A Papa Like Everyone Else Page 10

  “Just one more night,” Mama promised. The strain showed in her pale face also.

  “Pr-a-gue! Next stop, Pra-a-gue!”

  Instantly faces brightened. Passengers bestirred themselves, collected their bundles and packages, and slipped into coats and jackets.

  “We’ll be changing trains here,” Mama said.

  “Oh, not another train!” Szerena complained.

  “Yes, another train to Dresden and then still another one to Rotterdam. The trains are slow, and they stop so often. Papa was right when he said we should allow a week. But we have a couple of hours to wait now. That will give us a chance to stretch our legs, and we’ll be able to see something of Prague.”

  The girls clung close to Mama as she elbowed her way through the crowded railway station and out into the wide streets. They stared round-eyed at the tall buildings—some of them were four stories high and made of brick and stone! Nevertheless, to eyes accustomed to the vivid colors of the countryside, the city presented a dull leaden aspect. It was Gisella who voiced what they were thinking. “Everything looks so gray!”

  Szerena’s head ached, and she had such a dreadful wanting-to-throw-up feeling. “I hate trains!” she said. “I wish we didn’t have to ride on another one.”

  Just then they heard a resounding clang! clang! “Look,” Gisella pointed, “a train running right in the middle of the street!”

  They stood fascinated, watching it roll along two iron tracks imbedded in the road. From the top of the train, a long pole slid along an overhead wire. Blue electric sparks sputtered and crackled as the wheel on top of the pole moved along the wire.

  “Can you imagine! A street train!” Szerena cried.

  “I’ve heard people talk about them,” Mama said. “They’re called trolley cars.”

  “Mama, I don’t want to walk anymore,” Gisella said suddenly. “I don’t feel good.”

  “Me, neither,” added Szerena.

  Mama looked down at their faces which had taken on a yellowish-greenish color. “What you children need is something to settle your stomachs,” she said anxiously. Her eyes combed the area. “Come,” she coaxed and led them into a small cafe.

  It was dim and cool and quiet inside. They slumped into chairs at a marble-topped table, while the cafe owner brought them each a foaming glass of beer.

  “Drink it all up,” Mama ordered.

  “Ugh! It’s bitter!” Gisella cried, making a face.

  “Sour!” Szerena cried.

  “Never mind the taste! Just drink!”

  The beer was cool, but it seemed to warm up their stomachs. Szerena exclaimed about the bubbles running up her nose, but gradually the uncomfortable feeling in their stomachs went away.

  At last, surrounded by their belongings, the family stood as if lost amidst the milling throng in the Rotterdam station. Even strong, self-reliant Mama seemed uncertain, as hand to mouth, she looked around worriedly.

  A well-dressed man, wearing eyeglasses, approached and addressed Mama in a foreign tongue. She shook her head. Smiling, he then asked in Hungarian, “Is there someone coming to meet you?”

  “No. We know no one here,” Mama replied. “We re sailing for America in a couple of days.”

  The man nodded. “Have you a place to stay meanwhile?”

  “No— not yet. . . .” Mama hesitated. “I was going to look for one. . . .”

  “Well, then, perhaps I can be of some help. First, however, permit me to introduce myself. I am Mr. Vogel. I own a modest hotel not far from here. Many people going to America stop at my place. It’s clean and quiet. And our rates are reasonable. If you like, I can take you there.”

  “Oh, thank you. Thank you very much.” Mama was plainly relieved. “Could we go right away? The children are worn out. They need to rest.”

  “Of course. My porter will take care of your things.” He beckoned a young boy who then came running. “Permit me.” He took Mama’s arm and smiled encouragingly at the girls. “It’s not far.”

  Their first fleeting impression of Rotterdam was of narrow houses set close together, cobble-stoned streets, and many bicycles. Before long they arrived at a small hotel.

  Wearily they trailed behind Mr. Vogel along a wide hallway. He stopped at a numbered door, turned the key in the lock, and waved them into a large spotlessly clean room with two beds.

  “Is this satisfactory?” he asked.

  “Oh, yes. Very,” Mama replied.

