tears for lilacs

A pair of chocolate eyes gaze at me; they are so unfamiliar. Deep like an abyss filled with history and sorrow, they are the blazing ner tamed, the eternal flame. Wrinkles like a fan run out from the sides of each almond shaped orifice, the result of laughter and a million memories. They are accompanied by the dark crescent moons of numerous sleepless nights. The woman's silver hair clings to her multicolored plastic rollers like a child's hand wrapped around its fathers thick fingers. She is old and fragile.1

I turn away from the mirror and sit down on the bed. It barely lowers beneath my mere 130 pounds. My floral quilt feels soft and worn beneath me. It smells like my husband. I run my fingers across the holes of the afghan that perches on his pillow waiting. A whimper escapes from my voice box like a bird fluttering out of a cage that has been closed for years. My voice is shaky and it cracks. I sit with a hump on my back as I reach up and touch the dazzling diamonds draping across my neck. I slide my hands upward to my face. My skin seems to fall like the dead leaves of my oak tree. I glance back to the reflector of time- my mirror. Everything has changed except those eyes. Those eyes now filled with wisdom, that have seen the world. Those eyes that tell a story- the story of a nation, of a people, crying out for help.2

3

I spread out my fingers and grasp for my father's feeble hands. He looks so old, so gray. His thick brown hair, his prized genetic gift, seemed thin, it seemed to glow a luminous white. I will never forget his eyes. They said everything- I have failed. His protective arms were collapsed at his sides. I squeezed them as hard as I could, allowing my strength to rejuvenate him. He looked at me with his eyes, with his heart. "Szeretlek Szuszikam Adesh." " I love you my sweet Suzi." Why has he given up? Tears of confusion tumble shamefully adown my mountainous cheek bones. I could see them splashing the crackling pavement of Szebt Istvan ter street. I did not know at the time that those salty droplets would form the buds in the cracks for those generations that would never be. Szekesfehervar is a small town. My tears watch my neighborsMagda and Shanyi but I do not. I am strong. My shoulders are squared and my chin is pointing toward the trolley cars. I will make it.4

5

I was fascinated by love. It is like a giant mystery to me; an unexplored deep sea cavern. There are so many factors: time, friends, family, values, schedule. There is always an argument over who wants it, whatever it is, more.6

How does one prepare themselves for love? How do they break down the walls surrounding their heart? If Samson could not do it, who could? How can one person can love another and be loved in return. No one had ever liked me before. It takes two to tango. I felt like I was standing on the shiny hardwood floor of those fancy building one only sees in pictures. I was wearing a plum ruffled gown and a purple flower adorned my hair. I maintained my ballroom stance, but nothing was held in my palms but the empty air. Who would dance with me?7

8

Maca's hair was plastered to her forehead, it was a mess. The wind flew it backwards, running its extremities through her locks, combing out her curls. She gripped onto my mother like a starfish sucking on the picturesque coral. She was bleating like an animal in heat. Her face was distorted causing unfamiliar wrinkles on her porcelain face. I had never seen her frown. Tears streaked down her face like blood, staining her ivory skin. She did not understand. This had been coming for a long time.9

"We are in a war" my dad told me at dinner the previous night.10

"But what did we do Apa?" Maca pleaded. She was only 14, practically a child.11

" We did not do anything!" I exclaimed sternly. "It is because we are Jews."12

She cried and put her head down on the table, her hair sprawled out across her plate. I glared at her with the harshest eyes; they burned through her hair and into her head. She sat up and sighed. I am only four years older, but we seem light years away. Whenever I went out with Andrew, she would sit on my bed until I returned, begging to hear the details of my night. Wining when I denied her the stories. She needed to grow up. A respectable woman does not ask questions like that. She needed- well, that is unimportant now. Now I wish that she had a chance to grow up a little more. After the war, she never smiled quite as brightly, or frolicked like she used to. I wish I had cherished those questions. She had become a woman before her time, and I cannot give those years back to her. I wish I could have answered her questions.13

