The Underground Reporters by Kathy Kacer Page A

home. He worried about what new rules and regulations would face him in Theresienstadt. And for every worry, there was simply no answer.
    He finished dressing, and placed one last sweater into his suitcase. He took a deep breath and glanced around his room one last time. Then, along with his parents and his brother, he walked out of his home.
    As they walked through the quiet streets of Budejovice, John glanced up at the homes in his neighborhood. Most of the blinds were drawn, as if the Christian families did not want to see what was happening to their Jewish neighbors. John wondered how many of these families were happy to see the Jews leaving, and how many were distressed and fearful themselves, not knowing what they could do to help.
    The first stop for the Jewish families was a small house in town, where everyone had to register, identifying themselves by the transport numbers that had already been given to them. The lines were long, but they all waited patiently for their turn to sign their names and list their numbers. From there they were taken to a large warehouse, a two-story wooden building that had been a factory once owned by a Jewish family. The wooden floor was dirty, but that did not stop families from stakingout their spaces and dropping wearily to the floor. A few old mattresses were scattered about, but for the most part they slept on luggage and on each other.
    The warehouse filled up quickly, until it was crowded and noisy. John was reassured to see many of his friends. There was Beda, along with Frances and Reina. Ruda Stadler was there, along with Irena. Rabbi Ferda walked around talking quietly to people, comforting those who were frightened. Even John’s teacher, Joseph Frisch, sat on his suitcase, reading. Things couldn’t be so bad if everyone was still together, thought John, comforting himself.
    John and the others moved around the factory, talking to friends and relatives. And then, the children did what they always did when they were together. They played tag, and ran noisily in and around the people who were sleeping on the floor. They even got to go outside, into the yard behind the factory, where they wrestled and shoved each other good-naturedly.
    After playing with his friends for a while, John joined his family, huddled on the floor. “Here,” said his mother, handing him a roll. “Eat this. We don’t know when we are leaving and we must keep up our strength.” They ate what little food they had managed to bring with them. Then the Nazi guards brought some soup into the warehouse, and shouted for them all to line up to be fed. The soup was thin, and not very appetizing.
    “What do you think will happen when we get to Theresienstadt?” John asked Beda, as the two of them sat together in a corner.

    Beda shrugged. “I don’t know. What do your parents say?”
    “Not much. They keep saying the war will be over soon. But they’ve been saying that forever.”
    “Do you think we’re going to come home again?” asked Beda.
    “Of course we will!” John declared, pretending confidence.
    At one point, all the families were ordered to assemble downstairs in the yard in order to be counted. They left their belongings in piles on the floor and moved slowly outside. There they assembled in groups, according to their transport numbers, and waited anxiously as the guards moved about, counting people and checking their numbers against the transport sheets they held in their hands. It took forever to count a thousand people. Finally, they were permitted to go back to the warehouse and find their spots once more.
    As they returned to their luggage, John saw Tulina sitting alone in one corner of the warehouse. She looked scared, and John longed to comfort her. When he walked toward her, she looked up and brightened.
    “I’m so glad to see you,” she said.
    John nodded. “Me too.” There was an awkward pause.
    “Do you know how long we’ll be here?” she asked. Her dark eyes were sad.