  “Good. I’ll have your things brought right up.” Mr. Vogel paused at the door. “Perhaps you’d like a little supper?”

  Mama shook her head. “No, thank you. We’re not hungry. We’re much too tired.”

  “I understand. Have a good night’s rest.” He bowed himself out.

  It was heavenly being able to stretch out full length on a real bed! Long before Mama had finished putting things in order, both girls were sound asleep.

  The hotel was a fascinating place, filled with so many things they had never seen before.

  For instance, the broad carpeted stairway. No one in all Helmeez lived in a house with a staircase leading to another floor. Nobody even had second floors. They delighted in the luxurious feeling of sinking down into the thick, patterned carpeting on the stairs. “I wish there were lots more steps,” Gisella cried. At every opportunity she went tripping up and down the stairs, just for the sheer joy of it.

  Then there was the bathroom. “Imagine!” Szerena said. “All you have to do is pull a chain, and all that water comes rushing out! I wonder where it comes from?”

  And they flushed the toilet over and over just to see the water burst forth in a torrent and then magically disappear.

  To one side was an enormous tub. “Did you ever see anything so shiny clean and smooth?” exclaimed Gisella. “It stands on little legs! What’s it for?”

  “For bathing,” Mama explained.

  Taking a bath in Helmecz had always been a chore. First you had to heat lots of water on top of the stove. Then you carried it and poured it into a large round zinc tub. In no time, the water would cool, and Mama had to keep bringing more hot water. But here, one simply turned on a faucet.

  Mama’s hand reached under the faucet. “It’s like a hot fountain,” she said, laughing in wonder and delight.

  In the lobby downstairs, the wall facing the street was all glass windows. Here they sat a good part of the day looking out on the busy tree-shaded street and observing the passersby.

  “Everyone in Rotterdam is so well-dressed! Even the children!” Gisella commented.

  Szerena replied, “I guess they’re all rich.”

  Once they saw a little girl gliding by as if she were floating, her blond pigtails streaming behind her. How could that be? They rushed forward for a better look.

  “She has something strapped on her shoes!” cried Gisella.

  “Wheels!” Szerena added. “She’s got wheels attached to her shoes! It’s like riding in a wagon.”

  Mr. Vogel overheard. “Only you’re your own wagon,” he put in, laughing. “They’re roller skates.”

  They stared up at him, puzzled.

  “You mean to say you’ve never heard of roller skates?”

  They shook their heads.

  It was Mr. Vogel’s turn to look puzzled. “My, my!” he murmured.

  “Mr. Vogel, do they have roller skates in America?” Gisella asked hopefully.

  “Oh, yes! Lots of them!”

  The sisters grinned at each other happily.

  The day before sailing, a notice arrived from the U.S. Health Officer requesting the family to appear for a physical examination.

  “Why do we need to do that?” asked Gisella.

  “Well, they have to be very careful,” Mama answered. “They don’t want any contagious sicknesses brought into their country.”

  “They won’t shave our heads, will they?” Szerena queried in alarm.

  Gisella stared at her. “Shave our heads?” she repeated.

  “Don�
��t you remember, Mama?” Szerena went on. “There was that woman in Helmecz. Oh, you know. The wife of the cattle dealer. She was always so proud of her hair. It was beautiful, thick and black and so long she could sit on it. But she wasn’t very clean. And then we heard that they found lice in her hair. So they shaved her whole head before they would let her go on the ship.”

  Gisella covered her head with her hands. “I don’t want them to cut off my hair!”

  “Nobody’s going to cut off your hair. Stop worrying,” Mama said.

  Nevertheless, that night, all three washed their hair and fine-combed it over and over just to make sure.

  The following morning, Mr. Vogel guided them through the streets to one of the numerous canals crisscrossing the city. There they boarded a long, white boat and found seats on deck among the other passengers.

  Toot! Toot! Slowly the boat moved away from the dock. The sisters clung nervously to their seats. “Thev’ve never been on a boat before,” Mama explained.

  “It’s perfectly safe,” Mr. Vogel assured them.

