My Canary Yellow Star Read Online Free Page B

them into a box.

A ll that spring, I trudged down to Madam’s workshop on Vaci Street early in the morning. At first, every workday was the same as the one before, but in the middle of May everything changed. I was sweeping the workshop floor one day when Madam appeared. Fifty sewing machines fell silent. She announced that a staff meeting was to be held in the large salon at the end of the workday.
    “I want all of you to be there,” she said in a firm voice. And without another word, she left the room as abruptly as she had entered it.
    “Oh no! Just like the old biddy! I have to meet Fritzi right after work. He is taking me to the movies. I can’t be late,” said Gizella as soon as the door was safely closed.
    “I have a party meeting that I can’t miss,” announced her sister, Irma. She proudly fingered the Arrow Cross pin on the collar of her dress.
    We began tidying up our stations. Madam was a stickler for neatness. Just a few scraps of material on the floor or spools of thread out of line were enough to anger her. I hurried to wipe the mirrors in the salon before the staff meeting. The elegant ladies who turned and dipped in front of them all day often left their fingerprints behind.
    By the time I had poured the water out of the bucket, stored it in a closet, and hung the wet cleaning rag up to dry, the others were already milling about the salon. My right hand involuntarily sneaked up to my chest, where it covered the six-pointed canary yellow star on my black dress. But I told myself I was being silly, jammed my hands into the pockets of my apron, and plopped down on one of the crimson loveseats dotting Madam’s elegant salon. The settees, loveseats, and armchairs were quickly being occupied. Some of the girls sat on the dark red Persian carpet covering the shiny parquet floor; others were leaning against the back wall. Soon all of the seats in the room were taken except for the one next to mine. Nobody sat down beside me.
    Madam entered the room. Gravely, she looked from face to face. “I am sorry to keep you after work, ladies, but it was unavoidable.” She noticed the girls standing by the wall and an angry expression clouded her features. It was goneso quickly that I thought I might have imagined it. “Why don’t you ladies sit down?” she asked pleasantly. “You must be tired after a full day of work. Irma,” she said to the girl closest to me, “there is an empty seat beside Marta. Sit down, please.”
    A mulish expression came over Irma’s face. “I won’t sit beside a stinking, dirty Jew, Madam,” she announced. She looked around the room for the other girls’ reactions. Most of the other apprentices were nodding their heads in agreement. Gizella was grinning. Two or three girls turned their heads away, careful not to look at me.
    Suddenly, a strange sensation came over me. I felt as if I was watching a movie take place in front of me, and all the horrible things being said were about the Marta in the movie. The real Marta, me, was looking at this film and feeling sorry for her unreal, celluloid self.
    “Silence,” Madam thundered. Her voice switched off the movie in my head. She gave Irma an unpleasant smile that somehow reminded me of a black cobra getting ready to strike at her prey. “Marta does not seem dirty to me. Nor does she smell,” she said in a reasonable tone. “Sit down, Irma,” she repeated, pointing to the seat beside me.
    Irma slunk over to the loveseat and sat down. She kept a space between us – no easy task, considering her size.
    “As I was saying, ladies,” Madam continued, “we have a problem.” She walked over to a large mahogany cabinet holding bolts of the finest materials – midnight blackwoolens, snowy white linens, and silks in every color of the rainbow, all ready to be chosen by her wealthy clients. Madam had stockpiled the finest cloths before the German occupation. She unraveled a bolt of sky blue watered silk, revealing a large jagged edge