7
'Me ?Valid a Wetitio,
*oaf
Alicia
Continued from preceding page
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wear them for some time.
The first day I was able to
stay out of bed for a while,
Mrs. Gold gave me a pair of
boy's pants and a shirt to
wear. It surprised me that
they had children's clothing.
As I took them from her she
must have seen the question
in my eyes.
"They were our son's. He
was killed before you came to
say with us."
I went over and hugged her.
"I am very sorry," I said.
"Thank you, my dear," she
said, patting my hand. "I am
sure he would have liked you
very much. Sometimes I feel
as . . . as though our son
returned . . . " She could not
complete her sentence
because she started to cry.
How she must have loved me
to give me her son's clothing.
I thought, how heavy with
sorrow are the hearts of
Jewish mothers.
One evening about six
weeks after they found me,
Mr. Gold returned home and
announced that he had found
a way to get me back to Buc-
zacz. "In two days you will be
with your mother and
brother," Mr. Gold said as he
put his arm around me.
"We will put you under -the
straw in a sleigh, where you
will be nice and warm and no
one will even know you are
there. Is that all right with
you?"
I nodded. Then something
clicked in my mind. A sleigh
driven by whom? I hesitated
whether to ask. I was afraid
to hurt Mr. Gold's feelings.
But I had to ask.
"Mr. Gold, please forgive
me for asking; I am really
very grateful for what you
have done for me, but who is
going to drive this sleigh in-
to Buczacz? I hope it is not
some farmer. I have such bad
memories . . . "
"You can trust me. You will
be in very safe hands." He
smiled.
Two days later Mrs. Gold
awoke very early, about half
past four in the morning. Mr.
Gold was already awake.
Because of the need for
secrecy, they lit only one can-
dle. Mrs. Gold gave me a piece
of bread and some tea. She
also gave me a small package,
which I put in my coat pocket.
"Chew slowly, my dear," she
said. "This will be your last
food until you get home."
Suddenly there was a knock
at the door. "Ah," said Mr.
Gold, "that should be our
friend." He told me to wait in
the other room and then
opened the door. I heard some
voices in a different language.
I felt excitement mounting in
me together with a certain
amount of apprehension. Mrs.
Gold called for me to come
out. There was a man in the
kitchen who seemed to fill up
all the space there. He was
big and burly.
"So," he said, looking at me,
"this is to be my traveling
companion, eh? We will do
our talking now, little friend.
Once we are on the road, we
take no chances."
The man's name_ was Ivan.
He and Mr. Gold explained
that they were going to smug-
gle me out of the ghetto. I
would have to be in a potato
Alicia Appleman-
Jurman will speak
at Book Fair at the
Jewish Community
Center 10 a.m.
Wednesday.
sack under the straw; and
whatever I heard, I was not to
make a sound. Now they had
to put a kerchief over my
mouth and nose, which I
could remove when we left the
city. Ivan would stop before
the Black Bridge in Buczacz
and let me off there .. .
My joints ached; I shivered
as I made my way over the
bridge, down the street, and
into the ghetto. But it wasn't
only the January weather
that made me shiver — on
many of the doorways I saw
signs in Polish and German
saying "typhoid." So, I
thought bitterly, I was not the
first to make it home. The
typhoid was already here.
My anticipation mounted
as I came closer and closer to
our house.' My heart sank
when I saw the sign on our
door. I paused for a minute to
catch my breath and compose
myself, then pushed the door
open. It was deathly still in-
side our room. I looked
around and saw Mama and
Herzl lying in their beds. I ap-
proached slowly, fearfully, not
knowing if I would find them
dead or alive. Reaching the
bed, I gently touched Mama's
shoulder. Her head turned
toward me and her eyes open-
ed. She was very ill.
Then she smiled weakly.
"Alicia," she whispered, "you
have come home to us." -
"Yes, Mama," I replied in a
choking voice. "I have come
home."
❑
Excerpted from the book,
Alicia: My Story by Alicia
Appleman-Jurman, published
by Bantam Books. Copyright
© 1988 by Alicia A.
Appleman. Used by
permission of Bantam Books.
All rights reserved.