14

My Bundi, my Andrew. My first boyfriend, my first kiss, my first love. I loved being with him. I would explore the imperfections of his body with my fingertips; the scar on his right shoulder, the birthmark on his forehead, a scar from the chickenpox on his wrist. I rubbed my palms over the indentations of his muscles, especially the heart shaped muscle in his back. My rose petal lips against his neck, feeling the beat of his heart pump warm blood through that body that I loved so much. I ran my fingers through his thick brown locked, examining each curl as if it was a precious diamond. Our bodies fit like a puzzle, interlocking into each other's nooks. I would look beneath his eyelashes that would kiss my cheeks as I snuggled into his neck and stared into his eyes, peering into the honey flecked spirals adorning his brown iris that mesmerized me. I had missed him when he went away to work. He would never tell me in his letters exactly where he was, or what he was doing. I think he was lying. He would say that he is getting stronger and that I will love his new muscles, his new skills. Yet with each letter, his penmanship would get increasingly worse, his letters shorter. I shoved those thoughts out of my mind. I would pray for him every night. Each day he would write me a letter. The post man grew to expect me each day as I made the three mile peregrinate to his office. I could not wait for our weekly delivery.15

16

Last Tuesday was an especially long trek. The snow trickled down from the fluffy white clouds like tear drops of the angels. They dripped on my cheeks, my nose, and my eyelashes. One got in my eye and it began to tear. I rubbed it away and kept walking. I see the office in the distance and quicken my pace, feeling a sense of urgency deep within me. I break into a run, the snow kicking behind my feet, and I burst into the doors, panting, my chest rising and falling. Yanosh comes to greet me and slowly shakes his head. No mail for me today. Check back tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow.17

That night I had a dream. Bundi was lying in the snow like we used to when making snow angels. His arms were spread wide as if accepting a gift. I ran over to join him. I lay down on top of him and wrapped my arms around his face. He was so cold. I rubbed my hands up and down his arms. He was so cold. Why wasn't he moving? I shake him gently, he does not move. "Bundi!" I scream, placing my fingers on his neck, waiting to feel his life surging through my fingertips. I lifted his head into my lap and it drooped like a rag doll. His eyes were open, just the slightest, just enough to see the familiar honey flecks now faded beneath the weight of his eyelids, the weight of an endless slumber. His lips were parted like they were before our kisses, but this time they were dry and lifeless. They seemed to crumble like my heart. I blinked and realized that I was not holding him in my, but watching in the distance as I watch death kiss his forehead and lift his spirit from his body. He was all alone. I woke up with a fever, shivering, sweating. Two days had passed. I had not gotten any mail.18

19

I can't breathe. I inhale the stench of 100 corpses, waiting for the end. The light paints memories on the wooden slats. None knew where we were headed. We had no idea how long we'd been traveling. Long enough to survive, that is all I knew. Miriam nestled in my neck, her tears staining my flesh. Mother stood stiffly, staring blankly, pale, gray, weak. No pulse.20

21

I did not see myself. I had lost all hope.22

23

The morning that we were rounded up in the square was something I will never forget. 24

"I HATE YOU!" I wailed, throwing my arms up in the air and walking toward the table. I was hyperventilating to prevent the tears from falling. It was all I had done lately. Andrew was gone, I was alone. My mother did not understand. She was torturing me on purpose. We sat in silence eating fried bread. I could not even look at her. She couldn't eat. The next thing I knew, the door was kicked open and four burly men stood at the door with the S.S. symbol on their sleeve. My mother gasped and reached for my hand, pulling me closer. My heart stopped. 25

"Is this the Maron residence?"26

"Who is asking?" My father demanded, striding down the steps.27

"Adolf Hitler." One man said. Apa stopped in his tracks and bowed his head. Three of the men came in and the other stood in the entrance of the doorway, the angel of death looking into the houses. Two men took the women into the living room, my dad and grandfather into the kitchen. To this day I still do not know what happened to my dad and grandfather in the kitchen. Afterwards, when the men reported back to their boss, he asked if we were hiding anything. The men held my mother's watch and my pearl necklace and replied, "No we did not find anything of value." We meekly followed orders, shuffling into the living room. They grabbed my mother by the wrist, and dragged her into the closet. Maca and I were told to sit on the couch and listen.28

Five minutes later the man came out smiling, zipping up his pants. His partner chuckled and patted him on the shoulder. My mother followed, face painted with tears, masked with a quivering smile. 29

"Who's next?" The other one bellowed eyeing my sister and I. He grabbed our hands and pulled us up, eyeing us up and down. His eyes made my skin crawl. I snarled and he grabbed my cheeks.30

