My Canary Yellow Star by Eva Wiseman

curfew. “What about you? Who taught you to dance?”
    “My parents entertain a lot. I took lessons. I have to know how to dance.”
    For the next few hours, I swam in music and happiness. We danced and danced, and between dances we talked, savored the chestnut pudding, and washed it down with several cups of strong, sweet espresso coffee. As darkness fell, the waiter lit the lantern in the middle of our table. The pinpoints of light did a lively little dance of their own on the snowy tablecloth.
    At ten o’clock, the music changed to the romantic “Moonlight Serenade.” The vocalist announced that it was the last song of the evening, and Peter pulled me veryclose. I rested my head on his shoulder as we swayed to the plaintive harmony. I thought I could feel his lips against my hair, but I wasn’t sure.
    Suddenly, Peter danced me into the dining hall. We stopped behind one of the marble columns in the embrace of the ivy. My heart was beating so loudly that I was certain he could hear it. We stood for a long, long moment, looking at each other wordlessly. Slowly, he bent down and kissed me on the lips. I pulled back.
    “Marta, I –”
    “Shhh,” I said. Then I kissed him back.

W e made our way home from the dance without meeting a single member of the Arrow Cross, the Hungarian police, or the German army roaming the streets. I was afraid to take a streetcar, so we walked the entire way. It was past eleven o’clock when we arrived at Aunt Miriam’s. The street was deserted and eerily dark. Even the moon had hidden behind the gathering clouds. A storm was in the air. All the street lights had been turned out and the windows, though open to the stifling night, were draped in dark black-out curtains because of air-raid regulations. I could barely see the smeared outline of the yellow star above the doorway.
    “Well, here we are,” I whispered sadly. “Thank you for a very special evening. I had a wonderful time.” Much more than that, sang my heart.
    “Me too,” Peter said. He was standing very close to me,his breath fanning my face, his arms on my shoulders. I was hoping he would kiss me again. “Marta,” he stammered, “back at the Casino … I’ve been wanting to tell you for a long time –”
    The gate creaked open before he could finish. He jumped back a step.
    “Is that you, Marta?” It took me a moment to realize it was Mama. “Is that you out there?” she repeated. “It’s so dark I can’t be sure.”
    “Mama! What are you doing here? I’m not alone. Peter Szabo is with me.”
    “Mrs. Weisz, hello!” Peter said.
    A horrible moment of silence followed. “Say goodbye to your friend, Marta,” Mama said. “I’ll wait for you inside.”
    The gate to the building clicked shut behind her. There was just enough time for Peter and I to squeeze hands before I followed her into the courtyard.
    “What have you got to say for yourself, Marta?” she asked. Although her voice was low, I could hear her fury. “I knew by the way you were acting that you were up to something. Sneaking around with Peter like some kind of … tart. How could you? I expected more of you! What have you got to say for yourself?”
    I didn’t answer.
    She grabbed my arm and shook it. “Do you realize what you’re doing? The boy isn’t Jewish. You could be killed.
He
could be killed. Shame on you!”
    I remained silent.
    “And not telling me … You wouldn’t have dared to behave like this if your father was at home!” She slapped me across the face with a heavy hand.
    I was so shocked that for a moment I couldn’t speak. I just stared in her direction in the darkness, my hand protecting my face. Neither of my parents had ever hit me. Tears began to pour down my cheeks.
    “We weren’t doing anything wrong. I’m only fifteen, Mama! For once I wanted to have a good time. We went to the Casino for one of the tea dances.”
    The corner of Mrs. Grosz’s blackout curtain lifted even though both of us were