Becoming My Mother's Daughter by Erika Gottlieb

Author:Erika Gottlieb [Gottlieb, Erika]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Canada, Holocaust; Jewish (1939-1945), Gottlieb family, Gottlieb; Erika - Family, Juifs Extermination (1939-1945) - Hongrie - Budapest, Jewish, Parenting, Gottlieb; Erika, Meres et filles, Personal narratives, Holocaust; Jewish (1939-1945) - Hungary - Budapest, Toronto (Ont.), Budapest, Holocaust, Motherhood, Personal Memoirs, Historical, Hungary, Budapest (Hungary), History, Family & Relationships, Gottlieb; Erika - Famille, Holocaust survivors, General, Biography & Autobiography, Mothers and daughters, Biography, Gottlieb (famille)
ISBN: 9781554580309
Publisher: Wilfrid Laurier Univ. Press
Published: 2008-03-14T00:00:00+00:00

THE TUNNEL, 1944–1945

83

13.

Urged by the nuns to move quickly, we leave by the back door, family by family, trying to be invisible, to let the mercifully dark night swallow us.

The evening is mild. Mother’s black silk scarf with the red flower is knotted under her chin and pulled down over her forehead. It won’t be light for long time. We should be able to reach our shelter by daybreak. And with God’s help it may also rain—Mother could hide under the umbrella.

We’re walking briskly along an interminably long road on the outskirts. We need to use the advantage of the darkness; once we’re in town, there will be more people. We still aren’t wearing the yellow star—what if we’re caught? We have to reach our shelter by dawn. Our shelter … our shelter … Matthias the store runner, good old reliable Matthias, has long before this been instructed by Grandfather, his boss for twenty years, to take care of us if we ever turn up and ask him for protection. He has been paid handsomely for this and has also been promised a generous reward after the war. He is ready to hide us if we ever appear in his doorway. The address is 5 Heart Street.

“If something happens to me,” Mother says, “you keep going on to 5 Heart Street. Knock at Matthias’s door, the first apartment on the left on the main floor.”

Seeing our stubborn, dejected looks, she adds urgently:

“If something happens to me, you simply must keep going. I may still get there after you—eventually, somehow. You know, by another route …

But you simply must keep going.”

We don’t answer, we don’t look at her. We just hold on to her more tightly as she carries her large handbag with all our earthly goods in it. I hang on to my matted straw bag and hold on tight to the furled black umbrella.

“Do you have the umbrella, little one?” Mother asks from time to time, and I reassure myself by squeezing its handle. We’ve been walking a long time, and the weight of my straw bag is straining my arm so that I have to shift it from one hand to the other. As long as I can reach Mother’s coat, it is all right to let go of her hand sometimes, for a few seconds.

We leave the outskirts behind. I keep my head down and stare at the dark, shiny pavement, my feet carrying me mechanically by their own momentum. As we approach the city the lights become more frequent and I sense people clustering at street corners, talking to one another and sometimes staring as the three of us rush past. I don’t want to look at them to confirm it, but I can feel their stares now. And some of them must 84

BECOMING MY MOTHER’S DAUGHTER

have armbands, military caps, guns on their shoulders. As dawn breaks slowly, I can see and be seen more and more distinctly. Just then, as if to set my heart at peace, I feel the long-awaited drizzle.

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