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at chess, I didn t need to be his punching bag.
I took a different route and managed to get
home without seeing him. I felt pretty good about
beating him at chess. I thought I should write to
John and tell him all about it, including the strategy
Mr. Bently showed me because John might be able
to use that on his brother. But I couldn t seem to
make myself write him.
In the middle of the night there was a big crash
downstairs. Father told us all to stay put, but I
followed him anyway.
We saw that the front window had been
shattered by a huge rock that was now lying
on the floor of the store. Father ran outside. I
followed. A banner was hanging from the door.
It must have been put there before the rock was
thrown, but in the dark of the blacked-out street
it was impossible to see what it said. Father tore
it down and dragged it inside. He made sure the
door was closed and the windows covered before
he turned on the light. In large red hand-painted
letters were the words Germans go home.
Let s get some wood from the back and burn
this up, he said.
He sent me to tell Mother and Marta that
everything was all right, but I didn t believe it was.
I remembered how on Kristalnacht all the Jewish
stores had rocks thrown through their windows. I
70 Ca rol Matas
remembered the broken glass, the writing Jews
Out! Jew! scrawled across the shop doors. All
the time I was helping Father clean up, I couldn t
stop thinking about how to get out of there. It was
time it was past time. I d been saving money for
weeks. I d catch a bus to the border, and then I d
sneak across and hitch a ride to Vancouver to find
Uncle Isaac. He was fast. He was sneaky. He was
always one step ahead, and that was the only way
to survive.
When I woke up I wondered if I should put it
off for a few more weeks or even just a few more
days. But our family was a target now. No. It was
time.
I pretended to leave for school, but instead
I went straight to the bus depot. I had enough
money for a ticket to Bellingham. I bought it,
and then I went home midmorning, making sure
Mother was out at the market before I went into
the apartment. I packed some food and some
extra clothes in my knapsack and returned to wait
at the station. I ate a beef sandwich and treated
myself to an ice-cream bar.
My family wouldn t realize I was gone until
dinnertime, and by then I d be across the border.
The bus trip only took an hour. I sat beside an
old woman who chattered to me about her grand-
children. I tried not to think about my Oma, left
behind, probably dead. I nodded politely, and then
I pretended to sleep because it hurt too much to
T he W h i rlw i nd 71
listen to her. When I got off the bus I really wasn t
sure what to do next. If I asked straight out where
the border was, it might sound suspicious. But
then I thought, so what? I doubted anyone would
care enough to actually do anything, so I asked the
person behind the ticket counter.
Why do you want to know? He was an old
guy.
Schoolwork, I answered quickly. We re
supposed to ask people in authority these ques-
tions to see if they are ready for war.
Oh. And he told me. It wasn t far to the town
limits, but then I had to figure out the best thing
to do. I saw a dirt road, which I assumed led to
Canada. I decided to follow it.
I walked for hours and never saw a soul. After
a while I didn t know whether I was still in the
United States or not, and it was starting to get
dark. I passed some farms, but no one was on the
road. I began to suspect that I was lost; unless the
road met up with a larger one, I d have to go back.
Finally it was too dark to go on, so I settled down
under a tree, putting on my jacket and an extra
sweater. It was cold, but at least it wasn t raining.
Every once in a while I got up and ran around
just to warm up. It was a long night and I couldn t
help but think about our cozy apartment and how
worried Mother must be. Still, if they d listened to
me, none of this would have been necessary.
As soon as there was just a little bit of light
72 Ca rol Matas
I started to walk again. And then I heard a car
coming up behind me. It slowed when it came
alongside, and then it stopped. A man looked out
at me from inside an old jalopy.
Where you off to, son?
Vancouver.
Strange way to get there.
Why?
Because you re going the wrong way.
Vancouver s west. You re headed east. I m going
to White Rock. You can get a bus from there.
Want a ride?
Yes, please.
Get in then.
I did.
I m Dr. Francis, the man said. He was about
my dad s age, with glasses and flecks of gray in
his black hair. You been out all night? You all
right?
I m fine.
Your parents know where you are?
I had to think fast.
My parents were hurt in a fire. I m going to
my uncle in Vancouver.
Well, I m sorry to hear that, but I m sure the
authorities could ve sent you. I hate to see you
walking like this.
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