A Papa Like Everyone Else

  Copyright © 1966 by Allenby & Co., LLC.

  All rights reserved.

  Reissue Edition

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission of the publisher.

  Please direct inquiries to:

  Lizzie Skurnick Books

  an imprint of Ig Publishing

  Box 2547

  New York, NY 10163

  www.igpub.com

  ISBN: 978-1-632460-16-5 (ebook)

  Gertrude

  To her memory

  And her memories

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  One

  Gisella sat very still, her pale green eyes round with wonder. Again the miracle was happening! She had seen it many times before, but always her pulse quickened with the mystery of it.

  Pick—pick! An egg under the mother goose cracked. Gisella could see the tiny yellow beak pecking through.

  “Szerena!” she called to her sister, “Come quick!”

  Szerena strolled over and sat down beside her. Together they watched the wee bodies struggling out from the smooth white walls that had imprisoned them for so long. Soon, six wet, bedraggled baby goslings were wriggling under their mother’s warm, protective body. “Cheep! Cheep!” They kept chirping excitedly.

  “Oh, Mama, they’re so darling!” Gisella cried. Her fingers itched to stroke them. But she knew she mustn’t—not yet, anyway.

  Mama slipped a deft hand under the goose to make sure there were no more eggs to be hatched. “Well, that’s not bad,” she said with satisfaction. “With these six, we now have thirty-four geese in our flock.”

  The big wall oven was sending waves of heat throughout the front room. Gradually the down on the baby geese dried, and they were transformed into round yellow balls of fluff.

  Mama put a small pan of water before the straw mat. Making a clucking sound, she coaxed the babies to drink. But they did not know how. Gently, she pushed the little round beaks into the pan. After a few tries, they began to sip, throwing their heads back comically as the water ran down their gullets.

  Gisella picked up one of the yellow balls, cupping it tenderly in her hands. She held it to her face, brushing the downy softness against her cheek. “Oh, you darling, darling!” she cooed, kissing it. A small globule of saliva glistened on her lips. Instantly the baby goose sipped at it.

  Gisella giggled. “It’s kissing me!”

  “Silly,” Szerena said matter-of-factly. “It’s just learned how to drink. It saw the spit on your lip, so it drank, that’s all.”

  But Gisella was quite sure that the gosling really had kissed her.

  “It’s time the little things had their first meal,” Mama said. She mixed some fine grits with water in a pan and set it down on the floor. The goose rose, ruffled her feathers, and headed straight for the pan, the goslings wobbling anxiously after her. As she hovered over the pan, she kept turning and looking at her children. Watch me, then do as I do, she seemed to be saying.

  She stretched her neck downward, pecking at the grits with her beak. Then she deposited some on the floor beside her chirping brood. The babies nipped at the food gingerly. It must have tasted good, for in no time, they were hopping up and down trying to get into the pan.

  Meanwhile, Szerena had cleared away the messy nest. In its place, Mama set a big wooden box with a sievelike bottom, and when the goslings had finished their meal, she put them all into the box. Their mother jumped in after them. She spread her wings wide, and the little round fluffs tumbled over one another trying to get close to her.

  For several days, Mama kept the brood in the house. Then one morning she said to Gisella, “Now they’re ready to go for a stroll.”

  Gisella held out her pinafore, and carefully, one by one, Mama put in the baby geese. Walking with cautious steps so as not to jostle them, Gisella stepped across the ledge of the house. Behind her trailed their mother, honking worriedly.

  It was a bright, sunny day. White clouds, looking freshly laundered, were sailing across a sky of deep blue. The morning sun was already suspended like a crown of pale gold. The yellow dandelions dotting the new spring grass, seemed to be nodding in gay greeting.

  Gisella knelt down, releasing her hold on her pinafore, and the little ones came tumbling out. In a confused huddle, they poked about, chirping furiously at everything. They look just like the dandelions, only bigger, she thought.

  While the mother hovered near, the babies began nibbling at the grass. Gisella laughed as she watched them yanking at the sturdy blades of grass.

  “What’s so funny?” Szerena asked from the door.

  “Just look at them! It’s the first time they’ve ever seen grass. How do they know it’s good for them?”

  Szerena shrugged. “I guess God made them to know. Stop fussing with them, and go feed the other geese and chickens.” She thrust a large pan of feed into Gisella’s hands. “And don’t take forever. You have to help me clean up, you know. Mama wants to get to the fields.”

  Gisella trudged toward the barn calling loudly, “Here chicky, chicky! Here goosey, goosey!”

  From everywhere the fowl came running, circling around her, clucking and cackling expectantly. Gisella scooped up fistfuls of the feed and tossed it to the impatient birds. She loved the smooth, mushy feeling of it slipping through her fingers. The fowl scattered about, pouncing on the morsels. Immediately, they were back for more, some of them even pecking at her toes. “You greedy things!” she scolded. “Mind your manners!”

  In no time, the pan was empty. Gisella started back toward the house when suddenly, from afar, there came the sound of drum beats. “The dobos! The dobos is coming!” she shouted, dropping the pan with a clatter. She ran through the small garden, unlocked the wooden gate, and dashed out into the dirt road with Szerena close behind.

