Sunday, 23 July 1944
I am afraid, really afraid! Those who slept were woken by shouting Germans. Before sunrise, they started herding us out of L’Aeronautica in rows of five. I don’t know where we’re going. I’m scribbling this down, quickly as I can, as we shuffle forward, because I have no idea when I’ll get another chance to update my journal. Babies are crying with hunger. I can see through the doorway as they march the first captives out. Police and soldiers line the street pointing their guns at our friends and neighbours. Three wagons carried the aged and infirm away. Black exhaust smoke drifted in as they passed by the entrance. Our group is close to the doors now.
Papa has just tapped me on the shoulder and said, ‘Be a good girl and put the diary away, Dora.’ His voice is odd, sort of scratched, like I remember the wireless when someone had knocked the aerial. I want to hug him, and I want him to tell me everything will be all right. I just stash the diary in my duffel instead.
*
It is night now, and this has been the worst day of my life! Why didn’t I hug Papa when I had a chance?! Now it’s too late, too late! So much has happened since we left L’Aeronautica this morning, I’m in a rush to write it all down, right now, while it’s still fresh in my head.
Before daylight, we were forced to walk towards the harbour.
Air-raid sirens wailed, making communication impossible. Dawn pushed back the night as we approached the quayside. Three rusting ships tied up to port. Some of the adults muttered prayers. Others put on a brave face for the sake of their children, saying everything would be fine once we had left the island.
I became separated from my family and tried to spot them amongst the hundreds of sorry captives, but the man at my side threw an urgent punch at my arm. ‘Keep your head down, child. Don’t look around.’ His tone, flat and lifeless, frightened me. Anguish filled my chest and made my throat ache.
I stared at the ground as we walked, noting small obscure details and filing them away. Suddenly, everything seemed important. Two flattened cigarette ends in the gutter, one with dark pink lipstick. A burst balloon. A short length of yellow party streamer, coiled and trodden on. The remains of someone’s celebration, a party. I imagined the day we would all return to our island and celebrate – me and every member of my family.
A hand touched mine, fingers tangling. I glanced sideways. Carlo. I squeezed his hand but didn’t speak in case the Nazis pointed their guns at us. The walk to the harbour didn’t seem as bad with my hand in his. I imagined telling Irini when I got back . . . because I would return to my friend, somehow. Also, Evangelisa needed me. I worried about her. Mama and Papa had depended on me to take care of her.
In that moment these thoughts were an escape from the trudge. I fantasised about the Curly Haired Boy, getting married, building a house in Paradissi and having lots of beautiful children. Mama and Papa would come for coffee and cake. Him not being Jewish might be a problem, but I wasn’t sure because nobody ever talked about such things.
German guns pointed at us from all directions. We turned into the port. The air raid siren deafened us. The three cargo vessels were moored to my right. To my left, the lorry transport for the old and sick pulled to a halt. As the sun rose, that sorry human freight disembarked. Just before we reached the huge wheels and dull grey-green paintwork, I glanced over my shoulder, searching for my family. I caught sight of Papa and, as our eyes met, he flicked a rapid glance to the vehicles. I understood and made a quick nod.
‘Oy! No turning around!’ a soldier yelled, jerking his gun at me.
I cowered, afraid of being shot right there and then, and of disappointing Papa. I tugged at Carlo’s hand. Irini would love me forever if I managed to save Carlo from the Nazis and bring him up to Filerimos.
A hullabaloo kicked off behind me and I heard Papa’s voice. ‘Walk tall, children! Be proud of who you are. They can’t take that away from us!’ He started singing and despite the bravery of his words, the distress in his voice broke my heart.
Carlo let go of my hand and a sense of hopelessness overcame me. Perhaps nine metres separated me from my father, yet it seemed like an abyss. I longed for his arms around me. The safest place in the world was inside one of Papa’s hugs.
Others joined in the song, but the guards blew their whistles or yelled. I flinched, terrified, when a shot fired. Someone screamed. Behind me, people shouted but I dared not look back again.
*
I have to stop for a moment. I’m crying as I write about these events that took place only this morning. It seems like a lifetime ago. I must try and be objective, unemotional, and record the facts as they happened. That’s what journalists do. . . stay true to the story, but it’s difficult when the facts concern your family and friends – the people you love. Yet now, more than ever, I owe it to my family to keep up this journal.
*
As the commotion took place behind me, we drew alongside the biggest truck. With one long sideways step, I slipped under the vehicle and hid in the dark shadow between the rear wheels.