  The boat slipped smoothly over the grayish-green water past row on row of narrow-roofed houses lining both sides of the canal.

  “This is really a part of the sea you’re traveling on,” Mr. Vogel commented. “It runs into the harbor and joins the ocean.”

  “The Atlantic Ocean,” Szerena added.

  By the time they had reached their destination, both girls were agreed that if crossing the Atlantic were half as pleasant, they were in for a good time.

  The health office was spacious and white and spotlessly clean. At the reception desk, a middle-aged, motherly-looking woman spoke to Mama in their own language. “You and the children come with me,” she said.

  Her voice and manner were reassuring. None the less, Gisella and Szerena held fast to Mama’s hand.

  “It is required that you bathe before the doctor’s examination,” the woman stated as she opened the door. “The children can have their bath in here, and Mother can use the one just across the hall.”

  Separating from Mama in this strange place! Panic descended upon Gisella. Szerena, too, shook her head emphatically, crying, “No, no!” Desperately they clung to Mama.

  “It’s all right,” the woman said soothingly. “You can all bathe in the same room if you like.” As she left, she handed Mama some white dressing gowns and said, “Put these on afterward for the doctor’s examination.”

  The room was warm and steamy. Quickly they undressed and climbed into the tub. Soon all three were splashing away contentedly.

  Bath over, they donned the gowns and were conducted to the doctor’s office. The examination was brief but thorough. Next they were turned over to a nurse. Sure enough, she promptly began parting their hair and inspecting then- heads closely.

  Gisella smiled up at the nurse happily. “We’re not like that cattle dealer’s wife in Helmecz,” she declared, drawing herself up proudly.

  “What?” The nurse looked completely mystified.

  Mama interrupted quickly. “Oh, she’s just talking about some acquaintances in our town.”

  The nurse’s checkup marked the end of the physical examination. Mama was relieved to learn that they had been given a clean bill of health. “Now there’s nothing more to do except board the boat,” she told the girls.

  FIFTEEN

  The giant ship curved upward alongside the dock, its many colored flags flapping in the breeze, and white steam hissing from one of its large funnels. On the pier, people were laughing, crying, embracing, and talking in many languages.

  Gisella felt excited but bewildered as she tried to take in everything. Above the tumult, she heard Mama say, “Good-bye, Mr. Vogel. How can I ever thank you for all your kindness?”

  “God be with you and the dear children,” he replied. “May you arrive safely in the New World.”

  At the gangplank, a uniformed guard waved them aboard. A porter led them down many stairs and bewildering lanes of corridors till at last he halted before their cabin.

  “It’s so tiny!” Szerena cried as they entered. “Like a doll’s house!”

  “Look at the beds!” Gisella added. “They look like shelves, one on top of the other. I want to sleep on the top one.”

  Szerena made no protest. She was examining a row of mysterious buttons protruding from the wall near the door. She could not understand the words printed above each button. She pressed one lightly. It slid right into the wall. Gingerly she pushed the others, waiting for something to happen. Nothing did, so she turned to help Mama stow their things away.

  A few moments later someone knocked. The door opened, and there stood a stewardess. Behind her was a steward and a ship’s officer. “What can we do for you?” they chorused politely.

  Mama and the girls looked at one another blankly. The officer pointed to the buttons. “You rang for all of us,” he said.

  Red-faced and embarrassed, Mama finally managed to say, “Please, excuse . . . I wanted . . . would you . . . could you bring an orange for each child?”

  “Certainly, Madam,” the officer said. Then he explained what each button was for.

  A hoarse blast of sound interrupted them. The room began to vibrate. “Were moving!” Szerena shouted.

  “Come along with me,” the officer said, “and I’ll guide you to the deck, so you can see what’s going on.”

  The deck was jammed with passengers waving handkerchiefs and yelling farewells in many languages. The children, with Mama close behind, made their way through the crowd until they reached the rail.

  Looking down, they watched two little tugs pulling and straining at the huge ship moving slowly away from the dock. Above them, screaming sea gulls wffieeled about madly as the gap between land and ship grew wider.