"Don't ruin such a pretty face with that grimace pussycat." His fingers left imprints on my naïve body. "But this one is so young and fresh. For sure a virgin." He slid his hands down Miriam's face. "I don't care which one I take, you chose."31

"Take me." I said stepping forward.32

"Well aren't you brave!" he snickered, pushing me toward the closet.33

"Nooooo!" My mother shrieked, collapsing to the floor, her head touching the wood. "Please."34

"Stop begging like a dog, you bitch." He smacked her, and the crack echoed. She lay in the fetal position weeping. "Shut up. Stop whimpering. Don't worry, I will be gentle." He laughed and pushed me into the enveloping darkness.35

36

When I was younger, my mother used to kiss my belly button and tell me how my belly button was very special.37

"Why is it so special mommy? It is just a hole that gets lint in it! It is weird looking too!"38

"That's not all it is!" She would say. " When you were living inside of me, that is how we were connected. Look how similar ours look. Look how they both swirl in the same direction. Whenever you need me, or just miss me, press your belly button, and I will be there. Szuszikam, this is how we were connected. This is how we are connected. And when you have children, they will be connected to you through your belly button. It is a mother's permanent kiss on her child."39

I would press my belly button and think that maybe it wasn't so weird looking.40

41

It was inspection day. Anu, Maca, and I huddled together, patting at each other's stubbly hair and pinching our cheeks. We squared our shoulders back, put our chin up, and thought happy thoughts. I thought of an extra slice of bread.42

The doctor walked by each and every one of us, looking us up and down like we were pigs at the county fair. If you were tapped on the shoulder you were a goner. He came closer and I took a deep breath. He walked by Miriam- exhale. He walked by me- exhale. He walked by my mother- exhale. Then he stopped and stepped back. Inhale, Inhale, Inhale.43

"How old are you?" Forty Two.44

"I don't believe you."45

Please G-d, don't take her away from me. I need her.46

He tapped her on the shoulder and continued walking. She let out a whimper, walked straight ahead, and did not look back. I bit my lip and shuddered. Miriam looked as if she was going to collapse any minute.47

"The rest of you come this way."48

A woman approached me and asked if that was my mother and I nodded my head, holding back an ocean of tears. If you cried, you were weak and they would kill you on the spot. I was not weak. She briskly walked away and tapped the doctor on the shoulder. They conversed for a minute and he sighed, pointing at a carcass in the other line and beckoning them over. Three woman began to walk and the S.S men held two of them back. The other was my mother. The doctor said something to her, she nodded, and came walking back over. Miriam ran into her arms and began slobbering on her chest. She was safe.49

Later that day we were transferred to a different camp, an all woman's camp. The ride in the cattle car was short, only six or seven hours. When we were let out, it was night time and we were sent to the barracks and headed off for bed. That night the three of us held one another tightly, praying for a sign of hope.50

It was early in the morning when we were awakened , maybe only three or four. We were instructed to strip down and to head for the showers. Everyone gasped. This was the end. The gas chambers. I had seen many die this way before. When one walked by the chambers, sounds of wailing mothers and screaming children could be heard. The gas would wrap its Aryan arms around the victims throat, sucking out the light of life. Take a shower meant to die a horrible, wretched death. Take a shower meant our bodies would be piled into mass graves where our arms and legs would be sprawled out like a spider, our burning flesh decaying in the sun. Take a shower meant the end.51

We walked like zombies toward the building where we were herded like Abraham's sheep into a room. There was a door at the end of this room. We could see the showers. But they were actual showers. With water. We saw women cleansing themselves as the water trickled down their rib cage. We stared hypnotized as they licked the dripping water from the faucets. I ran my tongue over my lips.52

A man walked into the room. No one even bothered to cover up. There was no dignity left to cover. We were taking roll. We all filed into a straight line and the doctor stood at the door to the shower room and inspected us one by one as we were approaching the entrance to the sacred drops. We all moved very fast. First Miriam went in, then I followed, bending down to touch the water on the floor with my dry palms. I grabbed her hand as we headed for a faucet. Mom. Where was she? I turned around. She was right behind me a second ago. Where did she go? I looked through the entrance and saw thirty or so women screaming in the other room. Mom. What were they doing? They ran toward the entrance and the man held them back. It was a race for the door. A guard came over and shut began to close it. A few women squeezed in.53

