My Canary Yellow Star by Eva Wiseman Page B

so hard that it hurt. “We must obey their rules if we’re to survive. If we disobey them even a little bit, we’re lost. There are just too many of them – and they have guns! There is no way we can defy them. Surely you must realize that!”
    “I’ll be very careful, but I
will
see Peter if I can. He is decent and kind and he makes me feel alive. Can you see that?”
    “I’ll try, but it won’t be easy,” Mama said, gathering me into her arms. “I’ll try.”
    I laughed weakly from relief.
    “No daughter of mine will sneak around with a boy behind my back,” Mama added, her voice full of the old authority. “Invite Peter for Shabbos dinner. Ask him to be careful not to be seen entering our apartment. And don’t worry about explaining the situation to Grandmama and Aunt Miriam. I’ll talk to them.”
    What had I let myself in for? And Peter – I knew he liked my family, but how would he react to being cross-examined by them? They could be extremely nosy. To stopmy imagination running wild, I decided to change the subject and tell Mama what had happened on the streetcar. I told her all about the mother and child who did not have the proper documents, and about the old Jewish man with the Schutz-Pass that had been given to him by the Swedish diplomat Raoul Wallenberg.
    “The man said the Schutz-Pass protected him. It made him into a Swedish citizen. Neither the Hungarians nor the Germans can touch him. The policemen on the street-car were about to let him go when the rest of us ran away,” I explained. “Peter is going to find out from his father about this Mr. Wallenberg and how we can get his Schutz-Pass to protect us.”
    “But, Marta, his father –”
    “Don’t worry! You can trust Peter. He won’t tell his father that we asked him to get this information for us.”
    For the first time in a long time, I saw a glimmer of hope in Mama’s eyes.
    “Marta! Come and help me set the table,” Mama called from the kitchen. “Your guest will be arriving in half an hour.”
    I adjusted the collar of my blouse and gave my hair a final pat in front of Aunt Miriam’s old-fashioned dresser. As I stood in the kitchen door, I heard Mama and Aunt Miriam arguing.
    “What were you thinking of, Nelly? Why in the world would you invite Peter here?”
    “Miriam, it means so much to Marta. Nothing we do seems to matter anyway. She might as well have an evening to remember.”
    When they saw me, they stopped talking. Grandmama was at the stove, bent over a large cast-iron pot, stirring a mysterious concoction.
    “Yummy smell! Are you finally going to tell me what we’re having for dinner?” Although I’d begged and begged, my grandmother had refused to tell me in advance what she was planning to cook for Peter’s visit. She said she wanted to surprise me.
    “Come, have a taste,” Grandmama said, dipping her wooden spoon into the pot.
    The surprise turned out to be my favorite casserole, made with slices of green pepper, rice, onions, tomatoes, and salami. Of course, there was no salami. But Grandmama had somehow managed to get the vegetables at the greengrocer’s and had made a secret substitution for the meat. It tasted exactly the same as when we were still able to get all the ingredients. I was certain Peter would like it.
    My mother was standing at the kitchen counter, stacking up the dishes I was to use to set the table. Grandmama always insisted that we use our best dishes on Shabbos, and the kitchen table was already covered with Aunt Miriam’s second-best tablecloth. I snuck a furtive glance at Mama asI piled the crockery into my arms. To my relief, she forced a smile and winked at me when she noticed I was looking at her. I knew I had been forgiven for the night at the Casino.
    “Hurry up, Marta!” she said. “Your guest will be here in a few minutes.”
    I forced myself to concentrate on the task at hand. The kitchen table was crowded, but it looked beautiful. Aunt Miriam’s white-and-gold