  Soon the tugs had departed. The gulls abandoned them, too. They were sailing out of the harbor into the open sea. Gradually the passengers drifted away, but Mama and the girls still lingered at the rail. The wind smelled of salt and tar. It whipped past their faces and tugged at strands of their hair. Behind them the greenish water fanned out in a trail of foaming, churning white. The land was fast disappearing. Helmecz seemed so very far away, Gisella realized with a pang. No chance of turning back now—not ever!

  “Come,” Mama finally spoke. “Let’s look around.”

  Hand in hand they roamed the decks marveling at all they saw. Folding chairs that opened out so one could stretch out on them, lifeboats dangling along the sides, tremendous salons with ornate decorations, carpeted floors, and deep comfortable sofas—and everywhere staircases leading up and down. “You’d never know by looking at the boat from the outside, how big it is on the inside,” Szerena exclaimed.

  After a few days, however, the novelty of shipboard life wore off. There was always the same limited area in which to promenade. And as far as the eye could see, there was nothing save the monotony of endless water and open sky. There were a number of other families with children on board—Americans. They seemed to be having such a good time romping and laughing together. Unable to make themselves understood, Gisella and Szerena sat on the sidelines watching them enviously.

  “I wonder what will happen to us in America?” Gisella said. “Aren’t vou a little scared, Szerena?”

  “I don’t know. Everything is bound to be different.”

  Gisella’s voice quavered. “We won’t be able to understand a thing anyone says.”

  “Don’t worry. We’ll learn.”

  “Szerena’s right,” Mama reassured her. “You’ll learn fast, you’ll see. And don’t forget we’ll have Papa to help us.”

  The continuous pitching and rolling of the vessel soon began to make people sick. By the fourth day, both Mama and Gisella lay in their bunk beds with no wish to stir.

  “You both missed such a marvelous breakfast. Aren’t you at least coming to lunch?” Szerena asked.

  Gisella groaned and turned her face toward the wall. “I don’t want anything. I feel miserable.”


  “You go alone,” suggested Mama.

  “Shall I bring you something?’

  “No.”

  So again Szerena took off by herself. To her surprise, the dining room was half empty. Lots more people must be feeling sick, she decided. Well, it’s too bad for them, but it was nice that she could enjoy all this wonderful food. She ate with enjoyment, and the obliging waiter kept plying her with more. Full to the brim and humming contentedly, she made her way back to the cabin.

  “Oh, what you missed!” she raved. “I had the most delicious dessert! It was something creamy-smooth and sweet. It’s hard to describe, but you eat it with a spoon, and it’s icy cold. The waiter called it ice cream. And when he saw how much I liked it, he brought me a second portion. It’s the best thing I ever tasted in my whole life!”

  Szerena stayed in the cabin for a while, but it was quite evident neither Mama nor Gisella felt like talking. They just lay there with closed eyes ignoring her. There was nothing to do but leave them alone.

  Up on deck, the usual groups of romping childen were absent. Most of the deck chairs were empty, too. What’s happened to everyone? Szerena wondered. She wandered about, balancing herself against the swaying of the vessel.

  At dinner, there were even fewer people. Szerena seemed to be the only youngster present. With so few to serve, the waiters hovered over her. She enjoyed their attention almost as much as she did the meal. She ate enormously and with great relish.

  “Mama, aren’t you and Gisella going to eat something?” she asked sympathetically when she returned. “How about some hot tea or soup or something? Maybe that would make you feel better.”

  Mama shook her head weakly. “No. Not a thing. I couldn’t keep it down. Maybe tomorrow. The stewardess says it comes from the rocking of the boat. After we’ve had a good night’s rest, maybe we’ll feel better.”

  But by morning, neither Mama nor Gisella were any better, and Szerena breakfasted alone. The dining room was practically deserted. Szerena couldn’t bear seeing all that appetizing food going to waste, so she ate and ate and ate.

  Afterward she ventured outside, but the decks stretched out before her, empty and forlorn. Walking was difficult, for the wind had risen. Overhead, gray-black storm clouds were gathering in an ominous mass. There’s no one to even smile at, thought Szerena, feeling suddenly very lonely.