Dad loved the outdoors, particularly going camping or in his mother tongue; "Kemping". He would always wonder why we Americans never used our parks, went to the beautiful beaches or enjoyed our yards. He could be so simple in what he shared with us. It was never extravagant. Often times, it was simple French bread, with some good salami, chips and cold drinks to share together at a park. Other times, it was an outing to the beach. Oh, how we loved that so much! Every year he would work without taking time off to save and save enough vacation to take us on a 3 week trip; up the coast of California.
The things I remember most about those trips were stopping by roadside stands for fruit in season or near a harbor for fresh fish. I remember spending the day at the beach, all of us together, baking in the sun, building sand castles with his army surplus shovel, and digging for sand crabs. I used to freak out whenever I would unearth a large one and scream in a frenzy. Walking thru tide pools, looking at rock formations, and touching the slimy, seaweed like moss that blanketed the coastline are memories I carry with me as if they happened yesterday. I loved how as we would move further and further up the coast, these things would change. Falling asleep to the sound of breaking waves and waking up to places where the redwoods would kiss the sea was quite a special experience.
Dad said in Hungary, that people loved being out and visiting with one another. He never understood how we as a society here, couldn't stop and talk to each other. He thought that the art of conversation was dying. I wonder what he would have said about the world today, having social media and text messaging as a primary means of communication.
Dad had some stories about being outdoors in Budapest. In the summers after the war, he was sent for several weeks to the Czechoslovakian border to spend time with his Aunt and Uncle on their farm. It was a common belief that getting out of the city was good for growing boys and girls and fresh air was like magic for the soul.
He talked about how much he loved picking mushrooms on the hillside and how green everything was. He learned how to select them and observed good farm cooking and eating techniques. Being there helped him forget the War and to just be. It was a nice respite from all that he had seen and had imprinted into his thinking and it was great to forage for something fresh that had the smell of earth.
Thinking back now, I can see why he loved "The Sound of Music" so much. He would gather us around the television and make us sit down to watch. I remember the shine in his eyes during all the beautiful panoramic scenes. It was just recently that I realized the connection to World War II and what he watched happen to his country. I understand now why his eyes would glisten when the Von Trapp family performed "Edelweiss". He watched them in a way as if he was there with them, fearing for their lives together as the destruction of their beautiful culture unfolded. How they approached the unknown and escaped to survive, in many ways, mirrored my father's own life.
It was only a couple years before that my father had been walking through the streets one day, foraging for whatever he could find during another bombing campaign. He had been reflecting on what the street used to look like. It was once cafe lined with pastry shop windows that he would stand in front of, longing for a sweet delight. It was and still is common knowledge that we Hungarians have quite a sweet tooth, especially around 3 or 4 in the afternoon; when it was time to stop, meet with a friend or loved one and have a slice of cake and a good strong cup of coffee or aperitif before dinner. The city was once so cosmopolitan with it's nickel countered coffee houses and copper espresso machines displayed with pride to entice you to stop and indulge.
The park, now frozen; where his father often joked about tales of the "Dracula", that would feast on the unlucky fool to fall asleep on the benches, was beginning to look like a mass grave. No longer was it the grassy haven for Futbol he once remembered. It was the winter of 1944 and the city was suffering through a particularly bleak and frigid winter. In the days leading up to the tragic collection of people in the park, Dad said they began collecting his Jewish neighbors and either killing them on the spot or deporting them to labor camps, now commonly known as concentration camps. He had even observed German soldiers taking their bodies and unceremoniously dumping them into Budapest's beloved river Danube and how the dead would bloat up after a couple of days making their journey down to a point where other soldiers deflated them with bayonets and transfer them to an unknown location.
How could this be? For the first few years of the war, weren't they somehow able to protect each other? It seemed that quite suddenly , the Gestapo had penetrated the city and protection of anyone was difficult. yellow stars were all around now and horrific events now began to manifest in a rapid pace. His family and their neighborhood did what they could to take turns moving families were possible from one location to another in an attempt to save their lives.
The town lost it's vibrance and took on a somber and bone chilling tone. It was during this time that other types of campaigns had also started. Rumors wildly spread that the German's were coming to defend Budapest at the behest of the Furor himself against the Russians regarded as barbarians. Meanwhile, more and more people were disappearing. Then a particular campaign was launched that involved the dropping of toys from the sky to entice children them pick them up.
My dad saw a shiny pen on the street and reasoned that it wasn't the toy dolls he was told to stay away from. He thought it would be nice to have at home to take notes on the Jules Verne's stories he had been reading.
Suddenly, as if the earth shattered, Dad was surrounded in a cloud of dust. Then a deafening silence. There was sting felt in his lower leg and then darkness. Dad had been hit.
No comments:
Post a Comment