Dancing Under the Red Star Read Online Free Page B

by default, for sporadic and lurid spurts a few minutes at a time, and I would fearfully awaken between my terrifying dreams to find that my new reality was much worse than any nightmare.
    I kept hearing my mama’s words: “Have faith; be strong; do not lose hope.” I didn’t feel much comfort from them now. A stronger force outside of me—fear—was controlling my heart and my thoughts. I thought hard about Mama’s faith in God. God would get us through this? I questioned. How could that be? How could anything or anybody wipe away the horror? How could I be sure God even existed? Was God stronger than fear? That was a good question, because I had no idea what to believe in, but I knew that fear was real, as I now felt fear like a three-alarm fire burning out of control. And I could not help but think, Where is God in all of this? as my mind replayed Papa’s words, “I’ll be back. You’ll see,” over and over again.

Two

    PAPA DECIDED
    I t was Papa’s decision to move our little family from Detroit to Gorky. Mama and I had never wanted to come, and now we were in a very precarious position without him.
    I was their only child, born on May 28, 1921, just outside the city limits of Detroit. My parents and two other couples were desperately trying to eke out a living on a small and unproductive beet farm, waiting for the Depression to end. As it turned out, they would wait for quite some time. During my parents’ early years near Detroit, they did all they could to make ends meet, raising chickens and various vegetables for their own consumption, along with whatever else they could rummage or produce. The land was unfruitful, but sometimes the men hunted skunk, for the pelts, which they were able to sell for a few dollars when there was an interested buyer. And when there were no skunks, their cupboard was bare. Their lives were simple and austere, with no excess in any area, except perhaps their love for one another.
    My mother, Elisabeth Rausch-Werner, was of German stock, originally from the Black Forest region in southern Germany. In the 1700s her people, seeking religious freedom and better educational opportunities for their children, had immigrated to Austria, to a region that was later annexed by Hungary. They were called Donauschwaben , essentially German-speaking Hungarians, speaking a unique form of the German language. Elisabeth’s father owned the village inn and was also the village cabinetmaker. Her mother was in poor health, and as the eldest of five children, my mother bore the brunt of the household chores and child-rearing responsibilities. Consequently, she received only four years of formal education and schooling in Austria.
    In 1912, when my mother was seventeen years old, she immigrated to America with her aunt. They arrived in Cincinnati, Ohio, where my mother held numerous jobs: first as a barmaid, then as a housekeeper in several affluent homes, including that of Walton Bachrach, who would later become mayor of Cincinnati. A few years later Mother moved to Detroit, where she again found employment as a housekeeper. Her talent in the kitchen as a wonderful cook and baker kept her steadily employed. She had a thin, wiry frame but a surprising degree of physical strength for her meager size. Mama’s eyes were the purest, most stunning light blue I have ever seen, at times a solid violet color. She soon joined an amateur German drama club called the Thalia, since acting was a true passion as well as an undeniable talent. It was here that she met Carl Werner, the club’s stage manager. In August 1920 they were wed.
    Carl Werner, my father, was an Austrian Jew from the city of Linz. The family was fairly affluent, and he had two brothers—Richard and Friedrich—and one sister, Eva. Their father died when Carl was only four years old, so Carl was reared by his mother and the servants. His brothers and sister all finished high school and went on to the university. My father, however, had