  Rat-tat-tat! Rat-tat-tat! The drum sounded nearer! Now, even Mama wiped her hands on her apron, forsook her kitchen, and came on the run.

  Up ahead, they could see the drummer turning into their street. “I hope he’s bringing good news today!” Mama exclaimed.

  Rat-tat-tat! Rat-tat-tat! Left, right, left, right! The drummer’s short legs thrust forward. Behind him thronged the children of the village.

  The dobos stationed himself right in front of Mama’s house. His drum fell silent. The grown-ups and children gathered around, all attention. Taking out a sheaf of paper from his vest pocket, he cleared his throat importantly and began to read aloud. “There is sickness in the Kozma house. The child Juli is down with scarlet fever. This is very contagious. Be sure to stay away and also keep your children away until the sickness is over.”

  There were murmurs of sympathy for the Kozmas.

  The dobos continued. “The tax on the glass windows in your houses is due this week. I wish to remind you that it is one koruna for each window, and it is to be paid to the biro (judge) this week.”

  “The main road at the railroad crossing needs repairs.” The dobos paused, scanning the list before him. “The following people from this street are to report at the crossing tomorrow morning at 7 o’clock, ready for work. Janos Bacsi and Rezi Neni it is your turn now.” He peered over the top of the paper at Mama. “Aunt Rezi your name is on the list, but I kno
w you have no man to do this work for you. You will have to pay or get someone else to do it for you.”

  “I know,” Mama said quietly. “I will speak to our neighbor’s son, Imre. I will pay him to do the work.”

  “Good. And my final news is also for you Rezi Neni. There is a registered letter for you at the post office. You will have to go there to sign for it. It’s from America.”

  “From my husband!” Mama cried.

  The neighbors nodded and smiled to one another. “From America!” they echoed. “From her husband!”

  Gisella heard the catch in Mama’s voice. She could see the sudden joy lighting up Mama’s tired face. Szerena, too, was all smiles. “I’ll go with you, Mama,” she said.

  “Gisella, you gather up the goslings while we’re gone,” Mama called over her shoulder, as she and Szerena started for the post office.

  Rat-tat-tat! Rat-tat-tat! The dobos marched off to the next street with the children prancing along.

  Dutifully Gisella guided the chirping goslings back to their box. I’m glad for Mama and Szerena, she thought. I ought to be glad for myself, too. It’s good to know I have a papa like everyone else, even if I only know about him from letters. A deep current of resentment stirred within her, sweeping aside all the happiness of the morning. She felt all mixed up. It’s been so long since we heard from Papa, she mused. I had almost forgotten about him. It’s all your fault, she railed mutely at the departed dobos. Did you have to come and tell us there was a letter? We were getting along just fine —the three of us—without any papa!

  She sat down on the mat beside the box and fondled the little goslings. This gave her a measure of comfort against the unhappiness tugging at her.

  Soon Mama and Szerena were back. Gisella rose and followed them into the big room, and they all sat down at the table. Slowly Mama turned the letter over in her work-worn hands. Then she laid it down before her, staring at it. If only she could read or write. Her fingers traced the address as the girls bent forward examining the strange stamp. Finally she tore open the envelope and gave the letter to Szerena. “Read!” she said. Hands folded in her lap, she leaned against the back of her chair watching the movement of her elder daughter’s lips.

  My dearest Wife,

  I know it has been a long time since you heard from me. You must be thinking that I have forgotten all about my family. Never think that! 1 did not write because I felt you have enough to worry about taking care of the farm and the children all by yourself. I could not add to your troubles by telling you what happened to me.

  “Oh!” Mama’s hand flew to her cheek. Szerena stopped reading and glanced at her. “Go on! Read, read!” Mama cried anxiously.

  Szerena continued.

  Near the end of the war a very contagious sickness spread throughout America—influenza they call it. Thousands came down with it. It was a terrible epidemic and many died. In fact it is said that more people died of influenza than were killed in the war.

  But after a while the epidemic seemed to let up. Those of us who had managed not to catch it were considered very lucky. Last winter there were still some cases but nothing alarming. Then suddenly I too was stricken and had to be rushed to the hospital. I had a very bad case. But God was with me. The crisis passed and I began to recover. It has taken over three months, but now, thank God, I am entirely well.

  All that time when I lay ill, I might have had someone else write for me. But then you would have found out that I was in the hospital, and I did not want you to know. But now all this is past. I feel strong again and am back at work. Only it is a misfortune that the sickness used up so much of my savings.

  It hasn’t been easy to save. Since the war ended, the situation has been very unsettled here. Business isn’t too good. There are many people without work. And prices for evert/thing keep going up and up.

  But everyone feels this is all part of getting back to normal after a war. Already I think there are signs that things will get better. So with God’s help, I am praying that the day of our being together will not be too long away.

  You will find in this letter a money order for $15.00. I wish it could be more. I know how much you need it. Now that I am back at work I will try to send you something regularly.

