CHAPTER 1
VIENNA
Vienna appears to me only indistinctly through the mist of the past. Buried in it are the remembrances of my early childhood, but certain events stay with me, never to be forgotten.
I never think of my hometown without tender emotion mixed with pride. I was too young when I left it to clearly remember its looks. Yet I can see the Mariahilferstrasse, the Kartnerstrasse with its elegant stores, St. Stephen's Cathedral with its tall spires, and the Graben with its monument erected in memory of the Great Plague. The monument's statues with their tortured faces often haunt my dreams.
I remember our apartment in the Neubaugasse. There, my recollections become more precise. I can still see the spacious rooms, the big salon with its bay windows, which overlooked five streets. I see my father's huge desk, his impressive library, my own room with its cheerful furnishing, my closets crammed with all the toys a little girl my age could desire, the vast kitchen where our maid Mitzi resided, the glass-encased porch where I would tirelessly drive back and forth on my tricycle, and finally, my aunt's room that looked like a tropical garden with all the cacti and other exotic plants.
I recall some events like my first day of school. I felt like crying when my mother left me at the door of the classroom where I was to be a prisoner with the other children, all strangers to me, and a teacher who terrified me.
Happy memories: birthdays, Christmas, Sundays that we spent visiting my doting grandparents, winter vacations in the Austrian Alps. Summers in Italy or Hungary, weekends on the Danube.
Seemingly unimportant occurrences: the day I lost my first tooth, my first grave illness, the little mouse that terrified mother.
Until the age of eight, I was a happy and cherished child. I have not gone back to Vienna, but I know that she was heavily damaged by air raids. The gay capital of the walz with her historic monuments and memories of her past splendors during the reign of the emperors is no longer the same. Austria was my country, my home, and my happiness.
All this ended with one stroke with the annexation of Austria by the Germans. On March 13, 1938, they entered Vienna, and soon afterward, we were left with nothing. Gone were our country, our home, and all our possessions.
Soon after my eighth birthday, I felt a change in my surroundings. Strange rumors were circulating around the city. A feeling of nervousness, nearly imperceptible in the beginning, grew day by day.
In spite of my young age, I had some understanding of what the Anschluss meant. The streets were full of men in uniform, wearing armbands bearing the SA or SS. Many people were starting to wear the swastika on their coat lapels. These were the Aryans. Non-Aryans, I learned, were subjected to all kinds of indignities, like scrubbing the sidewalks with a toothbrush, cleaning bathrooms, and the like.
Elegantly dressed women seemed to be singled out for these jobs. If we saw a gathering of people, we quickly crossed the street or turned into a side street. We wore our oldest clothes, and my mother stopped wearing makeup. We wanted to be as inconspicuous as possible.
One day, when Dad did not come home at the usual time, I was told that he had gone to Budapest on business and that I was to stay with my aunt Goldigstich for a few days. Nevertheless, I was overcome by a feeling of uneasiness, and I knew right away that something serious must have happened. Mother's eyes were red, but it wasn't until much later that I learned that the Nazis had taken my father away to prison.
Soon after the Anschluss, a law was passed that forbade all Jewish children to attend public school. Jewish children had to go to a segregated Jewish school. Prior to that, my Aryan classmates who sometimes spat in front of me when I passed them had already regarded me as a black sheep, so I was relieved to leave public school. I did not have time to enroll in another school, for things were happening too fast.
One day, when Dad was still in prison, two tall brutish-looking men, an SA and an SS, came to our apartment. They started arguing with my mother. I heard the words "money," "militia," and "compensation." I could not make sense out of it, but I had a premonition that something bad was going to happen.
Suddenly, the argument became more heated. The men's faces grew red. My mother was trembling in anger and had to be restrained by the friend who was with her. They left at last, but my mother was in such a state that she yelled after them, "Dogs!" Realizing what she had done, she blanched. If they had heard her, she would have been arrested. This was our first encounter with the Nazis.
After some time, Dad came back at last, looking wan, unshaven, and wasted. He was just not himself anymore. Each time a car or truck stopped in front of our house or each time the doorbell rang, he would jump up nervously and pace the floor.
A few days later, all our friends gathered at our place. My parents seemed nervous and worried. The friends talked in low voices. I could hear only some scraps of conversation: "obtain visas immediately ... leave by night ... France." Nobody paid any attention to me. Startled by these strange goings on, I wandered around the apartment like a lost soul. Our friends left late in the evening.
The next morning, there was a big to-do. Our maid Mitzi was sent home, and she left sobbing bitterly. My parents started to open closets and drawers, and two suitcases were brought out. My father hurriedly explained to me that we had to leave Austria because of the bad Nazis who were out to hurt us. We were to leave that night for France. He also told me that we couldn't take anything but our clothes and a few indispensable items.
"Go to your room," he said, "and select a few of your favorite toys." I went to my room with a heavy heart. I still could not realize what leaving Vienna meant.
I put myself to the task of sorting out my toys. "You can't take much," my dad had said, but I knew I had to take Ilse and Piri, my favorite dolls. They were nearly as tall as I and could say "Papa" and "Mama."
My thoughts were racing. Oh, and my picture book, I can't leave that! My dishes, my teddy bear, and the dresses of my two darlings. They mustn't catch cold! And, my little piano ... Things were piling up in a corner, and I looked them over anxiously. I hoped Dad wouldn't think it's too much, but surely, I could explain that it was nothing more than what I absolutely needed, and he would understand.
Half an hour later, my mother came into the room and took one horrified glance at the stack of toys. My legs felt weak. "Oh, my poor Pip, you don't really expect to take all this!" With a firm hand, she started sorting out the toys. "You can't take Ilse and Piri. There just isn't room for them, they're too big. You can take Susi. She's small and nearly new. We have but three suitcases in all. This piano and this book. That's all."
My reaction was a sob. Mother then took me on her lap as if I were a very little girl again and tried to show me that she was right. She showed me what she and Dad were taking, and it seemed like nothing. Dad was forced to leave behind all his books, those beautiful books that were his pride and joy, and many other things.
We left our apartment at six in the morning, had lunch at my uncle's, and we spent the...
