Father had arranged for a guide to take us across the border, but when we arrived, the guide refused.
Strong re-enforcement of border guards, he explained. Since Sunday, several people have been captured.
With or without a guide, we had no choice; we had to risk it. And on that rainy September night, we set out to reach freedom.
Around 6:00PM we crossed the road into the five-kilometer wide no-mans-land zone which was off limits and heavily guarded. Father took a close look at the road marker; it read 153. Gently rolling woods and meadows lay to either side. We walked and walked, getting wetter and wetter. Trees everywhere, soon total darkness. Every rustling leaf made the heart pound faster. Suddenly, the sound of heavy boots sent chills down our spines. The sound of steps came closer, then grew fainter, then disappeared. We changed direction. Hours passed. We had no compass, nor any knowledge of the terrain. In the dark it all looked alike.
Had we made it to safety?
Suddenly shots rang through the air, followed by screams. We children sank to the ground frightened and exhausted. Would we be next?
Lets end it now, Mother pleaded with Father. To be captured by the Russians seemed inescapable now, an unbearable thought. It would mean death or separation, rape, Russian work camps, Siberia. Death, sweet solace, must have flashed through Mothers mind. Once captured, that chance might not come again.
A year earlier, two of our teen-age cousins had been ordered to join Hitlers elite troop, the SS. Both boys were tall, blond and good-looking, the attributes that Hitler idolized but lacked. On the train to Berlin, they had hanged themselves by their belts. For them, death had been more honorable than joining the SS. Suicide and honorstrange bedfellows! But the dividing line blurs when confronted with the choice between joining the SS or seeking death.
We have shoelaces and belts, Mother whispered. There are plenty of trees.
Yet Father would not hear of it, nor we children. Mothers words electrified our tenacity to live. In spite of hunger, fear and fatigue we recoiled from the idea of hanging from a tree. We were young and optimistic; besides, we had no idea what capture might entail. We were back on our feet and doggedly trudged on. Hour after hour.
Daylight was approaching. Ahead, in the dense mist, we surmised a road. We hurried forward. There, a few steps to the left a road marker! It had to be the West.
We gazed at the numbers speechlessly. They read 153! The very same we had passed twelve hours earlier.
??
Jimmy Mott, the head of Squaw Valleys professional ski patrol, accepted my card with a smile and pointed to a room where the volunteer group met.
I opened the door, and lo and behold! Some thirty men in various stages of getting dressed for the slopes were staring at me, not at all friendly.
A stern-looking person was scribbling on a blackboard, the boss of the volunteers, I assumed, and introduced myself.
May I patrol today?
We dont take women, he replied coldly, the chalk in his hand squeaking emphatically on the blackboard.
Jimmy Mott sent me in, I persevered.
Women do not patrol here, he repeated slowly with a heavy Hungarian accent. This is a mans mountain.
I hesitated, mulling over the meaning of a mans mountain. Was it synonymous with my mountain? Before I had concluded my thoughts, he clarified his words:
We do NOT take women patrollers, never have, and never will!
He couldnt have made it clearer, no use in persisting. No problem, I said and left. I returned to Jimmy Motts desk to retrieve my patrol card.
Whats the problem, he asked, smiling innocently.
Men only, I said and held out my hand to get my card.
We shall see about that, he said. With a glint in his eyes he slowly pushed back his chair and strode toward the room I had just left.
He motioned for me to follow. I had been anxious to escape. Having seen the others attitude, I did not want to witness the showdown. When we entered the room, the quiet before the storm assumed monstrous proportions. All eyes were upon us.
From now on, Jimmy Mott, the big chief, calmly announced, we shall have a woman on the patrol! With a satisfied smile he turned and left me standing there.
Would you mind if I came back another day? I asked, eager to leave the minefield.
They didnt mind.
??
An icy wind blew in from the Atlantic as we motored out to sea, icicles dangling from the railing. As we entered the open sea, the mainsail went up, then the jib, and soon the vessel settled into a soothing rhythm. It was time to cook. I held the baby in one arm, two pots with the other, the spoon with my teeth, and a can with my elbow. Cooking on the high seas was not going to be a culinary delight! It was a matter of preventing things from slopping, sliding and crashing
My favorite hours were between midnight and 4:00AM when I had the watch. The sea was often serene and the sky brilliant with stars, vast and infinite. A solemn mystery pervaded it all. We were so small, so insignificant in this grand universe. I marveled in awe while steering our course. Then, suddenly, thered be a familiar gurgle off to starboard, then to port, and then a slight splash of water. One of the dolphins, our faithful companions, had surfaced and smilingly eyed me. They were like brothers to me and talked of joy and playfulness. Swim with it, they seemed to call. Smile and be happy.
|