In Those Days
by George Ioannou

One winter day we suddenly saw people in the street, each with a big yellow star on his coat in the area of the heart. Salonica was filled with moving yellow stars which could be seen from a great distance. Our classmate Berahias came to school wearing his star. The boys saw a comical aspect in that and started teasing him. Suddenly one of them made a paper cross, took some resin from the pine trees of the schoolyard and stuck it on the back of Berahia's overcoat. The poor boy was walking slowly with the star in front and the cross in back! He was a tall, very quiet boy. In a few days he did not come to school any longer.

One morning there was a lot of commotion in our apartment building. The Jews who occupied some of the apartments were supposed to get ready to be taken by the Germans. They all came down the staircase and stayed in front of the door for inspection before they joined those who were already in the street surrounded by heavily armed Germans. The doors of the Jewish apartments remained open and their Christian neighbors went inside to quickly grab whatever they could. There was great fear because the Germans threatened to kill anyone who looted Jewish property. By the time I came back from school I realized that real looting was taking place. I saw people dragging trunks or sofas or drawers. Others carried heavy books. In our building I entered a Jewish apartment. It had nothing inside except garbage on the floor and some torn books in the bathroom. The tiles of the fireplace had been removed by someone who was looking for treasure. There was one bed left, with some broken springs. On this bed, which my family took upstairs to our apartment, I slept until I grew up.

I remember the floor of the Jewish apartment. It was filled with the seeds of sunflower seeds. For days and nights they waited, always dressed for the deportation order. They did not cook or sweep the floors anymore. None had the desire to escape, something which was relatively easy. Mrs. Cohen, the mother of Izo, was worried only about the fact that the Jews of Krakow, where they were supposed to be going, did not speak Spanish. "We will manage," she said, "like in the time of Ferdinand and Isabella."

After the columns of the deported Jews disappeared, I went to school. On the way Greek policemen stopped me. I showed them an ID and they let me go. In the school everyone knew what happened but I did not detect any special sorrow, although we did have Jewish classmates. During a break some children sang the "Jewish Hymn," a teasing poem sung in broken Greek to a familiar tune. If these few boys seemed happy, so did many of the rich merchants, the traitors and the admirers of the Third Reich.

In the afternoon, coming back home, I saw the looting continuing. There were no more Germans on the street, but there were Greek policemen. Occasionally I heard gunshots and, because of that, the looters seemed scared and in a rush. In the Cohen apartment even the doors were removed. Many schoolbooks were thrown in the bathtub. I took them with some satisfaction. I was very poor in books. Many had Izo's name on them.

My father was a train engineer, and we did not know where he was for many days. When he came back he was very depressed. My mother and he were crying. He wanted to see my three-year-old brother. We woke him up and brought him to the kitchen. My father had driven a train filled with Jews all the way to Serbia. The Jews started dying in these wagons. The Germans stopped the train and they filled their pockets with watches, jewelry and gold coins, which they grabbed from the people who did not have any water or even enough air to breathe. From one wagon they took out a dead little boy and threw him in a ditch, without, of course, burying him. Perhaps he looked like my brother. My father went again on trips like this. He spoke with disgust about the horrible things he witnessed in that hell.

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You can also read "The Bed", another small essay by Ioannou on the same subject.