Because of my small size, I discovered I could almost stand upright. I pressed myself against an inner tyre, watched the feet of my friends, neighbours, and family trudge past. Hot metal from part of the wheel dug into my back, and I feared it would burn through my dress. The sirens howled. Confused emotions rose inside me, but with the sound of the air-raid warning, came hope.
I searched the distant sky for bombers heading our way. The British had inadvertently destroyed much of our synagogues and Rhodes Old Town, attempting to score points against the Germans. Would they come now, bomb the Nazis to death and save us all?
Clearly, the Jews of Rhodes didn’t want to leave the island. Distraught women wept against the chests of their husbands. Men with their chins thrust forward held their weeping wives, mothers, and children.
The stench of rubber from the tyres burned my throat. I squeezed my eyes closed to calm myself and get rid of the tears, then I peered at what I could see of the sky from under the truck, searching for planes.
What if the soldiers found me? Papa would be disappointed that I hadn’t managed to escape. He relied on me to take care of Evangelisa and the sheep.
Air-raid sirens continued. The shiny black car with German flags up front, drove onto the quayside. Because the people in the car were lower than the soldiers and captives, I feared they’d see me. I flattened myself against an inner wheel. Suddenly engulfed in exhaust fumes, I realised the vehicle had reversed and its back end almost touched the lorry, giving me more cover.
When the fumes cleared, I slid to the edge of the wheel and stared at the ships. The scene that met my eyes branded itself into my mind and I knew it would stay with me for the rest of my life. I dropped to my knees and peered from behind the car. Joined by an officer, Frick Hendrik Nüller strutted along the quayside. He pointed his baton at the ships and laughed. Then he stood tall and arrogant, his eyes narrow and the smile of satisfaction clear on his face.
All he had to do, to change everything, was lift his stick and order everyone off the boats.
Do it! Set my family free!
He didn’t. He gloated. He talked loudly with the officer in charge, saluted, and then returned to his vehicle.
There had to be something I could do. But a cold feeling in my stomach told me the situation might worsen.
Until that moment, I had never truly hated anyone before. I stared at that man’s face, determined to remember every feature, and I swore to myself that if ever I got the chance I would send Frick Nüller straight to hell for what he had done to my loved ones.
One day, Frick Hendrick Nüller, I will find your family and I will take them from you.
Why didn’t Papa want me with them? To tell the truth, I would rather work for the Germans and leave Evangelisa and the sheep with Irini if it meant being able to stay with my family. What a shameful thing to think! Evangelisa is my family too. Her family is on that ship and she doesn’t even know what’s happening. Horrible as the time has been, at least I had experienced another two days with them all. I had to have something ready to tell my sister when I got back to the hut; but what? My mind was all over the place.
I tried to calm down by thinking about my brothers. Jacob, who’s seventeen, was nowhere to be seen. Samuel, twenty last Thursday, and Danial, twenty-one, stood with Papa.
Danial spoils me. Sometimes, very late at night, he brings me a glass of Mama’s lemon and barley. He sits on my bed and tells me where he’s been and who with. There’s a curfew, so he’s not supposed to be out after dark, but on Saturday evenings he meets his girlfriend and a few others. I’m thrilled to hear of his adventures. Once, they put a trip wire across the street and a German soldier fell over it. I told Irini and she said she could fall in love with Danial.
He goes to amazing parties where they play music and dance the jive and jitterbug. Each week, his girlfriend writes down the latest popular song and Danial brings it home for me and Irini to memorise the words. I don’t know why that memory made me want to cry right then.
I stared at the ship. My brothers stood at the rails peering over the quayside. I longed to run out, waving my arms, so the Nazis could put me on the boat with everyone else. But my family expected me to take responsibility for Evangelisa. Being grown up isn’t all I imagined.
I wanted to be with them. Better to be in their midst than under a German truck, but Papa had his reason for making me hide, and I trust him completely. I wonder if they’re really going to Kos, they say it’s a beautiful island. I could take the ferry and visit them if I had the money. Then I remember the Russian dolls.
On our bureau stands a brightly painted babushka doll into which Papa empties the small change from his pockets each evening. He wouldn’t mind if I borrowed a little to buy me and Evangelisa a ticket to Kos. Aunt Martha bought the dolls for Mama years ago. There are seven pieces and, over time, each of us have claimed a doll, Papa has the largest; Evangelisa, the smallest.