"Anu!" I reached for her hand and our fingertips touched. I pulled, but a strong arm yanked her hand out of mine. Stay Back. "Mom! Mommy!" The door was shut and I fell against it, my hands sprawled across the bar. My belly hurt.54

55

"What did I do wrong Szuszikam?"56

"What do you mean Munci?"57

"Is he angry at me because I always spill my milk because I really don't mean to. It just always happens. My elbows just won't stay at my sides." Maca looked up at me with those big brown eyes. She was only four years old, she was too young to understand. Her lips trembled like a bike riding down our pebbly roads. Shimmering tears filled her eyelids like the milk on the brim of her cup.58

"No of course not!" I replied, rubbing her back and sitting her in my lap. "It is not your fault!"59

"Then why do they hate me?"60

"Who hates you chillugum, little angel?"61

"The world."62

63

December 21st 1944. The guards told us to walk. We all dropped what we were doing and began to trudge through the mounds of snow. They told us not to look back. We walked for miles, for days. If one hesitated, their hesitance would be splattered upon the snow bank. They were dropping left and right. Icicles hung at the corners of my eyes. How much longer could we keep going?64

Boom! A huge explosion was heard in the distance and we all stopped in our tracks. "Put your heads down! Everyone get on the ground and go to sleep. NOW!" Miriam and I held hands and waited, tickling each other's palms every minute, pleading for a response. Don't leave me.65

There were guns fired. I wonder whom they killed. German curses flew all around us. Then there was nothing. It was silence. No one moved. We lay for hours. Then I there was shuffling all around me and people speaking to each other. Tears of joy melting the snow. I jolted up and saw my fellow inmates hugging one another, looking dazed. We were alone. We did not know what to do. We were free.66

67

A month later, we were back in Hungary. We stepped out from the train, inwardly begging for a familiar face. Across the tracks I saw a man staring at me. He was very handsome standing there, smoking a cigarette. I glanced away and began to walk in the opposite direction. I looked back, but he had disappeared. Thanks goodness. I could not speak to a man like that. My hair was short, my dress was dirty, my stockings were ripped. We had no money. Miriam and I stopped at a flower shop and I ran my fingers over the petals. I picked up a lilac and inhaled the sweet aroma of my mother's garden.68

"Excuse me; are you buying those for someone?"69

It was he. He was even more handsome up close. I breathed in his cologne, blushed, and shook my head.70

"Oh good, I was worried that you might have had a boyfriend."71

His smile was so cute. I wanted to touch his dimples. 72

"No, my sister and I are just on our way back to our town."73

"I noticed you from across the tracks."74

"Yes, I saw you staring."75

"I couldn't help it, you are the most beautiful girl I have ever seen."76

My face flushed a crimson red. My cheekbones seemed to burst out of my skull. Me- beautiful? I shyly crossed my legs, trying to hide the runs and rips in my stockings. I smoothed down my skirt. There was nothing I could do to hide those stains. I had been wearing this skirt for the past couple weeks. My fingers felt timidly for my ringlets around my shoulders, but they grasped empty air. They climbed up to my prickly scalp, I had no more than a couple centimeters of hair on my hair. Was this a joke? If it was, I did not know if I cared. It had been so long since a man had noticed me like this.77

"A beautiful girl deserves beautiful things." He reached into his bag and pulled out a pair of silk stockings.78

"I cannot accept this!" I exclaimed, gasping and putting my hand on my heart. It was thumping beneath my sweaty palm. Why was I nervous? "Thank you though, that was very kind of you." 79

He took my hand and said, "Please. Please accept this, my gift to you."80

I shook my head and looked down to my beat up shoes, "But I have nothing to give you in return."81

He put his thumb on my chin, raising my eyes towards his. "You have everything to give me." He bought me flowers that night.82

83

"What a treat!" I said kissing him. The bouquet of lilacs was the most beautiful sight I had ever seen. The whole room seemed instantly brighter. The sweet fragrance swirling through my memories.84

"One for you," he said, placing a single flower behind my ear, "and one for you." He lifted up my shirt and glided the petals across my pronounced belly button. I smiled and placed my hand on his cheek. I looked into his eyes and saw the story of our past, and the story of our future.85