  It is very lonely here without you. I miss you and the children very much. How grown-up they must be by now! God bless and keep you all.

  Your loving husband

  Herschel

  Mama took the letter from Szerena, refolded it carefully, and slipped it back into the envelope. She walked over to the big, shiny black chest which stood by the bed near the window, lifted the lid, and drew out a small packet of letters. Untying the string, she placed the new letter on top and retied the bundle. When she turned to the girls, her eyes were filled with tears.

  “You see how hard Papa is trying for us? And now he’s sent us all this money. Thank God he came through the terrible sickness!” She smoothed back the graying hair from her forehead. “Szerena, you must write Papa tonight and tell him not to worry so much about us.” She stood up briskly. “I’ve got to get to the fields. Szerena, you and Gisella finish straightening up the house, then come and help me.” Tying a paisley kerchief around her head, she went out.

  Gisella moved about the house quietly helping Szerena. They were spreading the bright red coverlet over the high box bed when suddenly she burst out. “Szerena, what was Papa like?”

  “I don’t know, Gisella. It’s been so long. I was only five when he left.” Szerena’s brown eyes seemed to be looking backward in time. “But I do know I loved him very much. I remember he used to pick me up and swing me around. I thought he was so big and strong!” She smiled. “He had a moustache, and when he kissed me, it tickled.”

  Her face grew pensive as she slowly summoned fragments from the past. “Papa had a deep down voice. When I sat in his lap, I could hear it rumbling in his chest . . . He was always so gay . . . he used to laugh a lot . . . Mama did, too, in those days . . .” She regarded Gisella thoughtfully. “I think about him often. But when I do, I get kind of confused. I don’t know if what I think is something I actually remember or something that Mama has told me.”

  “Well, it doesn’t seem right!” Gisella exploded. “He shouldn’t have gone off and left us! With me just a baby only a year old!” Tears of self-pity dimmed her eyes. She bent her head, and her blond braids swung disconsolately forward.

  “But, Gisella, there wasn’t enough money for all of us to go. Besides, Papa thought it would be best if he went over first, got himself a job, and found a place for us to live. He wasn’t the only man in the villages around here to do that. Mama said many husbands went away for a couple of years. Then when they were settled and had enough money, they sent for their families. It was just our hard luck that Papa left Hungary in 1914. He couldn’t know that the war would break out that very year. And then all through the war, he couldn’t get out, and we couldn’t get in.”

  Szerena shook her head. “How many times during those dreadful years I used to wish we were with Papa in America. You were so little, Gisella. You haven’t any idea how hard it was. Lucky for us there wasn’t any actual fighting here in our village. But there were times when we could hear the guns thundering in the distance, and we would be terrified!

  “And, of course, the army had to be fed. So naturally it was the farmers who had to supply the food. The government allowed us to keep our cow and some of our chickens and geese, but they kept taking away all the eggs and milk, butter and cheese. Even the good wheat that we raised had to be turned over, and they gave us some horrible flour instead. The bread that Mama made from it tasted awful. You used to cry, because you said you couldn’t swallow it—it was as dry as sawdust. And we didn’t have a drop of sugar. And all our fruit and vegetables—everything—everything that we grew had to go to the army.

  “And always there were soldiers going through our village. All kinds—Hungarian, Czech, Russian. They had to sleep somewhere, so we had to p
ut them up in our houses and give them food to eat, even though we ourselves were hungry.” She gave a little shudder.

  “And where was Papa all this time?” Gisella insisted stubbornly. “Nice and comfortable in America. Why didn’t he help?”

  “He did try to help us,” Szerena replied. “He sent packages and money. But in wartime, mail is slow and uncertain. Once a whole year went by without hearing a single word from him.” She sighed. “Somehow we managed. Maybe because there was always the hope that someday we’d be able to get to America.”

  Gisella smacked the plump down pillows into place. “Why does everyone want to go to America anyway? People should stay in their own country.”

  “Maybe so, but what is our country?” Szerena cried. “Before the war, we were part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. Then when the war ended in 1918, they didn’t even stop fighting here for another two years. Then they went and split the country up into many pieces. Don’t you remember when everybody had to take down the picture of the Emperor and all the flags? Now you see only Czech flags. We speak Hungarian and we feel Hungarian, but now they say we are Czechoslovakians!”

  “But that’s all over now,” Gisella ventured. “And I like it here. We still have our friends—and the farm—and this little house—and everything.” Her eyes roamed around the room. It was always so bright and cheerful. Szerena had thrown open all three windows. The early spring air stirred the gay red flowered curtains, splashing their vivid color against the whitewashed walls. The sun’s rays streamed through, shimmering along the smooth brown surfaces of dresser, table, and chairs. “It’s so nice here,” she added.

  Szerena shook her head again. “No, Gisella, you’re too young to understand. It’s not all that wonderful. We have to work very hard for everything. Look at Mama. She’s not so old. But she’s always so tired and worried about money. And all the taxes we have to pay. If it weren’t for the money and clothes that Papa sends us from time to time, I don’t know how we’d get by. And it’ll never be any different for us as long as we stay here, no matter how hard we try.”