Thinking about the dolls, fitting together as perfectly as my family, calms me down. We all belong together.
I caught sight of Aunt Martha. She dabbed her face with a lace handkerchief. Her other hand on the shoulder of my Uncle Levi. She wore her usual red lipstick and, around her neck, the fox stole with ruby-glass eyes bit its own tail. Although impossible to see from that distance, I knew an extra fine hairnet kept her freshly permed curls in place. She always appeared perfectly groomed, even after the torment of L’Aeronautica.
Aunt Martha’s daughters, Sadie and Purl, hugged their parents. They wore their Friday best. My dear granny, one of the first on the ship, gripped the rails, stretching her neck and peering up and down the quay. She’s not good on her feet, but far too proud to use sticks. Her pale face and sunken eyes worried me. She didn’t look well and I wanted to hold her hand.
Papa must have told everyone I’d escaped and I sensed their thoughts were with me, each of them silently wishing me luck. I longed for the moment I would be able to hug each of them again.
A starved dog with protruding ribs and short hair the colour of toffee, bounded towards the truck. I tried to shoo it with my hands but, persistent and playful, he wouldn’t leave. The creature cowered at my ankles, submissive, turning its great brown eyes to meet mine. ‘Go away!’ I whispered, but he licked my feet and whimpered. The soldiers were only metres from me. I ducked, and quickly dodged around the truck’s front tyre, but the dog persisted, so excited at this new game he stopped to cock his leg against the tyre.
A little river of urine snaked behind the wheel, followed by the dog’s nose.
‘Oi!’ a soldier shouted, marching over.
I pressed myself into the hollow of the metal wheel, terrified I’d be seen. From the corner of my eye, I watched the soldier’s hand come down and grab the pup by his tail just centimetres from me. He dragged the wriggling dog from under the truck, put his foot under its ribs and flicked it off the quayside into the sea.
Oh!
I almost cried out. The soldiers laughed and moved towards the ships. I searched the ghostly faces of the captives. At least my family were all on the one ship, except I hadn’t seen Jacob or Mama. They couldn’t be going far, not packed together like that with the strengthening sun beating down.
Where was Mama? My mind screamed her name in the hope that she’d respond and I’d get a bearing.
I know this sort of thing works because once, when I thought about Irini, she knocked on our door less than a minute later, and many times I have heard people say, ‘I was just thinking about you.’ Another time, when Evangelisa’s cat had disappeared, I really focused on telling Cleo how much she was missed. That very afternoon, the cat returned.
Mama! It’s me, your Dora. I’m under the lorry! Look this way, I want to see you!
My father had blood in his white hair. He gazed over his shoulder to the quayside and then struggled to turn around in the tightly packed bodies. Although a distance away, I knew he searched for me. As I stared at him, he lifted two fingers over each ear and wiggled them.
Little rabbit, run, little rabbit!
I felt the ghost of his fingers racing up my ribs when I was younger, tickling my armpits until I screamed for him to stop.
Oh, Papa!
In seconds, he was gone. Pushed back by the surge of more people being forced onto his ship.
I understood that Papa was telling me to run. I dragged my eyes from the vessel to take stock, and crouched to get a better view of my surroundings. The sun was up, bathing everything in harsh light.
Fifty metres of quayside lay between me and a ferry ticket stand, my only cover. Nine exposed metres between me and the dockside. I was a good swimmer. I could hang on to a tyre dangling to protect the ships’ paintwork until the coast was clear, then swim for shore.
When the British bombs started falling, I’d be safer in the sea than under a Nazi truck.
I stared at the horizon. Where were the planes of our new allies? Though the British were always bombing us and had killed many of my friends, they would make a great diversion for my escape. A splash on the water distracted me. A seagull landed, and another, then even more. This was not my day. If I jumped into the sea now, the rising birds were sure to attract attention.
I stared at the ships again. My father peered in my direction. I stuck one arm out and gave a quick wave, before retreating behind the rear wheel.
Please, please, please let him see me.
When I peeked out again, Papa had one arm horizontally across the front of his chest, and the other behind it making a rabbit shape, like when he used to make shadows on the wall for me and Evangelisa, years ago. My heart melted. Papa forgets I’m a woman now.
The siren continued to howl, but apart from enemy soldiers, a couple of dock workers, and the entire Jewish community, there wasn’t a soul to be seen. Then I had a frightening thought. If the British bombers came, they’d surely blow the ships, and the people, and my truck to pieces! Horrified, I stared at the sky.