FEBRUARY 5, ‘25 // of bread to fill the bottomless pit in our stomachs. When the Americans came to liberate us, I was already beyond caring. I didn’t understand why the soldiers gazed at us with so much pity. I was in better shape than most of my fellow inmates, and was released to a DP camp, instead of a hospital. Eventually, after regaining my strength, I boarded a train to go back home, to my small village. Though I knew my mother and child would never return, I hoped that at least my father or husband had survived. The tiny village I had lived in all my life was untouched by the horrors of war. Life had continued, as normal, aside from the Jews. Out of the twenty families in the village, fifteen had been Jewish, but now there were only Hungarian peasants enjoying our possessions. Anton, the neighborhood drunk, had comfortably ensconced himself in my childhood home, with his wife and grown children. I heard this news at the train station, where I met Stephan, the kindhearted Hungarian peasant who had helped my father in the tailor shop. He had frequently been a dinner guest at our home, and remembered my little Ahrele. His eyes widened like saucers when he’d seen me. “Y…you’re back? Is that you, Sima?” he gasped in shock. “We heard that nobody returned.” “Well, I’m here,” I said resolutely. “I survived, and I hope my father and husband are also alive. Did anyone return?” “No one came,” he said. Then he lowered his voice and said, “Don’t go back to your home.” “Why not?” I asked, a frisson of fear going down my spine. “Because Anton lives there with his strapping son, Ferencz. Remember Ferencz? He always had a perfect aim. And I heard him say that if anyone in your family comes back, he’s going to kill them.” “I have to go back, Stephan, just to see if I can find something,“ I pleaded. “Will you come with me?” Stephan reluctantly agreed to accompany me, an act which most certainly saved my life. I stood behind him as he walked up the path to my house and knocked on the door. It was opened a moment later by Anton, his eyes blazing. “Who are you and what do you want?” he demanded. “I brought a visitor,” said Stephan. “Remember Sima? She used to live here. She wants to---“ “Ferencz, bring the shotgun!” Anton shouted. He glared at me. “Get out of here now or I will personally finish the job that Hitler started! Feh!” 200
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