.” As she looked up at him unashamed of her flowing tears, I realized that Lilli loved Father in a different, grown-up way—not Mother’s way, but not our way either. They were like very close friends.
    â€œDo you think Lajos will be going, too?” she asked as she separated from him.
    â€œNo, Lilli, I think they have forgotten that he is a Jew. Hold fast and we’ll soon be home. Look after your mother.”
    Mother was standing with the bundles. Father shook the contents of his backpack out on the divan—a few slices of dry zwieback—and refilled it with the strudel. “Now I must run.”
    We all went with him to the gate and watched as he and Mother embraced. Then Father was gone. Slowly Mother turned back from the gate. Her cheeks were wet with tears, but she spoke to us firmly, telling us all to go back to bed. She picked up Joli, who was still repeating, “Daddy, Daddy,” and carried her off, not turning around toward us again. Startled by her abruptness, we all went back to bed.

10
    A S I WAS WALKING home alone from school one day late in October, a woman with an infant in her arms approached me and asked in a wavering voice, “Do you speak Yiddish?”
    I nodded.
    â€œI’m running away from Slovakia, and we are hungry. Can you point me to a Jewish door?”
    â€œFollow me, I’m on my way home. I’m sure my mother will give you something to eat,” I said in Yiddish.
    The woman followed me, walking close to the houses. When we reached our kitchen, I started to explain to Mother, but she pushed me aside and lifted the infant out of the black peasant shawl around the woman’s shoulders.
    â€œThe child needs water,” she said, cradling the infant in one arm, while with her free hand she scooped up a small cup of water from the bucket and forced a little of it into the child’s mouth. Lilli spooned some of the vegetable soup simmering on the stove into a dish and set it on the table.
    â€œGod bless you, pretty lady,” the Slovakian woman said in Yiddish as she sat down on a stool and began to gulp down the steaming soup. Mother asked Lilli to fill a washbasin with water so she could wash the baby. We watched the infant come back to life, kicking and enjoying the sensation of the warm bath. Then Mother lifted the infant out of the basin, wrapped her in a towel, and